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At least his men are safely off the battlefield. They’ll be furious, Illuga is sure— he can practically hear their outraged screams now— but all that really matters is that they’ll be alive to hate him.
This time, he hasn’t failed as a Ratnik. As a leader. It’s an ignominious end for him, to be sure, dying alone in a dark ravine beneath Kipumaki Cliff, but the Abyssal brute who had been threatening their camp lies defeated and crumbling beside him. It’s a little early for his lamp to be extinguished this way, but, well— no one has ever joined the Lightkeepers expecting to live a life of peace. He has done his duty. With this, he can be satisfied.
...Ahh, but it does hurt. A lot.
A quiet whimper escapes Illuga’s throat as he shifts, attempting to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. But he has no leverage and no real tourniquet, and without help, he won’t be able to apply enough pressure to make a difference.
Hazily, blinking through the blood in his eyes and the ringing in his ears, he wonders if any patrols might be close enough to find him. His own exhausted squad won’t be rising for a while, and Cliffwatch is too far… on top of that, they’d reduced the number of patrols in the area after the destruction of the Scourge of Decay, so there’s really no chance of random encounters out here with anything other than the Wild Hunt.
He’d overestimated himself a little too much. Or maybe underestimated just how much he’d been depending on the Traveler’s strength in their fight against the Scourge. Sure, he had survived for a while alone, but if the Traveler hadn’t ignored his intent and chased after him…. He coughs out a wry laugh, and it comes bloody.
It really would’ve been nice if the Traveler was here. Something about him had always felt so… steady. Like a smooth, ocean-worn boulder that had adorned the coast for a thousand years and would continue to absorb the sun and salt spray for a thousand more. And his power— Visionless, but skilled with almost every element, and somehow able to cleanse the corruption of the Abyss without going insane himself. It was the only reason Illuga had caved and asked for his help in their push against the Abyssal tide, despite his status as an unrelated civilian adventurer.
But of course, someone that important and uniquely talented would never have been able to stay for long. Last Illuga had heard, he was lodging in Piramida while waiting for passage back to the southern isles. Flins had gone with him, due for a few days off after having wrapped a final mass sweep across the outer reaches of Kipumaki. Something about giving the Traveler an exclusive sightseeing tour as could only by offered by a senior Ratnik?
It’s a little strange, actually, how quickly Flins had grown attached to the Traveler when it had taken Illuga years of repeated visits to break through the man’s self-determined isolation. They must have something in common— something more fundamental than their jobs or status or battle prowess. And considering his suspicions about Flins, the Traveler must be something even more unusual.
...That’s not a very polite thought. The blood loss must really be getting to him now. Who cares if Flins and the Traveler are human or not? He has seen them them fight and laugh and bleed, hold out kind hands and burn the fuel of righteous anger.
He hopes they won’t mourn him. But maybe he’ll at least have done enough in life to deserve a footnote in their memories after death.
I’m sorry.
His squad will have to search for him in a panic, only to find him dead, maybe even dismembered by the Abyss.
I’m sorry.
His old pops always handles the burial shrouds and pyres personally. He’d never meant to leave before taking over that role himself.
I’m sorry.
When his Vision dies, when his lantern snuffs out, will Aedon vanish too? He doesn’t even know where his friend has gone, lost in the dark and mire as he is.
I’m sorry.
Flins had promised him a meal and the continuation of another one of his fairytales. Fairytales that Illuga can only quietly assume are fragments of a life long since buried by time. He won’t be making it back to the lighthouse.
I’m sorry.
The Traveler had fought so hard to keep Illuga alive and ensure he would not sacrifice himself for nothing. Yet here he is, only weeks later. Will the Traveler still consider his death meaningless?
I’m sorry.
Illuga closes his eyes. Or maybe his lead-heavy eyelids close for him. Not long now, probably. The world is quiet, save for the whistle of wind and ever-present rumble of the Wild Hunt in the distance.
If only he wasn’t alone.
Something cool and shining stirs in the back of his mind as he makes one final plea, a soundless, probably mangled prayer to the sky he’d once learned from a visiting Moonchanter. It wasn’t a supplication to any god or Archon, she had said. Nor was it meant to praise anything on Teyvat. Rather, it was the spoken hope that whatever lay beyond their small world and present problems would always watch over them with compassion.
A single word— a name?— rises to the surface of Illuga’s thoughts.
“Aether…” he rasps weakly. It’s a pretty sound. He wonders what it means.
--*--
Illuga stares into the campfire crackling some paces before him and doesn’t dare to pull against the arms wrapped tight around his body.
“I thought I told you to stop taking on every battle alone.”
Well, he had been wondering if the Traveler would consider this death a worthy one. “...I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want apologies. I want change.”
There’s something different about the Traveler today. Something heavier. More ominous. It makes the hairs stand up along Illuga’s neck and arms.
“It couldn’t be helped. My squad was already worn out, and when the Wild Hunt brute came—”
One hand shifts to wrap around the back of his head, fingertips pressing along the line of his temple. Illuga cuts himself off immediately.
“You knew my name. Why didn’t you invoke it sooner?”
“Your—? Oh. That was your name?”
The Traveler— apparently Aether?— stirs. “You spoke my name without understanding to whom you were calling out?”
Illuga cringes. “I didn’t know it was anything in the moment. I just… said a prayer. And I felt it. I don’t understand what happened either.”
“Hm.”
Slowly, Aether’s grip eases, and Illuga can finally take stock of himself. They’re settled in a little clearing somewhere he doesn’t recognize— at least far enough away from his would-be final resting place that he can’t see it anymore. A fire is crackling away in a makeshift pit, and they’re vaguely closed in on one side by a copse of dead trees.
Illuga himself is all but sitting on Aether’s lap. His coat is gone— no, just draped over a rock to one side— and his arm aches in the confines of a neat, tightly wrapped bandage. His other, smaller wounds all seem to have been cleaned as well. A familiar flicker of light draws his attention to Aedon, who is perched sleepily on top of his set-aside lantern, and overhead hovers… another lantern? That shape… and the royal midnight flames…
“Why do you have Flins’s lantern?” he croaks stupidly.
Aether looks down at him, and ah. That’s a very bright gleam of gold in his eye. Illuga privately upgrades him from “superhuman being” to “possible divinity.”
“Oh, h— that. I thought I’d bring it along. Just in case you needed it. Lightkeepers can’t fight without their lanterns, right?”
That’s true, but…. Illuga frowns. Even if he had been in fighting condition, he probably wouldn’t have been to make much use of Flins’s custom lantern. For Lightkeepers with Visions or Moonwheels… the things just become too intertwined. Flins’s lantern jingles in the air as he squints at it, flames shuddering.
“Traveler—”
“Aether.”
Illuga blinks.
“You invoked my name to bring me here, and my current power is only because of your prayer. If you want me to stay—” Aether’s expression twists strangely. “You cannot abandon your worship now.”
‘Worship,’ Illuga mouths to himself. Is that what this is? Is that what Aether is? A god who deserves to be followed?
He suspects that even if he asks, he won’t get a straight answer. But no matter. He can work with this.
“Alright. Aether, then.”
Aether nods.
“Just… thank you. For saving me.” A little— or maybe a lot uncertain, he lifts his uninjured arm to touch Aether’s sternum. “I would’ve died if you hadn’t come. And I’m sure this isn’t how you were hoping to spend your precious few days of rest. Is there anything I can— offer you? In return?”
He knows he’s struck something when Aether’s eyes flash an even brighter shade, and he exhales softly through his teeth.
“How can you be so foolish and so clever at the same time?”
The question seems rhetorical, so Illuga doesn’t answer.
“Just stay right here until you’re healed, and stop flinging yourself into the jaws of death. That’s more than enough for me,” Aether says. “And as for my vacation— do you think just anyone in peril could have divined my name and summoned me in a breath? No. Even in this fallen form, only those with my blessing have any power over me.” Aether’s gaze grows so intense, Illuga is forced to look away, trembling despite himself. “There is no universe in which I would not have come to you, Illuga.”
Whatever sort of god Aether is, he must be much greater than any Archon, Illuga is sure of it. The fleeting, hysterical thought of prostrating himself crosses his mind— but Aether’s arms only tighten, forcing Illuga to huddle deeper into his warmth.
“Sleep. Nothing will touch you so long as we are here.”
We? Somewhere nearby, an Abyssal creature wails, and Illuga tenses, pain lancing through his arm. But just as promised, Aether remains unmoved.
“Flins.”
The silver lantern vanishes in a burst of flames. A moment later, a pillar of that same royal fire roars up from behind the next ridge, then extinguishes.
Aether begins humming softly to himself, a lilting tune Illuga has never heard before. And when the lantern (Flins himself?) reappears in their camp, it’s with a harmless lick of azure heat over Illuga’s hair.
Neither one chooses to explain themselves further. But maybe they don’t need to.
Illuga closes his eyes. He should enjoy the protection of the ancient and divine while it lasts. For tomorrow, he will surely have to face the wrath of the squad he left behind.