The Next Best Thing.

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, cheating, scandals, drugs, drama, family drama a/n: hi everyone! this is where you can find the masterlist, again aiming for at least 15 chapters.

chapter 1: a not so good day

chapter 2

Reblog if you want anons to tell you who they ship you with and why.

Celebrities, other tumblr users, anyone..

okay so i’ve seen a lot of people on here talking about NSFR meaning “not safe for ramadan” and a lot of the times they mentioned putting food/drink/music posts under that tag, which i know it’s to help us muslims but in all honesty that defeats the purpose of ramadan.

if you don’t know what ramadan is, it’s basically a holiday for muslims where we fast from sunrise to sunset, no food or drink at all. and the purpose of this is to resist desire and put yourself in the shoes of the less fortunate. the entire point of ramadan is having self discipline and fighting the urge yourself and not being tempted by a picture of food or drink etc.

keep in mind we cook/go shopping for food throughout the day so we are still surrounded by it, there is no need for you to tag it specifically for muslims. if you tag food/drink for other reason that is your business of course.

+ i’m sure nsfr was not started by a muslim person and while it is nice and lots of muslims are thankful most of us just don’t see the point because it’s on us to resist/not listen to audible music and stay away from cursing and anything nsfw. by all means you can still use it i suppose but for the most part it’s kinda useless to us. but i do encourage everyone to have appropriate tags for their nsfw obviously! but for the most part “nsfr” is pushing miss information to non muslims and it’s not really being an ally while you’re intentions are good!

if you really would want to help muslims in ramadan please educate yourself and raise awareness about what’s currently happening in france! thank you!

links:

twitter thread about nsfr & tagging food/drink

twitter thread about what’s happening in france

hijab ban petition

[ reblogs are okay! + if you would like to wish muslims a happy ramadan we say Ramadan Mubarak :) ]

u gotta be mature enough to understand that u also have some toxic traits, it’s not always the other person.

Vigil ✤ Kazuha

V i g i l

A/N: Here is the Kazuha angst, sweeties :')) I wrote this with my prepared angsty playlist hehe- I.. well, my heart cracked..

✤ She/her

Words: 3.9k

"Text in this format means dialogue in flashback!"

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

The memory of peering into the crib with excited blabbers remains fresh, untarnished with the passing of time.

It feels like it’s just yesterday when your mother reached for the wailing baby laying inside to hand him in your caring touch.

“This is your little brother, [Name].” you squealed when the boy clung unto your finger, “His name is Kazuha. Be a good sister for him, understand?”

“Yes!”

Ah, that did feel as if it was just yesterday.

“Nee-chan!”

Dropping the basket of laundry, you frantically looked around.

“Nee-chan!”

“Kazuha-!?”

He was sprinting, arms flailing as tears spilled past his eyes and panicked exclaims left his lips. His friend was chasing him from behind, laughing as he waved an undercooked fish—your brother’s worst nightmare.

Comedic but understandable.

“Tomo’s making me eat it!” your younger brother mumbled behind you, pointing accusingly towards his friend who sheepishly spluttered excuses at your stern gaze.

Taking the skewered fish in Tomo’s hands, you hummed, patting his and Kazuha’s heads.

“How about I cook something for the both of you, instead? How’s that sound?”

“Yes, please! Nee-chan’s cooking is the best!”

You can never get tired of cooking for the two of them, even if your sibling eventually asked to be taught, you find yourself still taking over cooking duty. Lovingly whipping up dishes is your forte.

It stuck around when the household eventually lost the attending servants following the fall of the Kaedehara clan. It even stuck through the grim times of your parents’ passing.

Kazuha had went through so much at a young age, changed little by little—and you aren’t oblivious to it. With his growth, you are a witness to his budding shell of maturity.

Single years fold into a decade and all of a sudden, the mirthful silverette who doesn’t last a day without calling you ‘big sister’ has grown up.

Far too quickly, to be honest, but who are you to hold him back?

“You don’t call me ‘nee-san’ nowadays,” you laugh jokingly, “My, you’ve grown so much, Kazu!”

He stares at the plates of food you set on the dining table, his sigh small and feeble as you continue gushing. Albeit he has a smile on his face, it appears tight. Forced.

But you turn a blind eye to that—you’ve always been doing it.

Now, however, it seems that your brother has grown tired of humoring you. It has been going on for too long.

“I’m not some child anymore..” his monotonous voice is so unlike him—it’s as if he no longer is the person you grew up with.

Having him address it bluntly prompts you to pause, the only sound being the sizzling of unagi meat, frying to perfection. The richness of its color, however, dulls when you process what your sibling has mentioned.

As if its vividness is an illusion meant to shield you from present-day reality.

Still, you shake it away, keeping the smile on your face as you set the fried meat on a new plate, turning to put it down on the table beside the other dishes.

“Oh, Ka-“ you stop, seeing the look in his eyes.

The way his carmine optics bore against your [c]s is foreign.

It’s scary.

It’s different. It’s new.

You sit down in front of him, trying not to show how restless you’ve become. Such an attempt is futile, of course, since you’re in front of the person you’ve been with for years.

“Kazu-“

Thud!

Silence zips your lips when he lays his chopsticks down. It isn’t by any means a slam—but someone like Kazuha doesn’t need to be outright with anything in order to express a negative opinion.

“So please refrain from initiating unnecessary coddling,” he cuts you off with a swivel as he leaves for the door. “I have grown up now, sister. I... need you less.”

What?

A multitude of emotions hit you at once, all coming from his sudden statement that feels like it can tear you apart. But oh—who were you kidding?

You know that this will eventually come.

The very day where he admits that he is capable of being alone. Without you.

The opening of the door causes you to stand from your chair, “Wait!”

He does as you said but doesn’t look back. His hand remains on the handle of the knob, unchanging of his decision to leave.

You tug the black and red scarf from your neck, inching close to the man so you can wrap it around his neck. “It’s cold outside.. won’t you at least eat something?”

It takes him a moment to respond—but his decision does not change.

He detangles the fabric on his neck and, without looking you in the eye, sets it in your hand, rejecting your offer.

“Later.”

And he’s gone.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

Nothing changed much after he left with that declaration.

Often times he still returns in the dead of night, a smile on his face. It will only ever droop when you come in the room greeting him a lovely evening, and he will sigh.

“I told you not to wait up for me.”

He will depart for his room before he can hear your explanation.

It leaves you hanging, hollow with bitter hope and refusal to believe that you both have reached that time in life where he doesn’t need you as much.

Each time he turns his back, you are filled to the brim with sorrow you didn’t know you’re capable of holding.

Retreating to the upper floor of your home, you will stay at the balcony sighing your concerns away to the stars. To the place where you believe your parents are staying, listening to your bouts of frustration and worry.

“Was I a good sibling for him, mother? Father?” you’ll sometimes mutter as you play with your silver locks, the only thing you share with your sibling other than the forgotten name of a once esteemed clan.

And as you vent all these to the stars, you remain oblivious to the lone figure hiding by the shadows in the adjacent room. His frown is tiny. Sad, but not guilty.

Kazuha will leave once again before he’ll hear his sister’s frustrated cries.

Sometimes, he will chew over it when he is wandering Inazuma—thinking, pondering if perhaps there could’ve been a way to say it without hurting his sibling. But as he contemplates over and over, he finds that there is no easy method to admitting the truth.

His friend Tomo, albeit not being told anything, is naturally cognizant of the things revolving around the silver-haired siblings. The older sister’s presence has been diminishing and he can count her appearances at Kazuha’s side getting less.

He has implied several times to make up with the female even if they had no outright argument, and when faced with a baffled question of ‘why’, Tomo only smiles.

“Because you’re family.”

So simple and yet—when Kazuha thinks of the matter a minute longer, the taste in his tongue becomes acrid.

“What upsets you?” his friend questions as he coos over his white feline, “You’re not the Kazuha who’s always crying for big sister, heh.”

The silverette cannot even find it within him to send a retort. His silence, to others, is a message that typifies a want to be alone—but to Tomo, who has known him since they’re both children, that silence is different.

With a hum, he stretches his limbs, yawning as his cat rolls around the grass.

“You know, [Name] won’t hate you for wanting it,” he starts, “You want to wander, don’t you? But you feel like you’re tied down. You’re grounded—because [Name] is here.”

Kazuha flinches and his friend snickers.

Spot on.

“I’m just going to repeat what I said because I meant it, Kazuha. Tell her the truth. She’s literally the most understanding person I know—it’s not like she’s going to despise you for wanting something.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Tomo sighs. It’s not what I was hoping for but it’s a start.

Remembering something that moment, Tomo lets out a loud scream that nearly sent his friend toppling in the nearby stream of water. Kazuha looks on with slightly wide eyes as the other man jumps to his feet, violet eyes gleaming.

“Oh, right! I plan to initiate another challenge!”

Another challenge…

Kazuha closes his eyes with a hum, “I do hope you’ll last another. You’ve been faced with the worst of the worst.”

The chuckles that leave his friend’s lips are excited and sort of expectant.

“It’s going to be the ultimate one of all! So if you’ll excuse me~”

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

Perhaps a talk with your brother will do you both good.

You’ve both been acting like strangers walking on eggshells underneath the same house and it is driving you insane. He’s not even looking you in the eye anymore!

Given his quiet personality, confrontation will be difficult, but he’s a cooperative person. Besides, he always hears you out.

There isn’t any reason for him not to when he knows that this will be done only for the betterment of the future.

So, with a nervous disposition but eager heart to settle things right, you lift the basket from its place with plans to head over to the market. It’s an hour or two before dusk, just the perfect time to shop for dinner.

“Mm.. some dry-braised salted fish for tonight sounds lovely.” You muse, remembering how the dish is your brother’s favorite.

Ah, the number of tries he takes to perfect and stylish it into his own can’t be forgotten.

It doesn’t take too long to cook it, but you’ll be making tons of other side dishes and dessert, so it’s best to start early!

You exit the abode, the smile on your face present as ever even when you’re greeted outside by a couple of Shogunate Soldiers. Their features appear sterner, their hold on their naginata rock solid.

“Are you Kaedehara [Name]?”

Hm?

“Yes. Can I help you?”

The soldiers lunge forward, spears falling to a position pointing at you from all possible angles, cutting any means of escape as you furrow your brows. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Your brother has defied the Decree of the Shogun and was hereby declared a criminal. Going against an Imperial Decree results in punishment inclusive to his immediate family.”

Your basket falls to the ground.

Thud!

Kazuha’s feet create a loud sound following his landing, a breath of panic expelling past as he rushes away.

The warmth in his hand escalates to a scalding degree, burning and searing like the fading power of Electro held within the golden casing.

To think that that was what Tomo meant.. !

He does not feel anger, no, just the burn of desperation and want to hide his friend’s Vision because he doesn’t want it to be taken away—to be placed in that statue that displays the lost ambitions of many others.

He’ll be damned before the Shogunate can take it… !

The criminal evades those at his tail, making swift maneuvers on rooftops and alleys without a second thought. His limbs are answering his every command, be it to duck, to jump—or to even draw his blade.

He is still ways away from the port but getting there won’t prove to be too complex for someone like him. He’s cut down plenty of the samurai in his escape from Tenshukaku,

Tomo…

“You’re family. Tell her.”

Family—

“This is the first one in a long time I’ve heard of it being extended-! To whom again? The clan that has lost its prestige a decade ago, right?” he almost trips in his sprinting, darting to an alleyway so he can further eavesdrop.

Did I hear that correctly?

A relieved sigh escapes when those chasing him run past his hiding spot.

Sucking in his breath, the silverette tightens his grip on the faded Vision of his best friend as he listens in the hushed conversation.

“Be quiet!” someone hisses, “If someone overhears us, what next? Still, I do feel bad.. they lost so much already. I can’t believe they’d drag an innocent person into it, too..”

“Well, there’s nothing we can do. The Shogun issued the penalty to immediate families, right? As far as I know, there are only two Kaedeharas left—”

Kazuha feels his heart stopping. Kaede..hara?

There’s no mistaking it.

But why—?

Why would a punishment meant for him extend to her?

She’s innocent!

Going off-course, he sprints in the direction of his house. The house that he lives in with his sister who takes great care of him—the same sister he’s willing to leave in favor of chasing what he wants in life.

He’s willing to, but he doesn’t.

Because perhaps—perhaps if he stayed and buried his desire, then he will amount to the same greatness she has done for him. But he cannot stand it, either. As patient as he is, as kind and ‘gentle’, [Name] can always see through his face.

He’s always been antsy—always itching to wander and he’s stumped that his sister is well-aware of that fact. Still, she’s always playing the ignorant one, pretending not to care- still coddling him as if he’s little and he’s had… enough of it.

But now that the situation has pinned this misfortune upon them, the ronin realizes that she’s only pretending for his sake, as well.

“Cut that out, I don’t need it. I fear that.. you will only embarrass yourself.”

Wasn’t it him who refused to tell her of his want to roam free in the first place?

“I understand that I am your brother—but there is no need to worry over me all the time. I can look after myself, [Name]. Do worry about something else, instead.”

Wasn’t it him who stuck around, still?

The bitterness in his tongue increases with each leap of his feet. He doesn’t even process the race of his heart as he’s carried through the same path that leads him home. To his family—to his only sister.

Everything seems to pass by slowly, in a blur, like the specks that decorate his vision the more his mind throws stacks and stacks of memories. This is madness.

Complete and utter madness.

He rounds the corner to see the figure of his only sibling, her back turned to him—she cannot see him, but he can see the armed soldiers flanking around her.

His throat tightens and certainly, he wouldn’t have been able to utter a word due to how it feels like his throat has been crushed.

“[Name]!”

Yet, the furious scream that tears past his lips denies all kinds of ‘impossibility’ the instant he sees the female falling to the ground, the sight of red splatter making him draw his blade.

Whoosh!

The summoned wind is opposingly gentle to the brewing storm in someone’s beautiful carmine eyes.

“[Name]-.. !”

That voice.. Kazuha?

Sometimes, the depth of emotion in Kazuha’s eyes is too deep for you to understand. Despite being so silent, he’s so, so expressive with his stares.

That even when he isn’t trembling when he lifts your torso, you know how much he’s quaking from within.

“What are you.. doing here? You have to go,” you cough red when he adjusts you in his arms, the sight of the fallen soldiers reminding you of the situation at hand. “Quick—before they.. catch you.”

He shakes his head,

“I’m taking you with me, I have a boat prepared, come, let’s—”

“Don’t lie to me, Kazuha.”

He pauses, flitting his gaze down to meet yours. You hate how you can’t seem to focus on him, though. Your sight is blurring in and out, only providing small intervals of clarity where you can see the panic in his features.

A sight you didn’t think you’d see on him until now.

“I know you made it for yourself. You’ve been planning to leave home, weren’t you? I’m not..” you’re not oblivious to his wish, “I’m not mad. I was only holding you back, wasn’t I?”

He sucks in a breath.

“I-I-“

What was he supposed to say?

Weakly tapping his arm, you start taking quick breaths—just to take in all the air you can while tolerating the gaping wound from being impaled.

It hurts. You want to scream. It hurts.

But you don’t—because you do not want to appear weak to your brother.

You promised mother and father that you will not cry when faced with problems—he mustn’t see, Kazuha mustn’t see. But at this moment, you just want to break apart. Disbelief is kicking in, you can’t believe this is happening.

When—where did everything go wrong?

“Besides, I’m not of use to you anymore. As if I’ll last the journey to Liyue-“

“Don’t say that!”

You blink owlishly, gasping out in pain when his hand presses against your wound, futilely attempting to hold back the bleeding.

“K-Kazuha?”

Your own hand shakily plants itself atop his own, helping him press—as if his hand isn’t heavy enough to stop the flow—it down. It will hurt, but you can’t say for sure. You’ve already grown numb and your head is swimming.

Still, you focus on him.

Still, you help him apply pressure even if you know—even if he knows—that it’s too late.

“Don’t say that. You’ve..” his voice cracks, “You’ve done so much, [Name], you-“

You took over the clan household when our parents died. You struggled to make ends meet for both of us. And yet.. all I do.. all I do is… !

Kazuha angrily bites on his lip, his hold on his composure beginning to slip as his mind throws in a reel of olden days.

“I’m leaving, [Name]. Please don’t wait up, I may take longer.”

“I’m grateful, but I don’t need that anymore.”

“Stop that, already.”

He dips his head with a muffled cry. All I do is wander and desire for a future where I can roam freely. I haven’t even thought of you..!

“You’ve grown, Kazuha,” he snaps back into this harsh reality when he feels the hand atop his disappear, presently moving to brush his messy locks.

He doesn’t know why all of a sudden his sight is becoming misty, but perhaps—perhaps it is because he remembers when his sister used to brush his hair the same way with a loving smile.

It is the same touch he flees from nowadays.

The same touch now—the same loving smile.

“As much as I hate to admit it, you’re right—you’ve grown so much.. and I’m still clinging onto the past.”

So lively, so beautiful and yet—

“You’re strong now..”

Yet it’s dying.

He presses harder on his sibling’s wound, almost sadistically—as if he’s hoping that it’ll ignite a painful reaction. “[Name], please, let me-“

Because if it hurt—then it means she’s still okay. She’s still responding.

“So capable.. so independent, you are.”

So why—? He almost chokes out a sob. Why are you not reacting to it!?

“Mother and father would be so proud of you. I am sorry if I was lacking in any way.”

“Please, [Name], you can’t do this.” He trembles, the composure he created so, so close to breaking as he gives up on endeavors that are pointless, to begin with. Instead, he tilts his head up, wishing to curse the heavens above.

For everything.

“I’m happy to be your sister, and.. I’m proud of you… Kazu..”

“Wait-“ he stumbles over his words, catching the falling hand of his sibling and registering how deathly pale she has gotten in a matter of seconds. “Wait, please—I-“

As much as he wants to voice out he’s sorry. For many things; for turning his back on her, for being distant when all they have is each other, he’s unable to find his voice when he sees the tears dripping out of his sister’s [c] eyes.

His strong older sister—weeping. It’s the first time he has seen her cry.

Her smile trembles—

“I love you. My nice.. little.. brother.”

—And her [c]s are then hidden forever.

The way she endearingly called him in her dying breath has him freezing, his heart pausing as if he had died along with her. But then the spark of pain welcomes him back to reality—to life.

And then he is leaning over her.

“[Name]..” breathless whispers escalate into panicked murmurs. “[Name]?”

His heart is pounding in his chest as he tries to shake her awake, like when he’d do when he’s eight and awake from an awful dream.

“Nee-san.. can I sleep by your side tonight?”

And although her [c] eyes are tired, she will still smile. “Okay.”

And she’d keep watch over him the whole night.

He’s reminded of it when he hopelessly shakes her awake, to no obvious avail. But he keeps grasping her arms, anyway, like he used to many years ago.

But things are different now.

“[Name]—[N-Name]!?”

He said it himself—he’s no longer a child.

“Please, don’t leave me- I- you’re all I have left!” The ronin’s composure finally breaks loose and his tears begin landing like a profuse waterfall. His uncontained sobs remain unheard.

This time, there is no one to wake him up from his nightmares.

“No—no, no- no, please..!” Kazuha weeps as he holds his sister’s cold hand, shakily pressing it to his forehead, imitating the sweet action she has always given him. A hand on his head, on his shoulder—or on his cheek if he’s tearful. “You can’t!”

She’ll tell him not to be sad because it’ll make her sad, too.

And he’ll hurriedly wipe his tears because ‘no! big sister mustn’t feel sad because of me!’.

Then [Name] will muster a smile as bright as the sun and hold his face in her warm hands, and press a kiss on his forehead. He’ll get red and thrash around, whining, ‘onee-san!’. And about how embarrassing it is so she mustn’t do it anymore.

Now, he is holding her hand in his own, trying to remember the same warmth it emitted just a day ago. Just a few hours ago. How long has it been?

And when he doesn’t feel the warmth—when he doesn’t remember the warmth, when all he feels is the cold and the obvious lack of love, Kazuha breaks apart.

His heart squeezes and his tears spill more, his lips parting to release the honorific he has dropped a long, long time ago. “Nee-san!”

“You don’t call me ‘nee-san’ nowadays,”

“Onee-san!”

“My, you’ve grown so much, Kazu!”

“Onee-san!”

I’m calling you. He cries, like a picture of misery. So why aren’t you waking up? Sister! He cries, like a heartbroken child.

The winds around him pick up, warning him of incoming men sent to apprehend and penalize him the same way they did to his sibling. It’s suffocating—maddening, even, and he wants to tear them all down himself.

But [Name] wouldn’t like that.

So, with a muted cry and bolster of willpower, he tears himself from the body of his kin, trembling.

He can hear the thundering steps of the samurai as he hurries to untangle the same black and red scarf [Name] has once attempted to give him. The same fabric he has rejected.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry.” he hugs her with all his might, with his soul, and with his heart before he’s back up on his feet and running. I love you, too, nee-san.

“Get him!” someone roars from behind.

And although he wishes to turn and slice them away, he couldn’t—because he’d be seeing the fallen figure of the same person he had neglected to cherish. So, instead, he nestles the scarf around his neck whilst clutching onto the Vision of his friend.

Down the path, he runs.

Years ago, he will be accompanied by the people he loves, chasing a faraway future.

Now he is running on the same path alone, running after a dream that can now be turned into reality.

Far from Inazuma.

Far from home.

≿————-　❈　————-≾

a/n: did it hurt-

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　Return to the Scrying Glass　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

≿————-　taglist　————-≾

@lehra @melkxsh

The Ruthless Prince (Part 16.1) Scaramouche x fem!reader [Genshin Royal AU]

Summary: When Prince Scaramouche picks you out of a random group of commoners to marry, your life is turned upside down. He’s mean, snarky, condescending and he doesn’t act like a proper husband or prince at all. However, when Prince Tartaglia from the neighbouring kingdom takes an interest in you, Prince Scaramouche finds himself even more annoyed than usual. This is the story of him and you navigating this roller coaster of a relationship.

Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD forgive me, longer than usual, lots of things happen, steamy! but completely safe for work, implied sexual activities. 16.1 because I cut out the hot parts, 16.2 will be the one that details what exactly they did *eyebrow wiggle* but it doesn’t take away anything from the story if you don’t read 16.2. It’s just a little extra for those who feel like it.

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary and a recap on the Royal AU plots are here.

Read other parts: (Ruthless Prince Masterlist)

You sit in the silence of your shared room. Glancing at the clock on the wall, it is now past the birthday celebrations. Past your usual bed time, even. 

And yet, not a wink of sleep has found you.

There’s only anxiousness and uncertainty that makes your chest tighten. It drops to your stomach, and it dissipates the slightest bit, making you think that you’ve gotten control of your emotions back, but it shoots up your stomach and wraps around your heart again. The cycle of being anxious and uncertain continues.

Scaramouche disappeared as soon as the two of you got back to the castle. He strode past the big castle doors in a hurry, and when he remembered that you were there with him he swerved around and only said one thing. “Go to sleep,” It was rather dismissive, and for a moment you wondered if going to sleep was really the only thing you could do. 

Keep reading

I think all content creators can relate to this.

In my opinion, I don’t think followers really understand how much your requests/likes/reblogs/etc. and random asks mean to me. It’s just so refreshing and nice to know that people enjoy what I’m doing and support me.

People that go the extra mile and send an ask or message letting me know they liked my stuff honestly makes my day. I love reading tags and stuff…it’s honestly so cute….

And people who ask about how I’m doing or send me random questions or cute asks….I just want you guys to know it honestly makes my day. I just love all the interaction and such. It makes running a blog so much more enjoyable.

And Fanart/Fanwork? Honestly that’s one of the greatest things to receive. To everyone that draws or writes, please don’t feel too insecure to send it end! No one is going to criticize you over quality. It’s so sweet that you even thought about making something…I will always appreciate it no matter what, and I’m sure all other content creators feel the same.

So, in conclusion, don’t be afraid to talk to your favorite blogs and show them some love, guys! We always appreciate it! ☺️

Better than you could aspire to be - Tighnari

Angst time! This is an isekai, not as long as I feared it would be. Tighnari is the one that goes into a different world, it'll make sense. Gender neutral reader, sad ending

Tighnari worked in a fast food place in his own world. See, he was a student, and the only place that would willingly take students were such places. He grew to hate this more intensely as he continued to work, somehow keeping up with his studies in botany. The smell of the food that smelled so unappetising after working around the food items for so long, the fact he had to scrub his ears to get food out that had been thrown by a rude customer, and on top of that he had people constantly pointing phones into his face and gushing over his 'cute ears'. He found himself daydreaming the day he could finally stop working in this hellhole, where he could finally enjoy his work in a field he loved.

City noises were excessive as well, the transport to his university not helping with anything apart from getting him from point a to b. Again, he knew people were taking pictures of his ears and shamelessly talking about how big they were. Some people said it must be a cosmetic, others saying that he was compensating for something else. Truthfully, he grew to despise them. The way people had no shame, the way some people even had the audacity to touch them without asking.

One day, he finished a particularly heavy shift, and he flopped onto the bed without even having the energy to stay awake. In his uniform, he tries to remind himself to change once he wakes up.

--

The next day, he wakes up in an unfamiliar forest. The flora around him didn't look familiar, the strange statue that loomed above and various other contraptions he was clueless about. He goes to check his phone, only to sigh when he realises that his phone was dead.

You hear the man call out, waking you up early, and you decide to go out to investigate. Looking over, you see a man in a strange uniform you never saw before. Sure, you usually stay in the forest, but you saw a lot of outfits on those who got lost in the forest and this was nothing like that. Walking down, you wave at the man, who looks up from the device in his hands.

"Hello! Are you lost?" You ask, seeing the man nod. "You are currently in Ghandara ville."

"Where is that?" The man asks. "I've never heard of that place."

"Sumeru? Teyvat?" You ask, the man in front of you only growing more confused. Looking down, you see he keeps glancing at the thing in his hands. "What's that?" You ask, genuinely curious.

"Oh, this is my phone. Do you have a charger handy?" The man asks, only to look more defeated when you explain you don't have one, nor do you understand what the phone was. "I'm from _, I work in McDonalds." The man explains, only to see you now confused.

"Well, I'm sure we'll figure out something!" You exclaim, hoping to cheer the man up. I am _, head forest ranger." You introduce yourself.

"Tighnari, Botany student and fast food worker." The man introduces himself.

You nod, taking interest in him stating he was a botany student where he was from.

"Well, if you'd like I can get in touch with a good friend of mine to get you into a botany course!" You start, before continuing."And you can stay here and work as a forest ranger!"

You expect Tighnari to go against the idea of being a forest ranger in an unfamiliar place, and he does hesitate for a second, but he decides to nod. Of course, you agree to train him up, and you show him to the room you were in before moving your stuff to someone else's room to stay with them.

Everyone meets Tighnari, who seems nervous for some reason. Thankfully, everyone was welcoming, saying he was sure to enjoy working as a forest ranger full time before they head off for their routes after you assign this to everyone.

--

"Please, he's really lost!" You ask, Cyno looking at you as you continue to beg him for the chance to let Tighnari into a botany course despite having no prior qualifications. "I think he's gonna be a good match for the course!"

"And how can you be so certain of this?" Cyno asks, not convinced. "Let's say he gets too attached to the world he isn't used to, as long as he wasn't lying. What happens if he wakes up back in his own world, only to miss the feeling of this one?"

"I'm sure he could adapt! He's adapted well to this one, and there's no harm in letting him in the course. Give him a shot, and if he isn't good enough then I'm fine with just taking him in as a forest ranger." You continue, Cyno closing his eyes. He knew you only spoke like this when your mind could not be changed, no matter how long the conversation lasted

"...Fine." Cyno finally lets out.

--

You work with Tighnari, and over time he gets adept with a bow. So, you decide to test him on his accuracy. To your relief, it appears he seemed to pick it up rather well, and you don't fully believe him when he claims he never used a bow before.

Turns out he was really good with his course work as well. You saw him work with his books often, even assisting other people with their own courses and keeping on top of his coursework.

The forest rangers really liked his company, and over time they grew more confident with their compliments to him.

"You're so good with that bow!"

"It's admirable how quickly you've been able to pick up these skills."

"Your medicine is better than what the head ranger does! Oh, no offence, _!"

"If _ isn't careful, you're gonna be taking the leadership role here!"

At first, you enjoyed seeing him gain confidence with these comments, but some of them really stung. You knew that while you were liked, people deemed Tighnari to be objectively better for the role of head ranger. He was doing really well with his studies, he was able to help people and keep his grades up, and on top of that he still had his spare time. You barely were able to keep up with all the withering zones, every time you turned your back one would materialise and make itself known to another ranger, and you'd have to take it on.

That was until Tighnari proved he was better with clearing these withering zones than you.

It felt like he was trying to make you feel awful for your lack of competency in your work, but he was incredibly friendly. You knew he was only trying to help, and that's what kept you from just giving up and giving him the position. So, you keep reminding yourself that these pointers you've been giving to Tighnari have helped him, and you were the one who got him onto that course.

--

Cyno sends you a letter, stating it was urgent. When you let everyone know you had to visit someone, you see them brush it off before they turn back to Tighnari. You don't spare a second glance, heading off as you hear someone talk about a dendro vision. As much as you wanted to talk, when Cyno required you it was never ideal.

--

Cyno looks particularly unnerved as he gazes at this portal in front of him. Turning, he spots you, and he waves you over.

"This is what I was warning you about." He explains. "This is Tighnaris world. I would have sent you with Tighnari himself, however that won't be ide." He explains, sighing out.

"Huh? But why is that a problem?" You ask, tilting your head.

"Since Tighnari obtained a vision, sending him back to his world would be less than ideal." Cyno states. "We need to send someone in his place. Or else, this portal won't go. He continues, looking over at you.

The look in his eyes is all you need to know.

"Oh man..." You huff out. "I have to go, don't I?"

Cynos eyes widen, shaking his head.

"Not necessarily, all we need is a non vision wielder." He begins. "We could send one of-"

"I'll go." You nod, Cyno opening his mouth as he tries to speak. "I was the one that worked so hard to keep him here, so I see it as fair."

You were also very insecure over Tighnari being classed as better than you in every way, but you don't dare tell Cyno this.

"...I'll miss you, you know." Cyno admits, a sad smile as he realises you were going to go even if he advocated against this. "Is there any way I can convince you-"

You shake your head, stopping Cyno.

"The feeling is returned." You admit.

Before you walk through the portal, taking Tighnaris place in his world, you give your best friend one long hug.

Ateez x maze runner au sounds nice

Mercy ✤ Xiao

A/N: After months, finally, another platonic angst lands. Are you dearies prepared? :")) Onwards!

✤ Mentions of death, violence, and blood

"Text in this format is a dialogue in flashback."

Words: 11k

Memories.

Oh, the significance they hold.

They say a moment should always be treasured—for that transient second can only be relived once… until it is but a part of the past.

To the unaging, these moments are treasures. Locked away and kept safe in a chamber full of many a different fortune.

To the ‘immortals’, these are but scenes that constitutes only a small percentage of their eternity. They are bound to be remembered, never to be forgotten.

There is beauty in remembering, though.

After all, aren’t happy times meant to be reminisced over in the first place?

Ah… but there also exists, in the parallelism of yin and yang; dark and light, good and evil.

Sanctuary and prison.

Comfort and torment.

Joy and misery.

“Brother,” you call him. Gentle, thoughtful.

Throughout the thousands of years, you have grown to be shrewdly cognizant of these mirrors—these parallels. The warm color of golden irises belies the coldness they hold within as he turns, begrudged.

Unwilling. Almost disdainful.

Unbefitting for someone bound with you by blood.

Ah, these parallels.

“What do you want?” he answers you. Guarded and apathetic.

It looks like you won’t be able to share a meal with him again. You’ll have to try again… later.

How can you not be aware of them?

You smile bitterly, “… Nothing.”

His scowl deepens, “Then leave me be.”

When you both exist as each other’s opposites?

It has been like this ever since the day you have opened your eyes to meet those of his; a pretty gold, warm yet guarded. You don’t share any similar features with him, only the same ichor that runs within.

You can’t say that you’re both particularly close to start with, because you’re not. There is always some sort of rift that divides the plane you’re both standing on, frozen and unmoving.

Still, in spite of the distance between you, animosity never exists.

You can never hate your own kin and based on the junctures when he’s gruffly ascertaining your physique after a nasty fight, he doesn’t hate you, either [right?]

That’s a good thing, no?

From the moment you learned how to fly and balance yourself in the air, he’s been more attentive, almost proud—but you’re not sure. All you can remember is the time he looked so happy.

But that had been millenniums ago and he never really solidified whether he was elated over your self-taught flight or not.

For Xiao never speaks out on his feelings, so you do the same, thinking that it’d only be bothersome and you’d hate to subject trivial things unto him. Not when he’s done so much for you.

“Why are you still here?” the entrance of his voice yanks you from your headspace and you flinch, seeing him glower at you. “And why have you transformed and left your cage?”

He sounds particularly brusque, on the fine line of snapping with aggro. You cannot avoid the second flinch, aware that he doesn’t take kindly when rules meant to keep you safe are broken.

All endeavors to retrieve the courage you’ve brought are successful and you sigh. “I just… well, you’ve been out here for so long.”

I miss you.

Is what you’re trying to say—but you don’t, because he doesn’t like things like that.

All platonic sorts of advances such as mere hugs and touches are avoided and dismissed as a nuisance. He’s always been indifferent to those, but after the War… he’s just become completely against it.

Besides, the two of you aren’t that close to begin with, but after the cataclysm and almost being put in a state of incapacitation, his presence grew more.

How can you not feel as though he’s home, itself?

Xiao’s stare becomes sterner, as though he can’t believe the words spilling from your lips. “Naturally, this is my duty; to protect and remain vigilant. Respites contradict that.”

You swallow thickly, a little peeved that he’s still spouting things about the contract and his duty to Liyue as if the rise of the Liyue Qixing didn’t nullify his contract binding him to Morax.

“Rex Lapis is gone,” you do not stop even when his gaze becomes dangerous, “He has terminated the contracts that bound the Adepti to protect Liyue for its citizens have grown stronger.”

He finally turns your way, and you would’ve been elated that you have gotten his whole attention if not for the ugly cause of it. “I do this out of my own volition.”

“And you don’t think to just… rest? For a while? Liyue can last a day without your watchful eye.” When he directs his sight elsewhere without an answer, you grumble, letting disbelief and annoyance cloud your rationality.

“Everything doesn’t have to be Liyue or that stupid contract—”

It happens in a blink of an eye.

“Watch your tongue.” There’s a huge gust of wind that blows your way with a snappy turn of his head towards your direction and the glow of his eyes have gotten menacing.

“Until this day, I continue to do my duty as reverence to the Archon who saved us. Have you forgotten?”

To this, you fall silent, nibbling on your lips, agitated.

For the record, you haven’t forgotten. How could you?

“He’s the same Archon who showed you mercy and you think to belittle his only remuneration for it?” Xiao all but hisses through gritted teeth, appearing beyond pressed at the implication of the contract being nothing but a nugatory matter worth turning over.

You observe the way his fingers twitch, restrained from clenching into fists in an obvious way to quell his growing anger. That’s right, he’s always so miffed whenever someone talks about the Archon.

An understandable thing, really—but can’t he see where you’re coming from?

You only wanted his time, too.

So even if shame prickles your chest—because the mercy Morax has shown you is not a simple thing and you should be grateful, which you are—you stand your ground.

“I served him, too.” You manage to say through the exacerbating cloud of exhaustion within. “In case you’ve forgotten, brother, I am an Adeptus. I fought for him, too!”

You do not remember much of the fighting, but you do know that you fought for Morax’s side eventually.

Breath starting to hitch and falter, you pause, your shaky hand clinging onto the wooden railings of the balcony to keep yourself upright.

The telling signs of deterioration and death are enough to prompt you to transform into your avian form and rest in the gilded cage, but you don’t.

Not yet.

You exhale, “Was that not enough?”

If your brother has gotten alarmed of your state, then you don’t know—your eyesight is already blurring.

“It never was.” Is his response, cold.

You feel your heart dropping—but deep down, you know that it’s true.

It’s far from being enough.

“After obtaining power that you used to smite the helpless and the dreamless, did you think your measly centuries-long service was enough after he saved you?”

Trapped in the usual harrowing haze brought by the repercussions of that mentioned power, you can feel it starting to pick away at your mind again.

It drapes you over in its shadow of death, and you feel yourself losing, but-

“I—”

“Stop being selfish, [Name].” just seeing him walk away—marking the end of another imbroglio—reawakens the fire in your chest. Providing sufficient fortitude for you to exclaim in retaliation.

“I did it for the both of us!” he pauses in place.

Your head splits at the sudden rise of your volume, unused to the chaos like you were centuries past. It almost sends you fainting, but despite your wobbling legs, you stay standing.

His attention once more grasped in the transience of a second, you say again, this time with a voice as feeble as a sickly child.

“… I did it for you, brother.”

Though it ended up being useless.

He doesn’t turn around, even when you are at your most vulnerable; showing a side you haven’t shown to anyone, not even him, until now.

You believe you’ve gotten to him, you believe it has done an impact—that he’ll stay for once.

“I didn’t ask for you to do it.”

But of course, he won’t.

His frigid response, dipped with potent insouciance, almost sends you to your knees in defeat and loss. How can he sound so uncaring? How can he… not care?

Do you really mean so little? Compared to his duties? That he can’t even spare a day?

Xiao begins to vanish in black and turquoise wisps, signs of his teleportation skill at use, and you all but crumble at the sight.

Even with the hazardous threat of total decay, you step forward, wanting to reach out to him but you don’t let go of the railings.

If you do, you will fall. And you have a feeling that he won’t catch you if he did.

“I’ll join you.” Your weak insistence makes him scoff.

“If this is your way of redeeming yourself, then it’s ridiculous.”

His words stab through you like the repercussions of the power you greedily sought for a long time ago. Only, his hurts more—for his cuts through the fiber of your very existence and burns the blood you share with him.

Without looking back at you, he declares.

“You’re now nothing more but a carapace of the warrior you’ve been. You’ve gotten weak, you’re not meant for anything in the battlefield.”

The battlefield; the only place you could have shown your worth and aid. The only place where you can help. But not now, not ever.

Unable to find both the strength and voice to muster a reply, you remain wordless, too busy trying to regain your breathing. Cold sweat runs down the expanse of your temple, dripping down your chin and onto the floorboards that are starting to swarm with black and cyan.

“Leave.” comes his command. “You’re just being absurd, straining yourself this way.”

The balcony gets colder, telling of the lack of his presence. His presence that, albeit perceived as cold, has a vestige of warmth. A trace of who he had been, millenniums ago.

At his disappearance, you allow yourself to succumb to the weakness, dropping to your knees and leaving the form of a human.

It is beyond exhausting to stay in that physique, a vessel often used to fight.

You don’t know what compelled you to appear to him in it—maybe it’s because it’s how you’re usually around him back then? Back when you were untarnished by the corruption of a power so malefic? You don’t know.

The glow of [c] dies down and the world has gotten bigger, as expected given your small avian shape. Decay’s prognosis is thwarted and slow, as it’s always been whenever you take up on your original form.

Your human vessel speeds it up, hence its limited usage.

Aside from approaching your brother today, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been human.

You mean humane, whispers the demon in your head.

A phantasmagoric devil, a remnant of the god you foolishly served. Thinking about her just makes your insides churn.

Dispelling the delusory fiend, you take flight, heading towards the lower and vaster balcony, right at the level where the front desk and Verr is.

Facing the view of Liyue, near the threshold to the interior, hanging by the beams is a cage embellished in gold.

Its elaborate decoration often attracts people, awed at the décor and the little [c] bird inside. You do not mind them, for you are asleep most of the time. They marvel over the intricacy of the aureate cadre, unaware of the salubrious and restorative enchantments set upon the container itself.

Entering the cage with ease, you drop onto soft [c] padding blanketed with mounds of fabric that mimics a bed. Immediately, inside the enclosure, the exhaustion and threat of staying outside is ceased—and serenity fills your whole being.

It’s peaceful, you denote as you’re slowly being brought to a slumber. However, even with the comfort brought by the golden jail, your heart thrums with unease.

Your mind paints the image of your dear brother.

There is a reason why you stay locked up in it, despite it being an actual representation of both a prison and a sanctuary.

You fall asleep with a tear slipping from your closed eye.

It delays the indemnifying declension that was born out of a past desire.

“Lower your stance a little more, feet square on the ground. They direct your movements.”

Kicking his polearm into his grip, he mimics your stance and, with a swift revolve on the terrain, his feet skid with finesse. It sets the foundation of his next course of action, dragging his body to twist with spruce and power at the same time.

You watch it, astounded.

Your awe comes out in a prolonged ‘oh’, succeeded by silent yet rapid claps.

Alatus huffs at it and he looks more uncomfortable than thankful, but the tips of his ears are flushed cerise. He would’ve been teased a ton if you’re not aware of the fact that he dislikes it so much.

Add to that the reason that you aren’t that close to be actually teasing him…

Outside the intrinsic mutualism that acknowledges the other as kin, and outside the days where you both spend it training, your interests with him do not align. So, it’s often a little awkward, in the sense that it feels like you’re in an estranged bond.

Despite it, however, you want to be close to him. Your family.

Your attention is retrieved when you see your polearm being flung your way and you gasp, hurrying to catch it in your arms and—success! Oh, you don’t know what you’d do if you failed to catch your own weapon… the embarrassment.

Alatus nods at you with folded arms, situating himself above a rock a few paces away from his previous place.

“Go. Do it until you perfect it.”

“Eh?”

He means he’ll watch you train? Oh dear, well, all the more to give this your best shot!

Moving your extremities to the proper position you’ve been displayed with a moment ago, you breathe in deeply and clutch the polearm before swinging with a cry.

“Hah!”

You’ve been alive for a millennium, and for ages, you can only recall how you’ve been at your brother’s side and vice versa. The snippets of your childhood are forgotten in the mist within, only being able to reminisce about your first day of flight.

A flight that you shared with him. And that’s where your memory stops.

Throughout the years, you’re never at one place, either. Maybe it’s because of your avian nature—ironic, since you both venture the lands in human forms—but traveling the world comes as an innate purpose.

You enjoy the freedom, and you know your brother does, as well.

Just the simple thought of taking to the skies without anything to lag you by is cathartic, much more if you actually do spread your wings to embrace all that the wind has to offer.

And the skies, always tinctured a marvelous azure, is your home.

You can stare at it from below forever and observe the rolling clouds without ever getting bored. For when the firmament is stroked with the oranges of a sunset and the navy of a night, there is always a new story to tell.

A new chapter to begin with—a new day to look forward to.

Although you don’t fly that much anymore—choosing to walk the earth with your kin—you still look forward to the day you’ll scour it once more. And maybe you can even ask your brother to join you, preferably when you get the courage and stop being so awkward.

Fate has listened to you, it seems.

Because the day do arrive; when you fly in the sky with him. Only, you hoped the reason could’ve been different.

For when you flew, the sky was not a tranquil blue, but a portentous red.

“What was that?”

It’s the first thing you ask when he enters through the curtain of leaves isolating the interior of the cave—your temporary lodgings—from the outside world.

He doesn’t look injured but does appear roughened up like he’s gotten the privilege of being a safe witness to a slaughter.

You kind of don’t even want him to answer, your breath held in as you observe the way he tenses and relaxes, unsure what to do.

He looks uncertain himself—as if he can’t believe what he’s seen or heard. What he says next makes your skin turn pallid.

“War.” His answer is strained, “There’s a war.”

A war—a war.

So suddenly? When Teyvat was at peace all this time?

“We need to leave.” Alatus begins to pace around the cave, mumbling things to himself that you can’t catch. Seeing him this frantic only fuels your own dread.

You are just about to propose leaving that instant when he looks at you with a pointed stare. “I’ll search for routes that aren’t overtaken by battles and warriors. Pack whatever rations we have left.”

“What? That takes no more than a minute! Let me join you after—”

“No.” His tone gets stern, and if it isn’t for the plea in his eyes, you would’ve thought him callous. “Stay here, do you understand me?”

Torn, you nibble on your lip, aggravated at the dilemma.

All you know is that sending him off alone is a risk, even when maybe the war hasn’t reached this place yet. You want to argue with him further, but you also know that it will only use up time that could be spent ascertaining a route out of here.

Dropping your head in your hands, you expel a resigned sigh. “Please be quick.”

He doesn’t say anything, only moving past the drapes of leaves to start what he plans to do.

The moment he’s gone, you get to work, doing as you’re told and gathering whatever little rations you’ve acquired on your journey here. And as expected, it doesn’t take any longer than a minute or two.

By the time two tiny bags are set and prepared to be taken, you are still alone in the cave along with the light through the curtain that’s gradually beginning to decline.

It is sundown.

Soon, night will fall—the time where the dark begins to prey, and consequently, the witching hour when all who is attuned to their powers are stronger.

“Brother!”

Alatus stumbles into the cave, panting with his eyes seemingly unable to focus. His polearm is at the ready, clasped in a gloved hand that tremors every now and then.

He holds out a hand to stop you from touching him.

“Don’t,” he breathes once then lets his weapon vanish into gold dust. “I can take care of myself.”

Oh you don’t doubt that at all, but he’s looking as if he’s a painting of a red sea.

“You’re bleeding!”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Your fusses are dismissed with a shake of his head. “This isn’t my blood.”

That halts you in place, the hand that is about to touch his shoulder pausing in midair. Then, tentatively, you rise your gaze, meeting a golden stare that still looks out of it. You curse, withdrawing your hand and apologizing.

He must still feel shaken up, you shouldn’t intrude his space.

“It’s fine,” Alatus says, voice low yet grim. “Let’s go, now.”

Where, exactly? You wanted to ask as he exits through the drape of leaves once more.

And can we even outrun a war?

You don’t know—you can’t say for sure.

There’s no telling whether there’s even a sanctuary to go to, but you kept your mouth shut, not risking the chance to upset your brother further.

He doesn’t need a burden, not when he’s already doing so much to look after the two of you.

The outside world lacks its usual serenity.

The greens have gotten dull, receptive to the damage being done on the terra. You’ve no doubt that someplace else, the pretty viridescent can no longer be distinguished underneath all the red.

Because of a war.

War. Just even thinking of it makes your skin crawl. You’re afraid.

War results to loss, there’s almost never a winning side—aren’t all victories pyrrhic? You don’t want to engage in one to find out.

The cold wind makes you shiver, fingers suddenly unable to remain still at the nipping fear in your heart. You do not feel good, you don’t feel good at all—it’s as if you are subconsciously aware of an omen.

You hope that whatever it may be, it won’t come your way.

But fate seems to be less merciful. Perhaps it’s because it deems your situation unfair; you are safely avoiding battle, whilst the others are falling left and right.

It dawns like the burning sun, fate’s punishment.

In your travels, eluding the imminence of war, creatures born of twilight have risen from the soil. Their woes and regrets that have morphed into mordant vice are bemoaned, reverbing in the night.

They are creatures you’ve both have no experience in fighting.

And they’re everywhere.

The both of you have successfully fought your way into escaping, but you are far from being unscathed. The gash on your side is huge, calling the need for rest—to hide.

Although a hiding spot has been found, that does not mean that you are entirely in the green light. For some reason, the creatures are prowling everywhere, on the chase for something—or someone—and will not rest upon retrieving it.

It is the sound of their growls that pushes your brother to leave again, much to your protests.

“You’re injured, too.” you insist but he does not budge, eyeing your nasty injury that doesn’t seem to heal no matter the number of days that have passed.

“If I don’t fight, they will find us,” states Alatus, the tone of his voice implying no room for persuasion nor arguments.

You almost claw your hair out as you rise to stand—only to be forcefully laid down again.

You all but raise your voice at it.

“You’re far injured than I am!” your voice stuns him to silence as you point at his body, littered with wounds of various sizes. “I know how to fight, let me go, instead.”

If only you wholeheartedly mean it—because you don’t. You’re afraid.

War—war scares you, and those creatures, they aren’t normal, they reek of evil. You do not want to suffer a fate under their claws, but you can’t just send your brother out there, either.

Alatus looks at himself, assessing the gravity of his injuries—then huffs, in amusement? You can’t tell.

“This is nothing to me.”

He says this, yet you can hear him grunting in the night after he returned bearing double the number of wounds on his figure, hissing from the obvious pain he thought he’d been discreet at hiding.

Is he forgetting who you are?

You may not be that close with him like how normal siblings are meant to be, but you are bound by blood.

You can feel yourself growing faint at the sight of him being so weak, putting himself responsible for the both of you. As if you couldn’t fight.  

No matter how much you tell him to switch, he always seems to have an extra reserve of power to shut you down and depart before you could. He leaves with the rise of each sun and returns when the moon is at its peak, when the shadows overcome the light and are present to mask his presence.

He’s hurting and you’re resonating with his pain. It hurts to see him leak blood.

Is the fighting that bad for him to come home half-dead every single night?

You must help him, you need to help him, what kind of sibling would you be if you don’t? You know how to fight and you’ll be putting that to good use.

But things are easier said than done.

Sparring is different from war, where blood is spilled without a second thought and no such thing as ‘time out’ exists.

Perhaps he’s aware that you’re actually terrified—because even if you can fight, you’re afraid, and it’s that fear that becomes your weakness. Renders you useless.

Maybe he knows that hence why even though he’s grunting in the night, he leaves to keep you safe.

You’re ashamed, you’re guilty, and you’re fearful-

“Brother…”

But nothing scared you the most when one night, Alatus comes inside the alcove barely conscious, looking like an exact picture of the time he came bearing news of war.

The only difference? He’s covered in his own blood.

Getting to work fast, you seize the remaining bandages—that he insisted you use for yourself—and do your best to clean his lacerations.

At some point, you have to sneak out and stealthily gather some water from the nearby pond whilst evading the eyes of those creatures.

They are endless.

Alatus is running a terrible fever that refused to go down even though the days have come and go, shivering even when you’ve thrown bundles of fabric that you’ve ransacked from empty camps.

His wounds are yet to heal, just like yours, the fair skin lost in an ugly shade of violet and yellow.

They aren’t normal at all, instead acting like hexes.

They are painful, but you’re sure as hell that your pain isn’t tantamount to the one your brother feels.

When he doesn’t wake up on the third month, you have learned to cry, shaking in place, away from the war, hidden in a cave where demise will eventually prowl at.

You are mad for a handful of reasons, but above all, you are so, so afraid.

There comes the first stroke of realization; you and Alatus, so, so different from one another.

Perhaps, if you have been as courageous as he, as vigilant and fortified—things could’ve been different. But no, you didn’t insist more, didn’t try to persuade him otherwise.

Look where that has led the two of you.

You can’t believe that it has to take him being in a vegetative state for you to be able to crawl out of that stupid cave and fight for him as he did for you.

You do not know why you were so struck with cowardice—is it because of death? Or the fear of letting him down?

Maybe because he’d think less of you as his kin if you fail, so you never tried?

You wish you had an answer, but it doesn’t arrive.

Even if you pierce your polearm in the chests of those twilight-borne creatures and watch them disperse into ash, you are not delighted with an answer to your fear.

Nor an answer to the remedy that will cure you and him of your supernaturalesque wounds.

Will you both really perish this way? Heavens, you pray not—there’s much to do.

You search for a cure, every day and every night, returning only to your brother’s side when you are too fatigued. You have managed to stay alive and awake, miraculously not falling prey to the enticing slumber that took your kin in its hold.

You hope for a remedy, hope for the day it’ll be discovered—but with each rising moon, your hope dwindles. Everything seems to be set in stone.

Death is the only thing that awaits the two of you at the end of the road.

“You want to help your brother, don’t you?”

Until she came along; your savior.

“What of it? It’s not like you can give me what I wish for.”

She has come to greet you in the middle of the battlefield when another fight has ended and you remain standing. A pyrrhic victory, for in the finale, demise will still come to greet you.

“Let us join forces, my dear. I will give you all that you need.”

She has your attention.

“It’s impossible.” You whisper, for you desire for plenty; for enough courage because until now you are afraid. For enough power so that you can protect your brother, too. “What are you to be able to do that?”

It is too good to be true—and you should’ve been wary, but she emanates such a sincere aura that wants to help.

And how can you deny such a tempting offer, still? How can you overlook the prospect of joining hands with an almighty—

“A god.”

With her—everything can be possible.

The relief you felt when she held your hand and your wounds vanished in an instant—she can cure Alatus, too…!—and the comfort of having a kind god… maybe…

“… Alright.”

“Very well.”

She smiles, raising her hand—so, so cold—to brush against your cheek, wisps of the power you desire being welcomed by your skin, seeping into your body and into your bloodstream.

Your eyes open to the feel of something brushing against your feathers, careful as though they’ll hurt you.

It’s still in the dead of night, but you know that sensation anywhere—that presence, the gentle hold you’ve gotten used to after having to live in a gilded cage.

Brother?

The small of your [c]s peer up, meeting a golden gaze. Xiao stops caressing your little form, the pad of his thumb that has brushed away a cold tear withdrawing.

You chirp, tiny beak reaching to peck his fingers—in an attempt to bring him back—that moves to leave the birdcage. Why does he retreat every single time?

As if pitying your endeavors, the Yaksha lets his hand stay for a bit longer, allowing you to snuggle in his cupped palm. His touch is always so comforting.

It is one that he barely does, so relish the few seconds of that blessing.

To your dismay, those seconds feel shorter than usual, because he’s drawing his hand back before you can even squeak and vanishing without so much as a goodbye. Your heart drops again.

But you should be used to this.

You should be thankful that he even holds your tiny form whenever he wishes to. But you want him nearby, you want to close the rift that separates you from him. You want to be closer.

He is your only family—and after that bit in the Chasm…. Oh, you don’t even want to think about it.

Pushing the door to the cage open, you stretch your wings out then flew, traveling a short yet exhausting distance to the upper balcony. Xiao already stands there, paying no mind to your arrival as though he has anticipated this.

“What do you want?” he asks as soon as the [c] light has faded and your human form has appeared once more.

His abrasiveness does not deter you—it is the sight of his flesh wounds that do the trick, open and leaking with adeptal blood.

You swallow at the sight of it, being reminded of the state he had been in the early years of the Archon War.

You think that he won’t entertain you if you came up to him with your usual words, so you decide to stray with a tiny white lie.

“Dandelions…” you answer directly, though a little shy. “And cecilias…”

It isn’t a complete lie, per se, for you do miss those exotic flowers.

Though they hail from the foreign nation of Mondstadt, you used to fly to the cliffs and greens of the city of wind to nestle in the breezy floras.

But as you are right now, you are incapable of leaving for too long.

The Yaksha eyes you at the side, nose crinkling in bewilderment. He probably didn’t expect that answer and instead believes it to be a bluff. He isn’t completely wrong, either.

His prolonged silence makes you sigh.

“Stop fighting.” You finally convey the words dying to roll off your tongue, “I don’t want you getting hurt.”

I don’t want you to continue suffering more than this.

He answers you immediately with a scoff. “Impossible.”

Of course it is.

“I just want you nearby.” You try a different approach, though you mean the reason all the same. Your voice has gotten softer, a little more shy than usual. “Is that so much to ask for?”

Compared to before, this time, his answer is not instantaneous.

You’re not certain if he’s not speaking because he doesn’t have a response, or because he simply doesn’t want to. He keeps his gaze straight forward, into the nights of Liyue where everything is at peace.

All but you two.

When at long last, he’s finally able to respond, it is not towards your later statement.

“Stop asking for ridiculous things, my war is eternal. There is nothing you can do about it.”

The prick on your chest begins far too sooner than you expected. You still mustn’t have recovered to an acceptable extent.

The growing pain tempts you to revert back, but you don’t, because then, you wouldn’t be able to speak.

“Why can’t you let me help you?” you pry, daring a step forward.

Closer, closer to the rift that divides you both.

“Help?” Xiao’s voice is strangely wistful, but then he shakes his head. “… That’s absurd.”

You do not miss the slight crack in his visage that told you of his vulnerability—the same one you found when he collapsed in your arms after returning bloody and beaten in the War.

How can you turn a blind eye to it?

How can you turn a blind eye to him?

With assurance, you reach your hand out, just like he did to you a while ago. You want to hold him, you want to comfort him—even if he’s at an unending war, you will carry it with him. It’s only natural.

You are siblings.

“Don’t,” Xiao snarls, voice dripping with a threat. “Don’t touch me.”

The pain in your chest squeezes.

“Brother—" you plea, but-

“What we’ve become is inevitable.” The way he said it so monotonously freezes you in shock.

There is not an ounce of guilt in his tone as he highlights the pathetic outcome of your relationship with him after the war.

A war that has strained a bond that was awkward to bloom—where now, there is a division that separates the two of you.

“It cannot be annulled.”

A rift that is impossible to cross over.

You feel your breath leaving you.

“So,” you rub at your eyes, looking away in fear that he’ll catch the glossing of your eyes and deem you weaker than you already are. “You aren’t willing to try to- to fix… this?”

What’s become of us?

Xiao looks at you for the second time that night—and the shadow over his visage makes it difficult to see the expression he wears. But his answer is sufficient enough.

“It is useless to fix what is already broken.”

And just like that—the hope you’ve been attempting to keep alive in your heart shatters, but the gravity of such an impact is caught in a delay.

You are unable to feel it at first, for there is an evident stutter in the process of understanding how far you are from your brother.

It is only when Xiao turns to disappear were you able to feel the extent of his words—the knife that stabs through in order to claw out your heart. It hurts.

You fall to the floor, trembling from exhaustion—literally and emotionally.

The thrum in your chest sends a lump to rise at your throat, firm and telling of the damage your heart has received.

It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to try and fix the space dividing you from him. It hurts to think that you are the only one who wants to help the other heal.

Gasping for air, you feel the floor with your shaking hands, willing yourself to transform back into the meek and fragile form you’ve always been.

All traces of courage having dispersed the instance you were shot down.

It hurts.

.

.

The following day, you are unable to see Xiao anywhere.

Perhaps he is concealing himself away, or maybe he truly is occupied conquering and purging the land of the obstinacy known as bygone gods.

You do not know—it isn’t like he tells you anything.

Waking up in the cage you call your home, the assumption from last night that you will open your eyes feeling drained and helpless is ostensibly false.

Because although the feeling of being deprived of vitality is true, you do not feel as helpless as you thought you’d be.

Maybe other than blood, stubbornness is what you share with him.

Hence why you decided to take a venture past Wangshu and head into the heart of the harbor, seeking the man you know holds olden wisdom and judgement in all his glory.

It isn’t hard to meet him, given it isn’t a busy day.

It took you great courage to speak up and hold your ground against your brother, but it takes an even bolder heart to meet the eyes of the ex-Archon who at one point held your fate in his hands.

But he appears to have mellowed now—gotten even wiser if that’s possible.

He is surprised to see you, understandably so, but made no such things to send you off, which led to tea being shared in the morning as he listened to your entreaties in silence.

“I see, so you are worried over your brother, still.” He does not sound at all flabbergasted that this is why he’s approached, humming.

You wait for more of his words, biting back the urge to tell him all that he knows that instant. And as if the deity has been attuned to your wishes, he indulges you, setting the teacup down with a clink that sounds within the secluded room in the funeral parlor.

It’s morbidly expedient; to talk in such a place when the crux of the conversation involves history and deaths.

“Do you know why he considers his duty eternal?” Zhongli lifts his stare to meet yours, the action making you swallow and answer a short while after.

“Because of a contract?”

You are aware that he isn’t trying to be intimidating with his stare—it is just that you have grown accustomed to looking into those ambers that once exuded undisputed command.

Although who sits before you now is not the Geo Archon, but someone trying to blend in with the mortals, you cannot see him for the human he tries to be.

“Partially.” He admits though it contradicts the subtle shake of his head. “But there is another reason.”

Another…? Unaware of the subconscious tightening of your fists, you break off the eye contact, moving your sight to the peaceful surface of the hot tea in the cup within your hands.

To be submerged in it will feel relieving—at least then, underwater, everything that you hear will be obscured. A semblance of a sanctuary, to hide from the truth and the answer you fear yet seek all the same.

As though cognizant of your hesitance, the man on the other end of the table keeps quiet, yet still fixates his stare on your person. Waiting to deliver what you came to him for.

And when [c]s strikes against gold, it is set in stone. He answers.

“Sacrifice.”

It shouldn’t be surprising, really; sacrifice, though ruinous and lamentable at best, isn’t considered uncommon in Teyvat.

Sacrifices exist and happen every single day; from the loss of time in order to do something, to the loss of chances and opportunities that could’ve opened a different path, and plenty more.

But for an immortal—sacrifice is far too grave of a word to associate with.

“[Name],” you stiffen at his call, “Do you ever not wonder why he agreed to be a Yaksha? Why most of your memories of the War is entrapped in a fog that refuses to disperse?”

Sacrifice is something that holds meaning and influence over one’s life.

Floundered, you pick away at the handle of the cup. “Because you asked him to?”

You don’t answer his later question, aware that your perfunctory response is sufficient enough to answer both.

He nods. “Yes, but even I had a reason for asking him.”

A reason, so he means that there’s something else other than the superficial invite to be an elite warrior. Another meaning under the agreement to be a Yaksha.

Zhongli moves, carrying his cup with him as he takes a seat on the chair next to yours. He then extends his hand for you to take wordlessly and you clench your fists once more, skeptical.

There is a voice in your head advising you not to do it, but you must if you ever want to find out what that reason is.

And when you take his hand, there’s a painful tingle erupting from the tips of your fingers, coursing through your blood, rushing into your mind and opening memories you didn’t know you had until now.

The corrosive decay from the cursed blessing is momentarily abated, bringing about a reel of a familiar yet forgotten tragedy.

That lady on the battlefield—she who is adorned with smiles and wears red as her primary choice of color, is your savior. At least, on the face of it.

When you’ve come to allow her to bless you—and bless you she did—you are instantly healed of your supernatural wounds and there’s no doubt that your brother was, too, because that was what’s agreed on.

You felt the gratifying enchantment of the power you sought, running within your bloodstream and filling you to the brim with a taste of affluent omnipotence.

With that power, you returned to a frantic warrior who’s up on his feet, cured of his afflictions. 

With that power, you have gotten stronger—stronger than you could possibly ever imagine and your fear of the war has dwindled until it is nulled.

With that power, you are able to satiate the desire to keep Alatus safe, as he has done with you.

But that power… you realize, as you stare once more at the familiar sight of fatal wounds on your unconscious kin one night, is still not enough.

So, you cast about for the lady in red once more, and there she is awaiting, again, in the middle of the battlefield. Waiting for you with a knowing smile.

“This power is insufficient.”

“Then foster it.”

“How?”

Dreams. Ambitions, hopes, and wishes.

All those that are created by the heart’s desire, all those that human beings thrive upon to look forward to another day. They are the requisites—they are the ensilages to the development of your blessing.

So, seek them out.

And sought you did.  

When the advent of nightfall has come and all are asleep, you prey upon humans, feeding on their dreams and hopes. Using them to enhance the gift you’ve been given.

It’s fine, right?

After all, you’re doing it to protect your brother. Those humans will understand, it isn’t like they can’t understand the meaning of necessities.

“Don’t you want more?” she had smiled.

You do.

“Then go, my dear.”

So, you went.

Those dreams, so positive and hopeful, they taste delightful. Unbelievably scrumptious, addicting and leaving you craving.

It’s fine, right?

With each delectable dream, you grow powerful. As what’s promised.

Alatus—dear brother—is barely even scathed nowadays. A monster will be cut down before they can even think of harming him. Oh, how overjoyed you are.

Oh, how powerful.

Oh, how fearless—how valiant you’ve become.

This is it, the crescendo of your being.

This is what you’ve been looking for; the missing piece to combat the petty fear of war. Power. It is all that you needed.

It is all that you ever desired. Nothing more, nothing less.

But there lies a fault in the path you’ve chosen.

A fault you realized far too late, when the last vestiges of your moral alignment have come to convey the epiphany that you are being strung along to the whims of the smiling lady.

When you have confronted her about it, barely rational, instead high, drunk, and delirious on the sweet, sweet blessing [curse], you are far too gone.

That power has become strings, threads to puppeteer you the way she wishes to.

You dislike it—but the power… did you really dislike the power?

Salvation is nowhere in sight.

At least, not in the form of –

“Let her go.”

The one you tried so hard to protect.

You can hear his voice by the skin of your teeth, an almost muted decibel. What strikes like drums against your ears, however, is the sardonic simper.

“You’re in no position to make demands, dear.” she hummed, “But I have been waiting for you. Why don’t you say hi to your sister, doesn’t the red make her look prettier?”

Red? What is she talking about? You are barely conscious—not in the sense that you are falling into a slumber, but more like you do not feel… you.

A vignette overlays your blurred sight, only being able to see blobs of colors that you’ve learned to liken to those that you know.

Alatus is a peaceful emerald, opposing the scorching crimson known as the god you’ve once deemed your savior.

“I said free her from your bind before it’s you who’ll be seeing red.” His voice comes out much more austere than you anticipated—you can’t tell.

Another simper resounds in the—where is this? You don’t know anymore.

It’s hard to maintain your focus on them when the whirl of power within is too addicting to overlook. Still, you try to concentrate, albeit with evident complication.

The strain from trying to ignore the catalyzing omnipotence is more painful than it is cathartic, and you begin to hiss and growl away at it. Much like an injured animal.

You feel a hand caress your hair, the touch endearing, though it’s a prima facie act at best. You know that much—though you knew it too late.

“I like my beasts feisty. This one’s power-greedy, which makes it so scrumptious, but you…” the way she paused makes your skin crawl in anxiousness, “That desperation… could be put to good use.”

A brewing presage that, to your horror, comes true.

The moment the blur of red stirs past you, inching closer to the serene green, you’re moving—or you think you’re moving.

Your extremities no longer feel like they are yours, hanging on threads that oscillate only upon the whims of the smiling god.

“What are you doing?” your voice seems far, but you hear yourself, anyway. “This is not within our agreement, you said you’ll—!”

You said you’ll leave him alone!

Immediately, much like the puppet you’ve succumbed to be, a domineering yank slots you back in place, holding you down even if no visible force can be seen doing it.

Oppressive in all its decree, nothing can be done as you are forced to crash to the earth, the very power you beseeched being the one responsible to shackle and render you immobile.

There’s a click of the tongue. “Delicious greed, indeed. The only downside is that she can be so defiant…”

The power within you begins to fester without delay—and though it is heavenly, there is a threshold. Too much, the power is too much, filling you to the brim with the threat of breaking past the limit.

It feels like you are about to explode from the inside out if it keeps up and the burn—oh the burn in your blood- make it stop-

You cling onto the dress of the lady in red, pathetically tugging in apology for acting out. But she does not cease her punishment.

“Why are you turning it away?” she questions, infusing even more of the accursed blessing and causing you to writhe on the ground, “Did you not want power, my dear?”

Are you dying? Is this what it feels like? How funny.

You thought that with power, you can conquer anything—but here you are, overladen and drunk with it, but still, you are afraid. As you’ve always been.

“Stop that this instant!” the demand rings with unfiltered urgency. “[Name]!”

It’s the first time you’ve heard him call for you so alarmed that you’re miraculously able to cling onto the remnants of your consciousness, stubbornly not letting go. Afraid of what might happen if you do.

The blur of red has stopped in front of the green.

It doesn’t take much sagacity for you to know that the god is considering stopping, but of course—

“Be mine, then, just like your sister surrendered herself to me. Then I’ll let her go.”

—As always, with a price too great.

“Brother, don’t- don’t do it.” Thankfully, your voice has not failed you—yet.

I did this to protect you. I did this to keep you safe!

Right? He was the reason you sought power in the first place, you wanted to keep him safe, too—right? So why is it that something inside is telling you that you’re wrong?

No, no, you know your reasons—you did it for him, you did it—

“You swear upon your word.”

—For your brother.

“No, no, wait-!”

“That’s more like it.”

The atmosphere has gotten even colder, dropping to a degree where it feels like ice is biting your skin each and every second.

It contrasts the burn within, the discrepancy of bitter cryo and igneous pyro making it almost impossible to even feel.

You want to scream, you want to defy and demand for him to take his words because under the mercy of this—this god is something you don’t ever want him to face.

But your fates have been led astray, the alignment of stars steering off-course.

There is no turning back the moment you have allowed yourself to be [blessed] cursed.

You feel yourself dropping from the command she has on you, but for some reason…

“There, free from my chains.” It feels as though you are no longer yourself. “And blinded by the strength she so seeks.”

The power is toxic—running like fire in your bloodstream and dousing you in a sensation worse than your psyche being split in half. Yet beyond the concept of pain, there is power.

Power that you sought, power that you desired.

How bad could it be? Pain in exchange for omnipotence.

It is all that you ever wanted—right?

“You said you’ll release her!”

Of course.

“That I did. But greed is blinding. You’re mine now, Alatus.”

It is all that you ever needed.

“Gh—! Let go of me-.. !”

Why did you seek such power in the first place? Ah.

“Snap out of it!”

Oh, you don’t know anymore—but the power is too delicious. It’s too good, it’s too simply wonderful. You feel invincible, like you can seize the world and crush it in your hands.

So you will. And it’ll crumble like dust in your fists, split apart from the blade of your polearm.

Your body has seemingly adapted to the burn, caging the liquid fire within, unaware of its true catastrophic damage. Your sight has since then become clear again, but you feel… weird.

Awake, yet not lucid. All you can feel is the [toxin] ambrosia of potency—of might and inviolability.

The delightful thrum in your chest emanates the blinding power you proceed to be intoxicated in and you feel the bliss of it all as you take to the skies, looking over the carnage and the dreams waiting to be eaten.

You’re hungry, salivating at the simple thought of feeding upon sweet, sweet dreams.

Be mightier, be more powerful… !

[To keep him safe] To be high and drunk with it all is all that you’ve ever wished for.

So you actively chased after it, the insatiability keeping you on edge. It is a chase you are willing to be in for eternity.

Even though there are times when you crashed, the feathers of your wings burning from the overabundance of delicious, delicious power, you keep on chasing.

Sometimes, you think there is someone flying with you—but they do not seek the same thing that you do. How unfortunate, do they not like the taste of being unstoppable?

Sometimes, you think they are trying to talk to you, and though you see their face, you can’t be bothered.

They do not understand you—you are two worlds apart.

One night, when the sun entwined with the moon and painted the latter a luscious red, you came upon an assembly overflowing with hopeful dreams.

Who are you to not be ravenous?

At the center of all the carnage, you giggle, crazed and temporarily satiated. The smile on your face does not drop even when you are lying underneath the golden tip of the Vortex Vanquisher, far too out of it.

You see someone dropping from the skies, rich marigold wings folding to the ground, but you do not pay them any mind. All you can think about is the rich and devastating feel of power.

The polearm presses onto your forehead, then out rings a voice, weighed with nothing but apathy. “So this was that god’s little beast, a piteous avian…”

Familiar, that sensation of spilling blood, it’s familiar. You feel it dribbling on your punctured skin. It is painful, but its degree is far away from the poisonous sinew in your bloodstream.

You do not move as gold spangles beneath the crimson moon, like a harbinger announcing your death to come.

“Receive your punishment.”

“No!”

But it does not come.

“Morax!”

With a gasp, you tear your hand away from the man in question, the vestiges of the past withdrawing along with the action.

He notices your tremors before you do, but makes no move to approach given your frazzled state of mind.

Thunderstruck, you clutch away at your chest, breathing like you’ve ascended out of the murky depths. The conflagration of the curse gives off the impression that it has been resurrected, though you know it only to be an aftereffect of awakening a buried memory.

The curse—that ‘blessing’—is long gone. Its only relic remains in the form of your damaged body, a vessel that could not handle the amount of growing power.

You know that you have done something wrong, but the fact that a consequence made for you was instead taken by your brother—albeit in a different manner—was not known. Until now.

The gaps in your memories are closing and you are a hundred times more exhausted than ever, already on the verge of slipping away if not for Zhongli sliding the teacup forward.

“Drink,” he insists, “It has been enchanted, comprised with what sustains you until today.”

You do so without an ounce of hesitance, sighing in relief at the soothing effect of the deciduous remedy. It will do for now until it is time to return to your ‘sanctuary’.

Looking at Morax now that you are aware of things you weren’t before comes off as difficult, but you endure with pursed lips. Though you are unsure as to how to approach things after being doused with revelations… you will try.  

“You mean to say-” the images of before makes you shudder. “When he became a part of the Yaksha… his karmic debt… his contract…”

Ala—Xiao’s arrival then, when you were about to be dealt with necessary consequence…

The rest of your memories are still hazy, but it doesn’t require a genius to ascertain and piece things together.

Zhongli nods. “He shouldered it for you, to atone for what you did.”

The gravitas he bears—is that coupled with travail, or is your guilty, hopeful conscience making you see things that you want to see?

You know that saying you could’ve done it—atone, serve—instead will only provide an obvious reason as to why they didn’t even consider you doing it.

Morax did not trust you then—and you understand that perfectly.

But your heart still weighs with bitterness, with shame—with guilt that will eternalize itself within.

Yes, you have served Morax anyway, fought in his name despite not recalling the real reason why other than abiding by Xiao’s insistence that you do so. But it is as he said still, your servitude is far from being enough.

You’ve slain upon hundreds, preyed upon thousands, and ruined beings innumerable.

“Because of me…”

He’s unable to be peaceful. Unable to escape the threat of insanity coming from karma. He’s everything that you should be. He bears the opposite that you should’ve been from the start.

You feel small—terrible, awful- hell, nothing can describe how you despise who—what you’ve come to be.

Seeing your reflection in the tea makes you hold your face, wishing to claw and rip it apart if it means getting rid of the unsightly appearance. In your chest rekindles a blaze, but it is no longer the one borne of greed, but of dolor.

Weak like you’ve always been, you are further reduced to a shaking mess of hysteria.

The memory of seeing your brother on the brink of death one too many times when he carried his first name, the blood that was keeping him alive only knowing how to overflow…

“All I wanted was to keep him safe, too.”

How could it all go so damn wrong?

It’s messed up, you’re so messed up, it’s maddening—so infuriating… !

How did you lose yourself so far?

“I’m so sorry, brother,” your whisper is wobbly as you shrink, as if it can erase your existence. “I’m so sorry..”

He can’t even look at you anymore without hurting—yet still, after everything, he is still able to give you, the beast who lost herself in her blessing, undeserving mercy.

“Morax, I beg of you.”

Why is that?

“She’s my little sister.”

Polar opposites, that’s what you both are.

Existing as each other’s parallel, because that’s what you’ve made yourselves to be.

You don’t deserve him—his love and his mercy. For so long, he’s been hurting and it had been because of you. How much does it pain him to see you spiral into someone so twisted?

Oh, sweet heavens, you can’t even envision it all.

Is it worth it? You find yourself asking over and over again.

The transient blessing of power you indulged in, only to drag in the one person you didn’t want to descend with you into madness.

History cannot be rewritten, now, you stand in the aftermath of the dangerous desire you wanted.

You have changed him for the worst.

And you can’t even shoulder his duty, can’t even help him because he’s right; you are now nothing but a shell of who you used to be. You are stuck in a cage that keeps you revitalized, unable to do anything but be idle and it’s contemptible.

Even until now, he is giving you the mercy Morax thought was inappropriate—and you find yourself agreeing with the fact that it is unfitting.

How can you even face him now?

His disappearance is warranted and you will not hold it against him at all. Your very existence inarguably reminds him of all that he went through.

Does he despise you? A possibility.

Perhaps he took mercy upon you—and pleaded for Morax to share his perspective—because you are his only kin. And that it is only necessary to keep you alive.

But beyond the blood that you share with him, you are nothing but a constant memoir of a tragedy that cost him the happiness he could have had.

The truth hurts—much more than the faux, deuced ‘blessing’ you’ve been gifted with in the olden days. And there is nothing to do but accept it for what it is.

The journey back to the inn is a lot more hellacious than ever. Maybe it is because of the additional weight of knowing the truth, but the venture is herculean. The soothing relief of the brewed tea can only last for so long.

When you arrive at the balcony after paying your greetings to the Goldets, the place is empty, devoid of the presence and trace of the kin you’ve subjected to eternal suffering.

A punishment that should’ve been yours.

Feeling yourself wither away but remaining as obstinate as ever, you rise to the roof, nearby the huge branches of the tree upon which you once rested upon whenever you’d accompany the Yaksha.

He is not there.

Still, you can envision him, and just doing so makes you lean onto the wood, heaving. Your pain cannot be quantified, but you are certain that whatever you are feeling now can’t possibly amount to the one that your kin carries.

“Big brother,” you whisper in the wind.

Alatus.

Tears stinging your eyes, you bury your face in your arms, breaking apart. “I’m so sorry, brother, I’m so sorry…”

Zhongli is right; no matter the nobility of your reason for wanting power, you killed for it. And you enjoyed the blessing afterward.

It didn’t matter if it was because you were able to keep him safe while it lasted, the sin lies in how you were delighted despite the lives that you took.

It wasn’t worth it, it so wasn’t worth it.

Now the consequence lies in the form of your beloved brother and the rift that only knows how to distance you farther and farther away.

As if it is sentient, and, knowing you will only bring him more pain, continues to section him far from your touch.

How do you have the face to even be in the same place as he is? You don’t even have the right to call him your brother, for what you did—it’s sinful. It is something that cannot be pardoned.

You cannot be pardoned.

And yet, you ask him for so much. His time? His company? When it is being near you that teethers him to death’s cliff?

How brazen—how unforgivable.

But that needn’t be a source of concern now.

Standing on wobbly feet, you descend to the lower balcony, morphing into the little avian creature you’ve always been.

The gilded cage welcomes you—though it won’t be for long. It’s time to lift a burden off of him, time to take away his very source of distress.

It’s time to leave.

It’s far from the redemption you seek, incredibly so, but you will still leave. And hopefully, take with you, the past that proceeds to haunt him.

For although you share the same blood, there is no home in a family split asunder from the wrongdoings of one.

There is no home in a family founded in pain and loss. If this is your own punishment, then it is just appropriate; to burn all hopes of ever fixing the bond you desired to have with your brother.

Your selfishness ends now.

With you gone, no longer will there be a vestige of his tribulation’s precursor. Not anymore. It is the least that you can do after so much.

You just hope that after all that you made him go through, he’ll hopefully understand that despite your fall into greed back then, at the start, it was out of the genuine want to protect him, too.

The sky, still painted a rich navy blue, is littered with endless of stars. You wonder if yours is there, having strayed from the alignment it was meant to take.

You hope that after your departure, he’ll still be able to forgive you.

With a grunt, you pluck out a feather from your wing, The [c] lacking the luster it once contained, but that does not matter now, it isn’t like you’re one for appearances, anyway.

That he won’t think anything less of you.

It is the image of your brother that makes your eyes sting as you open your wings.

That he’ll still think of you as his sister—even if you’re far from being the best one.

It is the earnest want to stop him from hurting himself with you nearby that prompts you to take to the skies after so long. Alone, as you should’ve been.

That one day, you’ll get to fly with him again. As you did a long time ago.

Farewell.

When the moon has descended, leaving the expanse of the firmament for the sun to take its place, comes the arrival of a Yaksha.

He drops onto the floorboards of the inn with an exhale, turquoise ribbons that accompanied him in his flight vanishing in the morning wind.

Careful, he stands to his full height and scans his strangely silent environment. The place where the [c]-haired Adeptus often frequents is empty.

She must be resting—and this is what he would’ve believed, had he not realized the change in the atmosphere; the cold. It’s an unsettling kind of cold that makes him furrow his eyebrows.

“[Name]?” he calls out tentatively.

When nothing but the distressing quietude greets him back in all its noisy chorus, he is quick to step down the staircase, heading to where he knows the cage hangs about.

“Xiao!” Verr’s perturbed expression only runs a chill in his spine that he refuses to acknowledge.

Without waiting for her to add something—that is not his priority—he continues to speed towards the place in mind. He comes upon the gilded cage and he stops, breath getting caught in his throat.

Nothing is there, save for the single greying feather of [c].

The sight didn’t need any explaining but fate has its way of rubbing salt in the wound.

Xiao’s breath stutters out the name of his only sibling, whispered in the wind as he takes the feather in his fingers- only for it to crumble away into dust. His hand shakes.

Losing strength, his previously clenched fists slackened.

Out of sight, the dandelions and cecilias in his hands are strewn away, lost in the breeze.

a/n: isn't it sad how a fearful MC just wanted the courage and power to protect big brother, but in the end, she lost herself in the wonders of said power and ended up only hurting the one she wanted to protect? :)) no punishment can redeem her, and, knowing she is the source of pain, she decides to leave.

BUT WAIT- doesn't the cage keep her alive? what will happen now that she left? and big brother came back too late.

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