papercut wings - tinylethologica - 原神 (2024)

Chapter 1: i never knew daylight could be so violent

Chapter Text

“Does she do this often?”

The dying light of sunset sweeps over Wanderer’s lashes, dusting his vision in hazy red-orange. From beside him, the Traveller’s little companion watches wordlessly as Lumine succumbs to the insistent tugging of yet another woman—the third person this week, and certainly not the last.

A light smile dances across Lumine’s face, and the woman hanging onto her side says something animatedly. The words are too slurred for him to understand, but he does understand Lumine’s laugh: amusem*nt. A little charmed, even.

Their dinner host giggles again, and then stumbles over the porch of her modest little house, face flushed from the wine she’d originally so graciously offered. Lumine, ever the courteous hero, catches her, a playful reprimand of “careful, there,” that has his hackles on rise. The woman is all but about to faint, staring up with lovestruck eyes.

Please, she mouths. Lumine smiles even wider—and nods. Assents.

Light is supposed to be pristine. Unattainable in its purity. The Traveller was supposed to be the same way, righteous, virtuous, good. Archons-anointed. Not so easily swayed, Wanderer sneers as his gaze snags on their interlaced hands. Not so easily caught.

He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to swallow his contempt. Of all the things that have surprised him at the beginning of their journey together, this may be the most infuriating.

And she has never smiled at him like that.

Not that it mattered. Not that anything was supposed to matter.

Paimon merely shrugs, unfazed at the sight. “Define often,” she says noncommittally.

“Define often,” Wanderer repeats flatly. As if aware of his gaze, Lumine's gaze flit to him, and her eyes are twinkling in mirth, her lips curved. “So it’s a ‘yes’.”

There had been reports on the Traveller while he’d been a Harbinger—and of course there would be, with Lumine being such a catalyst for change. None advantageous to the Fatui, so she had to be kept in check. He’d heard the rumours before, that the Traveller had supposedly been playing around, that she had amassed some kind of harem, that she had entered and left every home in Inazuma.

He’d scoffed at the time. Clearly, they were exaggerating. If the Traveller wanted to spend a night with some poor sap who had no idea of her true strength, to grace their bed with her presence, then that is her prerogative.

Rumours were always nasty little things, he’d thought, wildfire fanned out of proportion.

But it appears the past self has miscalculated. Scaramouche had forgotten the age-old adage: there is no smoke without fire. Signora had taught him better than this; would be cackling in her grave if she knew. If she could.

Paimon sighs, folding her hands together. The woman—he can’t even be bothered to remember her name, terribly boring human that she is—kisses Lumine’s cheek at the doorway and wraps her arms around Lumine’s neck. Lumine laughs again, letting herself be pulled inside. And when the tip of her scarf has flitted past the entrance, luminescence winked out of existence by the slam of the door, Paimon turns away from the spectacle.

“Lumine doesn’t ever refuse,” she explains, a small hint of defensiveness colouring her voice. “If they ask, she goes. That’s just how she is.”

“Some would say that’s worse,” he mutters. So not only does the Traveller accept the most inane, mundane requests, she also thinks nothing of offering up her body too. And come next morning, she will surely stumble out of that very door like she had the days before, sunlight caressing her mussed hair, a yawn as she greets them, Morning! Anything specific you want for breakfast? Casual and careless, as if the world is as it always is. "I’m merely surprised that the Traveller is so free with her affections.”

“Uh, she tried to explain it to Paimon once, why she does it,” Paimon says sheepishly. “Paimon completely forgot the details, though.”

Wanderer raises a brow. “She told you about what exactly happened to her behind shut doors? You’re closer with her than I’d imagined, if she’s sharing the details of her escapades with you.”

“What—Archons, no!” Paimon visibly recoils from him, her confused expression giving way to absolute horror. She covers her face and wails, “Ugh, no! That’s disgusting!”

“You’re the one that implied it,” he says, his gaze flickering to the door to the home again. Half-wondering what exactly was happening. Perhaps the Traveller merely tucked the woman to sleep. Perhaps nothing at all. A fool’s imagination, he thinks scaldingly. You know what’s happening. You know very well. “If that’s not it, then what did she say?”

“Hm…” Paimon scrunches her face up, deep in thought. Deep may be the wrong descriptor though, given the shallowness of her mind when it’s not focused on food and mora. “Something about how it didn’t matter? The essence that makes her who she is, is not her body… Not sure. I forgot.”

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “that you’re extremely unhelpful?”

Paimon puffs up her chest. “Nope! Lumine always tells Paimon that she’s an extremely helpful guide.”

“I didn’t know the Traveller was so adept at lying.”

“Right? She’s good at everything, isn’t she!” Paimon says cheerfully, her mind clearly having not processed his words wholly. “...Wait a minute! She wasn’t lying!”

“I never said she lied to you,” he says, shifting his expression into a smile, displaying his perfect, white teeth. “Only that she’s a good liar. How you interpret it is entirely up to you. Don’t blame me for your own insecurities, little thing.”

“You—!” She stamps her feet, the fury making her face purple-red. Interesting. “You’re insufferable. Paimon’s going to get you back for that, one of these days!”

“Get in line,” he drawls, tipping his hat below his eyes.

She’ll have to contend with the rest of them; there’s about a mile of ghosts crawling behind, faint fingers dragging on the ornamented ropes of his hat, waiting for him to trip. “I’ll be eagerly awaiting that day.”

Paimon throws up her hands, grumbling. “No wonder Lumine has given up on getting angry at your mouth,” Paimon mutters. “Paimon’s kind of glad she doesn’t have the same memories of the past that Lumine does. I don't know how she managed to deal with you before. It’s tiring just listening to you speak.”

“I just tell it like it is,” he says airily, picking at his nails. “If someone takes issue, that’s on them.”

Paimon regards him then, a strange line of her mouth. Darkness has already descended, cloaking in them in its cool embrace. “You know… you’re more like Lumine than Paimon originally thought.”

Wanderer lets out a snort. In what world would they ever resemble each other? The puppet and the Outlander—the roles in a comedy, more than anything else, the fool to the sage. But perhaps she’s right. In some ways, watching the Traveller flit from home to home feels like a repeat of his own Harbinger days; he’d had his fun as well. Albeit in a somewhat different way. “How so? Her fickleness with her bed partners?”

“Oh, never mind! You wouldn’t get it,” she says, shaking her head as if he was the idiotic one instead. “It’s no use questioning Lumine’s choices. Lumine does what Lumine wants,” she says. “And everyone already knows she never stays behind. So there’s no harm, is there?”

Ah, no harm, other than whoring herself around like a used doll, pleasure at the cost of her dignity. No harm at all.

“Okay, okay, enough talking about this,” Paimon whines, throwing a tiny kick to his back. He rolls his eyes, hating that he’s already too used to her temper tantrums to feel irritated. “Let’s go into the teapot already! Paimon's sleepy!"

“Not a bad idea from you,” he allows. “For once.” It’s not as if he wanted to wait outside the door and listen to the noises that the Traveller makes in the throes of passion—the idea stirs up something strange in his chest, and he doesn’t want to unravel the tangled mess of emotions she inspires in him.

Wanderer clenches his hand into a fist and waits for the rush of strange energy to pull them into the other realm. As always, the travel is a flood of quiet light through his body; even without Lumine around, she’s still making herself known.

And in the teapot, before they part, her to Lumine’s empty bedroom, him to his, Paimon pats his shoulder. “Don’t be difficult, hat boy,” she says. “Lumine will be back when it’s sunrise. She always does.”

Difficult? Him? Never.

He pushes her away, disgusted at the tone of her voice. “Just go to sleep, already,” he bites out. “Otherwise I’m going to string you up and hang you upside down from the ceiling. And maybe tape your mouth shut too, as a present for the Traveller.”

Paimon squawks, dodging the flick of his hand as she hurries to float away. “If that’s what Paimon gets for trying to be nice to you,” she says, miffed, “then I’m never going to do it again!”

“Not like I asked,” he mutters, looking at the palm of his hand.

A glowing sigil, from when she’d tapped it with her Realm Dispatch. A swell of energy had flooded him then, so bright-hot it almost burned, and he’d had to bite his tongue from yelping. Lumine had also made a noise of surprise at how the energy kept flowing from her fingers to his palm.

This isn’t supposed to happen, she had said, voice strained. Her other hand on her wrist, trying to tug herself away. It’s supposed to be only an energy signature.

Energy signature—except it’s less signing and more scrawling, a needle trying to thread its way through every vulnerable openings of his body. The only thing that had stopped the transfer had been Paimon snatching away the Realm Dispatch. What had been left imprinted on his palm had been a constellation: a circular pattern of her and her sword. It dimmed and vanished, but when he pooled Anemo in his palm, appeared again. Glowed like stars, warm like stippled sunlight.

The giant round bird in her teapot had no clue, merely squinting at the mark before shaking her head. Perhaps it is because of his nature, she said, as a… storage of sorts.

He barked out a laugh then, unsurprised at her frank words. His almost-godhood had been just that, the gnosis slot inside his chest like a battery, the static of Electro dancing across his skin like crystalflies. But still a hole inside, always lapping up any energy given to him, always hungry for more.

Dottore had called it fascinating, how infinite the emptiness was; he would call it abhorrent, instead. He’s still an artificial vessel, meant to collect and hoard energy, something not quite natural. Still a tool.

Oh gods, Lumine had said, panicked. It’s permanent. We—we should go to Liyue. Maybe Granny Ping will know what to do about this.

No need, he’d said flippantly, regarding the sigil with a quiet interest. Like the Electro emblem at his nape, a cool jolt every time lightning flashes—like proof of her existence, cut onto his own skin. Everything the hero touches becomes hers, isn’t that how it was supposed to go? It hasn’t done any harm. Just a minor… aesthetic difference.

If… if you’re sure, she’d said, shaking her head. Paimon had grumbled in the background about how she wanted such a cool mark of Lumine’s crest too. He’d stuck his tongue out at her, just to make the little creature even more angry, oddly smug about the whole affair.

And it had been almost gratifying, in a way, how her gaze always caught on his palm whenever he’s fiddling with his Anemo powers, how the white light peered through the teal. Some days, he swears he could actually feel it within, flitting through his nerves as though she’d crawled under his very skin. Demanding every iota of his attention.

But now, in the silence of his room—sparsely decorated and not by his will, the Traveller insisting that he ought to have things of his own, a place to stay included—he forces energy through his palm and seethes at the mark of her ownership. At the memory of her being touched by another. He stirs himself into a frenzy, imagining the dip of her head, that pale pink of her lips, wondering if the woman she'd chosen will have pulled her close and kissed her.

And if he does the same thing, would she finally show an emotion other than hatred? Other than disinterest or pity? Or would she push him away?

Wanderer grits his teeth and closes his palm.

And what had that little companion of hers meant, patting his shoulder like that? He scowls at the implications of Paimon—of all the people—trying to console him. What for? What did he require consolation for, anyway? If the Traveller wanted to f*ck everything that moved in Teyvat, what did it have to do with him?

He’s just a temporary fixture in her world. A wisp of wind, passing through.

That is to say, nothing at all.

So it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t,” he says aloud. The words are smothered by the silence of everlasting night, no tenderness afforded.

: : :

Dozing in and out of slumber, the red-hot feeling of irritation still swelling beneath his chest, Wanderer is startled out of sleep by cold fingers at his sternum.

“What—” the hell, but everything stutters to a stop when he realizes it’s the Traveller. Lumine. Her hand slips down his shirt at his collarbone, neatly parting clothing from skin.

“Wanderer,” she says.

“What are you doing here?” he murmurs, still dizzy from being ripped out of sleep. Confused at what to do when the woman you call your saviour has crawled into your bed, touching you with an intimacy you haven’t experienced in a long, long time.

“Wanderer.” She looks up at him with wide, dewy eyes. His breath hitches, a lump in his throat; he doesn’t move, scared of rippling the mirage. Her nails dig into his skin, and she shifts, one leg curled around him. Knee bumping lightly into his groin. “Can you help me?”

“...Help you with what, Lumine?” Every syllable is a little harder, the strain rising until it feels like he’s about to break apart. Her name a quiet hiss, the sound of limbs being detached from torso.

“Wanderer,” she sighs. The breath lands at the crook of his neck, humid and warm. Itches at him to move, do something. She’s too close. Too, too close for coherent decisions. Shifting against him again, careful movements—

And that’s when he realizes: she’s grinding against his thigh. Her core, rubbing against his tense muscles. A little casual hum, as though it was nothing to be surprised over. For her, just another night, another stranger. The world, as it always is.

He swallows. “Are you drunk?”

“No,” she says. “Perfectly aware, in fact.”

“How come I don’t believe you?”

“Do I seem drunk?” she whispers, and her hands are roving, skirting from one area to another, tracing the protrusion of his bones. Collar, ribs, hips. “Completely coherent, I promise.”

He stares at the ceiling, a little dazed, a little lost. So she isn’t drunk. Nor is she under any other influences. Not with her speech so articular, her eyes so clear. So then, why? Why, of all the places, is she here?

“Because you pulled me here, Wanderer,” she says, smiling as she turns his face toward her. The void of her pupil engulfs everything, leaving behind only a sliver of her iris, citrine clear. “Because I want you.”

I want you. The simple admission breaks him out of the stupor, because he’s not so naive as to think it’s true.

“What, your partner this time didn’t satisfy you enough?” And just the mention of the whole affair at dinner time is enough to make him angry again. The shy glances that woman had shot at her, the secretive smile playing at Lumine’s lips as she’d brought her soup spoon to her lips, the whispers that they’d exchanged right in front of him, like they were in their own little world. “Maybe think better about who you f*ck next time,” he says. “And not just spread open your legs for anyone that asks.”

In response, Lumine reaches for his hand. Places it on her breast, above the cavity of her heart. Soft, supple flesh. Warm, like fire after frostbite. One, two, one, two, one two, he counts the thud of her heart beneath his palm, how hurried it feels—but why is he the one that feels like he’s being shaken instead?

“I want you,” she whispers. “Don’t you want me too?”

He does—not. Does not. “I’d sooner fling myself off a cliff.”

Lumine smiles. “We both know that’s not true,” she says sweetly.

“You don’t know me,” he scoffs.

“Oh, but I do. I know you very well.” She tugs his hand again, moving it down toward her legs. And what should he do? Resist? When it feels like she’s got him strung up, manipulating the placement of his limbs to her liking, an unpainted doll for her to trail her colours over?

And he does not resist, because even through fabric, he feels the dampness. The Traveller is wet. So wet, she’s dripping through her bloomers. The seam in the middle meets his fingertips, and she whines a little at the contact. Hips undulating in a poor attempt to ride the friction.

“I know that you want me—and that I want you,” she breathes, mouthing at his neck. The touch of her lips yet another brand, tingling as though he’d just been struck by lightning. “Please, Wanderer.”

He is tempted. So, very, tempted. Enough for the quiet to linger a minute longer than it should be, for Lumine to suck a bruise on his throat. Enough for him to finally inhale, and it’s all her in every sharp, slicing breath, bittersweet floral.

Gods above, he hates her. So, so much. And it’s this overwhelming hatred that finally has him twitching, regaining control of his limbs, before shoving her away from him. Flickers of blonde as her hair falls from his shoulder, scattering on the pillow.

“Enough. If you’re that desperate, go back to your other bedmate,” he snarls, pushing himself up to glare at her. Flexes his hand, and the joints are stiff, almost aching. Skin, slick with her. “I’m not here to be your backup fling, Traveller.”

Lumine blinks. “Would you like that? If I go back to another woman, another man, and lie there, taking their fingers, taking their tongue? Moaning their name, crying for more with each passing second?”

“Get the f*ck out of my room—!”

“No.” She rolls herself over him, trapping his hips between her legs before he even has a chance to understand their change in position. “No, I don’t think I will,” she says breathlessly. “You owe a debt to me, and you said you’ll do everything to pay it back. Why not now, when I finally need you for once?”

His co*ck throbs, and he clenches his jaw. The energy from her, pulsing on his palm, urging him to spring forward, trap her beneath him. Everything at a standstill, an almost—almost hers, almost his.

As if she knew exactly what he’s thinking, Lumine laughs, cruel in its carelessness. Loops her fingers through her scarf, unwinding it gently. A flick, and it’s gone, fluttering through air before landing.

“Wouldn’t you like to mark me, too?” Lumine says, tilting her head. Bare neck, blank canvas. Unbruised. “Wouldn’t you like to hurt me, break me, watch me beg for you?”

“I…” He would like to tear himself apart, is what he would like to do. Redirect the pain in his chest, panging uselessly in empty space.

“While I she was touching me, while I was touching her,” Lumine says, and she’s working at the belt of his shorts with a clever familiarity, like she’d been doing it for centuries, “I was thinking about you. Thought about your fingers instead of hers. Thought about your mouth at my neck. I saw the way you looked at me. That quiet jealousy, suppressed in the bite of your tongue. You wanted so badly, didn’t you?”

He closes his eyes, afraid of her light. Her cold hands find the bare skin of his throbbing co*ck, sliding into slow and careful strokes.

“What use is there in saying anything? You still left,” he says, and it sounds so petulant, so pathetic. Like a whining child, starved for attention.

“Oh, my poor Wanderer,” she croons. “You’ve been so deprived.” She leans forward then, voice dipping low. A palm on his chest, cool through thin fabric. Tracing the dimmed patterns etched onto his skin, so much tenderness given to the design that marked him as someone inhuman. “Touch me, then. Undress me with your hands for once—instead of with just your eyes.”

And he is only so strong. He is only so dishonest. Against an irresistible force, something must give. Something must break—and through the break, he’s reaching for—not for a gnosis, not a heart—but the laced strings of her corset, fumbling. Cursing her name.

Lumine, for her part, doesn’t even bother to help. Only laughs mockingly at his desperation as he almost tears the dress off of her, ruining his focus with every rock of her hips, folds rubbing against the length of him. Seeped fabric, sticky with fluids; wet, unsatisfying friction. Unbearably hot.

And she makes it so easy, no protest at all as he surges up to balance the scale, to have her submit to him, for once—her smile has always crushed him underfoot, he thinks bitterly as he stares down at her, so it’s only fair.

“Please,” Lumine says, arching her back. “Here.”

He dips his head down, mouth finding the peak of one breast. Swirls his tongue around the areola, lapping at skin as though he’d been left without desire for a thousand years, only for the dam to overflow at this exact moment. His hand finds her waist, the elastic of her underwear, and he shoves it down.

Lumine’s breath hitches above him, a little pleased whine as he teases the tip of her nipple, a hint of teeth, a slight scrape—a shimmy of her hips as he drags the bloomers past her ankles, leaving behind a trail of wetness on her skin. Discarded, too.

He grunts as she wraps her legs around him, grinding herself against him. The press of her heels, digging into the small of his back, grounding him to her. “You’re still wearing your clothes,” Lumine says halfheartedly. “This doesn’t feel very fair.”

“Oh, trust me,” he sneers, grabbing one of her legs and slinging it over his shoulder like a sash. Fingers still kept against her thigh, a warning. He slides his co*ck against her, smearing precum all over her folds, enjoying her tremor. The sight of her, every inch exposed. Vulnerable, spread open for his perusal. And why did she come to you, anyway—brushes aside the thought—there was no need to worry, not while time is slipping away, keep it close to you, Wanderer, before everything disappears—and says, “You won’t be worrying about fairness when I finally f*ck you.”

“So get to it, already—”

Cut off, as he rams himself inside. Perhaps he should be more careful, more tender, but everything about her is so infuriating, so fake, so unbreakable. A reflection, undisturbed, no matter how many pebbles he flings. Not that it even mattered—what did it all matter, anyway—because she only lets out a broken whimper, clenching around him. Hot enough to burn.

“Just that’s enough to get you going? Is this how you are everyday, dripping wet beneath your skirts?” he grunts as he pulls out, her calves twitching in protest against his back, before giving another nasty thrust. Right up to the hilt, his pubic bone pressed right up against her swollen cl*t. “Is this why you’re always taking anyone that comes?”

“And what would you do if I said yes—” Lumine moans, words temporarily lost as he grabs for her hair. Tilts her head back, forces her to stare directly at him, her golden irises glowing in the dark. And in her eyes, his own violet, staring right back.

“You’d accept anyone? Even me?”

“I came to you.”

“No,” he says harshly, tightening his fingers. The draw of his hand pulling her body taut, as though unsheathing a blade. “You didn’t.”

Lumine closes her eyes. Smiles. “Then enjoy it while you still can, hm? Pretend it’s something real. Try your hand, Wanderer, and see if you can affect me.”

“Oh, I will,” he promises, palming her breast in his other hand. How it weighs in his hand, heavy and warm. A cruel pinch of the skin, between his nails. Lumine writhes against him, and he does it again, just to see her squirm even more. “I’ll break you someday, Traveller.”

“Then why not start now?”

How could I? How could I when this isn’t—his lips twist, and his eyes shutter. In lieu of an honest answer, he slams into her, not stopping this time. Lumine hiccups at the force of his ire, her body shaking like paper. “Like that,” she pleads. “More.”

“Do you beg like this in everyone’s bed? Is this what you’re thinking about everyday? How to get f*cked until you can’t breathe?” Lumine pushes herself against his movements, in and out, seeking for more. He obliges, working himself into a frenzy. Nerve endings scrubbed raw, every inch of skin tingling. Sweat beading at his jaw. “And that’s why everyone uses you so easily,” he spits. “All they do is take from you. You just lie there and take it, I bet.”

“Harder,” Lumine cries out. “More, Wanderer.”

He takes advantage of the opening to slant his mouth over hers, biting at her tongue—a shivering amusem*nt at the yelp she makes, the nip of her nails at his shoulders.

“I understand,” he whispers darkly. “The people you f*cked never cared about your pleasure. Just used you to satisfy themselves, leaving you wishing for more. You’re always left unsatisfied, empty. They can’t f*ck you like this, can they? They can’t f*ck you like me.”

“Oh, if only,” Lumine says, breathlessly. “If only that’s what I thought, you must be wishing.”

“No,” he says, furious at how easily she’s turned it all around. He bites at her chest in punishment, right above the line where her dress would begin—just to make sure she can’t cover it up, this purple bruise that would verify his existence in her life. “That’s not it, at all.”

“You must have wanted so badly,” she says. “Looked and desired until the inside of your mouth was sore with the worrying—”

“—shut the f*ck up—”

“—so much longing, but you still couldn’t do anything except watch. Even now, still wanting. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” he snarls. “Yes, I wanted you! Is this what you’re here for?” And then he thrusts even harder in her, the slaps of their skin ringing in his ears. She clamps around him, wringing as if begging for more, and it’s too much, her demands. How much he longed to meet them, to see her pleased. He hisses and angles himself, searching—a graze at the soft spot that’s her weakness.

“That’s it,” Lumine gasps, scrambling for the sheets, anything to hold her steady as he drives his co*ck even deeper inside her. Twists her body, as though trying to escape. He claws her right back by the thighs, imagines snapping her femur neatly in half, rendering her immobile. Moving only at his will. “That’s it,” she babbles, eyes hazing over as he brings her flush against him, bringing her up and down his co*ck, a sleeve meant to be used only by him, for him. “Please, please, inside—”

“You say this to everyone, don’t you,” he spits, trying to keep his breathing even, to regain what little control he had left. A stutter at his hips, anyway, as she pulses around him. On the edge, about to take him with her. “Always begging to be filled.”

“ ███ , please—!” And that name, the name that she’d offered with a soft voice, a tentative truce between them, fragile and newborn; it is the last thing she gasps before she comes, the rest of the words lost in the chaos, her walls squeezing him tight. He shudders, almost there, and her hand finds his, intertwining fingers. The gentle effusion of her energy into his palm, Anemo and Geo and Electro and Dendro roiling under his skin. He bites back a moan, feeling as though he’s about to shatter from trying to contain her.

“You’re mine,” she whispers. “I've only ever wanted you, Wanderer. You're the only one—”

: : :

And that’s when he bursts out of the surface of the dream, eyes flung open to view no light, no gold. Not even stardust. Between his legs, the length of him, hot and throbbing. Sore. Everything is sore, his tongue included.

Sumeru, once a nation without dreams. And now, it now demands that everyone dream—including him.

You’re the only one, I’ve only ever wanted you. Of course he could never believe it, even from his own mind. How could she ever say such a thing? How could it ever be true?

And he wonders, if he were to go to her now, wake her up from her slumber, and demand that she help him, would she refuse him?

Lumine doesn’t ever refuse.

No, he decides. She wouldn’t. If he asked, she’d perhaps be amused. And then she would smile and nod—as she always does.

But the thought only serves to make him more miserable; lumped together with all the other pathetic people trying to cling onto her, only for her to gently shake them off like flakes of dust that’s been collecting for too long on her skin.

“f*ck,” he hisses. And then, shoves his hand down his shorts and pulls out his co*ck, not gentle at all in his grip. He tugs it so hard he may as well have torn it off. “f*ck!”

He’s already so built up, it takes nothing at all to find release. He comes with a miserable whine, spilling into his palm. Her emblem engraved on his skin, gently glowing. A shutter of his eyes, but still the world blanks, darkness tipped into light.

And after that, just the lonely dark pooling in his vision, gently drowning him.

: : :

At the beginning of their journey together, Nahida had asked: “Are you sure?”

Not to the Traveller, but to him.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he scoffs. Jabs a thumb at Lumine, who only rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be asking her that?”

Nahida hums. Her small hands steepled together as she considered him. A barely born god, the same age as him—and somehow, seeming as if she’s already experienced the entire existence of the world. “Very well,” she says, nodding to herself. “It is enough.”

And then the Dendro Archon looks at him. He stares back, feeling as though he should—kneel at her feet in supplication. To beg for mercy, at the judgement she will pass on him.

How ridiculous. Hadn’t he already told himself that he would accept all that was, all that is, all that will come to pass?

“To live is to suffer, Wanderer,” Nahida says. “Do you understand this?”

“Lesser Lord Kusanali,” he says wryly, “with all due respect, do you truly think that I’m so ignorant?”

Nahida shakes her head. “You say you do not have a heart,” she says, “but I think you already understand: a heart is not defined by its physicality.”

He tips his hat, to hide the quiver of his lips. “Hm.”

“Some days,” Nahida says softly, “you will feel like dying. Some days, you will feel like erasing yourself again—and to bear it, to live despite it, that is your repentance. The way out of hell is not easy, but you must claw your way out, past every excruciating inch of earth. Are you prepared?”

“...Well,” he says, “I’ve nothing better to do, anyway.”

“Then you will leave with my blessing,” Nahida says. “Trust in the Traveller—” She turns to Lumine, who’d been gazing at their interaction with an odd look in her eyes. “—and you, Traveller. Trust in Wanderer, as well.”

“I…” Lumine swallows, looking away. “I’ll try,” she promises.

“Good.” Nahida glances at him, and he stares back, fearless. She smiles and nods, before turning to Lumine again. “May I speak to you privately for a second, Traveller?”

Paimon crosses her arms. “Without Paimon?”

“Just a quick conversation,” Nahida soothes, leading Lumine away by the hand. “Wanderer will keep you company, until then.”

Paimon casts a suspicious look at him, her mouth twisted downward. “You better not try anything funny, okay? Otherwise, Paimon’s going to tell on you when they get back. ”

“I assure you,” he drawls, “I have no interest at all in tormenting you.”

“Lumine too?”

“Perhaps,” he allows. She’d given him a name, after all. And it still sits heavy on his tongue, from when she’d offered it.

The Traveller had stared at the Vision strung on his side for what felt like hours, before finally saying, Would you like to share a name with me?

Share a name?

Yes. There is more than one way to speak light into existence.

How amusing. I would not mind. But is that what you truly want, Traveller?

She’d glanced at the Anemo Vision, one last time, before meeting his gaze. Yes.

: : :

He opens his eyes the next morning, too exhausted to breathe. Nahida’s words echo in his mind: to bear it, to live despite it, that is your repentance.

Ah. So that’s what she’d meant.

: : :

“Good morning,” Lumine says when he pulls himself out of the teapot. Paimon is at her side, practically slurping up the toast and eggs. The only emptiness to rival the hole in his chest must be her stomach. “Slept okay?”

“I don’t need sleep,” he says.

“But it’s still nice, isn’t it?” Lumine says with a hum as she hands him a plate of the Fisherman’s Toast. “To have your mind rest once in a while.”

“If that’s what you think, fine by me,” he says, and takes the teacup she offers too. The scent of green tea tickles his nose, steeped well.

Wanderer glances at her, and the fury that had been quelled by despair suddenly reignites. “Tie your scarf more carefully,” he says flatly.

Lumine scrunches her brows, and then realizes. “Oh,” she says sheepishly, reaching up to adjust the white fabric, tugging it so it better covers the smattering of bruises at her throat. “It was surprising. She really didn’t give off the impression of being a biter—”

“No need to grace me with the details,” he snaps.

Lumine tilts her head; scarf, out of place again. “Are you alright, Wanderer?”

“Fine,” he says. Smiles, knowing it won’t reach his eyes.

“...Okay,” she says. “We’ve had our differences, but I’m here if you need anything. You know that, right?”

Her words are meant to soothe, but he can’t help but despise them anyway. A reminder that the best he will ever receive will be a dream.

“Crystal clear,” he says coolly. Wanderer takes a sip of the tea, and the taste is bitter enough to comfort. The whole time, acutely aware that if he were to touch a hand to his own neck, there would be no pain, no bruise.

Chapter 2: don't ruin this on me

Chapter Text

“Oh,” Nahida says, a tilt of her head as she appraises them. “Something has changed, hasn’t it?”

Wanderer bites back a groan. Chat time with Nahida often feels more like interrogation time than the “casual catch-up” she says it’s supposed to be.

“What do you mean?” Lumine says as she slides into her seat. He does the same, careful to not bump into her elbow as he arranges himself from across Kusanali. Her green eyes, as always, are too piercing.

The God of Wisdom smiles. Pushes the plate atop the table toward them. Halvamazd, a specialty of the God of Wisdom, something that she always insisted on bringing around, like a mother always prepared for her children’s sweet tooths. Around them, the quiet lilt of conversation in the open air cafe.

It makes Wanderer feel safer than he should. He watches Nahida carefully, waiting.

“Have some,” Nahida says cheerfully.

“You first,” Lumine demurs.

“I’ve already had my fair share,” Nahida says. “It’s meant for you, Traveller.”

“Ah. If you don’t mind, then,” Lumine says, reaching forward to take a piece of the intricately arranged desert. Snaps the candied petal, casually handing one half to the eagerly-waiting Paimon, who immediately stuffs the candy in her mouth—and the other to him.

The first time he ate this type of food, he spat it out. Too sweet. Too sticky. Made him feel like his teeth were being fused together.

But when Lumine offers, he accepts. Holds the sugared treat between his fingers, tight. Watches as Lumine takes another piece for herself, and if he had a heart, maybe it would be thudding out of rhythm.

Nahida catches this too, and smiles again.

“I’ll bring something more suitable for you next time, Wanderer,” Nahida says. “Don’t force yourself for my sake—or the Traveller’s.”

“Huh?” Lumine mumbles around a mouthful of the candy. And then a flash of realization. “Oh! I’m sorry, I totally forgot that you didn’t like stuff like this—”

“It’s fine," he says curtly. Nahida’s eyes twinkle at the response, and he shifts. “What,” he asks, if only to keep Nahida from analyzing him so thoroughly, “did you mean by your initial question, Lord Kusanali?”

“Something has taken place between you two,” Nahida says carefully. “Something physical. Is that right?”

Lumine chokes, half sputtering as Paimon slaps her back panickedly. “Nothing of the sort,” she frantically says.

“Definitely not!” Paimon screeches.

He stays quiet for his part, waiting for Lord Kusanali to elaborate. Nothing she says is as simple as it seems, a riddle behind every word. Trying not to twist his lips at the denial, in the meantime, because of how true it was; harder than it seems, because the candy in his palm snaps again, further divided into two quarters.

“Really,” Lumine says, waving her hands, “nothing happened. We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? I’m not that type of person, Nahida.”

Then what kind of person are you? He leans back in his seat, tosses the crushed Halvamazd in his mouth. The taste of ajilenakh nut and honey immediately assaults his tongue. He chews slowly, sweetness sticking itself into his throat as he swallows. He misses his tea.

Nahida frowns, one hand on her chin. “But I feel it,” Nahida says. “A piece of you, swirling in him. What else could it be, if not that?”

Lumine blinks. “A piece of what?”

“You,” Nahida says. “Your essence.” She makes circling loops with her forefinger, tracing it over him like the swirling path of a hurricane. Does she see the wreckage too, then? He doesn’t bother to ask. “You’ve given him something from yourself, haven’t you?”

Paimon snaps her finger. “The Realm Dispatch,” she says hurriedly. “That must be what she’s talking about, Lumine. Show Nahida, Wanderer.”

“If I must,” he drawls. He flings off the sugar dust from his palm with a well-controlled burst of Anemo energy, showing the quietly glowing constellation on his palm. Lumine’s gaze remains on him, though. Not his hand, but his face. As unreadable as ever.

Nahida takes his palm and stares at it, before nodding. “Yes,” she says. “That’s exactly it.”

“I’d only meant to mark him with a little bit of energy,” Lumine says, “but there was a little… incident. I couldn’t stop the flow.”

“He received more than he ought to have.”

“More like he sucked it away,” Lumine mutters.

“You make me sound like a leech,” Wanderer scoffs.

Lumine rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever happened, it’s only used for entering the teapot,” she says. “You have the same energy signature, Nahida.”

"I do," Nahida says. "But this is different. Hm… To describe it would be like saying… Your mark on me is the morning dew upon leaf. Your mark on him, whoever, is a raindrop upon paper. The water has seeped through and fundamentally changed its properties.” Nahida frowns. “Though that would not be the perfect descriptor either… You too, Traveller, have been affected. Better to compare it to the melted drops of an icicle instead, perhaps?”

“Paimon doesn’t get it,” the little creature moans, and Lumine laughs indulgently as she presses another piece of candied nut into Paimon’s hand.

“It’s okay. You never get it,” Lumine says.

“Lumine! How can you say that,” she protests.

“She’s not wrong, though,” he says. “You are lacking quite a bit when it comes to the thinking department. Along with everything else.”

And when Paimon scowls at him, he only stares back flatly. She grumbles, returning to munching her food for lack of better response.

“So,” Lumine says. She turns to Nahida, who’d been watching the conversation with an enlightened shine in her eyes. Probably taking notes, always eager to observe the interactions between people. “To sum it up, I’ve given him some of my… powers?”

“Deeper than that. Essence would be a better word,” Nahida says serenely. “An amalgamation between energy and soul.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” Lumine admits.

“Oh no,” Paimon frets. She tugs at his jacket, voice sliding into a whine. “Give it back to Lumine, Wanderer!”

“Be quiet and let Lord Kusanali speak,” he says with a curl of his lips, batting off her attack with a wave of his hands. A sweep of Anemo through the air, and the pixie somersaults back, regaining her balance with a groan, white strands mussed into a bird’s nest.

“Wanderer!” Lumine scolds as she tries to fix Paimon’s hair. “Pamon didn’t deserve that.”

“I don’t suffer fools, Traveller,” he says calmly.

Nahida giggles, much to Paimon’s chagrin. “Nahidaaaaa,” Paimon says. “Wanderer is bullying me!”

“You’ll be fine, Paimon,” Nahida says. “He is only… Hm, how do I put it? Teasing you.”

“If this is how Wanderer plays around,” Paimon mutters, “then Paimon doesn’t wanna join. And you still have to give Lumine back her, her—” The fairy wracks her brain for the word that Nahida had used, but comes up short. “—her water! Before Lumine melts completely!”

Lumine pats Paimon’s head, trying to tame the savage beast with her touch. “Can he use any of it?”

“I do not know. Can you, Wanderer?” Nahida asks.

“I… feel it. But I can’t control it,” he says. A half-truth. He feels it, yes—the tug, the welling of something that’s not his beneath his skin—but how it affects him is another story.

“Is it harmful, Nahida?” Lumine asks.

“Not to you. A drop in the well, compared to what your powers entail.”

“And to him?”

“Small enough to be insignificant, in the grand scheme of things,” Nahida assures, finger tapping his palm in half-curiosity. He raises an eyebrow, receiving a cheerful smile in response. “He is, as you know, capable of receiving so much more.”

At the reminder of his past, he scoffs. “A tactful way to put it,” he says. “Just call me what I am, Kusanali. A tool. A storage.”

Nahida holds onto his fingers, the caress gentle and soothing. “Your nature is what it is,” she says, “but it does not define your future. Would you not say so, Traveller?”

“Of course,” Lumine says softly. “Only your actions will.”

“And what if,” he says, “my actions are demarcated by my nature?”

“They’re not,” Lumine says. “You receiving a Vision—that’s proof, isn’t it? That you can cross the demarcations.”

“Exactly right,” Nahida says.

Wanderer whether they’ll say the same if he were to bring up the Traveller’s nature. What were the boundaries of a star? Could they be crossed in the same way?

Paimon’s eyes flit between the three of them. “I give up,” she announces, pouting. “You guys speak too much in riddles. All Paimon wants to know is what we’re going to do about him stealing Lumine’s energy!”

He rolls his eyes. “When did I ever ‘steal’ it?”

“Well, it’s gotta be your fault somehow,” Paimon harrumphs. “You sucked it away like a leech, remember?”

It’s annoying how she doesn’t even flinch when he glares at her. Seems like she’s learned how to differentiate his annoyance from his malice. So there was a brain somewhere in that hollow skull of hers. Pity.

“I could reverse it,” Nahida says, letting go of his hand. Fingers at her chin again, in silent thought. “If I were to…” She closes her eyes, and then nods. “Yes, that may work. The mark can be dislodged with a careful enough hand.”

“No,” he says immediately. Closes his palm, hiding it under the table. “If it’s not doing any harm, then don’t bother.”

“You know,” Lumine says, amused, “that’s my energy you’re hoarding. Technically, it’s still mine.”

“What is given cannot be returned,” he says defensively. “I hadn’t realized you were without good manners, Traveller. Besides, it’s just more trouble than it’s worth. No point in bothering Lord Kusanali about it.”

“It’s not a bother at all,” Nahida says.

“Yes, it is,” he insists.

When Nahida looks to Lumine, she shrugs. “Let it be,” she says. “It’s not as if I need it. Nor do I want to force it.”

“Oh, that’s so not fair!” Paimon stomps her feet. “He’s even closer to you, now!”

“In what way, little Paimon?” Nahida asks curiously.

“Well, it’s,” she splutters. “Not only does he match with Lumine’s colours, he’s also got a little bit of her in him! Isn’t that considered close, Nahida?”

“A mere coincidence, I assure you,” he says. Matching colours—what drivel. And so what if she’s handed over a piece of herself? From her attitude, it’s not as if that meant anything to her, he thinks bitterly.

“Nothing could ever replace you, Paimon,” Lumine says warmly, smoothing her fingers over the crown of the pixie’s head.

Her confidence boosted, Paimon says smugly, “That’s right! Hear that, Wanderer?”

He tilts his hat upwards, a cool stare. “Are you sure that I’m the leech here?”

“Hmph. I’m warning you, hat boy,” Paimon says darkly, clinging onto the Traveller’s arm. “Lumine’s best friend is Paimon, got that?”

Just as he’s about to make another snide remark, a holler comes from across the street. “Hey, is that the famous problem-solver Traveller I see? Got a commission for you, if you’re interested!”

Lumine’s gaze focuses on the source of the noise: a young man, waving his arms frantically. She gives a questioning look at Nahida. “Is it okay if I leave for a second, Nahida?”

“Oh, do whatever you think needs to be done,” Nahida says lightheartedly, steepling her fingers. “I will be here, regardless.”

“I’ll be back,” Lumine says, sliding her chair back as she stands. “Give me a moment.”

“Oh, wait! Paimon’s coming too,” Paimon says.

Wanderer watches them go, and resists a sigh. Of course, she’d go. Doesn’t she always? Never one to refuse, the hero and her noble nature.

“I hadn’t realized I made such poor company,” Nahida says.

“You don’t,” he says. “It’s just…”

Nahida hums, tapping her fingers on the table. He hopes she doesn’t pull that mind-reading move of hers on him. “Then while the Traveller is preoccupied,” she says, “may I ask you something?”

He snorts. “I know something that the God of Wisdom doesn’t?”

“My knowledge is not infinite, Wanderer. Thus why I seek it out.”

“Go ahead and ask, then.” Wanderer smirks. “You know I won’t refuse a request if it’s from you, Lord Kusanali.”

“Ah, but it is only polite to ask,” Nahida says, folding her hand together. She glances toward the direction the Traveller had left. “So. When did it begin, Wanderer?”

Wanderer blinks. Huh. Hadn’t expected her to be so blunt. Nor does he know how to answer. Nahida only sits there, a patient lilt of her head, watching as he collects his disarrayed thoughts. It proves an impossible mess to untangle.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Why do you want to know?”

“I respected your decision to keep things as they are, so I kept silent on the matter. But…”

“But?”

“You were not telling me the whole truth, were you? Her energy in you… There must be some sort of effect I cannot see. Something deeper than just energy flow. She is not of this world, so the worldly knowledge of Teyvat may not apply.”

“It’s… nothing,” he says. “Not a big deal. Just the occasional swirl under the skin.”

And the longing, the longing, always the longing. But that’s been there way before this, hasn’t it?

“You cannot contain all of her,” she cautions. “It would be foolish to try. Like starlight, she will always remain uncaptured, an inch out of reach. Do not take more than you should, Wanderer.”

Wanderer leans forward, staring down at the Sumeru deity. Nahida stares back, even. And then he laughs. “Did I ever give off the impression that I wanted to try?” he says lightly.

“...Be careful around her,” Nahida says softly. “I know the Traveller can be… free, with her affections. And temporary, as well.”

“What, worried I’ll hurt her?”

“You read me wrong, Wanderer.”

“How so?”

“The Traveller is a force of nature. There is not much one can do to hold onto her, nor is there much one can do to divert her course. You on the other hand…”

“Just spit it out. It isn’t like you to be so indecisive, Buer.”

“I am not worried about Lumine,” Nahida murmurs. Within emerald-gemstone eyes, the knowing sharp enough to make him flinch. “I am worried about you.”

: : :

The God of Wisdom’s question lingers. Later on, in the peace of loneliness, he will ask himself that very question:

When did it begin?

Ask him to pinpoint the exact moment, and he would fail. Perhaps it had been at the first point of contact between their minds, the feathered link that had been her consciousness trying to explore him.

Resting within the mechanized centre of his newly-created body, the Balladeer had felt the brush of Haypasia’s mania. And then, the tentative touch of the Traveller’s curiosity, intermingled with Haypasia’s mad devotion.

It had been amusing enough, his follower’s actions in trying to convert the Traveller, that he decided to offer something. Let the Traveller not leave with empty hands. After all, he will be a benevolent god to his people; why not start here?

The three betrayals, he’d called them. Flung the fragmented memories at her, watching her reactions as she pieced everything together. Her mind, a witness to the most vulnerable, the most secretive parts of him. She’d stood there, body tensed, breathing shallow, and through the link, he felt her quivering heart, the grief, the pity. But what for?

He’d sneered at the time, how easily swayed the Traveller could be by a sob story. The past version of himself… Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi, Kabukimono… They were beneath him, something to be crushed underfoot like worms.

Divinity elevated him above it all, shrank what was left of his emotions until only rage remained; made everything look so small. Insignificant.

Yet.

Why did he reach out again?

Why was it that, when he felt her hand on Haypasia’s cheek as his follower laid there, unconscious in Pardis Dhyai, he surged forward to meet the contact? Wanted to know the intimacy of her mind, enough to throw himself in her sea of thoughts and drown—everything about her had been laid bare for him, each thrumming beat of her heart. The abject horror on her face, the loathing dripping of her thoughts. It's not as if he hadn’t expected them, but he’d relished in them nonetheless. He’d affected her.

Even if it means losing yourself, would you still want to become a god?

What a foolish question. What was his true self worth, anyway? A sheet of paper, blank and useless. Nothing worth her time.

But the new him. The divine him. That is worth her time. Worth her devotion.

You’ve seen my past, he wanted to say, so you’re mine. Find me, Traveller. Follow the threads and find me.

He should have realized, then, that perhaps it began to root from there.

And perhaps it flowered into a tangible mass in his chest when he’d regained his memories, every flickering image that he’d thought he discarded in his divinity rushing back, screeching nonstop. All that self-hatred, all that loneliness, spreading through his body like lightning, trying to crack and bloom through the skin.

Bear it. You must, Nahida had whispered, and so he did. Wanted to give up and die, but Nahida would not allow it, he himself would not allow it, and so he lived.

Through it, he remembered: the softness of her eyes when she’d first found him in this new world, when there had been no past to define their relationship, no history. The first days of travelling together to reach Lesser Lord Kusanali, and every careful glance had hurt for some unknown reason.

The him at the time had been confused. But also enticed. How he’d wanted to weep. How she'd looked at him as something fragile, something loved, inexplicable tenderness every time she addressed him. We’ve a long journey to make from here to Sumeru City. Be careful, Wanderer. Don’t lose your way.

After he regained his memories, he’d come to realize that something strange had grown in him. Not just the gaining of the Vision, but when he’d knelt there, clutching at the migraine in his head, she’d glanced at him, cautious and wary—and yet, still thrown herself forward.

Could a seed grow by itself? No.

It required soil, water, sunlight, love and care. It could not begin from nowhere, and it could not continue from nothing—therefore, it’s not his fault. He had started it, but she had nurtured it. What kindness she’d offered to the lost him, the amnesiac him, he’d latched on and fed off of it until something changed irrevocably. A gnawing hunger for it, even now.

He still pores over it, some days, that tenderness in her eyes…

Did she love him, then?

He fears the answer.

: : :

Another day, another commission. He ought to be used to the mundaneness of it all, but every time the sun sets, he’s reminded. This is what humans spend their time doing, exchanging labour for tangible money, intangible fame.

A futile endeavour, if you asked him.

“Tell me. Why must we do this again?” he says, flicking another careless arc of wind at the gnarled branches blocking their way. Leaves fall, landing on his shoulder before they’re blown away by another sweep of Anemo.

“A commission is a commission,” Lumine says in front of him, hacking at the vines blocking the cave entrance. Even though they’d already cleared the way when they first entered, the vines and branches have already grown back, the air ripe with the humidity of new life. At least the fungi haven’t returned. Those had been particularly annoying to deal with while they’d been trying to avoid entanglement with the branches. “And this commissioner said he needed some specially-grown rukkhashava mushrooms.”

“He could have just used normal mushrooms,” Wanderer mutters. “As if there’s any tangible difference.”

“Come on,” Lumine protests half-heartedly, “you know that’s not true. Quality ingredients make the dish. And besides, it’s for a cooking competition.”

“As your little companion kept reminding me,” he says. Paimon had worked herself up into a frenzy at the mention of a cooking competition, fire blazing in her eyes as she ordered Lumine and him to get a move on already, or else we’re going to lose! As if they had any stakes in the contest at all. “I can’t believe she chose to stay behind.”

“There’s the potential to snack while cooking,” Lumine says dryly. “Of course she’d stay behind.”

“Is she always so easily swayed by the promise of food?”

“Most of the time, no,” Lumine says. “But… It’s kind of hard to deny the guy the help.”

“All this over a cooking competition.”

“Hey, now. It’s important to our commissioner. Important enough to beg so desperately, at that.”

The pathetic display had been enough to move even him—as in, Wanderer wanted to immediately move to get the mushrooms just so he could fling them at the chef, and get the man to stop bawling at Lumine’s feet. Luckily, he’d moved onto pestering for Paimon’s help in the kitchen after Lumine’s agreement, you’re at the perfect height to hand me my kitchenware, or something ridiculous.

“At least he’s offering us food afterward,” Lumine says.

Better food than something else, he thinks spitefully, remembering the previous little ‘bonuses’ the Traveller had received.

“I don’t need food,” he says.

“Don’t need this, don’t need that,” Lumine grumbles as she pushes away more of the vines with her wrist. He sends another gust of wind, flinging the plant off of her. “What do you need then, Wanderer?”

“...Why ask? Are you going to give it to me?”

“Depends on what it is,” Lumine says, heels tapping against stone. And then a pause, before continuing their rhythm. “Maybe not a gnosis, though.”

“Maybe not,” he says. “It’s not as if I want anything like that anymore, anyway.”

“Not anymore,” she agrees. “Then what do you need?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, come on," she cajoles. "There must be something. Everyone has something they desire.”

“Even you, Traveller?”

“Even me,” Lumine says. “You know already, about my brother and I.”

“Hm.”

“You know mine. So tell me about yours.”

He gazes at her back, the naked expanse above her corset. Ghost sensations of reaching out, touching his knuckle to bare skin, a fevered dream still half-remembered. Hand in hair, lips at throat. Her laugh in his ears, echoing like a song gone wrong.

What did he need? I need—he opens his mouth—

And then a branch whacks him across the eyes. “f*cking hell,” he spits, a mouthful of leaves for his troubles. He snaps off the branch and hurls it behind him, rubbing the corner of his eyes, annoyed at the interruption, annoyed at how honest he’d almost been.

Lumine stops to look behind her. “You know,” she says as she appraises him, a quirk of her lips as if trying to hide a laugh, “you’re almost cute like this.”

“Your vision seems to be failing,” he says flatly. “Too dark in here for you?”

“Not particularly,” Lumine says cheerfully. Steps closer to him, reaching up to wipe away a stray tear from the stinging impact. “Though I’m sorry this happened to you. Such a pretty face doesn’t deserve it.”

He takes a shaky breath, and then pushes her away. “I have no need for pity,” he says.

“It’s not pity,” Lumine says. Her eyes shine in the dark. Voice laced with poisonous fondness, trying to lure him close. “It’s—”

And that’s when the whopperflowers burst out from the cave walls. The darkness filled with quiet hisses, pollen drifting everywhere.

Through the shimmering dust, through the cacophony, he tries to find her expression, grasping for the edges of the syllables that were supposed to be her next words—but it’s too late. They’ve already been lost.

: : :

“Archons, is there no end to these things?” he spits, the tight space setting him even more on edge. Bad enough when it had been the fungi, but at least those creatures didn’t pop in and out of the ground too. These Electro whopperflowers especially, had a different tinge to them from their normal counterparts, a shine to their petals that the others didn’t.

And the pollen. The gods damned pollen. They sprayed it everywhere, using it as a curtain in the enclosure, making everything that much harder to see. When he used his wind powers, it made the entire affair even worse; not for the first time did he have to avoid Traveller’s blade, almost skewered on the metal tip.

His skills weren’t meant to be used in such a small space. He can’t be useful like this.

“Hey. Calm down,” Lumine’s voice bounces from the cavern walls, strained in her attempt to keep a cool composure. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of here before long. Not many more, now.”

“Easy enough to say,” he grunts, dodging another electrical discharge the whopperflower spat out from its mouth. Rippling static flies past his shoulder, goosebumps prickling insistently at the back of his neck. “An entirely different thing to do.”

“There’s only”—the distinct wet sound of her sword cleaving through stalks—”half a dozen left.”

“Half a dozen too many,” he snarls, kicking a well-aimed arc of wind at another whopperflower, pinning it to the wall. And then he smashes his hand through the stem of its neck, sticky fluids leaking all over his skin. The buzz of electricity is enough to make him grit his teeth. “Disgusting.”

“Four more, now,” Lumine counts. Her breathing has become more harrowed, struggling for air as her sword clips through more of the monstrous flowers. “Let’s hurry it up a little.”

As if they’re not already doing that. At least the pollen storm has ceased in its intensity, the whopperflowers having been cut down to only a handful. He can actually see the Traveller now, brandishing her sword against one particularly menacing creature. It’s at least twice the size of these already abnormally large creatures, and when Lumine hurls herself forward, it snakes its petals across her wrist, winding around her arm. A gasp of surprise as it pulls her forward, and he flings away the ones encroaching him, trying to create space so he can fly to her.

“It’s—” She grunts and rips her arm away, tearing off the entire petal snaking around her with pure brute force. “—fine!”

Ah. Right. The Traveller and her strength. The whopperflowers aren’t the only monstrous things around here. Nectar spray everywhere, covering her skin with the clear, sticky sap, but its electro-charged nature doesn’t phase the Traveller either. Or perhaps she’s merely gritting her teeth through the pain.

He returns to the swing and dip of combat, only half aware of his surroundings as he ruminates on the flex of her fingers after having torn off the petal. How much force is hidden beneath her slight body, how deep would the bruises of her grip be—

“Watch out!” Lumine’s reprimand tears him out of his musings, the silver of her blade flashing before his eyes as she wards the whopperflower off.

“What’re you doing?” she pants, face red with exertion. Another thrust of her sword, and the flower slumps to the ground. The last of them, he realizes, taking stock of the situation around him. Nothing left except dead carcasses. “Don’t lose focus before the battle is over—you know better, Wanderer.”

“Ah,” he says, wiping his fingers on his shorts. Unsure of how to feel about her sword guarding him instead of trying to pierce through him. So this is what it felt like, to be protected. He hadn’t experienced this feeling since… A twist of his hand, and his hat is summoned back on his head. He covers his eyes. “You’re right. I should have paid better attention.”

The words reverberate, the chaos of battle finally dying into eerie silence. Not quite an admission of his foolishness, but Lumine only rolls her eyes, familiar enough with his evasiveness when it comes to accepting fault. She kneels down, quick and efficient as she collects the energy nectar from the corpses.

He stares at her, the steady swipe of her hand as she squeezes the sap into the containers that she always seems to have tucked away somewhere. “You have to collect this too?”

“Never know when it’ll be useful,” Lumine murmurs.

“You and your trinket collection,” he grouses.

“You never seemed to complain when you wanted one of my so-called trinkets,” Lumine scoffs. “Remember the Aeonblight Drake? You couldn’t keep your eyes off the core in my hand.”

“It was for Lord Kusanali,” he protests. “I thought she’d find the motive device interesting.”

“Sure it was,” she says. “Is that why you still have it tucked away in the corner of your closet?”

Put out, he grumbles and looks away from her.

“Finally, some peace and quiet,” Lumine says as she stands up, tucking away the nectar before flicking the mess off of her sword with two clean twirls. Then into the dimensional pocket they both go, tossed up and disappearing in fragmented lights. A rough exhale, as she tries her best to clean herself off. A lot more difficult to scrape sap off of skin than flinging it off metal. “Though I’m not sure what to do about this mess…”

He sighs, shrugging off his jacket and removing the Vision. “Here,” he says, shoving it toward her. She’s too surprised to reject him, and he walks off before she could, clipping his Vision to his belt.

“I’m not about to use your clothes as a rag,” Lumine says roughly as she hurries toward him. Tries to give it back, but he dances out of her reach, a smirk sliding on his face.

“It’s more for my benefit than yours, Traveller,” he says haughtily. The chill of the night nips at his arms as he exits the cave once and for all, the strung ornaments of his kasa tinkling to match the dance of the outside breeze. “You look like a mess. I certainly don’t want to walk into town with a woman covered in the guts of a dozen whopperflowers. That would be quite disgraceful.”

“You and your damn mouth,” Lumine mutters. “Don’t you know how expensive silk is?” Still a grateful glance at him, as she wipes away the residues from her arms and chest with the sleeves. Slings it across her shoulders, draping herself in white and blue. The colours look somehow… right, on her flushed skin. Just enough to compliment the rest of her clothes—disarrayed and messy as they are, from their recent defense against the monster sortie.

The fairy’s words suddenly ring into mind—not only does he match with Lumine’s colours, he’s also got a little bit of her in him!—and he scoffs. Sneaks a look at his palm anyway, stars blinking back. Again, that tightness beneath his skin, fighting to burst out like the whopperflowers they’d just fought.

“Oh—!”

His feet stop. He looks back. Lumine is gripping her knees, bowled over. His clothing, fallen to the ground, and the frame of her body quivers, a crumbling house before its inevitable collapse.

“What are you doing?” he snaps, the chill of unease curling up his spine. “We still have to give the mushrooms to that chef before the end of the night, remember?”

“Just…” She heaves for breath, shifting her weight back and forth between each leg. Whimpers. Moonlight, rippling on golden strands. “Give me a second. Stomachache. Must be the after-effects of the adrenaline.”

“Sure it is,” he says, moving to help her up. Grunts as she waves him off, and sneaks his arm behind her back anyway. He bites his tongue as his hand meets heated skin. It’s hot. Too hot. She’s burning up, as if she’s caught a fever—no, as if she’s the sun itself, the contact painful enough for him to almost drop her. “Archons, woman! What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Didn’t think—it was anything to talk about—” She grimaces, slanting her entire body on him, and that’s how he knows it’s serious. Lumine would never willingly accept his aid until the moment that she absolutely had to. And to just lean on him like this… Something was not right.

“Can you get back to town like this?” He calculates the distance in his mind. The cave wasn’t far from Sumeru City. Probably half an hour, give or take. Faster if he flies them both there. They would see the healer first, and then Paimon.

“I—I’m not sure—” Then. She presses her face to his shoulder and moans. The sound, vibrating through him.

Wanderer takes pause. He knows pain. Knows its effects, knows its sound. That was not… a sound made purely from pain. A moan pulled straight from his dreams, instead. He grabs her by the shoulders and inspects her, head to feet. “You…”

“Sorry,” she croaks. Face still flushed, despite the cool night. She presses her legs together, catching the skirt of her dress between them. Wrinkled fabric, outlining the inner curves. Her hands twitch, as if tempted to move somewhere they’re not supposed to. “Something is… wrong… I can’t think properly…”

The moonlight catches on her chest, a fine dusting of pollen still stuck there.

Wanderer blinks. Was that the reason for her current state? He’d heard stories before, of pyro whopperflowers harvested for their more… interesting properties. The Liyuen markets were infamous for its various aphrodisiacs based on their pollen, given that they have an abundant supply of the pyro species in their nation. But the ones they’d fought had been electro-infused. Not pyro.

But they had looked quite strange, hadn’t they? With their larger than normal size and the pollen clouds.

“When did this start?” he urges. “When did you start feeling warm?”

Lumine shakes her head. “When we started fighting the whopperflowers, but I thought, I thought it was the heat of battle—only it didn’t stop—please, help me—” she babbles.

“What do you need help with?”

“I need,” she wheezes. Her hand, gliding past her hips, dipping between her legs. “I need someone to—”

She bites her lips, stopping herself. Shakes her head furiously, as if trying to clear her thoughts. “I don’t,” she backtracks, hand finding her thigh instead of their original target. “The inn. Let’s go back to the inn.”

“Not the teapot?” They stay at inns when they can, and in the teapot when they can’t. But in this state, the teapot would be better.

“Can’t,” she gasps, finding the fabric of his shirt. “Can’t summon it. I can’t think, can’t focus my mind, hurry—Wanderer—the inn!”

He stares at her. Debates on what he should do… Whether he should do anything at all.

“You have to find someone to pass this with you,” he says finally.

“Pass what?”

“The arousal,” he explains. “It won’t disappear until you copulate with someone.”

“Arousal? No,” Lumine says to herself, shrinking away from him, “that’s not it. That can’t be it.”

“Is that why you’re shaking, Traveller?” he challenges, stepping forward. Looming over her, despite their similar height. “Looking like the only thing you care about is satiating your lust?”

“Th-Then I’ll take care of it myself,” Lumine stutters.

“Sure,” he says. “If you want to do that, then I won’t stop you. But in about half an hour or so, you won’t be saying the same.”

“I—” She bites her lips, and then nods. “That’s okay. Just, help me back to the inn.” Her hand finds the collar of his shirt again, tugging on his necklace. “Please?”

Curling his lips, he gathers up his jacket, slinging the messy fabrics over his shoulder—and then picks her up in his arms. She’s shaking. Still hot to the touch. He closes his eyes, trying to ignore the jump of energy under his skin—it wants to reconnect to its owner. And it doesn’t help that he feels the same.

“Hold on tight,” he says. A little gratified when she does exactly as he asks, looping her arms around his neck. Obedient to a fault. For once.

: : :

Halfway there, she changes her mind. Exactly as he’d expected.

“Stop,” she says, twisting in his grasp. As if she hadn’t been mouthing at his collarbone the entire time, practically drooling all over him. An extremely distracting sensation.“Stop, Wanderer!”

What was he, a Sumpter Beast? He rolls his eyes and places her down. A flurry of white and blue as she fumbles at the walls of the alleyway, and he gives in with a sigh, leaning down to help her up. Her eyes flicker to the town square, taking in the mass of people there. Wets her lips, a quiet whine.

“I need to,” she stutters, “I need to find someone, first.”

“Not so interested in going at it alone?” he says. “I told you so, didn’t I?”

“Someone,” she gasps, fingers digging into his arm as she tries to hold on. Knees wobbling, held up only with his support. “Anyone, please.”

“...What about me, Traveller?” he whispers. “I could help you.”

“You—?” She shivers and breaks off her sentence, on the edge of tears. “Not you,” she says, struggling to find the next words. The sentence strung together like a broken pearl necklace, incoherent. “Anyone… Anyone but you, Wanderer.”

For a millisecond, he had been willing. Had been ready to go on a little fetch quest for her, see who it is that she’d want to ride out her intoxicated state with—the local bartender, perhaps? That scholar who insisted on thanking her with an invitation into the bedroom? Or the most recent one, the woman who’d hosted them for dinner?

But then she says, Anyone but you.

And hell if he doesn’t feel an inscrutable rage at the statement, because why not him? Why not him, instead of the careless men and women she’d allowed for no other reason than because they asked? What made them so different?

The initial panic he’d felt at her strange state has all but fled, replaced by cold, calculating intent. Anyone but him, but could she say that when he’s the only option she has?

Despite the Traveller’s own misplaced beliefs, he is not someone good. Not even close. Which is why when he hears the desperation in her voice, he doesn’t move. Why not give in? Why not take advantage?

“Go on then,” he says. He pries her hand off him, each and every finger. She stumbles back, eyes confused at the cruel gesture. Only held up by the wall at her back. “Try walking into town square like this. In this state, could you do it?”

Lumine thins her mouth, staring blankly at him.

“I’ll answer for you,” he says darkly, crossing his arms. “You can’t. You’ll fall to your knees and you’ll crawl your way there instead, begging all the while.”

“Gods, why,” she moans, “why are you doing this?”

“Because I want to see how determined you are,” he sneers. “I want to see the lengths you’ll go to in order to reject me.”

“I…”

“Maybe I should help you, after all,” he muses. “Grab you by the scarf and toss you in the middle of the crowd. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The Traveller, the woman who’d stood firm against every challenge, looks away from him, lips trembling.

“Then you’ll whor* yourself out, right there and then,” he continues, too incensed to stop. “Finger yourself and let everyone take a good look at your c*nt. Let everyone have a turn with you. Not as if it’s any different from what you normally do, anyway.”

“No!” she cries. “I wouldn’t.”

“Ah, but you would,” he says. “You feel it, don’t you. The fire, eating you inside and out. So who will it be, Traveller? Me, or them?”

Unable to defend against his words, Lumine falls to her knees, gasping. “Please,” she wheezes, even as she’s clawing for his legs. “Don’t—we can’t—”

He kneels down. Smooth, fluid motion of his fingers as they latch onto her wrists, holding her arms up above her head, hands slammed to the wall. Lumine stares at him, lips wet, a quiet whimper as he leans close. His other hand, cupped, tilting her chin up until her gaze is on him.

Not that it really helps—her eyes have already gone hazy with lust, unaware of anything except the potential for relief. And when he opens his mouth, barely a word out, she bites her lips and moans, rubbing her legs together. Her dress rides up, revealing clear liquid smeared over her inner thighs.

He smiles, amused.

Lumine squeezes her eyes shut at the expression, but he only clicks his tongue. “Look at me.”

“I don’t,” she heaves, “no. Anyone but you.”

“I said, look at me.”

She sobs, but obliges. Pleading eyes—for release, or for mercy?

It mattered little.

"Listen to me, Traveller.”

"Oh, archons—" she rasps, her fingers gripping the hem of her dress.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he says softly. Slides even closer, right next to her ear. Warm breath, tracing skin. His words are firm: “You’re not going to anyone else. You’re going to the inn and you’re going to strip—and then, you’re going to spread your legs open like a good little whor* and wait for me f*ck you. There’s no one that’s going to help you through this, except for me. Is that clear?”

“I—” she moans, a pained sound as she struggles between lust and reason. “No, no, no—I said I can’t—you can’t—”

“Oh, but here’s where you’re wrong, hero. I most definitely can,” he purrs. “And I most definitely will.”

: : :

The innkeeper doesn’t even flinch as he slams his hand on the counter. Only looks up with a raised eyebrow. “Can I help you, sir?” he says, eyes shifting to Lumine, who’s currently curled in his arms. “Is your room unsatisfactory, somehow?

“I have to leave her alone here, for a while. Don’t let anyone disturb her,” he says slowly, tucking Lumine even closer to his chest. He didn’t like the thought of showing her while she’s vulnerable to other people. “No matter what you hear. Is that understood?”

The innkeeper shrugs. “The thought never even crossed my mind,” he says mildly—

To empty air, because Wanderer had already left.

: : :

Don’t come to the inn for a while. Stay in the teapot after you’re done, is what he told Paimon as he shoved the mushrooms at her, the scent of spice tickling his nose. The kitchen had been frantically busy, quick rhythm of knife to chopping board and clang of pots, and her cheeks had been full of food as she’d looked at him curiously. Lumine is busy with something, and she’ll be mad if you interrupt.

The pixie had grumbled and whined, but he hadn’t budged. It’s not as if she could go in, anyway. Not when he had the only key to the room.

And on the path back from completing the commission, he’d remembered.

The slam of the door when he’d first returned to their room in the inn. Lumine, moaning as he set her down on the bed. Help, she’d croaked, uncurling her fingers to reach for her skirt. The other hand, sliding under the top of her dress to knead at her breast.

He had stared down at her, sorely tempted.

Had been tempted the entire way, in fact. Bit at the inside of cheek until he tasted blood, and the wound had healed almost instantaneously only to be reopened right after. Thought about whether he should have just pushed her against the wall of that secluded alleyway, having his way with her then and there, her bloomers drooping past her ankles, no time to strip her properly. Or even just f*cking her right out in the open.

It actually made him half-giddy, the thought of having her like that. The illustrious Traveller, f*cking a strange man where everyone can see. And then, what? They’d know he was hers, she was his, and maybe that’ll ward the rest of the parasites off, maybe that’ll teach her that he’s the only one she needs.

She wouldn’t be able to look anyone straight in the eyes for months.

But he didn’t like the thought of everyone staring at her, either. Not while she was so unaware of herself. More people would just split what little attention she had to command, and he wanted—Wanderer exhales at the thought—wanted to keep her eyes on him. Only him. Just this one time.

He’d make it good for her, he thinks lazily. It’s the least he could do.

And when he hesitates at the door, the muted sound of her moans filtering through the wood, it’s this thought that propels him forward anyway. His eyes adjust to the darkness, analyzing the chaos. A boot here, a glove there, sleeves and dress; everything, tossed haphazardly over the table, the chairs.

And Lumine is naked on the bed, hips raised as her fingers dip in and out of her slick folds. Faster and faster, tweaking her swollen cl*t, but only a frustrated sob to show for it. She falls back down, raising her head at the noise of the opening door. Looks blearily at him. Eyes clearing up in realization.

“Wanderer,” she croaks. “Help.”

He could be kind. Or he could be cruel.

And he does not want to be kind right now. He wants to be wanted.

“I’m not coming to you,” he says, quietly shutting the door behind him. Leans against the entrance, crossing his arms. A lazy smile on his face. “You’ll have to come to me, Traveller.”

Lumine lets out an anguished wail, a painful sound to hear when his shorts are getting a little tight, but he doesn’t budge. She’s suffering—so what? Hasn’t he suffered too?

“If you need me,” he croons, “you’ll have to show me. Be a good girl and come here, Lumine.”

She shudders, and then drags herself off the bed. Tries to take a step, and crumples to the ground, landing on her knees. He hums, watching the sway of her breasts as she heaves for breath. Still waiting. Half-expecting her to crawl to him.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she pushes herself up again, legs wobbling with each step. Eyes pinned to him, as if afraid he’d disappear. And then, when she’s almost there, she tenses her body—

And lunges. More strength than he’d expected, from someone who’d been trembling so much moments before. His back slams against the door, and everything about her is hot to the touch, her eager lips at his throat, her legs as they wrap around his hips. He gasps, hands finding her waist to hoist her up, grinding against her wetness. As if shot by lightning, she throws her head back, a breathless gasp as she writhes against him.

“Don’t tell me you came from just that,” he says coolly as he strolls to the bed, each step a tortuous bump against her folds. His co*ck pulses in his pants, and he wants so badly to feel her slick skin against his bare member. “We haven’t even gotten started.”

Her eyes are dewed, tears at the corner. She lowers her head to his shoulders, some sense of clarity breaking through with the org*sm.

“You know I don’t want this,” she whispers miserably, nails digging into his back. “I don’t want you.”

“Then what do you want, hero?” he says, trying not to sound equally miserable. “Who do you want?”

It’s not as if the answer even mattered; right now, there’s just him.

So it’ll have to be him. It can only be him.

Chapter 3: put your hands on my waist, do it softly

Chapter Text

It’s laughable. Laughable, because even when all the power is his to wield, all the moves are his to make, he’s still beholden to her. He’s the one spreading her by the thighs, exposing every inch of her to the moonlight drifting from the window above.

And yet, he’s the one that feels as though his skin has been burned away, every gear inside of him announced to the world.

“More,” she begs, hunched over him. Her hands at the back of his head, trying to shove him closer so that she can ride his face. And when he doesn’t let up his mouth at her folds, his tongue buried inside her, following the motion of her hips like tides chasing the moon, it’s a fistful of his hair instead.

He hisses, temporarily jerking himself away, the pain of almost having his hair ripped out by the roots spreading through his body in a tsunami wave of pleasure, pooling in his groin. His hand reaches down to palm himself, grateful that he’s stripped himself before going down on her, but Lumine’s voice stops him short. “I need more—it hurts!”

He hasn’t let her come. Always tore himself away at the last moment, when he felt her legs tensing beneath his bruising grip. Her cl*t is puffy to the point of swollen, just the puff of a breath ghosting over the sensitive flesh enough to make her flinch.

“You’ll have whatever I choose to give,” he says harshly, a brief nip at her thigh in scolding. “Control yourself a little, Traveller.”

It’s a cruel demand, made even knowing that she can’t, she physically can’t, because why else would she be pulling him close instead of pushing him away?

But he likes her begging. Likes her wanting.

He goes right back to her, a long lick along her slit to gather her wetness, careful to avoid the bundle at the top, the heady scent of her drowning him—and it’s a good thing that he doesn’t need to breathe, that he can keep exploring her without pause.

The experience is foreign enough, new body, new quirks, to remind him that this is their first time together, that this is what she tastes like, sharp and tangy. And the sensations are real, no illusions, not anymore. He groans into her, muffled vibrations, and Lumine stutters, letting out a whimper that’s low-pitched and pained.

If only she knew, if only she could understand what she does to him. The intense throbbing between his own legs urges him to finish this. Take what he wants. But doing so would give her exactly what she wanted, finish the entire affair quicker so that she can forget this ever happened, and he won’t allow for that.

He swirls his tongue over her entrance, thrust his tongue inside to feel the twitch of her walls—she jerks up, trying to get off on just this, but it’s a useless endeavour. She needs something more, he knows, but all he does is lap at her folds, calm, unhurried.

“Wanderer,” Lumine whispers. The only thing she can do is pull at his hair, try to shove his face toward the apex of her mound, the place where she really needs him. “Don’t be cruel. Don’t.”

He raises his head. Her beseeching eyes, glowing like twin suns, quiet despair. “Why shouldn’t I?” he asks.

“Because, because—”

Another moan as he licks between her folds, nose touched to her cl*t in a tantalizing show of what she could have, if she could just— “Use your words.”

“Because I want it!” she bursts out. “I want to come!”

“What exactly does that mean?” he murmurs. “Be specific. Maybe then, I’ll consider it.”

“Your”—Lumine takes a deep inhale, dripping onto the sheets in the absence of his mouth to catch the slick fluids—”your mouth.”

“Not specific enough, Lumine.”

“I want you to make me come with your mouth!” she pleads, frustrated. “How much more do I have to beg, Wanderer? What will it take?”

“I suppose,” he says in mock reluctance, as if he himself isn’t just as wrecked, “that this is enough.”

“Please—!” Lumine stiffens as he suddenly presses his mouth to her cl*t, licking the bud with the flat of his tongue. His hands leave her thighs to prod at her entrance, two fingers inserting into her. She’s been wound up so much that they slip in easily, no resistance at all. He swirls her swollen cl*t lightly with his tongue, crooks his fingers inside to search for her weak spot, dimly aware of her gasps, the body-wracking shudders that have her practically vibrating against him.

She’s warm. Messy heat clenching around his digits as he pumps in and out of her c*nt. He wonders, as he twists his fingers along to the thrust of her hips, whether she’s done this to herself before. Whether she’s ever played around with herself in the dark, one hand slapped over her mouth, biting at her tongue to stifle the moans as she f*cks herself on her fingers. The squeezing shut of her eyes as she imagines something longer, something thicker than just her own slender fingers, filling her up to the brim, so full that she can’t breathe.

In her imagination, has there ever been him? Because if she asked, he would have come. Would have crawled on his knees for just a taste of her.

For him, since that first connection, since he’d woken up in this world that does not know him, it’s only ever been her that’s been haunting his mind. He can’t imagine what it had been like before, to not know her.

But he has her now. Has her in the palm of his hand, literally, ready to mold her to his liking. And when he finally finds that vulnerable spot inside her, knowing he’s right from how only a brush of his fingertip is enough for her thighs to clamp around his head, muscles tensing as her body bucks forward, he presses his advantage. He wants to ruin her.

So he adds another finger, curling his hand to rub that soft flesh. Sucks her cl*t, scraping his teeth against the sensitive bud before giving one last gentle lick—and Lumine shrieks. Loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear, walls be damned, her body going rigid under him like she’s been frozen in time. And then comes the reanimation, limbs flailing as she struggles against the intensity of her org*sm.

“Thank you, thank you,” she babbles, and he has to take a second of pause, just to steady himself. The Traveller is thankful. To him. For him.

He heaves for breath, trying to calm himself. Plunges his fingers in her again, to distract from his agitated thoughts. Her c*nt pulses around his fingers, drooling fluids all over his hand, but he keeps licking, keeps thrusting, the slick sounds playing accompaniment to her groans. Eventually, it becomes too much for her, the neverending onslaught.

“Hey, stop,” Lumine says, trying to shove him away. “Stop it, I’m—gods—too sensitive!”

It’s strange, because she’s supposed to be the one most affected by the aphrodisiac of the pollen, but he can barely pull himself away from her, his own mind hazed over with nothing but the urge to keep going, to force another org*sm out of her.

She wanted more, she’d said before. Just one more second, he promises silently, just one more. Another crook of his fingers as he circles his tongue against her cl*t, and she gasps, walls twitching again. The second time is weaker, just slight fluttering, but she still sobs, nails digging into his scalp. Drunk on the scent, the taste, the sound of her, it takes some time—too long, a lifetime long—to drag himself away, his chest tight as he pants reflexively for the air he doesn’t need.

“You don’t want—” he says, head dizzy, a hand to his temple to reorient himself. It doesn’t help, feeling the slick drag of his fingers, another reminder that he has her all over his lips, his skin. “You don’t want me any more?” he croaks, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

Lumine makes a low noise in the back of her throat, almost a sob, sounding as if she’s been slashed open, torn apart. He freezes. Looks up, suddenly aware of his position, kneeling on the hard floor. And her, on the edge of the bed, legs slung over his shoulder, looking down at him with wide eyes.

Unfortunately, too much clarity. The respite he’d given her made sure that she’d heard him, she’d understood, and now she knows. It seems like anything good that happens to her will come back to hurt him.

“Wanderer,” she says, her hands finding the curve of his jaw, and he sucks in a sharp breath, the touch too tender for him. The warmth of her fingers like a brand, and something swells beneath his sternum, almost like a heart that’s being squeezed, about to pop like a blister.

“Ignore it,” he says harshly. “I don’t want your pity. Nor do I deserve it. I’m the one forcing myself on you, remember? You seem to have forgotten why we’re here.”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Then I forgive you.”

“You always forgive so easily,” he spits.

“Not always,” she says. And there it is again, the unsure waver of her mouth as she stares at him. He’s sick of it. He doesn’t want it, not here. He’s supposed to be the one in control here, and she needs a reminder.

He pushes himself to his feet, shaky with rage. Yes, it must be rage that’s making him shake like this. And now, he’s the one staring down at her, his hips level with her face. Lumine’s eyes find his co*ck—not hard to miss, with it right in front of her—and she bites her lips. A subtle grind of her hips down into the bed, wrinkling the sheets, staining the fabric dark with her arousal.

Ah. Here is familiar ground. Here is where he makes himself invulnerable once more.

“Do you want my co*ck?” he asks softly, trailing his slick fingers over his aching member. Lumine’s gaze follows along the motion, her mouth falling slack as she makes to say something, but nothing comes out. He strokes himself, once, twice, suppressing the hiss that threatens to escape. And she watches him, unblinking. The black of her pupils dilating, that wanton expression creeping over her face again. The same one she’d had when she fell to her knees, as though she’s one sharp command away from crawling for him.

And then, her hand reaches out. Makes to take his co*ck, the pads of her fingers brushing against the tip of him before he bats her away.

She shrinks back in on herself, an injured expression flitting over her face. Bites her lips again, hands dropping uselessly at her side.

“No,” he says. They’ve danced this dance before. “Say it out loud.”

Lumine swallows. “I…”

“Use your words, Lumine.” He draws closer to her, the distance decreased enough for the tip of his co*ck to caress her face, smearing precum over her soft, blushing cheek. And he won’t lie to himself about how satisfying it is, to coat her in his own arousal. How it shines on her skin, so close to her lips. “Otherwise I’m going to use that mouth of yours for something other than speaking.”

A beat of silence. She doesn’t—can’t seem to—take her eyes off his co*ck.

“Judging by the way you’re so quiet,” he says, continuing with his languid strokes, “maybe you’d like that? Want to help me out with your mouth, Traveller? You’re always so helpful with others, after all. So agreeable to other people’s plights. I’m sure this is nothing for you, then.”

And the words don’t stop coming, all the raging, hateful thoughts he’d had while seeing others lead her away to their beds.

“I’ve always wondered how good you are at pleasing others. Is that the reason so many people want to have you for a lay? You’re quite good with your sword, after all. Perhaps that translates to other types of swords. Must have had a lot of experience, sucking co*ck—and keep your hand off yourself, Traveller!” he snaps, and Lumine freezes. Her fingers, stiff, just as they’d been about to dip between her thighs. “If you’re not going to answer me, then you don’t get to do anything except watch.”

Lumine doesn’t move. Stuck, just because he demanded it. He grunts as his fingers inadvertently tightens their grip, letting his anger fuel the image of her taking him down her throat, choking on the length of him.

The situation settles in. He’s jerking himself off with his hands still wet from her c*nt while she watches, helplessly getting more and more aroused from his words but not being able to do anything. It’s the exact opposite of what he’s had to do after dreaming of her, getting himself off alone in the dark.

It’s sickening, it’s horrible, and it feels so good he could come from just the thought alone, untouched. And if he does, it would be all over her, dribbling his cum over her face, her throat, her breasts.

He debates it. Maybe he should. Have her open her mouth for him, servicing him like a common whor* in a brothel. Swallowing his seed—his essence in her, too.

“You’re being cruel again,” she says suddenly, disturbing his musings. Her cheek bumps into the slit of his co*ck at the movement of her jaw, and he groans, stopping his strokes to steady himself, nothing to hold onto but the air. But the air is enough.

“I am,” he breathes. “What can you do about it, though?”

Lumine has no answer to that, either.

“Say something,” he says, a sliver of frustration hissed between his teeth, “What exactly do you want, Lumine?”

Lumine squirms, pressing her thighs together. At this point, the sheets are soaked through. “I want… I want your co*ck,” she says, words broken as if they’ve been ripped out of her throat. “I want your co*ck inside me. I want you to f*ck me. Please, Wanderer.”

He looks down at her. How much more could he push her? How much more will she let him do as he wants?

“Show me,” he says. “Inside where? Your mouth?”

“You know where,” she protests, her breathing heavier now, the pollen presumably reasserting itself even more now.

Wanderer laughs. “So you do want me to f*ck your mouth? If you insist, Traveller.”

Lumine lets out an angry snarl before laying herself flat on the bed, parting her legs. And then she’s spreading herself open, dripping folds held apart by her fingers. He hums, waiting. Throbbing at the sight, anticipation itching under his skin. Almost there, he thinks, almost there.

“Here,” she says, a helpless stutter of her hips against empty air. He can see it, her entrance clenching around nothing, and he stands still, transfixed. “I want you to f*ck me here. I want your co*ck inside my c*nt, is that enough? Just do—”

And before she finishes her sentence, he’s already on top of her, the blink of an eye, the millisecond of silence between syllables.

“—it!” she cries as he slides his length across her folds. “Do it, f*ck me, please, please, please—”

A stuttered moan, as he huffs and slaps her cl*t with the tip of his co*ck, the sound wet and sloppy.

“And you said you don’t want me,” he mutters, trying to keep a clear head while swimming in the warmth of her skin, but only barely succeeding. “Wonder what’ll happen if everyone knew what a liar you are, Traveller. Would they still want to f*ck you, then?”

Lumine isn’t listening, reduced to a fever pitch of incoherent noises by the aphrodisiac again, eyes hazy, voice warbling. Blonde strands spread over the sheets, no accessories except the crowning moonlight. Skin flushed, reddened as though she’d just been subjected to the desert sun, lips shiny with saliva.

She looks ruined.

And he can’t resist her anymore, not while she’s begging so desperately, rocking her hips back and forth in a futile attempt to catch his co*ck inside her. He lowers his head, wanting to kiss her—but Lumine doesn’t let him, sinking her teeth into his shoulder instead, always throwing his plans in disarray. He hisses, thrusting himself inside like she wants. They moan simultaneously as she stretches to accommodate him, and it’s all her, the wet, warm heat. “Gods,” he gasps, it’s too much, too much, “why are you so—”

He pulls himself out, and she scrabbles for him, clawing her nails down his back to keep him inside her. He groans at the pain. Drives himself into her with a harsh snap of his hips, slapping skin as he bottoms out.

“Like that,” she says dazedly. “Archons, just like that. I need—keep going, Wanderer—”

“It’s all right,” he says roughly as his fingers finds purchase at her waist before f*cking into her like he’s always wanted. “I’ll take care of you,” he purrs. “Me. It’s only me who can do this, right?”

“Yes, yes,” Lumine keens as he pulls her closer, rolling her hips to meet his tempo, and she probably doesn’t even know what she’s answering, but he memorizes the sound all the same.

When he leans down, another attempt at a kiss, this time, she lets him. The meeting between their mouths is messy, Lumine too intoxicated to know what to do with her tongue to make the whole affair any good, but he’s happy enough to just learn the new sensation, to nibble at her lips and mouth at her breathlessly as his fingers sink deeper into her skin.

He works his way down, landing nipping kisses at her jaw, her neck, making sure to leave behind a trail of bruises that would rival the ones she’d received before because he can be a biter too, can be anything she wants if it means that she’ll let him f*ck her like this again.

“Hey,” he rasps when she tightens around him suddenly. A look down, and he realizes: she’s rubbing herself, small little circles against her cl*t. “You can’t touch yourself like that, didn’t I tell you?”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, too lost to protest, too needy to care, “It’s just—I wanted to come.”

He stops moving, perfectly still, and she sobs, twisting her body, trying to sink herself deeper on his co*ck, searching for the friction that’s disappeared. He grabs her hand, and stares into her eyes. “Show me,” he says. “Use my hand. Teach me how to touch you.”

Lumine shudders at the demand, but manipulates his hand until two of his fingers are directly atop her mound, pressed to her cl*t. “You—You do it like this,” she says, rubbing the flat pads of his fingers against the swollen bundle of flesh. “I want it like this.”

She starts out with light and careful circles, and then, when he grinds his hips against her, increases the speed. Parts her legs even more, as if begging for him to f*ck her again. “You want me to move?” he asks.

“Y-Yes,” she says.

He obliges, giving short, stunted thrusts as she arches her back and rubs herself even more furiously with his fingers.

“Let yourself go,” he says. “That’s it… Look at me as you come, Lumine.”

At that, she tenses. Suddenly slams his hand down, clipping her cl*t on the edge of his nail in a way that must surely hurt. But comes anyway, squirting herself all over him, a stuttered moan that has her whole body thrashing beneath him. Her hand falls away, energy melted away along with the rest of her, and he continues caressing her cl*t—he has the knowledge now, and he intends to use it to its full extent—and draws himself out before slamming himself back in.

Lumine’s legs twitch, and she shudders, clamping down around him even more. He bites his tongue, staving off his own org*sm—he knows it’s not a dream. He knows. But what if. What if. And then if he comes, everything will evaporate again, leaving him with only his hand and her mark for company? So he doesn’t come, even if he throbs for it, hurts for it. He f*cks her through her peak, gritting his teeth as she flutters around him. All the while, her eyes never leave him, even as they clear up again. A sort of horror filling them, as though she’s just realized where she is.

But she’ll surely be begging for him again, he knows. He just has to wait for the poison to work its way through her again.

“You came for me,” he says, ceasing his movements. The statement sits smug on his lips, and he gives her a proud grin. Leans close and whispers, “Was it good, Traveller?” And before she bothers to say anything, he continues, “Oh, no need to say anything. You’ve made such a mess, after all.”

Lumine closes her eyes and exhales slowly. “Thank you,” she says, a quiet, reluctant acceptance.

It’s bitter, her thanks, and he isn’t sure if he should enjoy it or hate it. “Don’t thank me,” he says harshly, brushing his hand over her breast. Cups it, and flicks the nipple, ignoring her sharp intake of breath. And then he lets the fleshy weight fall away, placing his hand at her neck instead, wrapping his fingers around her delicate throat. Thumb sinking into the flesh. How did this fragile being manage to defeat the Shouki no Kami? How did she drag him down to earth with such a soft body?

“Don’t thank me,” he repeats, “because I intend to have my pleasure too.”

Lumine meets his eyes, no hint of fear despite the pressure at her windpipe. His co*ck pulses at her measured gaze, and he wonders if she can feel the twitch. If she remembers that he’s still in her. “Will you kill me while you’re at it, Wanderer?” she asks.

“I hate you enough for it, don’t you think?” he says casually.

“I think…” she says carefully, resting her hand on top of his thumb, feather soft. Daring him to press harder. “...you hate yourself far more than you hate me. And you’re still here, aren’t you? You haven’t erased yourself yet.”

“Not for a lack of trying.”

“Fair enough.”

“Nothing else to say, Traveller?”

“You’re still here,” she repeats.

How did she drag him down? Because it’s easy to fall, he thinks ruefully. Easier to fall than to rise.

Wanderer removes his hand from the Traveller’s throat. A bruise, the shape of his thumb, standing out from the rest of the smaller marks he’d left with his teeth.

“I’m going to carry you through the rest of this,” he says calmly.

Lumine looks at him, eyes half-lidded. “Okay,” she says.

And he does. He’s with her through every turning of the cycle, when she becomes delirious again, when she becomes lucid again. He gives and he gives, learning her body, learning what makes her shudder and what makes her come.

Soon, Lumine is more often coherent than she’s not. But he f*cks her during those times too, and she does nothing but sigh in quiet pleasure, taking what he gives, clutching at his back, tugging at his hair. “You—You’re not going to come?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, lifting his mouth from her neck, mind too focused to have understood what she said, still stuck on trying to make her come for him—just one more time, one last time, he keeps telling himself.

“You haven’t come,” she explains.

“Not until you’re done with this,” he grunts.

Lumine blinks. “Didn’t expect that you’d have refractory periods.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why?”

Because I’m scared of losing this dream, if this is a dream. He grits his teeth and says, “Not until the aphrodisiac’s effects are gone.”

“Don’t worry. Not long now,” she murmurs. As if that is what he’s worried about. Stupid woman. She gives a choking gasp as he swipes at her cl*t, familiar enough now with what it feels like before she peaks—and what will push her over that peak.

“Until then,” he says, revelling in the sight of her as she comes, the feel of her when she snaps. Head thrown back, throat bare and vulnerable, legs wrapping his hips so tight that if he weren’t made to stand the force of a thousand blows, he’d probably have shattered. And her c*nt, squeezing him tight. Even if he can’t come, that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the exquisite pain that comes with straddling the almost.

Once you’ve experienced all the pain the world and its abyss has to offer, this type of pain becomes its own sort of pleasure. The line between pain and pleasure aren’t so different, he thinks hazily. The same nerves activated, at the end of the day, the same neural circuitry. Did his creator factor this into account? He wouldn’t be surprised; Beelzebub is more cruel than the Traveller could ever hope to understand.

“I think,” Lumine gasps as she winds down, “that it’s over now. I can’t feel the burn of it anymore. Do you want—” Lumine yelps as he mouths at her throat, worrying the skin between his teeth. “—to come inside me?”

“I want…” He shudders. “Yes.”

“Then do it,” Lumine whispers, a deliberate clench that has him groaning against her. “Inside me, Wanderer. It’s long overdue.”

“Can you—” He doesn’t know how to ask, only that he wants more of her, wants whatever she sees fit to offer him, holding out his hand as he rolls his hips into her.

Lumine laces her fingers through his hand, her palm pressed flush against his. “If you’re sure,” she says softly.

“Please,” he says hoarsely. He ruts into her, almost, almost there, if she could only take him there. “It makes me feel—not so empty—”

And at that, he suddenly clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head, hoping his eyes are enough to convince her.

“Shhh,” she says, using her other hand to pull him down. He follows, easy as anything. “I’ve got you. You have me.”

“My name—yours—” he breathes, hoping he doesn’t sound too needy, knowing he does anyway. “That too, can you—?”

“Yes,” Lumine says, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. “Let go for me. Fall, ███.”

Then the world blanks. He falls. Her energy pours into his palm, gently effusing under his skin, stretching him thin and filling up the hollow dark. He releases inside her warmth with a broken moan, spilling waves and waves of his seed. Through the white noise, he dimly hears her voice. She’s calling his name, the name she’d given him, and it’s all light, light, everything is glorious light.

: : :

Wanderer comes to, sore in a way that he hasn’t experienced since his defeat. Squinting his eyes against the sharp rays of the sun, he wonders where he is. And then everything comes rushing back. The whopperflowers. The inn. The moonlight caught between her golden strands as she thrashed beneath him.

“Lumine,” he rasps. “Traveller?”

No answer. But there is a piece of paper at the nightstand, parchment beige against wooden brown. He stretches out and picks it up, and it’s there, the ink scrawl of Lumine’s handwriting. She writes like she fights, sharp, clean lines. Legible enough, graceful if you squint your eyes and tilt the paper slightly.

Your clothes are on the chair. I’ve asked the innkeeper to clean them. I’ll be waiting for you at the Adventurer’s Guild with Paimon. Take your time.

And then, a deep pinprick before the start of the next sentence, like the writer had paused for a second too long, fumbling for the right words to put to pen. Thanks, Wanderer. I appreciated the help.

Idiot. As if she was supposed to thank him, after all he’d done. Perhaps getting tossed around so much in fights had destroyed some of the nerves that were supposed to convey common sense.

Wanderer opens his mouth, and then closes it. There’s no one around to reprimand, anyway.

Oh, he thinks, slinging his arm over his eyes, the paper crumpling in his fist. Paimon’s words echo around in his skull, a ringing pain that’s not very pleasant at all: Everyone already knows she never stays behind.

Everyone, including him. What had he been expecting? What should he have expected, instead?

Sighing, he smooths out the paper again, placing it at the nightstand. Once he dresses himself, he will tuck the paper into the inner pocket of his jacket and keep it over his chest until he can store it in the teapot.

He yawns. Languidly stretches his naked body beneath the blanket that’s been carefully placed over him—the Traveller’s hand again, he’s sure—and takes a moment to bask under the sun’s warmth. The sheets beneath are dry, the tickling scent of fresh laundry. She must have changed them before she’d left.

How kind of her. How cruel.

“You don’t even leave me this,” he says sourly, smoothing his hand over the clean, unstained linen. Only the letter and the scratch marks at his back serve as proof that no, yesterday had truly happened. He touches a hand to his shoulder, and pressed down at the spot she’d bitten before, and yes, the pain is there. He should have asked her to bite him harder, to bite him in more places than only his shoulder.

Ah, well. He’s not the Balladeer anymore. Not wholly, anyway. So he takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and then lets go. Expels the bitterness, the resentment, the anger, along with the cool morning air.

Lord Kusanali had been right. It works well.

Mostly.

: : :

The inn isn’t far from the Adventurer’s Guild. A quarter of an hour on foot, ten minutes when he flew, and he usually chose the latter. But today, he took his time, tipping his hat over his eyes as he walks between the crowds.

“You there, young man!” a high-pitched voice calls out. “The one in the hat!”

He ignores the call, only rolling his eyes. Keeps his pace as is, steady and unhurried.

“Young man!” the voice persists. “Wouldn’t you like to know what fate has in store for you?”

Fate. He pauses. The crowd parts around him like silk between scissors. He debates the issue, wondering if he should take the bait.

Sure. Why not. He’s in need of amusem*nt, anyway. Wanderer strolls toward the source of the voice, and it’s a young girl. The two cats accompanying her lick their paws, casting wary glances toward him.

“You, young sir!” the girl enthuses. “Even from afar, I could sense there was something special for you. Would you be interested in having your fortune told?”

Wanderer glances at the sign next to her. A name—Nabiya—along with the rates and details. “If you’re capable of it,” he drawls, setting down the appropriate number of coins, “then sure.”

“Oh, the divine voice of wisdom often echoes between mine ears,” Nabiya says mysteriously. “What sort of readings are you looking for, young man?”

What is the most ridiculous thing he could ask her? Health, finances, love—the thought of Lord Kusanali whispering advice about his love life was absurd enough for him to say blandly, “Love.”

The child doesn’t even blink. “Love, you say?” she says confidently, throwing her hands on her hips. “No problem at all!”

“Go on then,” he says, watching as she works at her instruments, waiting for the show to begin.

The intense focus on Nabiya’s face slowly fades into confusion as she peers at her divination tools, mumbling to herself as she sets aside one thing for another on the scale. Soon enough though, the confusion bleeds away to frustration. “That’s strange,” she whispers, hunching over her papers. “I was so sure that you’ve been touched by fate.”

“Is there something wrong?” he asks, even though he already knew. “The divine voice of wisdom on a holiday break today?”

Nabiya squints at him, tilting her head left and right. He mirrors the movement, smirking. “There’s nothing,” she says. “The gods do not speak, and there is no truth. It’s as if you have no fate at all. The world does not seem to know who you are, young man.”

He sighs, disappointed. She didn’t even bother making something up. How boring. “If you could tell me something I don’t know already,” he says. “I’d like to make my mora count for something, at least.”

“You don’t understand, young man!” she says, as if trying to impress upon him the importance of this knowledge. “According to the gods, you do not exist! How can this be?!”

“Can’t say that’s new information, unfortunately. The gods don’t like me all that much,” he says dryly. Save Nahida, perhaps, and even then. “I know of at least one that pretends I don’t exist, so you’re not far off the mark.”

The fortune-teller ignores his comment, too involved in her ravings to stop and take stock of what he’s said. “It just cannot be! There’s only one fortune I’ve read that rivals this absurdity.” She glares at her cats, putting her hand on her hips as she huffs, “Or is it Harut and Marut spoiling my divination yet again?”

He raises an eyebrow. This is interesting. “Whose?” he asks.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving her hand. Probably just realized she said something she shouldn’t have. “I really shouldn’t be revealing others’ fortunes. It’s a matter of professional ethics, you must understand. Harut and Marut will be disappointed if I do. Now then, since the orientation of today’s celestial matrix is suboptimal, I will waive the fee.”

“If you tell me,” he says with a calm smile, “I’ll let you keep the mora.”

Nabiya recoils. “Sir!” she says. “I am a professional! I cannot just go around betraying confidentiality of my clients—”

“Give me only the name then,” he coaxes, setting down more coins, “and I’ll give you triple the mora I’d originally paid you.”

“—it was Lumine,” Nabiya says immediately, pushing the mora toward herself. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so shocked. “That Traveller, the saviour of nations. You may have heard of her. She’s quite famous.”

“The Traveller,” he says flatly. And then he sighs. “Yes, I’ve heard of her before.”

He’d been hoping to have a name, in case he ever came across such an odd figure. But of course, it’d be the Traveller. Rolling his eyes, he tips down his hat again and walks off, mulling over the information as he walks toward the booth of the Adventurer’s Guild.

“A piece of general advice regarding love, young man!” he hears behind him. “Temptation triggers love, but too much love triggers disaster. May the journey be peaceful, you who is unknown by the world!”

“Temptation triggers love,” he murmurs, staring at his palm, “but too much love triggers disaster.” He snorts, turning around the corner, letting the fortune-teller’s words wash away in the busy conversations of the crowd. What drivel.

: : :

“It took you long enough!” When she catches sight of him near the booth of the Adventurer’s Guild, Paimon shoots toward him, an angry fist slamming down on his hat. “Don’t think I forgot about what you did to me yesterday, separating me from Lumine like that!”

“I assure you,” he sighs, “it was for good reason.”

“Paimon!” Lumine scolds. “I already told you, I was sick. I didn’t want you to catch it.”

“But—” Paimon’s mouth twists. “Why is it that you let Wanderer go with you, then? Paimon would have taken care of you just fine!”

Now that is a thought he does not need. Wanderer meets Lumine’s eyes, and she coughs, gesturing frantically behind Paimon for him to explain.

“It’s because I don’t get sick, you imbecile,” he says finally, a long-suffering sigh. “I’m technically not alive, remember? Biological poisons”—he catches himself—”and illnesses have no effect on my body. You, however, would become infected.” At Paimon’s unconvinced expression, he adds, “And die. You probably would have died, given that small body of yours.”

With that, Paimon flinches, appropriately scared off. Just as he intended.

“Were you that sick, Lumine?” she says, hurrying back to the Traveller’s side, appraising her from head to toe. Lumine levels an unimpressed gaze at him, and he shrugs. He's done as he should. The rest is out of his hands now.

“I’m fine,” Lumine soothes. She turns around for Paimon, dress spinning with the motion. “See? Perfectly healthy. It was just a really intense bout of something strange, but it was only temporary. No lasting harm.”

No lasting harm, he thinks, gazing at the wrapping of her scarf around her neck. Temporary. That was how she’d viewed their little session, probably. Paimon had probably dismissed the bruises as something that Lumine always has, so used to the sight that she probably didn’t even think about why they’ve reappeared since the Traveller’s last little tryst, despite them having faded a few days ago.

There were some good things, he allows, about the little one’s stupidity.

“Since you’ve seen that nothing is wrong,” he says, pushing Lumine aside to reach the bionic puppet that had been watching the proceedings with an amused smile, “could we go and receive the details of your daily commissions now? I’d like to get them over with, if you’d please—”

He chokes on the last word, his collar pulled back suddenly, his necklace catching in the grip. “Wait!” Lumine says.

“Gods,” he says, voice strained, “what is it, Traveller! Use your words, not your fist! You have a mouth, don’t you? Make it good for something, at least!”

It’s not as if he needs to breathe, but he’d appreciate the warning before she manhandled him. He turns around to glare at Lumine, only to meet an awkward silence as Lumine lets go and touches the back of her neck, a sheepish smile on her face. A severe blush on her cheeks, threatening to reach her ears.

But why is she blushing? Did he say something that embarrassed her, the Traveller who is so normally unphased by everything he spews out from his mouth?

Wanderer blinks. Use your words, not your fist! You have a mouth, don’t you? Make it good for something, at least!

Oh. Oh.

Seeing his face turn sly, the Traveller immediately says, “Wanderer, your shoulder—”

“—I hadn’t realized our time together turned your mind so filthy, Traveller—”

“—why hasn’t that wound healed yet?” she says, ducking her head down, clearly trying to ignore the purr of his words.

“What are you two talking about?” Paimon says, crossing her arms together. She peers at his shoulder, half-exposed by the lazy way he wears his jacket, and then frowns. “Also, Lumine’s right. Why’s there a… is that a bite mark? Did you get attacked by a Rishoboland Tiger while trying to get those mushrooms or something?”

“Oh, something of the sort,” he waves off with a smirk, Lumine refusing to meet his eyes. “Quite a fierce one too. Gave me all sorts of trouble. It was a needy little beast.”

Paimon pulls a face. “Needy? What, it wanted to eat you that bad, Wanderer? Paimon doesn’t think you’d taste good, if she’s being honest. Y’know, not having real flesh and all that.”

“The tiger hadn’t seemed to mind,” he countered, delighting in how absolutely flushed the Traveller is becoming. If she turned any redder, her head could be mistaken for a tomato.

“Enough about tigers!” Lumine says sharply, trying—and failing—to force him into silence with a dark glare that was more desperate than intimidating. “I just wanted to know why you haven’t healed like you would normally, Wanderer.” Her expression turns worried. “Should we go see Nahida?”

Wanderer blinks, and then tips down his hat, his mouth dry. He hadn’t been prepared for how genuine her concern is.

“Speaking of, Lumine is right!” Paimon says. “Don’t you usually heal immediately when you get hurt, Wanderer? Are you malfunctioning or something?”

“Paimon,” Lumine says gently. “Let’s not say that to Wanderer, okay? He’s not a machine.”

“Ah! Paimon’s sorry, Wanderer,” she says, patting his hat. “Are you feeling under the weather? Is that why you’re so slow to heal?”

The Traveller and her unnecessary words. Wanderer clears his throat and says, “It’s fine. It’s there because I want it to be there.”

Paimon squints her eyes. “Are you crazy? Why would you want a bruise?” She touches her hand to his forehead, dodging the batting of his hand immediately after. “No,” she muses, “you don’t feel like you have a fever.”

“I can’t get fevers,” he bites out. “I don’t get sick.”

Paimon rolls her eyes. “There’s always a first for everything, Wanderer. You should get used to the fact if you’re going to travel with Lumine.”

And speaking of the Traveller… She gazes at him, contemplative. “You wanted it there,” she says quietly. “The wound. That’s why it hasn’t disappeared yet.”

“I do,” he says, a haughty lift of his chin. “Something wrong with that, Traveller?”

Something between them has changed. The air turned hesitant, the crackling static of unrealized reactions. A second away from sky fall, nation ruin.

And Lumine looks at him—finally looks at him. A questioning stare, like she’s contemplating the answer to a paradox that’s been blighting her for centuries. He stares back, breathless and tongue-tied.

Then, an enlightened look, like she’s realized: the solution has been right in front of her this whole time.

“No,” Lumine murmurs. “Nothing is wrong with that, Wanderer.”

Chapter 4: we should just kiss, like real people do

Chapter Text

Time goes on, a trickling stream. Relentless, nonetheless. Commissioners come and go, Lumine hesitating between staying in Sumeru or leaving for Fontaine. It's not the right time, she'd said, looking to the skies. Not yet.

Wanderer doesn't know what he would do if she chose to leave Sumeru. Whether he'd follow her, or stay behind with Lord Kusanali. And there's still the unresolved matter of Dottore, alive. But for now, there are enough reasons for her to stay that he's content to merely sit back and watch how everything plays out—just as she sits back and watches him wrestle with his own demons.

Lumine does not take on a new lover, and they do not speak of that night.

"You have a good hand for these things," Lumine says, peering at the half-finished doll in his hand, fabrics carefully trimmed and threads skillfully sewn. "Where did you learn how to do this?"

Wanderer grunts, not bothering to look at her as he focuses on weaving the needle in and out. The breeze ripples pleasantly around them, skittering through the leaves, down the back of his hand as he pulls the thread through, its touch feather-soft. "An old man on Treasures Street," he says. "It was a while ago."

"Would you make something for me if I asked?" Lumine says, leaning even closer to inspect the doll. Strands of gold spun hair tickle his forearm, an itch that's not unpleasant—not that he'd ever verbalize it. "Say," she muses, "a doll that looks like a certain Wanderer? As a pair to this little guy?"

His head whips up. "Are you making fun of me?" he demands.

The steel needle glints as he waves it threateningly in front of the Traveller's face, almost like a cat with its claws extended—a comparison he will realize later when the Traveller teases him while they're on the road, but for now, she only holds her palms up in surrender.

"Not at all," Lumine says. "I know your history."

Code for: I know enough to understand. Why you're so diligent. Why the doll looks the way it does. He'd given it to her, after all; every miserable moment of his past before he took on the mantle of Balladeer.

"Ah," he says, "the only one now."

"You have Nahida," she says. "You have Paimon."

"You little friend, I don't put much stock in. As for Lord Kusanali… Do you really think she understands the severity of my past?" he asks, a little curious, mostly mocking. "What I did?"

"Nahida probably knows even more than me." Lumine shrugs. "She was the guardian of your memories, after all."

Wanderer scoffs as he tucks away the doll into the little storage box by his side. It requires his full attention, something he'd been hoping to have in the tucked away corner they're in right now, nestled up high in Sumeru City. Something that he was definitely not going to have with the distraction that is the Traveller. "Come now," he says, "you know rifling through someone else's memory isn't the same as living through them. Lord Kusanali is an observer, and I am the puppet in the play—the same as you, Traveller, under Celestia's eye."

"...Are you afraid?" Lumine murmurs. "That Nahida doesn't understand what she's doing? That she won't accept you if she were to have personally felt you plunge your hand into her chest, one hundred and sixty eight times?"

Wanderer flinches. He hates this—how sometimes, she doesn't know anything about him. How sometimes, she knows him so well. And how, every single time, it's always never what he expects.

"She'd already forgiven you, even before the world changed."

"You don't know that," he says bitterly.

"You shouldn't underestimate her," Lumine says, layering her palm over the back of his hand. Flashes of memories, her naked, warm skin. The heat of his tears, her energy. He blinks, stiffening. Refuses to startle at the contact, refuses to acknowledge the touch. "She's a… forgiving person."

"Because she wants to use me," he says.

"Nahida isn't like that," Lumine says automatically, moving her hand away from him. He blinks again. "You know she isn't. Don't equate everything to a transaction, Wanderer."

"Then if not necessity, what is it?" Wanderer holds her gaze, voice low. An intense, underlying intent. "What is it that compels her to care about me? To stay by my side? Has she truly forgiven my sins, do you think?"

Lumine's teeth sinks into her lower lip, but she doesn't look away. Time stretches, silent and unbearable, the skip of one heartbeat, two, a rhythm that he's memorized—hers. "Nahida is a far more forgiving person than me," she finally says, clearing her throat. "And I've forgiven you, haven't I?"

"I don't know," Wanderer says. "Have you?"

Her lashes droop as she looks down at her lap. And then she raises her head, staring at the city landscape below them, following the path of the meandering people below who scurry like insects."Getting there, getting there," she says quietly, repeating as though she'd like to convince herself. "That's why I'm here with you, instead of browsing the markets with Nilou and Paimon. I like having you around. Isn't that enough?"

"All that I have of my past," he says, and it's the Balladeer slipping out now, leftover pieces of himself from the memories they share, "are memories. And you."

"What are you trying to say?"

"You're the only person among my memories who remains unchanged by the Irminsul." He opens his hand, watching as the atmosphere condenses in his palm. "What if, one day, I decide to get rid of you?" Wanderer asks, narrowing his eyes, pulling his hand back, the singular vacuum ready to be released. Just a flick of his wrist, and the Anemo energy would jump on her, tear her to shreds. "A clean break, a new story."

Lumine looks at his face, steady. "But you wouldn't. You aren't that person anymore. You aren't looking for ways to escape your past. Not now."

He drops his hand. The vacuum dissipates, the tension of the air dissolved like letting out a breath that's been held for too long. "I hate how utterly correct you are," he drawls, crossing his arms. "Come to know me well, have you?"

"Up close and personal experiences tend to do that," Lumine says wryly.

"How could I forget?" he murmurs.

"Enough of your silly intimidation tactics," Lumine says, ignoring his noises of protest at the term. "I have something to say."

"More than everything you've already said?"

"You're so—" Lumine puffs out a breath, sending strands of her front bangs flying. "Ugh, just listen to me, okay?"

"Sure," he says. "Just don't say anything too useless."

"You'll enjoy it, probably," Lumine mutters.

"I'll admit, my curiosity is piqued."

Lumine blinks furiously, staring at the tip of his left ear. "You helped me through something troublesome that one night," she says. "So I'll pay it back."

Wanderer snorts. He's definitely not enjoying the conversation, unlike what she'd assumed. "Now who's the one who's acting too transactional?"

"Just shut up and listen," Lumine says. "I owe you one."

"One…"

"One wish. Anything you want."

"I don't want anything like that," he says, brushing off the invisible dust from his sleeves. "You took from me, and I took from you. Don't make me out to be a saint who got nothing out of our little roughhousing." As if he did her any favour, using her like that, forcing her to use him. "So there's nothing left to balance, Traveller."

"It's there, regardless. If you ever want to call the favour in," Lumine says, "I'll remember."

He almost laughs. But if he did, she may hear how bitter he feels. "The one thing I want from you may be impossible," Wanderer warns.

"Tell me," she says. "I don't know if I can give it to you—unless you tell me."

"And what is the limit, Traveller?"

"Anything, Wanderer."

"With such a vague answer," he says, "don't be surprised if I ask for too much. One wish can go a long way."

Lumine suddenly laughs, that anxious energy she'd had before gone with his words, as though he'd picked her up from where she'd stumbled. This is known territory, familiar grounds: him warning her, her disregarding it anyway. "You already ask for too little," Lumine says, dancing her fingers across the rim of his hat before tilting it up. The bells chime, universes disturbed. He makes the mistake of meeting her gaze.

Her eyes are twinkling.

All of a sudden, he's left at a loss.

"I've asked for too much before," he says, when his tongue has finally untied itself. "I can't ask for any more."

"You can. One thing," Lumine says. "Anything, and I'll give it to you."

"Even a gnosis?" he quips, a call-back.

Lumine's smile turns sharp. "Even a gnosis," she agrees. "Better yet: I'll carve it out of their chest for you to see. Would you like that, Wanderer?"

"You're a fool," he says flatly.

"And you are too."

He doesn't deny that. He can't. She'd read him, clear as day: What kind of person wishes for something they don't want?

And Lumine has never treated the gods with any kind of reverence, anyway; a gnosis was not so hard to get, if one played their cards right. One wrong sentence, and Lumine might actually toss something as inane as a Cryo Gnosis at him in the future.

He thinks of how much of her she's given him, her name, her home, even a piece of herself.

"You have nothing I want," Wanderer says instead.

"Sure," Lumine says casually, not chasing the matter—but clearly not taking him seriously either. She stands up, stretching her arms like she'd just woken up from a sorely-needed nap. "Let's go find Paimon, then. She should have finished by now."

"And your Mora pouch too, presumably."

"Mhm. Not unexpected, if it's the case. But I am surprised that she hasn't met up with us yet." Lumine yawns. "I told her where we'd be, I'm pretty sure. It's not that far from Treasures Street."

"She's probably too weighed down by everything she's either eaten or bought," he says under his breath.

Lumine laughs at that too.

: : :

He regained his memories of the true past, but that doesn't mean the false past was entirely erased. Not all of it was false; certainly his journey with the Traveller to see Lesser Lord Kusanali was true.

So he remembers: the busy streets of Port Ormos, the slackening of her mouth when she'd first seen him, all the fruits in her arms dropping to the ground. Paimon screeched at her for it, Lumine, what are you doing?!

He hadn't taken notice of her for long though, too distracted by the city, always preoccupied with filling the emptiness in his chest by searching for novelty. He'd drifted from Sumeru City to Port Ormos, hoping the trip would enlighten him on his purpose, and had nothing to show for it except a job at the fruit seller's stand.

So when he felt her following him as he went to gather the Sunsettias, he became curious. Enough to confront her about it, and she blinked in surprise when he first spoke to her.

I know you, she said, eyes soft. It's complicated, though.

When he agreed to travel with her, the way she smiled didn't quite feel real. Like an illusion.

And the journey there had been strange, because she kept glancing at him, as if to assure herself that he was still there. When he accidentally burned their dinner in his inexperience, even though he insisted that he could do it, she hadn't gotten mad. On the contrary, had laughed, I never thought I could see you like this.

What did you see me as, then?

Dangerous, Lumine murmured. A puppet holding a sword that's too sharp.

Isn't that a good thing? he asked. Swords are supposed to be sharp.

Not if it hurts the wielder. Lumine touched his face then, with the back of her hand. Be careful, Wanderer. Lest you hurt yourself again.

: : :

(You have nothing I want, he'd told her. The thing is, he'd been lying. Because he's watching her weave through the strangers in the streets, calling a name that is not his, and there is something stirring beneath his skin. Something hollow in his chest yet again, even with his Vision pulsing like a heart.)

: : :

In hindsight, he was a fool to have expected something to change. Because just as he would always crawl back into the miserable armour of the Balladeer, so too would the Traveller find another bed to crawl into.

But that is not correct either, because it is not the Traveller seeking the bed out. It is people coming to her, desperate for some light in their dim, lightless life. Like the insect that's talking to him right now, chattering in his ear as Lumine speaks about the details of her commission with Katheryne.

"I've heard that she's been made an Honorary Knight of the famous Ordo Favonious," the man says. "And that she saved Sumeru from some disaster with Lord Kusanali! I'd like an adventure like that one day."

Wanderer glances at him, annoyed at how this random stranger has decided to situate himself next to him just to praise the Traveller. As if he doesn't hear enough of it from, oh, just about everybody in Sumeru City and beyond.

"Are you her companion, then?" the man continues, clearly not having caught the flicker of annoyance flashing across Wanderer's face. "I saw her converse with you before she went to the Adventurer's Guild."

"Something like that," Wanderer says curtly, leaning against a tree trunk.

"All along my journey to Sumeru City, I've heard so many interesting stories about her," the man says. "I've heard the stories from the caravans that go through my village, but it's a little different knowing that even the city folks talk about her. It makes me a little proud to have met her before she met Lord Kusanali."

"Oh?" Wanderer stands a little straighter, curious now. "You knew her before she was hailed as the saviour of Sumeru?"

"Yes, she came through my village on her way to Port Ormos," the man says, a little dreamy. "I'll never forget it, the Traveller and her smile. It's even more radiant these days. Like sunlight, don't you think?"

"She's killed dozens of my men with that same smile on her face," Wanderer remarks blandly.

The man's mouth falls open. "Huh?"

Wanderer picks at his nails, nonchalant as he says, "The blonde menace—a nickname the Fatui had given her during their times in Inazuma because she'd slain so many of them. They said that blood ran like waterfalls from her sword whenever she encountered them, enough to permanently dye the grass red."

It's a bald-faced lie—however barely alive the Traveller usually left his recruits, they're alive nonetheless—but the man has finally stopped talking, so he considers it a win—

"That's amazing," the man enthuses. "I never realized she was so skilled with her sword, but of course she would be! That must be part of why Lord Kusanali chose her!"

Wanderer gives an unimpressed look at the man, wondering what kind of screw he has loose in his brain. "You should be afraid, not excited," he says scathingly.

The man shakes his head. "There is a reason Lesser Lord Kusanali has accepted the Traveller as her champion. I don't dare question her wisdom, not when it is only by her grace that I have been cured."

"Cured?"

"I was afflicted with Eleazar before," he explains, clasping his hands together in brief prayer. "But by the gracious blessing of Her Lordship, I've been healed. So I do doubt her decisions."

"The gods are not infallible," Wanderer says.

"Even so, to me," the man says peacefully, "Lesser Lord Kusanali is exactly that."

"Tch." Wanderer turns away. "Whatever suits you, stranger."

"Oh, where are my manners!" the man says. "It's Kumar. May I know yours, friend?"

An awkward pause as Wanderer decides whether he should even answer. If the Traveller truly knew this man from…

"I'm a wanderer," he says. "As for my name, that's mine to keep. Call me what you'd like."

"Wanderer will do then," Kumar says. "Seems fitting for a companion of the Traveller. Have you been with her for long, then?"

"...Why are you asking, Kumar?" Wanderer drawls.

The man who'd appeared so unruffled before trips up. "Oh, that, um, I was hoping to speak with the Traveller," he says, hesitating. "It's my first time here in the city. I came here with my brother to sell his quarries—he was so against me coming here, thinking it'd be dangerous with my condition even though I'm all but cured, sure I have the occasional pangs here and there, but I'm not bedridden and I've never felt better, so the trip was relatively smooth, thank the Archons—um, anyways…" Kumar takes a deep breath, steadying the tremor of his body. A pink flush suffuses his face. "Before I leave, I wanted to meet her again. And now, here she is."

"You wanted to meet her again," Wanderer repeats. "And now here she is."

"Exactly," Kumar beams. "Isn't fate so curious? It must by Lord Kusanali's blessings."

"The gods aren't so bored as to answer the trivial wishes of one mortal," Wanderer snaps. "Why are you really here talking to me, Kumar?"

"Oh, that," Kumar says. "I, that, well." He scratches his head. "Truthfully, I wanted to know if you and her were…"

"What's it to you?" he sneers. Wanderer knows where this is going, and he does not like it. Not one bit.

"I, ah, heard some other rumours," Kumar says delicately, running his tongue across his teeth. "About the Traveller's tendency to accept, um, courtship."

"And you thought you had a chance?" The archons-damned rumours. The next time Wanderer finds someone speaking of the Traveller like this, he'll rip their tongue out.

"Only if she isn't already taken," Kumar says, eyes wide. He looks like a particularly frail bird—Lumine would definitely be careful with him, if she did take him in.

Like sunlight, he had said. Her smile had been like sunlight.

Wanderer curls his lips. So what? The Traveller was always like that. It meant nothing. "I have no intentions of disturbing the order of things, Wanderer. So… are you in that kind of relationship with her?"

"No," Wanderer says, disgusted. His fingertips itch. "I don't want her."

"Oh," Kumar says, fumbling for words. He dusts the front of his robe off, adjusting his sleeves, making ready to exit the conversation. "That's, that's good to hear! Even if you don't want her, I do—"

Only for a blast of wind to slam him against the tree, Wanderer's hand around his throat.

"Don't you dare," Wanderer hisses, venomous words with nowhere else to go. "As if you're worthy?"

His fingers tightens, ignoring the choking gasps of the man who'd taunted him with his veneration of the Traveller, his blessing from Buer, his frail humanity. It's not that Wanderer is angry. It's not that he's envious. It's not that he's furious at the man's utter audacity, no, nothing like that at all.

What wells within his throat is not the same feeling he'd felt when Miko had tossed the Electro Gnosis at him, and he had clutched it in his hand, ignoring how it had seared into his skin, because he is not the Balladeer. He does not need anything from Lumine, not her gaze, not her love, and certainly not her approval. He's merely weeding out the pests that are circling around the Traveller, soaking up her attention like parasitic weeds—

"Wanderer!" Lumine shrieks. "What are you"—she crashes into his body, frantically tearing his hand away, and if that doesn't set him even more on edge—"doing to Kumar?"

"A friendly spar," Wanderer says immediately. Flashes a smile, full of teeth, as he looks down at his hand and flexes his fingers, closing it into a fist. Nails digging into his palm, red crescents on yellow constellation. Anything, Wanderer. But he doesn't ask for anything, only: "Your friend here isn't much of a fighter, though."

"Oh, don't even start with that," Lumine grumbles. "I'm not stupid, Wanderer." She pushes him aside to offer a hand to a coughing Kumar, who takes it with an eagerness that Wanderer can't bear to look at, too much of a reflection to be comfortable.

"Kumar!" Lumine says warmly. Her attention drifts to Kumar's throat, the red-purple finger-shaped outlines, and her eyes flash. "I didn't expect to meet you here. Is your brother doing—no, are you doing alright? I'm sorry for the wayward action of my friend here"—she throws a stormy look at Wanderer, who only shrugs and smiles innocently, mouths, we're friends now, Traveller?—"he's a little sensitive, sometimes. Jumps at the slightest shadows. He's had a hard past, unfortunately."

Kumar shakes his head. "Oh, it's no fault of his," he explains, voice a little rough around the edges. "I think I've touched on a delicate topic without thinking it through. I apologize."

Lumine harrumphs, refusing to look at Wanderer. Under the intense blue of the Sumerian sky, she positively glowed with anger. Like sunlight. "If you say so, Kumar," she says, still holding his hand. "But you're here, in Sumeru City! Archons, what a coincidence. Do you have time right now? You do? Great, let's go have a chat," she says, words rapid-fire as she leads him away, tossing a warning look at Wanderer. "Paimon! Keep Wanderer company, while I'm gone, won't you?"

"Fine," Paimon says, "but only because Lumine is the one asking!" The pixie had been watching the whole ordeal from the sidelines, arms crossed, only now speaking up.

After Lumine disappears into the crowd, she turns to Wanderer and levels a disapproving look. "Did you think this through at all?"

"I don't know what you mean," he says, feigning ignorance.

"Lumine isn't going to like you more if you do stupid things like this," Paimon says, shaking her finger at him as though he were a particularly disobedient pet.

He scoffs. "You mean to say she liked me to begin with?"

"You're always so obstinate," Paimon sniffs. "Paimon doesn't know how Lumine deals with you."

"Obstinate? Big words for such a small thing," Wanderer mutters.

Paimon sighs. "Just go into the teapot and calm down for a bit, okay?" She pats his shoulder. "Lumine will be back. It might take a while, though."

"A while."

"Her and Kumar—Ohhh, don't make me say it!" Paimon throws up her hands, puffing out her cheeks. "You know why! What else could possibly happen, especially after what you did? You think Lumine is going to reject him?"

Wanderer takes a deep breath, and squints at the Traveller's little floating companion, her face twisted into a scowl. "How do you know what happened between us?"

Her patience run dry, Paimon smacks the top of his hat with a small fist and huffs, "Of course it was because he wants her! Why else would you have been so angry, Wanderer?"

: : :

Lumine doesn't find him until later. Much, much later, stewing in his emotions within her teapot realm with each passing second, flickering from resentment to defeat. How dare she. How could she possibly understand anything, and how could she offer him so much but nothing at all?

That man isn't worthy. That woman doesn't deserve her. No one does. No one will, except—

Except nothing. As if you're worthy too, Balladeer? After what you've done?

Wanderer scoffs as he flicks another pebble across the pond, the sharp edges colliding with the water. It skips across the water, one, two, three, four, five, scattering ripples across the placid surface. Sinks unceremoniously, sliding off the small pile of stones stacked at the bottom of the pond from his previous attempts.

He feels like the pond, shaken and then calmed, changed and yet not. He is a tidal wave and a level surface, swirling with chaotic rearrangements. The light on his skin feels heavy, as though it too is scolding him. He is too big and too small for his body, about to burst and shrivel. Wanderer lets out a shaky breath, wondering. But the Anemo under his skin is still his, when he uses it to bring another pebble over, closing his fist around the thin, smooth stone. Is it the Traveller, then?

A shadow folds over him, like a cloak thrown over his body in preparation for eternal storage, readying a puppet to gather eternal dust. Startled, he looks up from the rock he's been sitting on, and of course it's the Traveller, coming here to blot out the morning sun.

"Wanderer," Lumine says. Cupped in her hand is a clay pot, within it a small, curled sapling. "You're here."

"Where else would I be?"

Lumine's lips quirk. "Wandering," she says.

"I'd considered it," he says. "But I was feeling particularly lazy."

"I know the feeling," Lumine says. She holds out the pot. "I brought you something."

He holds up the stone, "Not enough hands. I'm a bit busy at the moment, Traveller."

"Later, then." Lumine places the plant down on the grass, before taking a seat beside him. Wanderer reflexively glances at her, and then resolutely vows to not do it again. He can't be always looking for her; has to wean himself of the habit now, before it becomes an issue. Even more so. "...Don't do that again," Lumine says. "What happened with Kumar."

"Believe me," he spits, "I hadn't meant to do anything to him."

"I do believe you," Lumine says. "It was an accident, Paimon told me."

Sometimes, he can't tell if the pixie was acting dumb; her perception was uncanny sometimes. "So, what am I supposed to do with this thing?" he says, gesturing with the back of his hand at the plant, before launching the pebble with a violet flick of his wrist.

"Something for you to occupy your time with," Lumine says casually, her eyes following the trajectory of the pebble, false sunlight of the adeptal realm clinging onto her lashes, glittering.

Damn it. He'd looked again. "Why do I have to waste time doing your chores?" Wanderer sneers, glancing away.

"It's not a chore," Lumine says. "It's an… exercise. Humour me, okay? Just for a while, I promise."

Wanderer spins his finger, and another stone from the piles beside the pond shoots up, propelled by Anemo energy. It flings itself at the Traveller's face, and—his hand shoots up, catching it just before it hits her. The knuckles of his fist brush up against her nose, almost touching, but Lumine hadn't even flinched. "Cute trick," she remarks. "Had a lot of time to perfect it?"

"While you were off entertaining men in their beds, yes," Wanderer says.

"Is that how you see it?" Lumine says, her voice low. There is no denial, and the vibration of her words travel through the air, fading at the end in resignation. She's not angry. He'd prefer it if she was. "That I'm whoring myself out?"

"Is it not?"

"If that's how you see it, far be it from me to say otherwise."

In other words: your perception matters little.

"...Why are you here, Traveller?" Wanderer scowls. "Did Lesser Lord Kusanali put you up to this?"

"Not Nahida," Lumine says. "Just me. Are you unhappy about that?"

I wish I could be, he thinks sourly. "It is what it is," he says, curt and to the point.

"The plant, will you take it?"

"Will you stop bothering me if I say, 'No'?"

Her silence is enough.

"What kind of plant is it?" he asks.

"A Sumeru Rose," Lumine says.

"Hardy enough to survive my neglect," Wanderer surmises. They were known to survive in most environments; only the arid desert with its intense heat and water scarcity was enough to keep them away.

"You won't. I know you won't."

Wanderer sighs, tossing the stone high in the air. There is no skimming across the waters. Just a dull thud as the pond swallows it. "Sure," he says, meeting her gaze, giving up. "Why not."

Lumine smiles, a tentative bloom that is small and cautious. "Name it, then," Lumine says.

"What use is there in naming a plant?"

"A name is life's first gift," Lumine recites. "Nahida said so too, remember?"

"I remember, but for a plant?" he counters.

"You could say that for a lot of things. But if it's important enough, why not?" Her eyes are shining, too bright. The message behind them is clear enough: even a puppet deserves a name. Even you.

"Let your little fairy name it, then," he dismisses.

"No," Lumine insists. "It has to be you."

He narrows his eyes. "It has to be me?"

"Yes."

Wanderer swallows, looking at the sapling on the ground. And smiles derisively. If she was forcing him to participate in this game—and it is a game, he's sure, some kind of challenge—then he should have his fun. "Pochi," he says.

Lumine chokes. "Like the dog?" she says, mouth pressed thin, trying to hide her laughter. "Pochi the houseplant?"

"Well, you asked!" Wanderer says. "Regretting your decision so soon, Traveller?"

"It's your choice, Wanderer," Lumine says. "I'll treat it with all the due seriousness it deserves."

"Maybe do better at hiding your amusem*nt before saying that," he drawls. "The muffled laughter doesn't help your case."

Lumine bursts out laughing this time, unable to contain her mirth, and how long has it been since he's made someone laugh so genuinely? Too long, too long, his vision pulses in answer, memories of Tatarasuna bitter on his tongue, when he'd tried to eat leftover tea leaves and put his clothes on backwards and made a mess of the mochi dough by pounding so hard, both the mortar and mallet had broken. Niwa had laughed until his ribs hurt, cackling as he pounded the floor and clutched his stomach. Katsuragi had bemoaned the loss of his tools, but joined Niwa in his laughter soon enough.

Wanderer closes his eyes, only opening them again when Lumine speaks.

"How did it feel?" she asks. "Naming something?"

"...Heavy," he allows. Such a silly little thing, but a name is a name, and a name has power—even a houseplant's.

"I've always wondered… Do you know why Ei had not given you a name?" Lumine says, her eyes searching his. Her pupils are constricted into pinpricks from the flood of the blinding daylight, and he doesn't know what it is that she wants him to say. How he can meet her standards, pass her test. "Do you blame her for it, even knowing?"

But he understands. Why Beelzebub refused to ever name him. A prototype should never be named, for one's own self-protection; its future has already been set, its fate one of relegation to the storage shed. In his case, a pavilion.

Doesn't mean he can't resent her for it though.

"Why do you answer their call?" he says instead. "Why do you go when they ask for you?" Words careful. The motion of his hand even more so, as he reaches for the flyaway strands from her cheeks. Her hair is soft as they twirl around his finger. Malleable, obeying his touch in a way she never will.

The hero and the villain. What kind of a story is this? What happens to the heartless villain after he is defeated by the defiant hero and the wise god, still left alive to count his sins? Why had the story not ended there?

She doesn't protest when he slants a kiss to the corner of her mouth. But her lips twitch, in amusem*nt or protest, he doesn't know. The taste of her skin is bitter, like the ghostly aftermath of a lightning strike, like the acrid scent of ascending too high.

He is flying too close to the sun.

"Do you want me, Wanderer?" she says softly.

"No," he murmurs, pressing his mouth below her jawline.

"Let me ask you something else then. Do you remember the name of the woman who'd hosted us for dinner?"

"No," he lies again, curling his fingers in her dress, pulling her even closer.

"Did you know that her lover had died a decade prior? Stumbled off a cliff, trying to pick a Kalpalata Lotus for their wedding anniversary. Because they'd been her favourite flowers ever since she was a child, and their wedding had been beneath an entire arch of them, their heads crowned in them too." Wanderer kisses the Traveller's neck as she speaks, her delicate, pale throat. Wondering if he should leave another mark, but decides against it—she's indulging him enough already. "She'd been guarding her grave for ten long, hard years by herself. Afraid to scale mountains. Then I came along with a wreath of Kalpalata Lotuses and laid it in her hand. She didn't cry, but she almost did. Her name was Lila, and she was lonely. But you don't care about any of that, do you?"

"What would you like me to say, Lumine?" he whispers, laying his forehead on her shoulder. Counting the rhythm of her heart, how it beats against him. "You know it means nothing to me. But if you want my approval that badly, I can fake it. For you, I can."

"I do it," Lumine says, the breath of her words landing on his lips, finally an answer, "because it's easy. Because it's nothing to me, but everything to them. They come to me because I’m fleeting. Safe, for it."

"So it's only pity-f*cking." The vulgar words are a stark contrast to her soft voice, deliberately harsh in his resistance.

Lumine sighs, "If that's how you see it, Wanderer."

"I fail to see how I'm wrong. What do you stand to gain?"

"Back to balancing the books? I'll answer you then. It's easy pleasure—something I'm sure you understand, Balladeer," Lumine says. Her hand finds the back of his neck, nails rested on his pontil mark, and he almost wishes her thumb would find the front of his throat and press down. "And if they can use me to find a piece of themselves in the process, all the better."

"You're just letting yourself be used like this, " he warns. Just as he'd done—

And then. Wanderer draws back, feeling as though he'd been struck. Burned.

"You already know this."

Lumine shrugs. "What does it matter, Wanderer?" She sounds so old, weary, lost in a way that he knows all too well, swallowed by the darkness of the abyss, haunted by memories, searing hatred clenched between his teeth. Nothing to show for it except a feather he'd been too weak to discard. "What does it all matter?"

"It matters," he says, clutching onto her shoulders, grip so tight it must hurt. You've given me a name, so it must matter. There is not nothing. "You're above this, Traveller."

She blinks. "Not to me."

"Always playing the hero," he mutters. "You're hopeless."

Lumine hums, and her hands pry his fingers from her before finding his jaw. She cradles his face in her palms as though he is newly born, precious and endearing in his naivety. He stares at her, eyes wide. Tremouring under the entirety of her attention.

"One person, two. A hundred people, a hundred more," Lumine says, "what they want from me is something I can give. So why not?"

Something I can give.

And this time, when she lowers her face to kiss him, something inside him rises to meet the touch.

The moment is fleeting, yet eternal.

The water in the pond does not ripple.

Chapter 5: upon those boughs which shake against the cold

Chapter Text

“You really should stop accepting these fetch quests,” Wanderer remarks after they fought off another round of fungi that have decided they’d like to die. Sumeru really did have a mushroom problem. “Delivering letters, of all things, when there’s a perfectly operational post system in Sumeru. Where are the grand adventures that bards sing tales of, Traveller?”

“If you’re in the mood to take on a Jadeplume Terrorshroom instead,” Lumine says casually, “you’re welcome to do so.”

Paimon moans from where she’s hanging around Lumine’s neck, her hands slung over Lumine’s collarbone. Not even three hours into their hike, but the little creature has already become too tired to fly properly. “Paimon definitely doesn’t want to do anything like that,” she wails. “Paimon just wants to eat.”

“Don’t you always?” Lumine says with a poke to her forehead.

“Which just shows how great eating is,” Paimon says. “Besides, it’s not like Lumine complains about eating either!”

“At least I’m not a food vacuum with two stomachs,” Lumine counters.

“I was joking!” Paimon insists.

“Mhm. Sure you were.”

“No need to discuss it further,” Wanderer says, getting his two cents in. “You’re both gluttons.”

“Oh, like you’re any better than us,” Lumine says. “Remember that tea stand in Port Ormos?”

“This drink is nothing but hot leaf juice!” Paimon mimics, voice dipping into a growl. “They expect me to pay Mora for this?!”

“The audacity to even say that it’s tea, right to my face,” Wanderer sniffs. “I should have tossed them into the river for that slight.” He kicks a random pebble, watching it roll down the grassy slope. “And I did not sound like that!”

“You definitely did,” Lumine and Paimon chime in unison.

“I ought to toss the both of you into the river right now.”

“Hey!” Paimon says, shooting up from Lumine to poke his cheek. “Paimon can’t swim!”

“I know,” he says, sending a blast of wind toward the little fairy. “That was the point.”

Lumine chuckles as Paimon yelps and tumbles backward. In a pique of childish fit, Wanderer sticks out his tongue. “Lumine!” Paimon whines, resting her chin on Lumine’s head. “He’s bullying me again!”

“Not bullying,” Wanderer corrects. “Teaching you a lesson.”

“You just see if Paimon ever shares her snacks with you,” she says, puffing out her cheeks.

“Have you ever shared your snacks to begin with?” Lumine says.

“Lumine! You know Paimon has always shared them with you!”

As Lumine tries to soothe Paimon’s irritation—I know, I know, I was kidding, Paimon—he takes in the surroundings. Trees, as always, their canopies casting layers of shadows over the ground, only the occasional fingers of the afternoon sunlight dipping in between the cracks. And in the distance, vines crawl along cliff sides like tangled spider webs, deep green stalks occasionally disturbed by the glittering blue of mountain lotuses.

The air is thick with humidity, the atmosphere of the forest a constant hum. The chatter of the Traveller and her noisy companion settle in his ears in the same way, and, bored with nothing to do, he listens. Sifts through the information, mundane discussions about the etymology of this word, the taste of that coffee.

“Divination with just a cup of coffee… Paimon would like to try that!”

“You just want to drink the coffee,” Lumine says.

“Hehe, that too.”

“What did that fortune teller say to you?” Wanderer says, cutting into the conversation, blunt and sudden. “That girl, Nabiya.”

“Huh?” Lumine says, caught off guard. “You’re bringing up Nabiya, of all people? And how do you know we’ve met?”

Wanderer shrugs. “So you did meet.”

“Ooh, ooh,” Paimon exclaims, waving her arm. “I remember what she said, Wanderer!”

“Do tell,” he says dryly.

Paimon’s face turns sly—it’s surprising that such a devious expression could occur on someone whose brain is usually preoccupied with Mora and food. And Lumine. “She said that a looooot of people are going to fall for Lumine,” Paimon says, her hands crossed together over Lumine’s head, back to resting on the Traveller. “Not that Paimon was surprised to hear it.”

Lumine glances at him. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing, but whatever it is, it causes Lumine to clear her throat. “Nabiya isn’t known for being accurate,” she says primly.

“I think she’s plenty accurate,” Wanderer says.

“Paimon agrees with him!”

“Oh, enough of this,” Lumine says, hands on her hips as she comes to a stop. There’s a small hut at the end of the beaten path, simplistic but sturdy, draped in vines that have descended from the cliff above. “We’ve arrived. Just wait here while I deliver the letter, okay?”

“Ugh, can’t Paimon go with you? Why does Paimon have to stay with Wanderer again?!”

“I should be the one complaining.”

“Hey! Paimon heard that!”

“Again, that was the point.”

Lumine only shakes her head, already moving past them, letter in hand, leaving them behind in her quest. Paimon sighs, opening her arms in a helpless shrug. “Guess Paimon’s stuck babysitting you again,” she says, grimacing.

“The other way around, more like,” he says boredly.

“Whatever,” Paimon harrumphs. “Remember, Paimon still doesn’t like you.”

“Believe me, I know.” However much they joke around, around him, Paimon is still wary in the way of someone who’s been bitten once. And now that she’s without Lumine, doubly more so. And speaking of the Traveller, Wanderer watches flatly as Lumine is invited inside—how does delivering a letter warrant an invitation inside? But he doesn’t move.

“It’s not that Paimon doesn’t want to not like you,” the little one admits, eyes dragging downward.

“So what is it that’s holding you back? My past?”

Paimon sighs, for once sounding serious enough that he listens intently. “Not just that,” she says. “But that has a lot to do with it. You know, Lumine hated looking at you when we first found you without your memories? Her eyes immediately slid away from you, and her mouth twisted like she’d just eaten rotten grapes.”

“Did she,” he says.

He is the sum of two lifetimes. The sum of two elements, two archons, two branches on the tree of life. And he remembers walking both paths, the true and the false. But he can’t quite recall the expression Paimon is describing. There is only the softness of the Traveller’s voice, her eyes, her touch. They had been feather-light, before meeting Nahida to regain his memories.

“...What did I do to earn your dislike then?” he says. Not that he quite cared enough; the pixie is amusing, but that’s as far as it goes.

“Dunno.” The pixie shrugs. “Do you always need a reason to dislike someone?”

“No.” On that front, at least, they’re united.

“Paimon doesn’t know who you were before all this, Wanderer,” the little fairy says. “All Paimon has to go off of are the memories we saw together before you received your Vision. And Lumine.”

Her eyes are glistening, as though pleading, All I have is Lumine.

Wanderer doesn’t know what to do with this information. How closely it steps around himself.

“It’s not as if she’s mine,” he says finally.

“Yeah, and it better stay that way,” Paimon says, folding her arms. And then she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Lumine hides her feelings around you a lot, you know.”

“Her, hide her feelings? I’m almost afraid of what it would look like when she’s not hiding it.”

“She’s softened up toward you,” Paimon says, her hand poking his chest, “but Paimon won’t forget what she said to me.”

“And what did she say to you?”

“Not telling!” Paimon darts backwards and smiles smugly. “It’s Lumine’s secret, and Paimon is her secret keeper.”

Secrets. Always, the Traveller with her secrets.

My name, Lumine had said. A blur of sounds, foreign, hushed syllables. ▇▇▇. It was mine, a long time ago, before my world was destroyed. Until I find my brother, you can keep it.

“You’re very protective of the Traveller,” he says to Paimon.

Paimon puffs out of her chest. “I’m Lumine’s good luck charm,” she says. “Her own little god of protection.”

“You? Protect the Traveller?” Wanderer smiles, arching a brow. “What other jokes are pinging around in that empty skull of yours?”

“You don’t understand our bond,” Paimon says. “Besides, Paimon is helpful. Paimon helps her with her problems in other ways than just fighting.”

“Other than relieving the weight of her purse, how so?”

“Like um… Like with you!”

“You’ve got a problem with me?” he deadpans.

“You’re too…” Paimon shrugs. “...Intense. Sometimes Paimon’s half-afraid that you’re going to swallow Lumine whole with those eyes of yours. Tone it down, will you?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he says flatly. Wanderer glances at the hut, where Lumine has just exited, the letter in her hand gone.

It’s a young woman, this time. “The letters just stopped coming all of a sudden. I was starting to worry about my sister,” she says, voice muffled by the distance, but clear enough if he focuses. “I hope the trip wasn’t too hard on you.”

Black hair, dark eyes, soft voice, golden-brown skin that shone under the sun. Pretty enough, he supposes, if one squints enough and tilts their head at just the right angle. If one was tempted by that sort of thing.

Wanderer narrows his eyes. Is the Traveller tempted?

“Oh, it wasn’t any trouble at all, Dana,” Lumine reassures, even though it definitely had been.

“Thank you so much,” Dana says. “I don’t even know how to begin to express my gratitude.”

“No gratitude needed,” Lumine says—kindly, detestably warm—and that’s when he stalks forward, propelled by Anemo beneath his sandals, brushing off Paimon’s nagging voice of Hey, where are you going? Lumine said to stay here! Paimon’s not moving to chase you, hmph!

“It’s getting late, though,” Dana says. “Would you like to stay the night, Traveller?”

“Ah, that’s quite an offer—”

“—but she’ll have to refuse. Lumine has a prior appointment with me, you see,” Wanderer says, slinging his arm around Lumine’s shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing against her skin, the ring of his middle finger resting on naked collarbone.

Lumine glances at him, brow quirked in quiet amusem*nt, unperturbed. “I do?”

“Tonight, you do,” he says arrogantly, pulling her closer. Her head bumps into his cheek, hair brushing up against his neck. She smells like morning dew, blooming flowers. Must have been the Dendro powers she’d used on the way here. “The Traveller’s terribly busy,” Wanderer says. “You understand, of course.”

Dana looks between them, Wanderer and Traveller, and then revelation steals over her face. “Of course!” the woman enthuses. Her eyes are sparkling. Why are her eyes sparkling. “I understand how it is in a new relationship! It’s so hard to keep your hands off each other, isn’t it?”

Wanderer glances at Lumine, who looks back pointedly: You’re the one who did this. Why are you looking at me?

“I won’t keep you then,” Dana says, and then kisses Lumine on both cheeks. Wanderer scowls. “Stay safe, alright?” she says, and then giggles, whispering to Lumine, “In more ways than one, Traveller, from woman to woman. If you need the herbs…”

“Thank you for the offer,” Lumine says blithely, patting the hand he has over her shoulder as though he hadn’t heard. “But it’ll be fine. Between the two of us, we’ll figure something out.”

: : :

After being chewed out thoroughly by Paimon—the lure of dinner the only thing that was able to temper her—in the comfort of his bedroom back in the teapot, Wanderer stares at the houseplant on his windowsill while laying in bed, playing with the air in his hand. The atmosphere in his room is stagnant while the sun finishes its daily journey, saturating the plant’s leaves with blood orange.

Pochi. His lips curl at the remembrance. It’s an eyesore. What possessed him to keep it instead of tossing it from the highest point on the Divine Tree overlooking Sumeru City, he wished he knew. No, instead, he’d kept it like some sort of statement, even going so far as to water it. Fussed over it like a parent or something ridiculous, worried about overwatering the stupid thing. Had even debated on asking the Little Lord for gardening tips, of all things.

Gods. He really should toss it. For his own dignity, if nothing else.

And then the doors flip open, the breeze carrying with it the scent of flowers and morning dew. He sits up, silent as Lumine slips into the room, shutting the doors with her hands behind her back.

A click. She’s locked the doors.

Immediately on guard, he says, “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we had an appointment tonight?” Lumine says lightly, the corner of her lips lifting in a teasing smile. “You were so adamant about it.”

“Don’t mock me,” he says as she sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her weight. “Not here.”

“Why not?”

This is where you haunt me. He scoffs. “What do you want, Traveller?”

Lumine glances at his window, and smiles upon seeing the little houseplant. “Oh.” She sounds pleased. “You kept it. Pochi, I mean. I thought you’d toss it away the first chance you’d get, truth be told.”

“Don’t change the subject, Traveller.”

Lumine lays herself down, patting at the pillow. Wordless, he lays himself down next to her. “Would you believe me,” she says, pressing her face to the crook of his neck, “if I said it’s because I miss you?”

Wanderer doesn’t shiver, but he does laugh. “Sure you do,” he says. “In the same way you would miss a trinket you’ve accidentally discarded from the sorting pile, I’m sure.”

“...With Dana, with Kumar,” she says carefully, the words hot on his skin. “Were you jealous?”

“No,” he drawls.

“Dana had a husband, you know?” Lumine says amusedly.

“Do I sound like I care?”

“Not particularly. But you always sound like that, so it’s hard to know.” Lumine trails her hand down his arms, fingers dancing their way across his skin. Past the biceps, spanning the forearm, a brief pause at his wrist. He flinches—it’s been a long time. A long time since he’s allowed anyone to touch him, without asking for pain back.

Dottore has made him into this. Sometimes he still finds the nerves too frayed to feel anything. And other times, nerves too sensitive, like they are right now, every skip of her fingers on his skin a booming thud, like a hammer wrecking through a castle wall that’s too brittle for its own good.

Perhaps it’s due to the builder’s shoddy construction. Perhaps he’s not up to par.

The room is too quiet. So quiet, he hears her heartbeat. Feels it through the pulse hidden beneath her fingertips.

“What about that man, then?” Wanderer says, trying to ignore the stir under his skin. “Did you… Did you end up…?”

“Who, Kumar?” Lumine says, playing with his fingers, his guards having been put away on the nightstand beside his pillow. “No. I just stayed with him for a bit to make sure he’s okay. And to apologize. Does that satisfy you, Wanderer?”

“What you do with him is none of my business,” he intones, a slight hitch of his breath, reflexive as she places her palm over his chest. Right above the hollow where a heart is supposed to belong.

“Where’s your Vision?”

“Under the pillow.”

She slides her hand away from his chest, down toward his stomach. Tracing over the markings that define him as non-human. The winding marks that had been pale violet before, now turned light teal. He still can’t stand to look at his body in the waters sometimes, when he’s cleaning himself off. Not when he’s too weighed down by the memories; he’ll surely sink. “You cherish that thing a lot,” she notes.

“Of course,” he says, biting back a gasp at the overwhelming stimulus of her touch. “It’s mine, after all.”

Lumine stares down at him. “Do you cherish me as much, Wanderer?”

“You don’t want me to,” he challenges.

In lieu of a response, Lumine slides her hand down his waist, palming at the bulge that’s growing in his pants. “You’re getting hard,” Lumine muses.

“Astute observation,” he says wryly.

“Because of me?”

Because of the f*cking ceiling, Traveller. I’m aroused by drywall, haven’t you realized? He swallows. “What, planning on helping me?” he dares.

Lumine considers it. “Is that what you want from me?”

Anything, and I’ll give it to you.

“No,” he says.

“Hm.” Her hands unlace the belt at his pants anyway. The motion is with a softness that’s contrary to his dreams, different from how she’d tried to claw them off before in her drug-induced fever. And when her hand presses a little too hard against his groin, his hips jerk upwards, betraying his previous words. What a useless body, he thinks in distaste.

“Up, please,” Lumine says politely, and he curses as he raises his hips. She pulls his shorts down past his ankles, fingers barely brushing against his hips before she’s got cupped her hand around his naked member. She handles him with a delicate touch that belies her strength, both hands wrapped around his co*ck, palm soft and dry as she strokes him up and down, thumbing over the leaking tip.

None of this should be as hot as it is. It’s not even wet enough to be enjoyable, but somehow it is.

“Whatever—ah—happened to, ‘Anyone but you, Wanderer’?” he mocks, and it would be sharp and piercing were it not for his voice breaking apart as her grip tightens.

“Changed my mind,” Lumine murmurs.

“You can’t just”—he bites the inside of cheek to suppress a hiss—”change your mind so easily.”

“Can’t I?”

“No!” he says, voice strangled. She doesn’t bother with an answer, only leaning down to take him in her mouth, hollowing out her cheeks to swallow as much as she can. She bobs up and down, wrapping her hand around the base, stroking what she can’t take. Another other hand presses over his thigh, sprawled fingers keeping him down when he thrusts a little too fast into the wet heat of her mouth. His hand finds the root of her hair, unsure of whether he wants to push her away or push her down. She’s good at this. Too good for comfort, and the thought makes him just a little bit spiteful, has him sitting up and bending to reach for—anything he can reach, really.

It’s an awkward position. He tries anyway. But when he slides his hand a little too high up her leg, trying to tug down her bloomers, Lumine moans. He jerks at the sensation, thoughts temporarily scattered as the vibrations shoot straight up into his brain.

“What are you—”

“No,” Lumine says, releasing his co*ck to swat his arm away. He shudders at the cool air. “I’ll do it myself.”

“You’re not being fair.”

She gives a lazy stroke, her own saliva helping the glide. “How do you think I feel?” she says. “You’re not being fair, either.”

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Which is why he’s angry, because how is he supposed to return the favour if she won’t let him touch her?

“Just let me take care of it,” Lumine says. She pushes herself away to shimmy out of her underwear, and it’s not anything enticing, too quick and efficient and soldier-like, but he still wants.

Continues to want, as she swings herself over his legs, calves pressed against the side of his legs. When he makes to sit up, she shakes her head and presses him right back down, fingers wet over his thin shirt.

“Don’t just use me as you’d like,” he snarls, rucking up her dress, settling his hand around her hips. The threat would have more teeth if it wasn’t for the traitorous rut of his hips, his co*ck pressing into the soft skin of her inner thigh.

“Not in me,” Lumine says, reaching up to tie the bottom of her dress in a random knot. She exhales, steadying herself against him, dragging the outer lips of her c*nt over the length of him. “Not today.”

“What’s the point then?” he snaps. “You’re the one who came to me, and you won’t even let me have this? Why are you so wet if you don’t want me to f*ck you?”

Lumine presses her lips together, and then shakes her head. “It’s not about me,” she says.

“And if it’s about me, then I want to f*ck you.”

Lumine shakes her head again, wordless as she grinds against his co*ck, forcing him to take only the pleasure she’s willing to dole out. But he takes it anyway, grunting as he rubs against her lips, getting off to the slickness of her c*nt but never entering her. When the tip of his co*ck bumps against her mound, right where her cl*t is, Lumine stiffens, the line of her mouth thinning even more. But she doesn’t make a noise.

Frustrated, he says, “I need more—”

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Lumine says, leaning down. He opens his mouth, thinking she’d kiss him, she only lays her head on his chest, as though trying to find a heartbeat.

He does not thrash beneath her. He refuses to call the movement anything so submissive. “What are you doing—!”

“You’re so beautiful,” she sighs. like a confession. The words, said right above his heartless hollow. Archons. “My heart hurts sometimes, just looking at you.”

“But I don’t—ah—want to hurt you,” he rasps, not knowing where the words are coming from. A time before, when he hadn’t been so jaded, when he’d been more tender in his love.

“How would you like to hurt me then?” Lumine asks.

“I don’t,” he says, and it sounds like he’s half-way toward weeping, a sinner asking for absolution. But there’s no tears. Only the taste of blood, and the wicked heat of her skin.

Lumine hums, and then she licks his chest. His shirt is thin enough that he can feel the rough swipe of her tongue over his skin, and her hips don’t stop their back and forth motion, rolling into him. Her mouth latches onto one of his nipples, rolling the hardened bud between her teeth. He clenches his jaw, feeling his abdomen tighten.

“I’m going to—your dress,” he says, strained.

“Don’t worry. Just do as you’d like.”

And then she surges up to finally kiss him. Not knowing what else to do—what else he could do—he opens his mouth. She whimper as he bites her, sounding so torn up about whatever it is that she always chooses to torture herself with, and for a second, everything is too much.

“Come,” she says.

Easier said than done, he wants to snap, except he’s too busy doing exactly that. The world blurs, his strings snap. His co*ck throbs helplessly, cum spurting everywhere, her dress, her stomach. It’s a ridiculous amount. He doesn’t know why he has this function, if he couldn’t spawn anything anyway. He blinks, coming to. Lumine is looking at him, her eyes soft. His co*ck has gone limp, but twitches in interest again.

Right. She hasn’t come yet.

“Are you going to…” he trails off. Sprawls one hand possessively against her stomach, fingers spanning her waist. Presses a thumb against her stomach, smearing his cum over her skin. His other hand sneaks down toward where her swollen bud is peeking out, only to be stopped by her fingers on his wrist, delicately balanced.

“I’m okay,” Lumine says. “But I am curious…” She swipes up a glob of the white substance on her skin, before sticking a finger in her mouth. “Tastes like wet paper,” she says, making a face. “Is this because you’re made of wood—”

“Enough. This is ridiculous,” he snarls, and before she can fight him off, flips himself over her. His fingers find the wet seam of her c*nt and plunge in, not even the slightest of mercy. Lumine fists her hand in his hair, a reflexive tug in protest.

“Hey! I didn’t want to—” she protests, her breath hitching as he grinds his fingers against her.

“Well, I do,” he says with a nasty smile, smug at her trembling. It felt good, regaining control, like bringing down the sky with the tug of one hand. In this case, the curl of a finger. “If you thought you could come here and f*ck with me as you’d like without any repercussion, you’ve got another thing coming,” he rasps, speeding up his stroking of her walls. “So you better come for me, or else.”

“Or else?” Lumine stutters, voice caught on a whine as her thighs clamp down around his arm. She comes with a bitten-off shriek, clenching around him. He f*cks her through it, waiting until she huffs and pushes him away before pulling his fingers out.

Wanderer smirks as he leans back to take the scene in, the mess he’s made of her. Hair out of place, her face red with exertion, heaving for breath. “Looks like we won’t have to find out,” he purrs, locking eyes with her as he licks a fingertip. “You obeyed so nicely.”

“Why are you always ruining my plans, Wanderer?” she huffs.

“Could say the same to you, Traveller.”

“You’re not wrong,” Lumine admits as she slowly pushes herself up, trembling slightly from the aftermath of her org*sm. She unclasps the front of her dress, pulling it over herself. He watches with interest as she wipes off the mess on her skin with the fabric and then tosses it to the floor, her breasts rising and falling with each breath.

“Should we go for a second round, do you think?”

“What?” Lumine startles, as if just noticing his presence. She rolls her eyes and flops down on the mattress. “It’s late. Go to sleep.”

“You’re utterly insipid.”

“Clever words from someone who definitely didn’t find me so ‘utterly insipid’ mere moments before.” She tugs his wrist. “Sleep, Wanderer!”

“Fine! Not as if I need sleep, but if you insist. My clothes are all dirty,” he complains, stripping himself of his shirt, looking with distaste at the streaks of white on it. “This is disgusting. Why didn’t we take everything off first?”

“Heat of the moment,” she says cheerfully. “At least we didn’t get too much of it on the sheets.”

“Still have to wash everything later,” he mutters.

“Lucky for me, I know a certain Wanderer who likes doing laundry.”

Wanderer scoffs. “Since when did I become your maid?”

“Since now,” Lumine says. “Blanket, please?”

He snorts, but gets off the bed and opens the closet. He usually slept without one—not as if he could get sick anyway—but why not. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he snipes, tossing the bundle of fabric at her face. She splutters, surprised enough that her reflexes couldn’t catch it in time.

“Don’t even,” Lumine harrumphs as she rearranges the blanket, kicking his leg again as he slips in next to her.

“Careful,” he murmurs, draping a hand over her back, smoothing his fingers over her shoulder blade. She stirs slightly, a hitch of her breath. “If you rile me up too much, that second round is not out of the question.”

She grunts, swatting his arm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Any more insults before I smother you in your sleep?”

“No,” she says. “I’m saving them for another day, so let me live until then, alright?”

“Probably just another sh*tty pun,” he says.

“Don’t hurt my feelings too badly, Wanderer. I just might shed a tear or two.”

“...Why are you here, Lumine?”

Lumine’s lips quirk at the sudden use of her name. “Why am I in your room, you mean? Or why am I here?”

“What are you meant to be, in this world?”

“A star,” Lumine murmurs. She opens her hand, and constellations dance across her palm, sending light flickering across her face. “Something to that effect, anyway. This world called to me, so here I am.”

He laces his fingers between hers, suffocating the illusion with a seal of their palms. Lumine laughs. “What, want my energy again? Sure,” she says, a surge of warmth through him. He tightens his hold, feeling how it whirls through his body before settling neatly in his chest. What function he has left to hold the gnosis, is now used to hold her. “I have plenty to spare when it comes to you, it seems.”

“Because you’re a star.” You’re limitless. You’re unbound. You’ll give me anything I ask for.

“Because I’m a star,” she confirms. And then she sighs. “A trapped, incomplete one for now, but close enough.”

And the way she phrased it sent a chill down his spine. For now.

In truth, the reason he held her hand wasn’t anything like what she’s thinking. Merely because she had felt so far away as she gazed at the false skies that she cupped in her hand, and he had felt a sliver of fear. Panic. The Traveller is a force of nature. There is not much one can do to hold onto her, nor is there much one can do to divert her course.

I could ask her to stay, he thinks.

But he won’t.

“Since we’re playing interrogation,” Lumine says, “let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was your first time like?”

The question is so absurdly innocent, he laughs. “Feeling jealous? There’s only you now, I assure,” he says, smirking. Only half-kidding. Only.

Lumine kicks him again. “You wish. Answer the question.”

Wanderer blinks. He could hardly remember, truth be told. Dark hair, blue eyes. A crooked smile. “A young woman from Tatarasuna,” he says slowly. “She took a fancy to me. It was… enjoyable, however brief. She was gentle.”

It had been embarrassing, how Katsuragi had slapped his back and called him a real man when he’d found out. Kabukimono hadn’t understood anything of sensual pleasure, and when he did, all he did was gasp and tremble, thinking he’d ascended. They had parted amicably—she found another lover, someone who she wanted for more than just novelty. She’d apologized for her fickleness, but he hadn’t minded.

Kabukimono had loved her, but in the way that a butterfly loved a flower. Short-lived, a seasonal event. Not like it had been with Niwa and Katsuragi. Not like…

“That’s good to hear,” Lumine says softly. She doesn’t bother asking what her fate ended up being, and for that, Wanderer is glad.

Everything had been to flames, anyway. Rare chance that she could have survived.

“What about you?” he asks.

“Ah. The first world I’d visited… A girl on the cusp of womanhood, like me. We both didn’t know anything, but we explored and we learned. I think… that she loved me. Probably.” Lumine winces. “I left, before she could say anything. Told her to forget me. Aether laughed at me at the time. Called me cruel, but what was I supposed to do? Leaving was always inevitable.”

He holds onto her hand, a little tighter. “Your brother was right.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lumine protests.

“Cruelty is not always deliberate, Traveller. I’m living proof.”

“You’re immortal,” she says. “It’s different. Mortals forget so easily. They always do.”

He thinks about Niwa, the legacy he’d left behind. A clan of his very own, a family that he’d always longed for, and Kunikuzushi had trampled over his blood and left them on the shores of Narukami to crumble.

It was a miracle his clan still existed. One bud on the wilted tree left. Kaedehara Kazuha, Lumine had told him. The sole survivor.

“Not always,” he says. “It’s not always so simple, Traveller, the act of remembering.”

“It was just one night,” Lumine says. “What’s the worst it can do? I’m sure she moved on and found someone else. Humans tend to do that. Not all, but if they know what’s good for them, they will. Life is too short to pine, isn’t it?”

“You underestimate that foolish thing called love. Mortals go mad over it.” And immortals, he adds silently in his mind, thinking of his mother. The memories that had stayed with him, whispered to him, haunted him during his brief tenure as a god. This eternity is too fleeting, he’d heard her say, once upon a time. Will you be able to make up for my lack?

In some ways, he still hated her. In other ways, he finally understood.

Lumine shifts, moving a little closer to him. Rests her cheek on his shoulder. “...Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just too weary.”

Wanderer stays silent, letting the cool night wash over him like a creaky boat out to the unfathomable sea. He may not need sleep, but he could sleep if he willed it. Before, when he’d slept, it had been a way to deal with boredom or despair or the overwhelming sensation of existence. However, right now, there’s no need. Wanderer keeps his eyes pinned on the Traveller, a polaris, the permanent star reflected in an ocean of temporality. But she too…

“If I ask you something, will you answer?” he asks.

“You have a lot of questions tonight.”

“I answered yours.”

“Depends on the question,” Lumine relents.

“Why did you reject me but come to me now?” he says carefully. “What made you change your mind?

“You’re so young,” Lumine finally answers. “I was afraid of bruising you.”

He hangs onto each syllable, plucks and pores over them. “I’m over five hundred years old, Traveller. Not exactly a newborn.”

“And I’m older than even the oldest gods here,” she murmurs, lashes drooping. “Five hundred years is nothing but a blink. So what exactly should I see you as, Wanderer?”

“Your equal.”

“You are.”

Sure I am, he thinks with a twist of his lips. Whatever. Eventually, he’ll raise himself up—or whittle her down. Either way, they’ll end up on even playing grounds. He hasn’t gotten to where he is right now without sheer persistence.

“No more questions now? Can I finally go to sleep?”

“Is…” He hesitates. “Is leaving always such a sure thing for you?” he presses.

And with that, the quiet drapes over them, heavy and stifling. “...That,” she lets out a yawn before closing her eyes, “is a question to contemplate for later.”

The next morning, when dawn glides over the bed, he closes his eyes and levels out his breathing. Soon enough, the mattress shifts. Lumine gets up slowly, as if loathe to leave. Or perhaps that was merely delusion, because one second, she is tracing her fingers over the peaceful curves of his face—

And the next second: empty air.

: : :

“Lumine, Lumine! Look what I have for you!” Paimon waves eagerly at Lumine as she steps outside her bedroom, her hair still wet from the bath she’d just taken. It was a good thing she woke up early to sneak out of Wanderer’s own room and into the baths. Paimon would have a lot of questions, otherwise. Not that she minded Paimon knowing, but it just… made things a lot easier to deal with. Less emotions to add to the fray. Less messy.

“You’re up early,” Lumine says.

Paimon beams at her, and presses a scroll into her hand. “Mail for you,” she says. “Paimon just got it.”

“Let’s take a look, hm?” Lumine unfurls the scroll—Inazuman-style, she notes—and scans over the carefully-inked characters. When she finishes, she frowns. Backtracks to read from the beginning, musing over the implications. Huh. Not what she expected.

“Are you done?” Paimon peers at her. “What’s it say, Lumine?”

Lumine snaps the scrolls shut. “You should prepare yourself,” she says lightly. “It’ll be a long way from here to Inazuma.”

Chapter 6: it's just another graceless night

Chapter Text

"Will you be telling Wanderer, Lumine?" Paimon says with a tilt of her head. Behind her, the Divine Tree stretches skyward, spiralling wooden fingers trying to reach for the sun.

Lumine forgets the whetstone she’d been sharpening her sword on, eyes caught on the shimmering green canopies. The skies are kind today, cerulean blue without its usual intensity, as though trying to soothe Lumine’s disoriented thoughts.

"About what?" Lumine says.

"Going to Inazuma!" Paimon says impatiently.

"Oh. That." Lumine blinks. "Could you keep quiet about it from Wanderer?"

"Paimon can do that, Lumine." Paimon plays with her fingers, a nervous habit. "So you won't tell him?"

"I will," Lumine says.

"You will? Really?" Paimon looks skeptical. "With his temper?"

"It’s not as if I haven’t faced worse before," Lumine says.

"Then when? Tomorrow? Or right when we leave?"

"Later," Lumine murmurs. Besides, Paimon couldn’t keep a secret to save her life anyway; Wanderer was too perceptive to hide from, especially with Paimon’s habit of antagonizing him.

But again, a matter for later. Wanderer still hasn’t come out from the teapot, so Lumine is sharpening her sword. Calculating too, what she’d have to procure from the markets before heading to Port Ormos. She’d need supplies for the journey to Inazuma.

It’s nothing she hasn’t done before, Lumine muses as she scrapes the edge of her sword on the whetstone, careful to keep her hand safe with a cloth. She’d had her hands full before, going from Liyue to Inazuma, there and back and there and back before even setting foot in Sumeru. Yet something about this time…

You know why, her mind whispers. It sounds oddly like Aether when he scolds her for her inattentiveness. What is the new variable, sister?

A sudden sharp pain in her palm, like a rusty fish hook dragging along skin. Lumine looks down.

"Lumine!" Paimon says frantically. "Your hand!"

"It’s fine," she says, staring at the crimson welling up along her finger and palm.

Her own sword had sliced into her skin—but only because Lumine hadn’t been paying enough attention. A blade was only as good as its master; she only had herself to blame for its bite.

"Just a little cut," she dismisses. "It’ll heal before long."

Paimon frowns. "If you’re sure."

"I’m sure," Lumine says slowly. She flexes her hand. More blood seeps out, like the headwater of a river. And it’s red, it’s all red. Will it ever end, she wonders. Will there ever come a day when she’ll be bled dry?

Ignoring Paimon’s worried look, Lumine puts her hand to her lips. Sucks on the wound, mouth made bloody with her mistake.

: : :

“I told you to be more careful.”

“I was.”

Wanderer sweeps an annoyed glare across the gash running across the Traveller’s forearm. The blood surrounding the wound is starting to dry up, but there’s still wet droplets trickling down. He raises her arm up. “Then what do you call this?”

“The dangers of being a traveller,” Lumine says lightly.

“You’re injured,” he snaps, tightening his grip on her right wrist, almost tight enough to break bone if it weren’t for her body’s own freakish defiance against mortal physics. Until it comes to sharp, pointy weapons, at least.

He curses under his breath and rummages through the bag of medical supplies—something she’d only brought out because he asked. It’s like she’s asking to die.

"It’s not a big deal," Lumine says. "And I didn’t want to be injured, Wanderer."

"To go and pick a fight with the Fatui agents when your hand is injured—seems to me like you wanted it," he says harshly. Indeed, there’s a red line running along her index finger, down to the centre of her palm, and he’d almost thrown a fit when he first saw it, What is this?

It’s not that unsightly, is it? she’d said with a smile, which was not the point. Sure, he’d seen worse—had inflicted worse—but to see her wounded by someone other than him…

She had brushed his concerns off, saying they had to get to the commissions. I’m just as good with my other hand, Wanderer. Come on. Katheryne is waiting.

And look what she’d gained for her idiocy: an even bigger gash, the product of a knife slashing down her forearm. Blood, dripping everywhere.

He stares at the mess of red fabrics lying on the floor—her discarded sleeves—furious enough to want to break something. Itching to feel the snap of bones.

It was a pity, then, that the Fatui recruit had taken a sword to the throat before Wanderer could get his hands on him. Perhaps a mercy from the too-benevolent Traveller.

A loss of opportunity, but there would be plenty of time later, to take his frustrations out on the stragglers of Fatui agents hidden around Sumeru City. For now, he appeases himself by focusing on dressing her wounds.

"An accident," Lumine says. "Won’t happen again."

"It had better not," he says darkly. "It would be humiliating, if the Traveller that had defeated the Shouki no Kami could fall so easily to some greenhorn recruit."

"You also defeated the Shouki no Kami," Lumine points out.

"Because I’m stronger than you." Despite his irritation, he keeps a gentle pressure over her arm. No point in rendering his efforts futile by reopening the wound in a fit of pique. That would be a waste of his time.

"You could tell?" Lumine says. "His rank, I mean."

"You couldn’t?" he says. "Figured, that you wouldn’t pay much attention to the people you run through with your sword. They must be a dime a dozen to you."

"The pinned badge," Lumine says, eyebrow raised. "Brown, was it?"

"So you’re not as stupid as you seem."

"Not all Fatui are my enemies," Lumine says.

"I stand corrected," he says. "Should have known better than to overestimate the abilities of your pea-sized brain."

"You think I’m foolish for it?" Lumine asks genuinely.

"If you’re talking about the moron I think you’re talking about," he says, already bored with the turn of conversation, "then yes."

"Not just Childe," Lumine says. "Some others too."

"And where are they now?" he says pointedly.

"Gone." She smooths the ruffle of his collar. "Here."

"Exactly," he says, staring as her hand retreats from his clothes. "Trusting them makes you a fool, Traveller."

"…Did you know a Katarina, Wanderer, in the Fatui ranks?"

"Do I look like I bother with the name of every insect that crosses my path?"

Lumine shakes her head, oddly complacent in the face of his temper. "Forget I asked."

"Already done," he intones, fingers skimming over the crook of her arm as he continues to wrap the gauze around her.

"Paimon’s been gone for a while," Lumine says. "Katheryne shouldn’t be that far. Do you think she’s in trouble?"

"Are you surprised?" he says. "Probably lost her way while trying to report to that puppet."

"Katheryne," Lumine corrects.

"Puppet," he says.

Lumine stays silent after that; they’ve had this conversation enough times to know there is no persuading the other. He doesn’t know why she’s so insistent on using the thing’s name. It’s an inanimate object, relying on pre-programmed logic.

It isn’t worth her attention. Will never be.

Wind whistles around his ears, carrying the childlike melody of a flute. Sumeru City always did have that touch, didn’t it? Like something straight out of a child’s fantasy. A place ripe for adventure to take place. A pipe dream. He tamps down the violent swell of emotions that threatens to flood over.

"Too tight?" he asks brusquely, a small tug at the bandage.

"Perfect." The corners of her lips are quirked in a slight smile as he fusses over the wound. "You’re good at this, Wanderer."

He scowls. Pinches a patch of unmarred skin near her elbow, a reprimand for her levity, but she only smiles wider, eyes glimmering. Why is she smiling? Is this how she always is, no regards for herself?

There’s no point in asking. He knew the answer—which only serves to make him even more vexed. "Don’t expect this privilege again," Wanderer snaps as he finishes wrapping the gauze. "Next time, don’t be so careless."

“Weren’t you the one who was so careless with your body before?” Lumine says, almost teasing.

“That’s—” He bites his tongue. Of course she’d hadn’t missed it, his conversation with Signora in the Delusion Factory. And of course she hasn’t forgotten this particular piece of useless information. “That’s different,” he says curtly. “I knew what I could handle.”

“Did you?” Lumine muses. "And here I’d thought you were always seeking the limit. Isn’t that why you went to Dottore?"

At the mention of the Doctor, Wanderer shifts close to her face, curling his fingers around her bandaged wound. It’s almost complete, just needing a knot to finish the job, but he could rip it off still, easily. He squeezes her arm, not enough to hurt—but definitely enough to be felt. Lumine doesn’t move out of his grip, but she does sling her arm, the uninjured one, around his neck.

“Don’t presume you know me so well, Traveller," he says, voice dipped low.

"But maybe I do?" Lumine wonders.

"You don’t," he breathes. "You don’t know anything."

And instead of answering, Lumine surges forward, crushes their lips together. Her hand threads through his hair, muffling his snarl by sealing her mouth over his, taking in his anger with a calm that only angers him more. He gives back as good as she does, biting down on the bottom of her lips with a vengeance, and Lumine jerks away. Lets go of his hair to wipe her mouth, a streak of red across the back of her hand.

"I’m sorry I got injured," Lumine says. "Are you still angry?"

"Don’t get hurt again," Wanderer says. His mouth tastes like rust; bitter, but he hates it. "Not by anyone but me."

"You want to hurt me?" she asks, gentle curiosity.

At the rate she keeps bringing it up, he’s starting to think she wants it to happen, even more than he does.

As for the answer to her question… Wanderer touches his thumb to the spot where he’d broken skin, and presses down. She winces, but makes no move to push him away. And when he pushes his thumb past her lips, she opens her mouth, letting him scrape the blood over the slick edge of her teeth. Wraps her tongue around his thumb too, sucks it clean.

"You’re asking for it, at this point," Wanderer threatens.

But she doesn’t protest when he leans close again, licks at the corner of her mouth, lapping up the rest of the blood. She flinches, and he feels her injured arm tense in his grip, as though she’s about to summon her sword. The blood in his body thrums, responding to her intentions.

"Don’t reopen your wound," he warns. "I put too much effort for it to just go to waste."

"Easy for you to say," Lumine protests, stiffening when he licks the corner of her lips to clean up the last drop of blood. Afterwards it’s another kiss for the count, but this time to the delicate skin under her ear, then another, then another. He makes his way languidly down the line of her jaw, and when he reaches her throat, he can feel the quickening beat of her arteries, blood carried from her heart to here, the place where he lays another kiss. Wanderer worries the skin between his teeth, nips a little just to feel her pulse skip.

"Are you done?" Lumine breathes, and he can feel the faint puff of heated air against his neck, humid, sticky. He lifts his head from her neck, smoothing his hand down her left arm, closing his fingers around her wrist.

"What can I say?" Wanderer says. "I like to be thorough."

It feels too fragile, her wrist bone. How this delicate body of hers could have ever resisted him, brought him down, he’s still not sure. He gently lifts her hand, presses his lips to the inside of her wrist, tongue flicking out to find her pulse. She’d taken off her gloves, and he intends to press his advantage, so he kisses the back of her hand before licking the smear of blood with the flat of his tongue. When his teeth scrape over skin, Lumine trembles, ever so slightly, and that in itself is enough to leave him satisfied enough to drop her hand.

"There," Wanderer says.

"Thank you?" Lumine says weakly.

"You were too careless," he says eventually.

Lumine looks at him through her lashes, eyes half-hooded. Always considering him, always trying to read him like a ledger. A book for her perusal, unfolded at her discretion. He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

"I’m sorry," she says, "for worrying you."

"If you’re truly sorry… Swear that you won’t get hurt again," he repeats as he returns to fiddling with the gauze on her arm. "Not from anyone other than me. Perhaps then I’ll find enough generosity within me to forgive you."

"It’s a little unreasonable to ask, don’t you think?”

"It’s not about that, and you know it," he says harshly.

"I…" Lumine trails off.

"Swear it," he demands.

"I’ll try," she says.

It’s not what he wants. "You—!"

"I’m going to Port Ormos," Lumine suddenly says. Her voice is flat. "In a couple of days."

Wanderer rolls his eyes. “Why the dramatics?” he scoffs. “The way you say it makes it sound like you’re attending someone’s funeral. I suppose if you’re really that desperate for me to accompany you—“

“At Port Ormos,” Lumine continues, “I’ll board a ship bound for Inazuma. Narukami Island, to be more specific.”

Narukami. The sudden name-drop cuts his oncoming tirade short. "And what," he says darkly, "do you need to go there for?"

"Old friends," Lumine says.

His fingers tightens around the strip of gauze, and he ties the knot with more force than necessary. "Who?"

Lumine meets his furious stare, never breaking away. The gold of her irises are hauntingly clear, like a sky that will never storm. "Ei," she says softly. "Among others."

"Beelzebub," he hisses. "Of all the people, you’re leaving for Beelzebub—"

"Among others," she repeats firmly.

"As if the others matter," Wanderer rages, "when you’re planning on seeing that woman."

Lumine remains silent for a few moments, the line of her mouth quivering as she struggles to respond. Eventually, she says politely, "Would you like to come, Wanderer?"

"Never." Is insulted, actually, that she’d had the audacity to even ask.

"I see." Lumine doesn’t try to persuade, as she always does. Instead, she just sits there, gliding absentminded fingers over the bandage. "The offer remains open, Wanderer," she says. "I leave in two days."

Wanderer shoves himself away from her, gathering the wind beneath his feet. He rises, sneers down at her. "Have fun in that wretched place, Traveller. "

He doesn’t bother to wait for a response. Just shoots off with the wind at his feet, hands bunched into fists, bile rising in his throat. Above him, sun pulses with a new intensity, mocking him for the darkness curled around his chest, exposing him for the shadow puppet that he’s always been. A title he can never cast off.

: : :

There’s not enough Fatui recruits in all of Sumeru that could quell his fury. Ei, Ei, Ei, the syllable remains in his mind, how gentle she’d said her name.

"That—wretched—woman," he hisses as he tosses yet another Fatui agent by the collar. They fall with a yelp over the cliff’s edge and splashes into the river below, another rat eliminated from their lurking ground around Paris Dhyai. All Dottore’s men, he’s sure.

Wanderer sneers as he watches the body struggle in the waters, before turning around to wipe his hands on his robes, disgusted by the brief contact. Whether they live or die is up to their own abilities. He’s been generous enough already for the Dendro Archon, not immediately slashing their throat at first glance.

Despite the battle adrenaline that has his entire body trembling, he stares down at the bottom of his palm. There’s a yellow twinkle there, not the usual Anemo colours that run along his body, and it reminds him of her eyes, flat and unfeeling.

Dusk sets, a foggy cloud of red-violet cast over the skies like a luxurious, palatial dome. He glares up at the translucent outline of the rising moon, angry at the passage of time. Angry at being left alone. Angry at everything.

Clenching his teeth, he propels himself forward, away from the riverbed. Before long, he finds himself at the top of the hill overlooking the Pardis Dhyai. And when he turns his head, there’s the City of Wisdom in all its glory, spiralling around the Divine Tree like invaded vines, its crowning jewel cradled at the top:

The Sanctuary of Surasthana. The Dendro Archon’s residence.

He’d looked upon it, when he first came to Sumeru. Had felt a trill of anticipation shoot through his body. Quivered and smiled darkly, held the Electro Gnosis between his thumb and forefinger. In the distance, the Divine Tree had not seemed so large; nothing compared to his little chess piece when held up to the sight, the tip of its crown touching the Sanctuary of Surasthana. This nation would be his soon enough, he used to think. The tallest point, reserved for his taking, once he receives the powers that he’d always been entitled to.

Scaramouche had been so close. The Balladeer had tasted it, the power of a Gnosis when slotted where it was supposed to be, when in the hands that were built to hold it. How the world had shrunk down, every being tiny and significant and worthless—his past selves, included. It had been heady, the absolute power.

Some parts of him still wonders, these days, what it would have been like should he have succeeded. Whether he would have killed the Traveller and Buer, or whether he would have kept them alive for his personal amusem*nt. Made them dance in the palm of his hand like puppets before discarding them to gather dust in the dungeons, as retribution for what he’d had to suffer. Had them suffer the unspoken knowledge that even though they were alive, they could not do anything to topple him.

It would have been satisfying, he thinks with no small amount of self-depreciation, to see the Traveller beg for her life. To hold her up by the throat with his hand, cutting off the blood of her carotid arteries, the airflow of her windpipe, utterly indifferent as her nails clawed at his arm in a futile effort to get him to let go. Would she beg with tears in her eyes, desperate to live, so unlike her usual resistant self?

Wanderer gazes at the Divine Tree, how the moon rests right at the cushion of leaves atop the tallest branch, like a pure, white egg balanced precariously in its nest. He reaches out with his hand, squinting with one eye open as he holds the white glow of the moon between his fingers. He could have broken this egg. Could have done to Lumine what he could not in the Delusion Factory, splinter her mind apart, see what makes her her before razing everything to the ground. And he would have had his fun, building her from the foundations up, crafting her into his perfect little doll…

Wanderer inhales, closing his hand around the hanging white. The moon disappears, but nothing changes. Only soft rustling of tree leaves, quiet chirps of insects. The faraway whistle of a simple flute, a childish tune of three notes repeating over and over like a toddler first learning to sing.

There is no use, reminiscing. What has been done is done, what has been spilled is spilled.

And what has not been cracked before, cannot be cracked now.

It’s time to go. Wanderer closes his eyes, wills himself away. The familiar, spinning pull has him exhaling by the time he’s teleported into the teapot. The Traveller’s abode is dark too, a reflection of the outside world.

Outside the mansion, there’s an outdoor stove that the Traveller uses sometimes, when she prepares meals at the little thing’s behest. When he touches a finger to the stone alcove, it’s warm. Must have been used a few hours ago for dinner; they’ve decided to take residence in the teapot tonight, as opposed to their normal lodgings in Sumeru City.

Wanderer inspects his surroundings. A couple of fields, moonlight watering the tender buds of whatever precocious weeds the Traveller has decided to nurture. An alchemist crafting table, recently used too, judging by the scattering of empty bottles. He clicks his tongue. Messy as always. And besides the crafting table, a forge too, for convenience. She’d invited him to use it one time—he’d scoffed, because what use did he have for rusty skills that should have been laid to rest centuries ago?

And when Wanderer walks toward the stone steps that lead to the wooden front entrance, he becomes acutely aware of how quiet it is. How devoid of life the teapot can be sometimes, when there’s no one else. Too many furnishings, without anyone around to inhabit them. The fury that’s been calmed by his excursion resurges. His shoulders tremble.

Wanderer doesn’t know what he’d expected. On some level, perhaps he knew that there would be no one to greet him in the teapot. Understood that, yes, mortals need sleep, so it’d make sense for the Traveller and the little thing to be in their rooms, sleeping the night away.

He’d still hoped—a dangerous thing, this hope—that she would be sitting on the steps. Waiting for him with a patient look in her eyes. Trying to cajole him, her hand over his, Come with me to Inazuma, even though he would have most definitely refused her.

But the steps are empty. Lumine is not waiting for him, and his imagination has run away from him with self-indulgent delusions. He pushes open the doors to the residence, acutely aware that the Traveller’s room is on the main floor, the first door of the right corridor from the main hall.

He pointedly ignores it, something within him throbbing as he turns to walk toward his own bedroom instead. It’s nestled in the back, the hardest to reach. Furthest away from the usual frenzied hustle and bustle that comes whenever the Traveller has other guests over.

His room is efficient. A bed to sleep on, a closet to throw in whatever he’s deemed worthy of being collected, a desk for the occasional scathing commentary to be published, and that’s about it.

And on the windowsill, there’s a small potted plant that’s been carefully positioned to catch an optimal amount of sunlight, come noon. The stem is drooping rather pathetically, like a dog banished from its master’s bedroom. Scowling, Wanderer picks up the small watering can next to it, watching with a critical eye as water drips over the green stem. It blots into the dirt, turning it even a darker shade of brown that’s almost black under the hazy gauze of moonlight.

Too much water will drown it, just as too little will starve it. And maybe that’s why Traveller had given it to him, as a warning.

Afterwards, he places the tip of his finger at the apex of the plant, where a new leaf threatens to unfurl, serrated edge already peeking out like a saw blade. But when he drags his finger across it, there is no pain; just the soft kiss of tender leaf, almost ticklish. All of the anger drains out of him then, soaked into the soft soils that fed this plant, a being that knew nothing but growth and survival.

Survive, Katsuragi had advised him, before pushing his boat out to shore, toward the direction of Narukami Island, his birthplace. Survive, Kabukimono. Beyond speaking to the Shogunate, beyond saving this island, that is your first and foremost responsibility to us. Do you understand?

There used to be a dog that frequented the banks of Tatarasuna. It had been a stray, no owner in sight. The first time Kabukimono saw it, he’d been afraid. Yelped loud, when the orange-furred creature barked at him. But despite everything, seeing how lonely the dog was, morosely wandering the lonely shores, Kabukimono felt—a sense of kinship. So he’d snuck it bits and pieces of his dinner; it wasn’t as if he needed to eat, anyway, despite what Katsuragi insisted.

Soon enough, they’d gotten close. Kabukimono used to wade into the shore with his pants shoved up his ankles, and the dog would follow him into the waters, splashing him with its wagging tail. Kabukimono had giggled in protest, wiped off the flicks of cold water with his sleeve; they’d felt like raindrops, but the good kind. The happy kind. Then he’d go home and get scolded by Niwa’s wife, who would, despite her sharp mouth, dry his hair with a gentle hand and a warm towel.

That was before the curse descended upon its residents and rotted all the fruits. And he’d seen that same dog upon the shores before he left for the mainland, wagging its tail, barking incessantly as he’d drifted off—returned to a corpse, instead, bones bleached white by sunlight because no one had loved it enough to save it.

So Kabukimono had wept there, on those sandy shores. Stepped into the furnace, afterward, ignoring his promise to Katsuragi. Survived, despite it all.

And now, at the beck and call of a Traveller who refuses to—

Wanderer hisses as he clenches his hand, hiding the mark she’d left on him, the constellation mocking him. It’s too stagnant here, this teapot. He needs to leave.

: : :

Lesser Lord Kusanali is unruffled, as she always is, in the face of his fury. Despite storming into the Sanctuary in the middle of the night, distracting her away from whatever it is that she does while everyone is asleep, Nahida only blinks when he slams a hand on the metal platform she’d been resting on.

"Did you know?" he asks.

Nahida tilts her head. "I do not know what it is that you speak of, Wanderer," she says. "Though I do not think any answer would appease you, no matter what it is."

"The Traveller," he snaps. "Her plans to go to Inazuma."

"She is?" Nahida settles her hand together, looks over his trembling figure. "You do not sound pleased with the decision."

"Why would I be?"

And Nahida retains that gentle, curious look in her eyes even as he starts to curse out the Traveller, Of all the brain-addled choices she could make—you should check her to see whether her mind is still functioning, Kusanali—across the ocean, all because she was asked to—

"She’s going to leave for Inazuma," Wanderer rants, "for that person, of all people! What does Beelzebub even have to offer—"

"—that you cannot?" Nahida says.

He does not flinch. Instead, he looks down at the Dendro Archon, eyes hard. "Be very careful with what you say to me, Buer," he says darkly.

Nahida doesn’t look bothered. "You could go with her, if you’d like. I will not stop you."

"As if I’d follow her there, of all places."

"You have transcended beyond your past," Nahida says, swinging her legs over the platform, kicking her feet back and forth. "Perhaps it is time to lay down old histories."

"I can’t," he snaps. "You know I can’t just—discard it so easily."

"I am not asking you to forgive," Nahida says carefully. "Merely to calm down and look at it from a different point of view. I cannot pretend to understand the Raiden Shogun wholly, but there is more to the story, is there not? The situation with the Raiden Shogun is not the same as it is with the Doctor."

Wanderer puts his hand to the back of his neck, a habit of the lonely and vulnerable. It takes him a moment, coming back to reality. Away from the burst of memories that came flooding back. A soft hand at his cheek, I’m sorry, Makoto, and then violet eyes between the gaps of the fingers that had closed his eyelids, so much grief that effused from her entire being, she practically drowned in it.

"There’s always more to the story," he says, "always more pathetic excuses for the same lackluster results."

"A duck in a pond cannot understand an eagle’s mountain—not unless the duck flies out of its pond and follows the eagle’s path," Nahida says.

"As if the duck could ever fly so high," he says, but sits down when she pats the spot next to her.

"Your anger," Nahida says plainly, "goes beyond the Traveller’s decision."

"I am not angry."

"Mhm." Nahida hums, not bothering to fight against his stubbornness. "Many have forgotten you," she says, laying a palm over his hand. "The past may not have changed as you wish, but was it not you who said that the state of being forgotten was not entirely meaningless?"

"Get to the point already, Lord Kusanali."

"They have forgotten," she says, "but you have not."

"So? You want me to forget too? After all that’s happened for me to regain them?"

"You have been reborn," Nahida says gently. He forgets sometimes, that she’s seen through every part of him. "There is a new chance here, Wanderer, to make amends with your past."

"If you think I’m about to go hold Dottore’s hands and sing hymns to the Tsaritsa with him, you can forget about it."

"Of course not, though it does serve as a rather entertaining image." Nahida giggles, reaching up to pluck his hat from his hair. He scowls, and Nahida puts it on herself, the hat comically large on her own small head. She crosses her legs and pats her lap. "Come," she says.

He raises an eyebrow, folds his arms. "No thanks," he says, glancing at the metal platform. "Doesn’t look too comfortable."

"It will be okay. Sleep is also a way of recovering," Nahida says. "Especially when the day has been so trying."

"You’re not sleeping," he points out.

"I’ve been asleep for five centuries," Nahida says mischievously. "I believe I can afford one wakeful night, Wanderer."

He settles himself down obediently, not saying anything when she splays her hand over his forehead and starts humming. It reminds him of the singing cabbages. "I really can’t disobey you, can I?" he drones. "Still your prisoner."

"At least I am a generous warden," Nahida says, playing along. "Leave the thinking to tomorrow. For now, sleep."

There must have been some magic behind her words, because his eyelids immediately start drooping. "I don’t…" he murmurs. "Don’t…"

"I am listening, Wanderer."

"Don’t want to dream… Not tonight…"

"Then you won’t," Nahida says with finality.

.

.

.

Her name, you learn, is Aurora.

"Like the polar lights?" you say from where you’re sitting on the tower’s window, tilting your head. "Do you have them here, in this world?"

"We do," the princess says. "But that’s not it. I was born right as the sun began to ascend the skies, so my mother named me after the dawn. "

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," you say honestly, and she flushes a soft pink, just like sunrise behind you, violet-red seeping through the window and pooling on the floor like a shimmering ocean. If Aether could hear you now, he’d laugh himself silly. Trying your hand at flirting, sister? But you don’t flirt. You merely speak the truth. She is a pretty little thing, dotted freckles splattered along her nose and cheek like the stars above your homeland at night.

Before everything crumbled away, at least.

"Thank you, Lady Fairy," she says delicately.

"I’m not a fairy," you say again, but she doesn’t seem to believe you this time either. Not after she’d seen you drop from the tower window before shooting up with your wings unfurled. "I’m Lumine."

"Lady Lumine, then," she settles on. You shrug; it’s not as if she’s entirely wrong. You used to be something of a princess, anyway. The memories of those days are still fresh, and you exhale, digging your nails into your thighs to remind yourself—you’re not a princess. Not anymore. Now all you are is an exile, looking for a new home.

"What is it that you do here?" you ask, trying to distract from the pangs in your chest. "You said you were a princess, but I don’t see a castle." Only one maid to tend to her in this lonely tower, and only one door at the bottom, locked for most of the time. It’s not much of the luxurious life you’d been expecting.

"Oh." Aurora fiddles with the hem of her blue gown as she sits back down on her bed. "I’m not much of a princess, truth be told."

"How so?"

She tucks a strand of hazelnut hair behind her ears, looking embarrassed. "The throne has been ceded to my brother. He sees me as a threat. And so…"

"You’ve been banished to waste your life away, here," you summarize. "Not a very honourable thing to do, for a king. Or a brother."

"He’s… trying," she settles on.

"Trying may be too light a word," you say. Comically so.

"It’s not so bad. My needs are seen to," she says weakly. "At least I’m still alive."

"Not much of living to do around here, though," you say, smiling wryly.

Aurora sighs. "Perhaps not," she admits.

You think back to the streets you’d seen on your flight to this forest, bonfires and screaming and soldiers marching along bloodstained cobblestone. And the last words of that one dying nobleman who’d begged you to find his princess, our only hope.

Aether had shrugged, why not, it’s not as if we have anything better to do.

What he hadn’t wanted to say: it’s a good enough distraction from the destruction that haunts our dreams.

It’s your luck then, that you’d found her first in the friendly race he’d suggested.

You tap your fingers on your leg, deciding. Aether wouldn’t mind. He’d been the one to suggest you involve yourselves in this mess. "…Instead of being a forgotten princess," you say lightly, "how would you like to be Queen?"

: : :

"You’re leaving," Aurora says. The crown and scepter look good on her, you think. She’s different now, posture regal, no longer so shrunken in on herself. Her freckles too, hidden behind smooth makeup. You miss the days when you could count them under the moonlight, see her and feel anything other than utter indifference.

She may be different, but you’re the same as you’ve always been.

"This world isn’t for me," you explain.

Aurora doesn’t look surprised. "I’ll miss you, Lady Fairy," she says simply.

At this point, there was no point in correcting her. Not when she’s got that little tremble to her shoulders, as she always does when she’s about to cry. Sitting besides you on the open windowsill, Aether tightens his grip on your hand; you squeeze back.

"Don’t," you say honestly. "It’s better if you forget ever meeting us."

And with that, Aether tugs you away by the hand, a fearless dive out the window of the castle. Your wings snap open, hair whipping past your face, and it’s so easy, leaving her sad eyes behind.

"You’re crueler than I’d expected," Aether says later, smiling wryly.

"Were you expecting any different?"

"I supposed not," he says, a small laugh. He understands you, this twin of yours, even without you needing to speak.

"On we go, then?"

"On we go," he agrees. But then he surprises you, a sudden observation: "But even then… You look miserable, Lumine."

You look at him, surprised. "Oh. Do I?"

"…Be careful to not get so attached, next time," Aether finally says.

"Then in the next world," you say, giving a playful punch to his shoulder to hide the sudden painful wrench of your heart, "you’re doing all the talking."

Aether looks at you then, a cold sort of pity in his sun-gold eyes. You slide your gaze away from him. A step of your feet against the steady air, and like that, the both of you are off again.

.

.

.

There’s something shaking him awake. He pries his eyes open, groggy with sleep, and Nahida’s concerned face swims into view like the rush of high tide.

"I’m sorry," Nahida says. "I tried, but I could not do anything."

"Kusanali?" Wanderer rasps, pushing himself. He rubs his eyes, feeling the spreading of an ache across his forehead. "I dreamt…" he murmurs, an itch in his throat. Wanderer blinks rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. Tears? "What did I dream about, again? Why am I feeling so…"

"That…" Nahida puts her fingers together, considering the situation. "…was not a dream. I could not control it; it was not a part of your consciousness. Consider it a memory, instead."

"It’s… not mine," he groans, head still spinning. He shudders, clutching at his chest, feeling like his entire body is about to be ripped apart. Nahida puts her fingers to his temples, and glowing green dust drifts across his vision. He gasps, and Nahida says, "It’s okay now. It’s okay. I have you. You’re still you, Wanderer."

The coolness invades his head, a relief against the painful throbbing. Eventually, the headache goes away. The chaotic swirl inside dies down to a gentle ebbing, no longer trying to tear him apart.

"I think it would be best," Nahida says after a while, after he’s regained his bearings, "if you stay away from the Traveller for a while."

"What—?" he says, surprised. "Why?"

Nahida looks at him, as if deciding how much he should know. "You were drowning," she says. "The yellow light from your palm… I hadn’t considered the possibility that her energy within you could affect you so, to the point where her memories would invade your consciousness." Then she frowns, murmuring, "Or perhaps it is her own emotional instability…?"

"Is that why I… saw what I did?" But even now, the memory is slipping out of his recall, a woman’s sleeping face by moonlight, serene face, freckles dotting along her nose like the stars above his homeland—

Wanderer’s eyes narrow. What was that?

"We should sever the link," Nahida says to herself, fingers drawing up plans, green lines linked into diagrams sketched in the air. "It will not be painful, rest assured, though it will take some time to untangle the strands and snip them. The mind is a delicate thing, you must understand—"

"It’s fine," he interrupts. "Just leave it."

Nahida’s frown deepens. "Wanderer," she scolds. "Now is not the time to betray your logic. Such a thing, if left unattended…"

"It’ll what?" Wanderer challenges. "Shatter my mind? You think her memories could do that, when my own couldn’t? How could they be any worse than what I’ve had to go through?"

"Even disregarding your own decision," Nahida says, "the memories are hers. She would not like the idea of you looking through something so deeply personal."

"She’s seen mine before."

"And so have I, in the necessity of the moment."

"Would I…" Wanderer says slowly, "Would I have a chance of understanding her, do you think, if I could peer into her soul?"

"Wanderer."

"Lord Kusanali," he says. "This is between the Traveller and I."

Nahida meets his eyes, and she softens at what she sees. "You are asking me to not interfere. To pretend that this has never happened."

"That’s right."

"…I am not a cruel warden," she says.

"You never have been."

"And you have never been my prisoner, despite what you continue to insist. I only wish for your happiness, your safety. To live freely."

"I know," he says.

"You will not harm her?" Nahida says.

"You know I won’t. Whatever my vows are worth now," he says humorlessly, "they’re yours."

Nahida sighs. "In truth, I am more worried about you, Wanderer."

"As you’ve said before."

Nahida folds her hands together, and gazes at him. The green light of the Sanctuary makes her eyes weary, like an ancient god, descended upon mortal planes to cast judgement. Lesser is not quite the right word to describe her; she is young in body, but her spirit is old.

"The mistake is yours to make," Nahida says, breaking into a gentle smile. "You are growing, Wanderer, and I will not pluck your budding feathers. I can only hope that you will not regret this."

: : :

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Lumine doesn’t even flinch at his sudden entrance into the blacksmith’s forge, nor his outburst. Just stares down at the sword she’s sharpening on the whetstone she’s borrowing, a thoughtful curve to her lips. Wanderer crosses his arms, taps his fingers against his forearm impatiently.

"Do you want me to go with you?" he repeats. "To Inazuma."

Lumine wipes away the metal dust collecting over her sword. Why the woman was out here sharpening her blade with her wound still healing, he has no clue, but it’s not as if she’s ever lacking stupid ideas. "Do you want to come?" she says.

"Do you"—he points at her, then toward himself—"want me to come?" At this point, he’s starting to feel like a broken record.

"I won’t have you agree on making a journey across the ocean only because I asked you," Lumine says. "It’s your decision to make, Wanderer."

Wanderer narrows his eyes at her, but Lumine doesn’t budge. "I’ll come," he bites out.

Lumine blinks owlishly. What was wrong with her today? "All right," she says finally. "We leave for Port Ormos tomorrow."

Wanderer glances at her. Her hair shimmers like a curtain of stars, and he wonders what the stars above her homeland look like. He bites his tongue, changes the topic: "You never did tell me what she summoned you for."

"Nothing like that. Just an invitation to dinner," Lumine says.

"…That’s it?" Boggles his mind still, how selfish Beelzebub could be.

"Among other things," Lumine says lightly. "Don’t think too little of her for it."

"A little too late to ask that."

"…She’s lonely."

"As are the rest of us peasants," he sneers.

Lumine chuckles, some of her usual amusem*nt peeking out. "You’re not wrong."

Wanderer lowers himself besides her, the ashy smoke from the forge closing around him like the maw of a hungry rifthound. "Pass it," he says, extending his hand.

"Huh?"

He clicks his tongue. "Your sword, Traveller," he says, irritated. "You’re doing such a poor job, it physically pains me to see."

"It’s my arm," Lumine says as a way of explanation, but does as he asks, moving aside so that he can sit in front of the whetstone. He can still feel the residual warmth from her palm, when he grabs onto the hilt.

"Don’t make excuses. As if you didn’t hurt yourself trying to do it before you got injured," he scoffs, and it’s easier than he had thought it would be, to pick up the cloth, position over the sword, go through the grinding motions that he’d learned centuries ago. He works up a steady rhythm, running the blade’s edge across the stone, section by section. "Why you’re here trying to get it done yourself instead of by a professional, I’m utterly baffled."

"I’ve done this for centuries, Wanderer," she says, eyes diligently following the motion of his arms. "It was one mistake."

"One mistake too many."

"Should I ask you, next time?"

"Anything would be better than you trying to attempt it yourself," he says.

Lumine shrugs. "Sometimes you’ll accidentally cut yourself," she says, "and sometimes you just have to accept this fact. Hazard of living."

"Sounds like an idiot’s way of living, then."

From the corner of his eyes, Lumine smiles wistfully. "It does, doesn’t it?"

: : :

"Paimon will miss you, Nahida," Paimon says, sniffling.

"She’s not dying," Wanderer deadpans. "You’ll see her again."

"Yeah, Paimon knows! But still…"

"There, there, little Paimon," Nahida says. She presses a small bag of her special candied nuts into Paimon’s hands, and Paimon’s sniffles quietens. "Whenever you miss me, just eat some of my halvamazd."

"B-But what if Paimon eats them all in one go? Then they’ll be gone forever and Paimon will miss you and there will be nothing to eat!"

While Nahida is comforting Paimon—truly pathetic, reducing the God of Wisdom to her personal therapist—Lumine glances at him.

"What is it?" he drawls.

"You could stay behind, if you want," Lumine says quietly. "You’re not obligated to follow me, whatever you think."

"I didn’t think I was. You’re giving me too much credit, Traveller."

"It is his decision," Nahida says, cutting into the conversation, Paimon having been placated with a piece of candy in her mouth, "and I will trust in him. But still…"

Lesser Lord Kusanali gives him a knowing look. "Should you ever require it," she says, "my doors are always open."

"A bold decision," he says, "to open your gates to potential miscreants."

Nahida giggles, sharing a look with Lumine who smiles. "To you, perhaps."

"Tch."

"You’re okay with him being gone for a while, Nahida?" Lumine asks. "I know you have your own plans… And your safety, too…"

"It’s of no matter," she says. "Plans can be changed. Cyno and the others are enough for me—as they have always been. Besides, all little birds should spread their wings one day."

"As if you’re not a little bird yourself," he says.

Nahida pats his hand. "If you are the bird," Nahida says, "then I shall be the branch upon which you will return when you are weary. The temporary leave will not sadden me. Go, Wanderer."

And to Lumine, she smiles softly. "Take care, Traveller," she says. "In every way possible."

Lumine’s eyes crinkle, as though Nahida told a particularly funny joke. "I’ll remember," she says simply.

: : :

Port Ormos, as always, is busy with throes of people, no matter where he looks. Unlike Sumeru City, whose majority consists of those working or studying at the Akademiya, it’s ripe with people from all walks of life. Mercenaries, merchants, foreigners, students sneaking away from their studies for a brief vacation—and of course, sailors.

Ships sway softly at the docks, and Paimon is flitting here and there, distracted by everything as if she hadn’t been here just weeks prior.

"And which ship is ours?" he asks, waving a hand. Casually tripping over the pickpocket that threatened to come a little too close.

Lumine glances at him, smiling as if she’d seen. "Haven’t you noticed?"

He follows her gaze, looking up as they slow their walk. Looming over them, a Liyuen ship, sails painted blood-red vermillion. And painted on the sail, that symbol… He’s heard more than enough complaints about this particular fleet of ships during his sting as a Harbinger. Had seen it too, on occasion, upon the shores of Watatsumi.

"Flashy," he says dryly. "And that crest… Know people in high places, do you?"

Lumine laughs. "Wait until you see the Alcor. Beidou’s not known for her subtlety—when it comes to the presence of her ships, at least. And speaking of the Captain herself…"

"Traveller!" There’s a tall woman at the helm, waving with a cheerful smile on her face. Lumine waves back, and the man besides the woman also puts his hand up in slight greeting. A streak of maple red running through ash-blonde hair, like it’s been dyed with old blood.

"Oh, it’s Kazuha!" Paimon chirps, flitting forward enthusiastically.

Kazuha. Wanderer’s eyes widen. He turns to look at Lumine, and Lumine smiles back. "You…"

"Me," Lumine says.

Chapter 7: memories, through mountains and seas

Chapter Text

The boy looks to be just barely over twenty summers, eyes burnt crimson like smoldering embers flung straight from his hazy memories. The last of the Kaedehara clan had hovered above the Alcor’s deck, seated upon a jutting, wooden beam as he gazed into the distance. He’d been gently blowing on a leaf, the melody sharp as a knife.

Kunikuzushi—Wanderer—grips the wooden railing of the ship with ashen-white knuckles. Watches the distant sun sink below the surging waves, mouth sore and bitter. His body may feel as though he’d been lit on fire again, but the entire meeting had been as anticlimactic as lukewarm tea.

Kazuha, the boy had introduced himself. Kaedehara Kazuha. May I know your name, esteemed guest?

Just a wanderer passing by. Nothing more you need to know, Wanderer had brushed off coolly. Too aware of Lumine’s artificial distance, her murmured conversation with Paimon as she kept herself removed. Then suddenly, the flit of her gaze at the two of them, shying away and feigning disinterest when her eyes met his.

I see. Kazuha’s expression had flickered then, as though he’d realized something. The red streak of his hair had been familiar, in a ghostly way. But no, his hair is ash blonde instead of earth brown, to light to resemble Niwa; his smile too, a quiet, contained thing compared to Niwa’s ear-to-ear grins.

Kazuha then excused himself with that placid smile, leaving Wanderer standing on the deck, alone.

Wanderer is still alone now, in the dark of night, watching the scattering of moonlight over rippling waters, uneasy reflections that wobble with the wind on the sails. The Traveller is on the opposite side of the ship, awake when she ought to be asleep, and he tries not to feel pacified when he hears the sound of her heels echo behind him.

Lumine doesn’t say anything when she stops next to him. Just stares at him with those big, soft eyes. Unsaid words collect between them like hourglass sand, fragile silt piling up, grain by grain.

And when the hourglass is full, what is one to do except turn it around again?

So he is the one who begins the movement of their play.

"You know he would be here," Wanderer says finally.

"…It’s crossed my mind," Lumine admits, leaning against the wooden railings next to him. She settles herself there, arms crossed over the parapet of the ship as she looks out into the seemingly-infinite ocean. Fingers, carelessly slung over the edge, pale flesh against dark wood.

For a second, this image of her wobbles too. Bright and rippling, hair touselled from the sea breeze. The line of her throat, a delicate swan curve.

He bites the inside of his cheek, suddenly overcome with a yawning urge to latch onto the skin with his teeth. Draw blood against white, swallow it down.

"What do you mean to do?" Wanderer says. Even now, he is unsure. The rocking of the ship, the quiet of the dark, the spill of her golden hair through his fingers like a fever dream, Don’t blink too much now, and she is just sitting there, infuriatingly calm. An island of stillness in the ceaseless motions of the world.

And what is he but the dirt beneath her heels, detritus to be washed away in the puddles of rain that threaten over the horizon?

In some ways, he wishes she were under the influence of that pollen again, raw and wanting and exposed. What he wouldn’t give to reverse the script again, to regain control of the situation.

Lumine pauses for a long, long while. "What do you think I mean to do?" she says, finally.

"Dredge up memories that should be left to settle at the bottom of the pond," Wanderer says, "lest it muddles the waters."

Lumine gives a soft laugh. "That bad? We haven’t even reached Ritou yet, let alone Narukami. I’m worried that pond is going to be entirely black before we’ve even touched shore."

"How would you feel," Wanderer says, "if I were to have you meet what should have laid dead in your memories?"

"We’d need more than just a ship to contain them all, then," Lumine says. The dip of her voice is humorless, a joke made in poor taste.

Amusing, nonetheless. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "The same goes for me, dont’ you think?"

"Are we really competing on who knows more dead people?" Lumine says. "But if we are, I’d say I win. You’re, oh, a few thousand years too late to match up."

"Hag."

"Hey," Lumine warns, bumping her shoulder against him. "Watch it."

"You watch yourself, instead," Wanderer says. It is not said in jest.

Lumine regards him carefully. "Is he as you imagined?"

"The boy?"

"He looks young, but he’s twenty-five," Lumine says. "Not exactly a boy."

"He looks almost nothing like Niwa," Wanderer says, resolutely ignoring her comment. Twenty-five—it’s the blink of an eye. Literally. Kabukimono had slept for at least that long.

"It’s been a few hundred years. Blood ties run thinner with each generation."

"Mortals," Wanderer says.

And yet, there’s a part of him that wishes his own blood ties would run thin with the times. That the river would rinse him clean of the red that binds him to his origins.

Something in his voice must have revealed the yearning, because Lumine says, "We can’t help where we come from, but we do control where do we go."

"Is that the same for you and your brother? Still after his trail like a loyal dog. As if you could control anything, Traveller," Wanderer says and there’s a lash of hurt that whips across Lumine’s face. Her shoulders tense, and she draws herself up, as though to strike him—

But there’s only the quiet exhale of a breath, the weak shuttering of her eyes as she walks away from him.

"I want to sit down," she says. "Come with me."

He goes.

They take a seat on the curved steps leading up to the deck, knees barely touching. He doesn’t say anything, just absentmindedly touching the feather at his chest, pondering the reason why he followed so easily.

Habit. It must be habit. An ingrained routine left splintered in his heels.

"Resolution," Wanderer says. "Is that what you’re pushing me toward? You think everything can be tied up into a neat, tidy little bow before you shelf it away?"

He feels exhausted, centuries weighing over his shoulders in a way that he’d never felt as the Balladeer. Repetenance sometimes seem more trouble than it’s worth.

"Nothing like that," Lumine says. "I just… wondered what you would do."

She reaches for his hat. He doesn’t protest when she takes it off, even though he does wonder. The ornaments jingle lightly as she sets it down besides her, a lost melody in the night.

"Will you really just leave it at this? With Kazuha?" Lumine trails off, "You said so little. I expected…"

"So you were listening," Wanderer says dryly. The night breeze skims across his cheek, gentle and sweet. He closes his eyes, revels in it.

Lumine lays a hand over his knee. Her hand is warm. His legs tense, joints locking into place. "I shouldn’t have, but I was curious."

"Anything I could have said, wouldn’t he already know? You were supposed to be the one to pass on the message," Wanderer says. "Such a simple request, don’t tell me the famed Traveller had trouble with it?"

"It’s not my place," Lumine says.

It doesn’t surprise him, to know that she hasn’t told the Kaedehara boy. He clicks his tongue. "Leaving the issue mine to resolve, I see."

"He deserves to hear it from you. And you deserve to tell your own story."

"Straight from the mouth of the sinner. Do you think he’d believe such a fantastical story?"

I’m an immortal puppet abandoned by its creator. I ruined your entire clan in a mistakenly directed fit of rage, then tried to erase myself from history to escape my past. As you can deduce from my presence, it didn’t succeed—instead, now you’ve inherited a set of false memories. Any questions, boy?

"Kazuha’s not the type to disregard an honest confession."

"…If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect this is an attempt to humiliate me, Traveller."

"But you know better," Lumine murmurs.

He has no retort for that.

"You have nothing to worry about," Lumine says. "Kazuha is kind. He’ll be careful with you."

The absurdity of her comfort makes him sneer. "At this point, I can’t tell whether you’re trying to convince me to talk to him or to crawl in his bed."

Eyes bright with amusem*nt, Lumine says, "Either which way, he’ll be gentle. I promise."

Wanderer seizes the wrist of her hand that’s resting on his knee. "Did you bed him?" Wanderer says sharply. "Is that why you’re so sure?"

Lumine startles at his sudden hold on her, but doesn’t protest. "I’ll leave it up to your imagination," she says.

"I’m not sure you could bear the consequences of asking that," Wanderer says languidly, but his hold on her wrist tightens.

"Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage," Lumine dismisses.

Put out at her refusal to answer him, he flings her hand away from him, disgusted with her, even more disgusted with himself. Wanderer grabs his hat. "The Kaedehara boy," he says. "I’ll talk to him."

"Right now?" She’s surprised.

"Not as if he’s asleep." Above them, there’s still the faraway melody of the leaf whistle. No time like the present to face the products of his mistakes. The future will not be kinder to him, at any rate. Wanderer stands up, makes to leave.

"—You’re right," Lumine says.

Startled, he turns. His shadow looms over her, hat’s edge cutting right through her left eye. She is still sitting, gripping the hem of her dress, bone bleeding through her skin. "I can’t control anything," she says. "I’m still here, chasing the past. I thought I knew my brother, but I don’t. Not anymore."

She’s trembling, and the realization almost makes him flinch. Who is this woman? Where is the Traveller, with her steel temper and ironclad heart?

"What, want me to do something about it?" Wanderer says, voice rough. "Too bad. Cry about it."

Lumine swallows. Her face pinches, as though he’d struck a nerve. "How do you do it?" she asks. "Move forward with such ease?"

How ridiculous.

"You were the one that made me into this," Wanderer says. Then he turns to walk away, leaves her alone on those steps, and refuses to call it fleeing.

: : :

Making his way up the sails is easy enough. The winds are calm tonight, pliable beneath his feet. The shrill notes of the grass whistle ceases when Wanderer throws himself into the crow’s nest. Kazuha swings his feet as he sits on the edge, fearless against the drop.

"Have I disturbed you with my clumsy playing?" Kazuha says, tucking his leaf back into his sleeve, glancing at Wanderer as he also seats himself on the wooden ledge of the nest. "I apologize. Though you must have very good ears, my friend, to have heard from this distance."

Wanderer glances down at the deck of the ship. No white; she must have left to sleep. "Your playing was fine," he says. "Just one thing: I’m not your friend."

"Ah, the night should be enjoyed in good company," Kazuha says. "If not a friend, then what?"

"Don’t push your labels onto me," Wanderer huffs. He crosses his arm, narrows his eyes. "You have a death wish or something? Why are you playing your whistle at such an absurd height, especially while sitting like that? Aren’t you afraid fo falling?"

"I could say the same to you, Wanderer."

"I have an Anemo Vision."

"So do I."

Wanderer can’t help the sudden burst of laughter. "Oh, I know," he says darkly. "I know very well, Kaedehara."

"I hadn’t realized I was worthy of garnering such attention, that I had not," Kazuha demurs.

"I will push you off this place," Wanderer says. "Don’t tempt me."

Kazuha doesn’t seem phased. Celestia be damned, another one of these calm-in-the-face-of-threats type. As if the Traveller wasn’t enough.

"I like to sleep here," Kazuha says, his eyes soft. "It’s calm. Do you feel the same, Wanderer, when you fly? That serenity of belonging to nature, a breeze within a storm?"

"…I was the one who caused the downfall of your clan," Wanderer says.

Kazuha’s gaze flits to him.

Like the sky torn open, the words fall out of Wanderer’s mouth like heavy raindrops. The wind picks up as he recounts the demise of the clans of Raiden Gokaden, how he’d took pleasure in tearing them apart, watching them drop like flies. How he had slain them with the very swords they forged. The tragic scapegoats to his rage.

Kazuha looks at him. There’s confusion there, but also curiosity. "I have heard Master Tougo say the fall of the Gokaden was due to a vengeful Hyakume bladesmith."

Vengeful was right. The rest, the Irminsul has warped. Wanderer snorts. "As if one of them would be enough to cause such devastation. Fools."

A flicker of anger bubbles beneath his skin. If it hadn’t been for Dottore…

"I would believe you, Wanderer, but the event happened in my great-grandfather’s time."

"Then would you believe me," Wanderer says, throwing Kazuha’s words back at him, "if I were to tell you that I’m anything but human?"

Puppet. Monster. Inhuman. You were foolish to have ever believed you could coexist with the mortals.

Kazuha appraises him. "Your scent… It may be unusual, but there is the salt of sorrow. Whatever your status, you carry it with you, Wanderer."

"…You can think what you want."

"My great-grandfather’s letters say that the Hyakume bladesmith had been defeated on that beach," Kazuha muses. "Yet here you are, perfectly healthy."

"I was the one who spared them," Wanderer sneers. "Don’t get it backwards. As if they could have harmed a hair on my head."

Besides, he won’t have someone else take the blame for what had been his crime. At the time, what he’d believed ot be his victory. He’d cut through the Futsu, murdered the Hyakume, slaughtered the Senju, but the fury within him had not quelled, how could you betray me, Niwa, how could you when I loved you so?

But it had not been Niwa. Kabukimono had been so, so naive. Niwa’s character… How did Kabukimono not realize? Those years, love so easily twisted into hatred. Why, why, why did you not for one second stop to think, instead of giving into your rage so easily? All these tragedies root from you. If you did not exist…

Wanderer closes his eyes. The wind howls in his ears, demanding punishment, and it has every right to do so; it had been his oversight. He should have trusted Niwa more. Should not have twisted grief into rage. And whatever triumph he’d felt with the murders of the Gokaden clans, seeing Niwa’s offspring with those familiar eyes, those familiar brows, it had all turned to ash. A hollow victory, burnt to nothing.

"It was me: the fall of Futsu, Hyakume, Senju," Wanderer says. "And it would have included Isshin too, had it not been for your great-grandfather."

Kazuha asks softly, "Then why did you spare him?"

And what could Wanderer say? What could he say to this boy, whose clan he’s ruined, whose ancestor he’d loved and hated in the same breath? What could serve as adequate penitence?

"I…"

Kazuha sighs. "I have found," he says, "that holding a grudge serves no one."

"Speaking from experience?"

"I had a friend," Kazuha says softly. He sounds wistful, almost like the Traveller when she speaks of her brother. A hushed whisper, as though speaking too loudly would permanently scatter the memories. The howling wind calms into a breeze, as if to cradle the words. "I loved him dearly. Then the Raiden Shogun took him away from me."

Wanderer’s lips twist. "Just like her, to ruin lives so easily."

Kazuha shakes his head. "I do not blame her."

This throws Wanderer for a loop. "Did your mother drop you too hard on your head as a baby?" he demands. "Or did I screw with your great-grandfather’s mind so badly that stupidity has become an inherited trait?"

"He wished to witness the Musou no Hitotachi, in hopes of being able to block it—"

"—so he was the idiot—"

"—regardless, he made his decision," Kazuha says. "I begged him to escape with me. I pleaded. But he would not relent. He has always been braver than I."

"Running away from the Vision Hunt Decree does not make anyone a coward," Wanderer says. He stills his hand, lest it unconsciously reaches for his own Vision. "If anything, it makes you smart. There’s no point in following the orders of that woman."

Though the Fatui did manipulate and use the Vision Hunt Decree to their own advantage… Perhaps it’s another recompense that he owed Kaedehara.

"One could say that," Kazuha says, breaking Wanderer out of his musings. "Or one could say that he saw what he wanted, and was not afraid to try and reach it. In the end…" Kazuha touches the bandages on his hand. "…he proved himself. I would not have been able to protect everyone from the Raiden Shogun’s strike without his Vision."

Right. The Traveller did say something about the last of the Kaedehara being able to take on the Musou no Hitotachi.

Taking a deep breath, Wanderer looks at this boy, Niwa’s legacy.

For all the Traveller’s wishes, there is no easy way to resolve this. There is no easy forgiveness—if not from Kaedehara, then from himself. Resolution is not a boxed present, wrapped with a pretty bow.

"For what you’ve suffered, do you hate her?" Wanderer murmurs, when what he really meant to say was, For what I’ve done, do you hate me?

Kazuha must have heard what went unsaid, because he shakes his head.

"I do not hate anyone. Neither the Raiden Shogun, nor you," Kazuha says. His red eyes glimmer in good humour. "Whatever the circ*mstances that have led me here, who I am now is merely a humble wanderer. Perhaps you also share this sentiment?"

"…I suppose," Wanderer allows. "Though I must say, I’m a bit disappointed."

"Hm?"

Wanderer plays with the air in his palm, Anemo swirling into a familiar sphere. "I’d been looking forward to a fight."

"There will always be opportunities to spar in the future," Kazuha says with a laugh. "Though I confess, I’m glad that we have spoken. With this, I finally understand why the Traveller kept looking to me with such concern. She must have been worried for you."

Reminded of Lumine, Wanderer clears his throat. "Out of mere curiosity, have you and the Traveller ever…"

Kazuha blinks for a second, before he ducks his head with a flushed cheek. He clears his throat, a wry smile as he admits, "I have a feeling that no matter the answer, it will not make you happy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"For the answer you seek,you should go to anegimi."

"Beidou?" Wanderer splutters, incredulous, as Kazuha pushes up to his feet. The Kaedehara balances precariously on the ledge, staring down at the deck and ignoring Wanderer’s scowl, preparing to drop. "Hey, don’t just run away like that—!"

But with a laugh, Kazuha is already gone.

: : :

.

.

.

Your first meeting—and it both amuses you and hurt you to remember now—had been so lackluster. The investigation into the meterorites had been just another quest piled on top of the many you’d taken upon yourself to resolve, another secret to tease out from this new world. Another beat in the rhythm, another chip in the sword.

And you’d found him at the end of your search, this vagrant, kneeling on the ground as he observed the unfortunate soul who’d been struck by the meterorite.

You’d thought him harmless at first. A curious oddity. How his eyes gleamed, intrigue hidden behind the dark curtains of his fringed hair. How his manner of dress suggested that he is not of this place, a traveller far from home.

You felt some semblance of understanding and sympathy, and so offered your hand to help him to his feet.

The vagrant took it. His grip had been strong, despite his pale, brittle skin.

You didn’t think much of it, at the time.

You should have.

Because you remember: his eyes were strange—had always been strange. Sat on his face too large, too polished, like glass orbs inserted into empty eyesockets.

: : :

You’re lucky, then, that you hadn’t gotten closer to this vagrant beyond the cursory introductions.

The prettiest flowers did always have the nastiest toxins.

: : :

There is a sword.

There is a sword, and it is your brother’s sword.

There is a sword, and it is stuck in your arm, caught between the bones of your radius and ulna, bladed edge peeling back layers of flesh. Blood dripping down your hand, slick crimson trailing past your fingertips.

But you blink, and there is no sword, no blood, no brother.

Whatever your imaginations, Aether has never hurt you. Worried you perhaps, over the years, but he has never hurt you with his blade—just as you have never hurt him.

But then you remember: Aether’s back. The sway of his braid. Watching helplessly as he leaves you behind, fading with the portal.

Your twin, shining where you are dull.

And you wish, wish, wish that you could call him back.

: : :

Just like a bubble on the water, the Balladeer says with the careless wave of a hand. Beautiful for a moment, then total destruction.

His mocking laughter echoes in the factory, the sound stinging your vision. The fury takes over your body, so fierce that it brings tears to your eyes. Your teeth grind as you stumble forward, hands clawing for the hazy image of his smirking face.

That's it, just like that! Embrace the anger... Embrace it!

You stagger, then fall to the ground. The floor is cold, uncaring.

All the hopelessness of the journey comes back to you now, like that night you’d woken up under these damned foreign stars, a twin missing from your side.

Nothing in the world could quell your rage.

Give him back, you want to snarl, but your mouth doesn’t obey. Give him back! Give them all back, Balladeer!

: : :

You broke under him.

Then you survived him.

: : :

And after it all, he’d forgotten everything, every slight he’s ever dealt to you, every word he’s ever said, and how could you hate him? Hate him, when he’d followed you so easily without asking anything in return. Spilt honesty so easily in the confession he made to you, I would have liked to remember you, Traveller.

And yet, how could you not?

How could you not?

.

.

.

The flood of golden light fades when he opens his eyes. His cheeks are wet. He licks his lips and tastes it: salt.

: : :

And he also tastes Inazuma before he sees it: the hint of electrifying sakura on his tongue, a spark of recall. It had been blooming season, the first time he’d seen the flower. He’d played with the pink-purple petal in his palm, marvelling at its softness, its colour—before promptly shoving it in his mouth.

The children he’d been playing with had stared at him for a second, before they each clamoured for their own sakura petals to chew. It had been a running joke then, that flowering season, of how it’d been a miracle there were any fallen petals left to blanket the grass.

The taste is the same: soft, gentle floral. A hint of sweetness, before it turned astringent. Like a beautiful dream, before waking up to acerbic reality.

"We’re almost there," Wanderer mutters. He and the Traveller are milling around at the bow of the ship, watching for land in the distance. The chores have all been finished for the day, and the winds are kind today as they near Inazuman shores. The sea breeze carries flickers of ocean water, spitting on his legs as he sits on the bowsprit. The Traveller herself is sitting crosslegged behind him on the floor, left to her own devices.

The ease with which they’ve passed the ocean dividing the mainland continent and Inazuma is… odd. Wanderer still remembers how stormy the waters had been, when he’d returned to Inazuma as the Balladeer. The skies are calm, no longer weeping.

He is not the only one who has changed. He shifts, unsure of how to feel. Tumultuous, like tides without direction.

Wanderer floats down from the bowsprit, slumping down next to her unceremoniously. He watches the Traveller for a while, how she’s sorting through the mess that’s her inventory. A curious thing, the interdimensional pocket.

"Are you afraid?" Lumine asks offhandedly.

It takes him a moment to understand what she’s talking about. "As if I could ever be afraid of her," Wanderer scoffs. "Or anything in her domain."

Lumine looks up. "I wasn’t talking about Ei."

"If not her, then who?"

"Ghosts."

Wanderer barks out a laugh. "Sure," he says. Ghosts did exist, he knew that much, but they’ve never deigned to visit him. "But if I said I was afraid, what would you do about it?"

"I’d tell that I’d protect you, of course."

"I don’t need it."

"Still."

Then she offers him an apple, and Wanderer shakes his head. Perishable foods like fruits were a rarity on a ship, but the Traveller’s interdimensional pocket proved useful, and Lumine always shared her rations with ease. The hero, always so charitable.

Beidou certainly seemed appreciative yesterday, at least, when they’d been drinking, hugging Lumine close to her while waving around a tankard of beer.

Wanderer huffs, annoyed at the direction of his thoughts. He blames Kazuha. The boy’s vague, cryptic words had made him dizzy for the whole night—and then he’d had the dreams, flickers of memories seeping through. It had been a strange affair, seeing his own face through the vision of another. Feeling emotions that weren’t his; as volatile, though.

Lumine takes a bite of the apple. "What’re you thinking so hard about?"

If you’ve ever loved me. How much you hate me. Where you hide your sadness. Whether you’ve f*cked the Capitain of this ship.

Wanderer stays silent, and Lumine shrugs. He redirects his attention to the crew of the Alcor as they pass the time, playing cards or telling jokes or putting on performances. Beidou runs a tight ship, but there’s always a sense of camaderie between everyone. Merriment, as though whatever they brave, at least they brave it together.

Right now, Beidou is at the helm, casually speaking to Kazuha as he sits on the ship’s ledge, balancing precariously—seriously, did the boy have a screw loose in his brain?—and when she makes a quip, only to laugh jovially at her own joke, Kazuha smiles in such a fond way. It suddenly reminds Wanderer of Niwa when he’s looking at his wife…

Wanderer blinks. So that’s how it is.

You should go to anegimi instead, the boy had said. But with how enamoured the boy seems with Beidou, it really makes one think.

Wanderer curls his lips, turns to Lumine. If his presumptions are right… How adventurous of her.

"Give me a bite of that apple," Wanderer demands, holding out his hand. "I’m hungry."

"I already bit into it," Lumine protests, curling away from him defensively.

"I don’t care," Wanderer says, and then pries the apple from her.

Lumine makes a disapproving noise, but when he bites into the half-eaten apple, sighs in defeat before she starts digging in her inventory for another.

The flesh of the apple is crisp on his tongue. Disgustingly sweet, but at least it’s not the salt of tears.

Wanderer glances at Lumine, the pink of her lips as she sinks her teeth into the red of the apple. If he kissed her now, would she also taste of apples?

He never finds out. A sudden Land ho! that vibrates through the entire ship, and the flurry of activity steals the opportunity away from him.

Wanderer takes a deep breath, tampens down the sudden anxiety that whips through his blood.

"It’ll be okay," Lumine says. Her expression turns serious, and his stomach drops. "You have me, come hell or high water."

Don’t, he wants to say. I’m not worth this care.

"My hero," he says dryly, hoping his voice is even.

"Of course," she says earnestly, and gods if he doesn’t want to throw himself over board at the honest smile she gives him. The crashing waves have never seemed so enticing.

It’s only too bad that she’ll dive straight after him, if he does. His hero, as always.

: : :

The docks of Ritou is the same as those of Port Ormos, busy sailors passing to and fro, loading and unloading goods. Before they leave the Alcor, Paimon and the Captain exchange enthusiastic goodbyes while Lumine stands there, beaming and nodding.

"Thank you," is what Wanderer tells Kazuha, before they part.

Kazuha bows his head. "Wherever you go," he says softly, "I hope the journey will be kind to you, from one wanderer to another."

"Save your useless placations," Wanderer says. "If there ever comes a day when you wish to seek vengeance, sharpen your blade and find me."

"Perhaps for tea, instead," Kazuha says with a laugh.

"Do what you want," Wanderer gripes, crossing his arms and looking away. "But if you’re going to waste my time like that, at least bring good tea leaves. I have high standards."

Kazuha laughs again. And even though his blood is so distant from Niwa, for a second, the hazy outline of Niwa overlaps with him, the dark streak in their hair shining the same crimson, under the same Inazuman sun.

: : :

The Traveller, Wanderer decides, has too many friends. If it wasn’t her being pulled this way and that between the crew members of the Crux Fleet, it was her being greeted by almost everyone in goddamn Ritou and Narukami Island when she walks through the streets.

"Where are we going?" he grumbles, pulling down his hat to shield from curious gazes. That, and the looming tower of Tenshukaku in the distance. It’s a sight for sore eyes; he wishes he could topple the entire building.

"Komore Teahouse," Lumine says, winding through the crowd, waving at passing storeowners and stall keepers as Paimon yells out 'Hello’s. "There’s people to meet."

"As if there’s not enough people you’re meeting right now," he mutters, but thankfully, they arrive at the Komore Teahouse soon enough. He follows Lumine as she steps inside, giving a brief pat to the dog that’s at the front counter—Wanderer sighs, too used to the oddities in Lumine’s life to even question it—before turning the corner.

Lumine opens one of the screens, and Paimon darts through. When she waits for Wanderer to step inside too, he raises an eyebrow and scoffs, "Courteous," before stepping inside.

"Traveller!" A silver-haired woman enthuses, surging forward from where she’d been sitting. A blond man also rises to his feet, an easy smile on his face as he follows the woman.

"Ayaka," Lumine says warmly. "Thoma, too. It’s been so long, hasn’t it?"

Ayaka nods, positively beaming at Lumine. She’s positively dazzled by the Traveller.

Wanderer looks away, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He knew who she was, obviously, the famed Shirasagi Himegimi, but he hadn’t realized how absolutely infatuated she was. Annoying.

"I recognize little Paimon here," the man says—Thoma, if he recalls correctly. Thoma turns his attention to Wanderer, questions, "But I don’t believe we’ve met…"

"You presumed right," Wanderer drawls. "We haven’t met."

Lumine elbows him. He grunts, taking the scolding hit. "Don’t be like that," she huffs. "Introduce yourself."

In a nasty fit, Wanderer says, "Kunikuzushi. That’s what you can call me."

Paimon makes a confused noise. Not as clueless as her pixie companion, Lumine glares at him. He shrugs. "They wanted a name," he says. "So I gave them one."

Ayaka and Thoma exchange glances.

"Your parents must have had a fondness for kabuki," Ayaka says, diplomatic as rumoured.

"She wasn’t the one who named me," he sneers. "Though one could definitely say that. Always one for dramatics, this hopeless mother of mine."

Lumine says quickly, "He’s harmless, Ayaka—"

"—oh, that remains to be seen—"

"—so don’t mind his attitude. He’s just like that."

Ayaka’s eyes dart between them. Lumine smiles tightly while Wanderer scoffs. Finally, Ayaka nods.

"I trust your judgment," she says to Lumine. She gives him a polite bow. "Kamisato Ayaka. Pleased to meet you, Kunikuzushi."

Thoma eyes him with a cold suspicion, but also nods. "Thoma," he says simply, putting on a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Hey, guys! Have we talked enough? The food is going to get cold," Paimon whines, pointing at the bubbling pot of red stew.

"Paimon’s right," Lumine says, clearly grateful for the distraction. "Why do we sit down? Thank you for the hotpot, Ayaka."

"Of course," Ayaka says, taking her seat. "Though I must confess, it was mostly Thoma who did the job of preparing it."

"Don’t sell yourself short, milady," Thoma says with an easy laugh. "You were fretting up such a fuss over the soup, I’d feel bad for taking the credit."

Ayaka huffs out a soft, "Thoma!"

Paimon giggles. "Well, Paimon can’t wait to play the hotpot game," she declares.

"Not hungry," Wanderer says, and no amount of cajoling from Lumine could convince him to join them in their feast. Instead, he sits at the corner of the table, fiddling with the strings of his ornaments on his hat, barely paying attention as they talk.

They cycle through benign topics, the weather (How was the weather on your journey? Oh, fine, not even a thundercloud in sight), the food (Oh, Paimon bit into something weird! That would be the slime condensate), other mundane things that Wanderer couldn’t care less about.

"Will you be meeting Her Excellency soon?" Ayaka says at one point, when the conversation turns to the Traveller’s plans. Wanderer sits up, listens a little more intently. "That’s why you’ve returned to Narukami, right?"

"Mhm," Lumine says as she picks out a piece of tofu from the hotpot. "Tomorrow, if everything goes to plan."

"Then, if you need a place to stay for the night, the Kamisato Estate would love to host you," the Shirasagi Himegimi says. Then she backtracks, voice turning hurried, "Only if that’s what you’d prefer, of course! I would never seek to impose—"

Lumine laughs as she sets down her chopsticks. "You’re not doing anything of the sort," she says warmly. "I already have a place in mind, but thank you for your care, Ayaka."

The Shirasagi Himegimi blushes such a ruddy red, you’d think she was catching a fever from the heat of the hotpot. Wanderer stares at the bubbling pot of stew, a sudden urge to overturn the blasted thing, to cause trouble when he knows he shouldn’t.

"Awww," Paimon says. The little thing had gorged on the meal like a gluttonous fly, lying in Lumine’s lap like a fat cat as she rubs her belly. "I was kinda curious on what it’d be like to sleep next to Ayaka."

Ayaka reddens even more at the suggestion. Thoma cuts in to rescue her, "So where will you be staying then, Traveller?"

"At an inn nearby, probably," Lumine says. She glances out the window. "Though speaking of, it’s getting late."

"You’ve had a long day," Ayaka says, her usual grace returning to her. Though her cheeks still remain a little red, when she glances at Lumine. "Thoma and I won’t keep you."

They bid each other good night, remaining cordial throughout even as Wanderer remains silent. The inn isn’t too far from the Komore Teahouse, but when they reach the entrance, Lumine grabs his hand.

"What’re you—" he hisses, trying to tug back, but she holds fast.

Lumine ignores him, says, "You go ahead, Paimon."

"Huh?" Paimon rubs her eyes, having dozed off the entire way here. "If you say so, Lumine. Paimon’s gonna go wash up and"—she yawns—"sleep, then."

Lumine pats Paimon’s head. "Good night," she says, as she pulls him away. Toward what, he doesn’t know, but he follows all the same. Habit, again.

: : :

When they come to a stop, he shakes off her hand. "An alleyway? Are you planning to murder me in cold blood here?"

Lumine sighs. "Please don’t joke about that," she says. "I only wanted to have a talk. Just the two of us, without Paimon. The walls in the inn are too thin, even if we whisper."

"You want to have a heart-to-heart here of all places?" Wanderer harrumphs, but doesn’t give her more grief. "About what?"

"You," Lumine asks. The moonlight glides off the roof of the inn into the alleyway, crowning her hair. Wanderer leans against the fence, arms crossed. Crates are piled up messily besides him, occluding him and the Traveller from the streets.

"Are you okay, Wanderer?" Lumine says. "Or should it be Kunikuzushi?"

"I don’t want to stay here," is what he says to her, a petulant edge to his voice. It would bother him, but at this point, he doesn’t care. "And don’t call me by that name."

She should know, that he only used that name in bad humour.

Lumine frowns. "The inn? Then where will you sleep?"

"I have no need for sleep. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten." At the furrow of her brows, he relents. "Wander around here," he says. Find a couple of thugs as stress-relief, maybe. "Go water that stupid houseplant you pushed on me as some sort of sad*stic science experiment."

"You’re going to stay in the teapot?"

"You want the damn thing to wilt?"

"Pochi isn’t going to wilt if you don’t water him for one night," Lumine cajoles. "Stay at the inn. I booked two rooms—the mora’s going to waste, otherwise."

"Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with that little thing, then," he says sullenly. "Have a bed to yourself, without the usual snoring."

Lumine sighs. "Wanderer," she says.

"Don’t call out to me like that," he snaps. Use my damn name, if you’re going to sound like you care.

Clearly tired of his attitude, Lumine steps forward until she’s directly under his hat. Challenges, "Or what? What are you going to do to me, Wanderer?"

He grabs her by the back of her head and smashes their mouth together.

His teeth cuts on her lip, copper-rust scent bursting out, pure violence, and when Lumine makes a muffled sound of surprise, he takes advantage. Slips his tongue inside, daring her to bite him.

She doesn’t. But she does stumble backward, and he takes advantage of that too, pushes her against the smooth wood of the fence, arms pressed over her head. The shadow of the fence blocks them from the moonlight, a kiss in the darkness where no one will have the privilege of knowing what happened except him.

Lumine grips onto the front of his jacket, palms trying to push himself away with a sharp whine, but he doesn’t relent. Every time he lets her up for air, just as she’s about to gasp something out, he slants his mouth over hers and swallows the air from her. Half-hard in his shorts, trying to hump against her for friction like a commonplace mutt.

Eventually, she uses enough force to wrench him off her, and if he were anyone else, she would have probably broken their collarbone.

"Wha—" Lumine says, fighting for breath. Her face is flushed, her eyes narrowed. "I didn’t bring you here for that!"

"I know what you wanted to do," he sneers. "Comfort me, right? Tell me that it’s all going to be okay, that you’ll be here for me."

"You…" He dips his head, intent on bringing their mouths together again, but Lumine pulls him back by the hair. "Stop being so difficult!"

He stares at her, defiant. Lumine deflates at the look in his eyes, fingers letting go of his hair. She looks away, but says nothing to stop him.

"Hey," Wanderer whispers. "Look at me."

Lumine lets out a trembling breath, refuses to meet his gaze. He won’t have it. Hands splayed over her cheeks, he tilts her head back to him. Grip iron-tight, until he can see his shadow in the shine of her pupils again.

"Just like you," he murmurs, "to croon and fawn and take a neglected stray under your wings—only to deprive it of affection when it needs it most."

"No. I won’t do that to you," she says shakily. Her eyes dart back and forth, as though trying to calculate an escape route from his hold. "I’ll do right by you," Lumine says. "I swear it. I promised."

Through the slivers of opening between the boxes, people flash sparsely as they walk past. But if anyone were to venture inside the alley, they’d catch him—with her.

He lays his head on her shoulder, holding her flush against him. She must feel it, the evidence of his want, the criminality. The slight hitch of his breath as he grinds against her languidly, shameless.

"W-Wanderer? What do you mean by this?"

She’s so unsure of herself, it’s almost cute. The mighty Traveller, letting him do as he pleases with her.

Wanderer nuzzles at her throat. Her heart is steady beneath him, blood roaring through arteries like war-drums. He skims his hand down her face, her neck, her waist, before snatching for her wrist.

"Distract me," he whispers, and then he drags her hand down.