Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was back at Nazuchi Beach.

The same sand prickling his skin, sneaking into his sandals. Slowing his steps, weighing him down. As if he needed any help with that.

The sails of the shipwrecks by the shore flapped over the howls of the wind, like the wings of a bird taking flight. The skies were gray and the ominous expectation of an incoming storm hung in the air.

“Are you sure you got the date right?” Belial asked.

The traveler hummed an affirmation, paying him no more mind. Their eyes were scanning as far as their gaze reached.

“Why? Are you nervous?” From the other side of the traveler, Paimon rose above their head to look at him, an annoying grin on her face that Belial wanted to erase. He was not nervous.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, accelerating past his two traveling companions even though he didn’t know where exactly they were headed. That had been the traveler’s job, not his. “If I were you I would concentrate on not being blown away,” he smirked.

Paimon scoffed as she clung to the traveler’s shoulder with a firm grip. “That won’t happen to Paimon!”

Even though Belial didn’t need to breathe, he still made sure that his annoyed sigh was heard by his companions, and Paimon’s complaints in retaliation sounded like music to his ears.

“Ah,” the traveler said, and it was enough to shut them both up. “There he is.”

Belial took a deep breath, remembered himself that this was all his decision and looked straight ahead.

Weeks ago, on the same day he gained and lost everything he was, Belial said many things. One of those being that he wouldn’t be leaving Sumeru for quite some time. He had had his reasons to say so. At the moment, all he had wanted was some peace and quiet. To rest and to process everything that had happened on that day as long as a lifetime.

But, after much contemplation, of coming and going and thinking and revisiting those memories that felt new and old at the same time, he had made a choice. A change in mind.

He had gotten in contact with the traveler once again some time later. Nahida had encouraged him to, telling him to follow his instincts in what he felt was right, always supportive of him. It sometimes made Belial want to run away and stay at the same time. Did he deserve it? But after that conversation, he realized that he wasn’t the same person as in the day he had received a new chance at life and a name. He didn’t want peace and quiet anymore. He didn’t want to live a life of solitude and contemplation.

Belial followed the direction of the traveler’s pointed finger. The figure in the distance seemed to notice them at the same time they did.

Belial wasn’t sure what type of outcome he was expecting from this encounter. He didn’t know what the best outcome for himself would even be. Or the fairest one. A good outcome was not what he deserved. Not after the things he did. Things under another persona, another name. But with his imprint nonetheless.

The man was clad in red clothes, a samurai attire that clashed against the monotone of the background. A gray sea, an even darker sky, and the colors of autumn approaching them with light steps.

Belial’s own faltered for an imperceptible second and his breath caught in his throat —if he even happened to have one of those. They stopped a few feet away from each other, a considerate distance separating them that didn’t go over Belial’s head.

“Glad to see you again, Traveler and Paimon,” he welcomed them with a polite smile.

But Belial could not care less about the ronin’s wariness right now, about the hand that was not waving at them but on the hilt of his sheathed sword, for his gaze was fixed on his face. Fair, smooth skin that framed fiery irises, a button nose and a friendly smile adorning his mouth. The contrast between the softness of his features and the pure determination and conviction he exuded was certainly interesting.

But not even all the beauty in the world could have distracted Belial from the red streak that laid on top of silky blond hair.

“We’re so happy to see you, Kazuha!” Paimon said, floating a bit higher into the air. “We weren’t sure if you would be able to make it. We wrote to you on such short notice…”

The traveler scratched their head as well with guilt. In all honesty, they were still as surprised as Kazuha might be. The day Belial came to them asking to meet a friend of theirs, the traveler didn’t know what to make of it, because it wasn’t just any friend. Far from that.

When questioning him about his intentions with Kazuha, whether he wanted to confess to him the truth from all those years ago, Belial just smirked and told them it wasn’t any of their business.

They refused in the beginning. They wouldn’t potentially endanger Kazuha just because their new companion (friend? Could they use that word with him? Did they want to?) wanted to meet him for reasons he once and again denied to disclose. So the traveler was wary, and they had every right to be. The last time they so much as blinked while babysitting the Balladeer, he disappeared into the currents of information inside the Irminsul.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kazuha said, another gentle smile accompanying his words and bringing the traveler back from their musings. “The Crux needed to pick up some merchandise to bring back to Liyue Harbor this week, so it was the perfect timing for us to meet here, really,” he said, and then tilted his head as he examined the unfamiliar face, who had remained still until that very moment. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, traveler? That’s what this is all about, right?”

The traveler hardly knew what this was about.

But Belial had heard their exchange as background noise, his whole self still completely focussed on the other man’s features. On his red strand of hair.

Niwa’s.

Belial’s mind flew to different times, different people, different smells and sensations and a plethora of memories that felt like they had been locked for hundreds of years. Memories from a different self. A self that was still him. A self that had missed and missed and missed. A self that now repented. Accepted.

Paimon’s strident voice seemed to be the only thing able to pierce through the images and bring him back to this beach. Different from the one in his memories, yet still the same one.

“Uh… Are you okay? You seemed like you were in a trance. Not that Paimon was worried, but you looked weird,” she said, crossing her arms and turning her back to him.

Belial blinked twice and raised his head again, to look at Kazuha. Niwa. He shook his head.

“Belial,” he said, bringing a hand to his chest. He made no gesture to try and shake hands with him, and neither did the other.

It was his first time introducing himself with that new name. It rolled off his tongue easily, as if it belonged to him, as if it had always been like that. Belial tasted the word in his mouth and it was sour, it was good.

“Kaedehara Kazuha,” the ronin said, with a simple bow of his head.

He knew. Oh, how he knew. A familiar name to match the familiar tug in his chest.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a smile that the other returned.

Belial could feel the traveler’s gaze on him, their vigilance so obvious that even Kazuha must have been able to tell.

“I heard you are a wanderer,” he said, ignoring his companions. “That you come and go as you please.”

Kazuha remained silent for a few seconds. The sound of the shipwrecks’ sails loud across the beach. “That I do. I go with the wind. Are you perhaps interested in that?”

Belial grinned.

“Wait, what…?” The traveler started, but Belial raised a hand and stopped them midword. Whatever they were going to say, it surely wouldn’t be worth the time.

He didn’t even spare a look in their direction, his eyes fixed on the man in front of him.

“I certainly am. And I just happened to be looking for a travel companion. I’ve heard great things about you, Kaedehara Kazuha.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Belial could see the way the traveler and Paimon’s eyes danced back and forth between them. There was a word at the tip of Paimon’s tongue.

“Oh?” Kazuha wondered, visibly interested and with an amusement that only seemed to light up a spark of discontent in the traveler’s gaze.

“Kazuha,” they started.

“Don’t bother,” Belial cut off his words, though his tone relaxed once he turned back to Kazuha. “Are you offering?”

“I wasn’t, but you definitely are,” Kazuha said, a hand on his chin in thought. “You’re an interesting one, I must say.”

The traveler ignored Belial’s raised eyebrow in their direction as they intervened. They had to. They didn’t like the direction this was taking.

“Kazuha, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t feel forced by him.”

“Yeah!” Paimon agreed, just now finding her voice once again. “I knew I was right not liking you!” She said as she threw another one of her childish tantrums. If her goal was to annoy Belial, she was succeeding.

Instead, Belial snorted.

“Relax,” he spoke calmly, and the traveler did, in fact, not relax one bit. “We’re just talking, nothing to worry about. Right, Kaedehara?”

When Kazuha raised his head from the patch of sand he had been eyeing while lost in thought, he felt like those eyes were piercing right through him, reading him like an open book, his gaze bouncing inside his hollow chest like light against a mirror.

No one spoke until Kazuha did. “Alright,” he said as a soft smile creased his eyes, inducing extremely opposite reactions out of everyone.

“You’ve gotta be kidding Paimon,” she complained, getting even angrier as she noticed the grin filling Belial’s whole face, solely directed at her. “I knew this was a bad idea, but no one ever listens to Paimon!”

The traveler sighed, shoulders slumped, their tone resigned as they spoke. Belial knew they were ignoring him. “I trust you to know what you’re doing,” they said.

The only time Kazuha cut the distance between them, was to place a hand on the traveler’s shoulder. “I’m touched by your worry, but just know that we will be fine.”

We. The traveler raised their head and looked at Belial for a second before shortly hugging their blond friend. Belial noticed their mouth moving next to Kazuha’s ear.

The ronin’s hands caressed their friend’s back in what could only be reassurance before breaking apart and nodding slightly.

“Be careful,” they said, and this time, the words were pronounced as they stared directly into Belial’s eyes. Belial understood they were not for him.

With reluctant steps in the beginning and faster as they retreated, the both of them were soon left alone in that cold beach that Belial was starting to hate.

Speaking over the howling wind, Kazuha broke the silence. “Shall we take our leave, then?”

They had been walking for quite a while when Kazuha stopped dead in his tracks. They were in the middle of nowhere, a lost land west to Nazuchi beach. Away from Kannazuka, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Belial stopped as well, keeping his distance of five steps behind the ronin. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, just sea on one side and wilderness in every other direction. Belial doubted it was unintentional.

Kazuha turned around and Belial’s suspicions were confirmed as Kazuha’s hand gripped the shaft of his sword, unsheathing it just an inch, then two. A warning.

Belial remained still, waiting for the other’s next move. He had been expecting this. Had been dreading it in equal parts. Waiting, eager to know what would happen to him. What would fate have in store for someone like him?

“I think it is time for you to drop your act. Who are you and what do you want from me?” Kazuha asked, gaze fixed on his face, reading Belial’s every move.

“Did you wait for the traveler and their floating friend to be away to confront me?”

Kazuha remained still and Belial savored the fact that the ronin disliked him answering his question with another one.

“I knew there was something odd about you from the very moment I saw you.”

Three inches drawn. Belial wondered how much he could push his luck before that blade filled the hollow in his chest.

“Is that what the traveler told you?”

More questions, yet the sword remained firm in its position. Kazuha shook his head.

“The wind did.”

Belial chuckled. “But I’m the weird one here.”

“Your scent is distrustful. I can sense waves of dishonesty coming from you.”

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Humans could be really entertaining sometimes. But soon, his laughter died down with the sight of Kazuha’s unwavering determination in front of him. His eyes, rebellious as a fire, warm as a hearth, familiar as a furnace.

If this was how it was gonna end for him… It could be worse.

“And fear,” Kazuha said, his voice quieter.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Kazuha hummed and sheathed the sword, calm, unlike the sea beside them that roared and hit the shore as in warning. It seemed he was waiting for something and Belial wondered if Kazuha expected him to confess to everything this easily.

But this was exactly what Belial wanted, right? This is why he went looking for the traveler, the reason why he came to Inazuma himself. To rid himself of the weight he had been carrying for hundreds of years, filling him in all the wrong ways.

Nahida has said to him time and time again that the only proper way for him to heal and start anew would be by accepting and forgiving himself. And he tried. He tried so hard. But how could he, when he had caused the deaths of so many people? His mere creation was an act tainted in red.

Nahida would disagree with him, but he needed to pay for his sins and nothing else. It was the only way in which he would truly know peace.

“Never said you were,” Kazuha responded, soft as always, and Belial was too numb to even get angry at him.

He didn’t know what to say to that. Whether he wanted to agree to shut him up or just deny it out of spite, so it was Kazuha the one to speak again not long after.

“It feels like you know me in some way, even though I don’t,” he said. “Should I?”

Belial had to make sure that Kazuha’s sword was sheathed, because it was the only thing that could have hurt him more than those words did. 

“You look like him,” he said, even if he didn’t know where it was coming from.

Kazuha tilted his head, that red streak of hair dancing in the wind with the movement.

“Like whom?”

He didn’t want to answer that question. All he wanted to do was turn around and run, or be done with all of this and receive the punishment he deserved. He was starting to wonder if this was a form of punishment in and of itself.

“What do you know about the events that took place in Tatarasuna more than four hundred years ago?” He asked, ignoring Kazuha’s question whether he liked it or not.

The ronin didn’t seem too annoyed. If anything, his interest quickly replaced everything else.

“Why are you asking?”

He sounded genuinely confused, but Belial needed to clear things out, needed him to know. Wanted him to. And Kazuha seemed to sense that there was something he needed to say about all this.

“A lot of people died because of the tatarigami that was infecting the area, but the forge was later cleansed in some way,” and when Belial nodded to his words, he continued. “The incident unleashed the fall of the Raiden Gokaden, right?”

“There was a puppet living in Tatarasuna at the time,” he started, ignoring Kazuha’s inquisitive gaze as each word clawed its way out of his bare throat. “Angry and betrayed, the puppet known as kabukimono seeked revenge against the ones responsible for the death of his people.”

Belial didn’t want to raise his head just to see the recognition in the other’s eyes that this wasn’t just any story, but his. So he didn’t.

“Both the Raiden Shogun and her swordsmiths had to pay for what they had done to the kabukimono. In the end, three out of five of the swordsmith clans disappeared.”

Kazuha listened closely to everything he was saying, trying to tie the ends together, to make some sort of sense of this tale he was being told, taking in all this information.

“And then… The Isshin Art, your clan’s craft—”

The ronin stared at him. Little by little, everything was slowly carving its place in the middle of the bits and pieces of history Kazuha had been told over the years, all from different voices, different viewpoints… For some reason, Belial’s words fit in the middle of his blanks.

“The Kaedehara clan survived the killing spree and alongside the Kamisato clan, they put an end to it and to its perpetrator,” he said. Belial raised his head over the brim of his hat, checking Kazuha’s face with incredulity. “The Isshin Art was lost to future generations for different motives, though. Which is part of the reason I myself am back to Inazuma.”

Belial frowned. Something wasn’t right, something was different in the story he just heard. He thought that deleting himself from the Irminsul had been futile, a failed attempt at changing the past and paying for his transgressions.

Kazuha brought him back from his spiral, his head tilted and eyebrows furrowed. Confused and with every reason to be.

“What is this all about? What does a kabukimono have to do with any of this?” He asked, although Belial thought that the ronin already had an idea.

“The Raiden Gokaden’s downfall wasn’t the work of a vengeful bladesmith. He wasn’t killed by the Kaedehara and Kamisato clan” he said, slowly, taking in all of his words and the weight they carried, the consequences they still had one hundred years later. “The one who did it was the kabukimono, the puppet that had lived in Tatarasuna more than four hundred years ago.”

And Kazuha, who was much faster than Belial gave him credit for, didn’t react as the other’s next words came to him before they were even spoken.

“And now you will tell me…”

“That it was me, yes,” he said, firmly, loading his words with the respect they deserved. “I was that puppet, the one they referred to as kabukimono.”

Belial expected swords to be drawn, blades pressed against his skin, piercing through him. He expected the punishment he thought he deserved. An atonement for his hundreds of years of sins.

Instead, he raised his head to a Kazuha that didn’t look angry. Didn’t look like someone that wanted revenge for the fate of his clan. His arms were crossed over his chest and his eyes… His eyes held a compassion to them that Belial had not seen in hundreds of years.

He couldn’t bear to look, so he tilted the brim of his hat and waited for his chest to untighten its heavy grip on him, for the sins he carried in it like a safe box to sink into the deepest ends of the ocean and vanish forever.

Although that didn’t happen. His chest didn’t lighten with his confession, the past remained the same and Belial couldn’t handle the other’s look, a look he didn’t deserve.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“That massacre wasn’t my only sin. I’ve done things you wouldn’t be able to imagine," he said. For some reason, he would prefer it if Kazuha looked at him in fear, his face so awry that not even a glimpse of that compassion would show through.

“I’ve killed people, given orders that you wouldn’t dare to pronounce out loud, gone to hell and walked back, but the worst thing I did was pretend that I could fix my atrocities, delete them as if they never happened.” Belial scoffed, amazed even now by his own pathetic attempts at changing things. “It doesn’t work like that. The past can’t be changed, it can only be but accepted.”

“So why are you telling me this?” Kazuha repeated, as he struggled to understand the being in front of him.

“Because I must pay for my sins, and if you’d like to seek revenge for that, then so be it.”

Kazuha stared at him and once again Belial felt like those eyes could pierce through him like his thoughts were written in the middle of his face. Kazuha’s arms unfolded and Belial held his breath as one of his hands toyed with the hilt of the sword. As if trying to feel how that sweetly offered revenge would taste on his tongue, on its weight in his hand.

After what felt like just one second and a whole eternity, Kazuha smiled and his hands rested on his hips.

“I don’t want revenge,” he said.

Belial’s composure faltered, unable to comprehend the calm stance of the man in front of him. Why didn’t he want to make him pay? Why didn’t he free him from his past?

“Why?” He simply asked with a thread of voice, the only thing he could muster.

“Because killing you would be more troublesome than liberating for me,” he said, as if it was obvious, like it was the only choice he could have made. “I’d have to carry with me the life you wouldn’t get to live, the fact that you didn’t get the opportunity to change for the better. And that’s a burden I don’t want to drag for my whole life.”

Belial felt not even the slightest bit relieved by his decision, he realized. He had convinced himself he was walking right to the scaffold, that this would be him finally freeing himself from his wrongdoings but, alas, here he was, and here he would stay.

Anger filled him. He wouldn’t accept it. And so, he walked the remaining steps that separated him from Kazuha and bared his sword, placing it in his hand, pressing it against his throat.

Kazuha struggled against it, but Belial’s fingers tightened their grip over his hand. He felt the sharp edge of the blade dragging over his skin.

“Stop this,” and now Kazuha sounded angry, his composure faltering and his teeth bared as he tried and tried to push him, to free himself, to do whatever it would take to separate them. But Belial wasn’t budging, much stronger than him.

“Please, make me pay for my sins,” he said. And Belial never begged, but this sounded as close to it as it would ever get. “I don’t know how I’ll be able to live like this. I don’t want to live like this.”

Kazuha looked at him and all Belial saw was an understanding so crushing he felt weak in the knees. Kazuha looked at him like he was looking at a version of himself he was already familiar with.

“No,” Kazuha said, softly. “I want you to live, Belial.”

His gentleness disarmed him. His grip on his hand loosened and Kazuha made use of that instant of weakness to throw his blade far away from them, out of their reach. He didn’t know if Belial would be faster than him if he attempted to get it back, didn’t know anything about him at all, but that wouldn’t matter because Belial’s eyes had lost their will to fight back.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, reversing the grip on his hand, grabbing Belial by his wrist, and from up close Kazuha’s warm eyes were a magnet that Belial couldn’t avoid. “Your punishment will be traveling with me. Everyone deserves a second chance and a place in this world no matter what, and I will show you that life is worth living, even if you don’t think so right now. Okay?”

Belial was completely sure this was unfair. He did not deserve such benevolence or second chances. But, as a part of his punishment, he closed his eyes and decided to agree, at least this once.

“Alright,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly lighter.

“Great,” Kazuha sounded pleased as he turned around and started his way up the nearest hill. “Then, let’s get going. It’s almost night time on our first day, and we have nowhere to stay and nothing to eat.”

Belial had neither to eat nor to sleep but, for some reason, out of the two, Kazuha was the least concerned about their situation.

There was a lot to be learned from this human in front of him who seemed to have not a care in the world.

Their first night would have been a harsh one, but Kazuha knew his ways. The day had been cold and when night fell, they were nowhere close to a house or a village.

Kazuha had told him with astounding rotundity that it wouldn’t rain in at least a couple more days, despite the way the sky had looked hours ago. Like it could have fallen onto their heads at any moment.

Belial grabbed the brim of his hat and titled his head. The night was pitch black and not even a single star shone through the clouds that still loomed over them.

“Trust me,” Kazuha said. “I can read the weather like a poem.”

Belial didn’t trust him, but he kept his mouth shut as he sat against the tree Kazuha had chosen as their place to spend the night.

He stayed there, still as a statue as Kazuha roamed around picking dry branches from the ground, selecting them under a criteria that Belial didn’t understand but that was strict for Kazuha, as he ended up discarding some from his arms in favor of picking new ones.

“I need to pick the drier ones,” he answered to the silent question, and Belial just nodded in response.

Kazuha dropped them a little away from the tree, over a patch of land barren from grass and, far quicker than Belial had the ability to understand, he lit up a fire with just a bunch of the sticks.

“Can you pick up some lavender melons for us?” Kazuha asked as he pointed just above Belial’s head.

Belial watched him drop a few more branches into the fire, and it roared to life as they crumbled into nothing more than ashes. He nodded and turned his head away from the light.

It had been too dark when they got here to see it, but Kazuha was right. Round purplish fruits hang on the branches over his head. Making use of his Vision, he hovered closer and selected the ripest ones. He ignored Kazuha’s compliments when he landed next to him, smoothly so that the flames did not flicker nor Kazuha’s hair moved with the wind swirling around his ankles.

He handed the three lavender melons he had picked directly to Kazuha’s hands, who stared at them.

“Won't that be too little for both of us?”

Belial sat next to the fire and took in its warmth. He hated it.

“I don’t need to eat,” he said.

Kazuha stopped trying to string the pieces of melon with one of the bigger branches to look at him. He had sliced them into smaller bits with the skill of someone who was not spending a night outdoors for the first time.

“Puppet, remember?”

“Of course,” Kazuha said with a soft grin, humming as he resumed his task.

Belial stayed still as he watched Kazuha stick the branches to the ground to let the fruit cook for a while. It was silent between them, the only sounds being the ones of the animals surrounding them, the waves, the wind dancing with the leaves and the crackling of the fire.

Kazuha ate carefully, grabbing the branch in between two fingers and blowing over the purplish pieces of fruit. Bite after bite, the lavender melon disappeared and Belial just sat there, wondering if a human would have gotten hungry at the view, had they been in his place.

“What did you mean when you said that you tried to delete your doings?” Kazuha suddenly asked.

The question threw Belial off for a few seconds. He could never tell when Kazuha was deep in thought and most of the time he didn’t see him coming.

“It’s too complicated. I don’t feel like explaining that right now.”

“You think I wouldn’t understand?” He asked, one raised eyebrow visible over the lavender melon skewer.

Belial snorted. “Probably.”

He didn’t push Belial, though, and Belial was glad that he didn’t have to go through it all again yet.

When Kazuha was done, he sighed, closed his eyes and leaned against his hands behind him, taking in the chill, the wind, the night. He seemed pleased to be there, as if there wasn’t another place in which he would rather be. And so Belial quietly observed that soft smile and colored cheeks, perhaps due to their closeness to the fire. Belial could feel the heat prickling his skin but it did nothing for him. He wondered if Kazuha felt comforted by it.

He didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned back as well and tried to find the moon in between the clouds.

“Aren’t you tired?” Kazuha asked.

The moon was nowhere to be found, hidden behind thick dark clouds. Belial lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“I don’t need to sleep either.”

Kazuha hummed again. He seemed interested in Belial in a way he couldn’t help be surprised about.

“So what will you do while I sleep?”

Belial shrugged his shoulders in response.

Kazuha withdrew his arms from behind him and lay down on the grass with his eyes closed. He hadn’t moved an inch from the spot where he had been eating, and now he was already getting ready to sleep in the middle of nowhere, hands under his head, body open and exposed to whatever could be roaming in the vicinity.

Belial blinked, unbelieving of his eyes. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Yeah?” Kazuha opened one eye to look at him. “I get tired when I eat,” he said, as if that justified anything.

“What are you, a cat?” Belial retorted.

Kazuha just chuckled and turned on his side, facing the fire as well as Belial. He closed his eyes again.

“Are you sure you want to fall asleep with me around?”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Kazuha said, unbothered.

“How are you so sure?”

Kazuha took so long to answer that Belial believed he had fallen asleep on him. When he spoke, though, his voice was slurred.

“I just know.” He turned his back on him and the last thing Belial heard from Kazuha was a pleased sigh.

How he was comfortable sleeping on the floor, Belial couldn’t know. But that night he learned that Kazuha was a peaceful sleeper. He remained still the entire night and Belial had to strain his ear in order to perceive the quiet cadence of his breathing. Although he was sure Kazuha would be on both feet as soon as he felt the slightest hint of danger coming his way.

As for Belial, he did a lot of thinking that night as he threw twigs and branches inside the fire from time to time. Not because he needed it, but because even he was able to notice the cold brought by the breeze in the brief moment he stood up to stretch his legs.

The first line of orange hue squeezed over the horizon before Belial expected it, the dark clouds allowing a few hours of respite. Focused as he was watching the dawn of the new day, it took him a while to notice that Kazuha was already awake. His eyes fixed on the colors of the sky, a hand caressing the grass in long strokes and muttering something under his breath.

Belial took the bait and decided to ask.

“What is it that you are saying?”

Kazuha turned his head towards him. His voice was still hoarse from sleep when he spoke.

“ A world of dew ,” he started, a dreamy tone seeping through, “ and within every dewdrop, a world of struggle .”

Belial remained silent for a while.

“What?”

Kazuha chuckled. “It’s a haiku.”

“Poetry,” Belial deadpanned. “Of course,” he grinned, mockingly.

But Kazuha ignored his retort in favor of turning to face him. “Did you like it?”

Belial stared down at him for a little while longer and Kazuha patiently awaited his response as well. It was pointless, trying to make fun of him, Belial realized. And boring, too. He was simply unable to unnerve him.

“It was fine, I guess,” he resigned himself.

That seemed to give Kazuha enough energy to get up into a sitting position. The fire had long since died out and their day had yet to start.

In the following days, they kept walking around, taking in the scenery, eating whatever they could get their hands on—whatever Kazuha could get his hands on—and just enjoying the simple things in life.

At least that’s what Kazuha told Belial they were doing. It wasn’t that Belial needed to be occupied all the time to feel like he wasn’t wasting their time, but it took him a while to realize that whatever it was they were doing, it wasn’t entirely pointless either.

Three days after their journey started, it rained just like Kazuha predicted. It didn’t take them by surprise, so by the time the first drops fell on the ground, they were already sheltered inside an abandoned house at Higi Village. There were little belongings left, proof that sometime in the past, maybe a few or maybe hundreds of years ago, this was someone’s home.

A little cabin made to fit no more than three people. Perhaps a couple with a kid, or maybe a single parent with their children. The tattered doll that Belial picked up from the floor was confirmation enough. He paid it no mind and left it where he found it to avoid Kazuha asking him stupid questions. But, at night, when he sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs extended in front of him, as he listened to the rain hitting the wooden roof on top of his head, he traced the worn out features of the rag body and remembered little hands and different dolls.

Although those thoughts were always gone by the time the sun rose and the morning dew faded away, locked in a box deep inside his chest, gone as if they never existed.

And, technically, they didn’t.

It was Kazuha’s idea to start taking a couple of commissions a day so that they could have some mora to spend should the need arise. Especially in the uncertainty of the wandering life, one should have a backing in case some mishap occurred, as Kazuha reasoned.

Belial never expected to enjoy some of these commissions the way he did, even though his first thought had been to refuse Kazuha’s suggestion.

“If anyone has a problem they should learn to solve it by themselves,” he had said, arms crossed and his back to Kazuha.

But the ronin paid him no mind and came back with the quest to take care of a group of nobushi near Konda Village, courtesy of the Adventurer’s Guild. Kazuha had told Belial he was going to refill their water supply in the city and instead he had lied to him and had done exactly what Belial told him not to. Belial was livid.

He complained to Kazuha the whole way there, about wasting their time and complying to these stupid humans’ requests, and the other’s indifference only served to fuel his indignation.

It didn’t take them long to spot their enemies and Kazuha drew his blade just before Belial begrudgingly summoned his catalyst.

Belial’s anger dissipated with every second he spent in the air, a flare of something lighting up inside him with every windblade he traced with his hands.

Before he could truly savor the fervor of the battle, it was over. Kazuha sheathed his blade with a smirk matching his own.

“More,” Belial said.

Kazuha chuckled, drawing a paper from his haori and showing Belial a second location. He didn’t complain this time nor did Kazuha call him out on it.

It was easy, fighting alongside Kazuha. He didn’t disturb him or stand in his way, so he could focus on enjoying the thrill of the fight, on the warmth that using his Vision left in his chest. They complemented each other well, Kazuha fighting on ground level and him from above.

The last hilichurl vanished into the wind with one last plunging attack from Belial and he wiped his nose with a smirk. His palm came out violet and Belial remembered the hit he received while airborne. It hadn’t hurt then and neither did now, but the frown on Kazuha’s face told him that someone out of the two of them was worried, and it certainly wasn’t Belial.

“What was that just now?” He asked from above him. Belial raised to his feet and crossed his arms.

“What do you mean?”

Kazuha’s hands rested on his hips. “ Unsightly insects ? Cry louder ?” He quoted him. “And your nose.”

Belial clicked his tongue and covered his face with his hand, turning away from Kazuha’s inquisitive gaze. “Nothing worth mentioning.”

But Kazuha’s silence left him restless and uncomfortable, so he brushed his hand over his nose again and faced him with a frown.

“I’m fine, see?” He extended his arms by his side. “I’ve taken worse hits.”

“Your detachment from life will end up killing you,” was the last thing Kazuha said before he started his way back to the city.

“Good,” Belial retorted, just to further anger Kazuha. Just for that.

They were back outdoors. The weather was still warm although the maple leaves danced in the air, free from their branches, ready to whither on some barren land. Fall would soon catch them and, after that, winter would be just a whisper away.

Kazuha was cooking some of the vegetables that they had found in the hilichurl camp earlier while Belial sat against a tree.

They were silent and twin frowns shaped their faces. They had been like this since the walk back to the city, when they reclaimed their commissions as well as when they left for the lands once again. Kazuha wasn’t giving in and if there was one thing Belial was good at, that was being stubborn. He wasn’t sure how much longer they were gonna stay like this, but Belial surely wasn’t going to be the one to solve things.

He stood his ground: Kazuha was being ridiculous. So what if he got hit and enjoyed the thrill of it? Kazuha didn’t know shit about anything anyway.

“Is there anything on my face?” Kazuha was the one who eventually broke the silence.

Belial smirked. Of course it would be him. Weak.

“Then quit staring at me,” Kazuha retorted.

Before he could stop himself, Belial’s mouth betrayed him. “Don’t think that high of yourself, Kaedehara.”

“You’ve been doing it for days,” Kazuha said. “I noticed. Is that what you do all night? Watch me sleep?”

“You think I’m some sort of creep?” Belial mocked him.

“You tell me." Kazuha didn't even spare him a glance as he concentrated on the food he was preparing.

Belial didn’t want to admit that the other was right. Because he hated this habit of his, and he didn’t want to take in the fact that perhaps, just perhaps, he wasn’t that different from that silly, naïve puppet who lived surrounded by the heat of the furnaces and the warmth of the people that took him in.

During his Fatui days, he never thought of those times in the forge, less he took any interest in the beings that surrounded him. The soldiers, agents, skirmishers, mages, they were essentially humans in the end, fragile and stupid humans who couldn't dream to compare to someone like him, created to be a god, destined to a fate much greater than their entire lives. So, what could he learn from such simple beings? What could they teach him that served him for any purpose?

But, lately, that changed for him, because he had changed as well. He had been trying to, at least. He thought that maybe Nahida’s interest in humanity had eventually rubbed off on him, or maybe it was all part of painfully accepting the fact that the Gnosis wasn’t made for him. That he wasn’t made for it either.

There was a hole in his chest, the shape of which was still unknown to him. But he could guess, cross out some elements from the list of things that would never fill it:

• Someone else’s heart
• A heart of his own
• A chess piece

He had fallen into bad habits once again, seamlessly, the way breathing must be for humans. Observing people was all he could do in the beginning too, when all he knew to do was speak and listen. Eventually, he learned how to read, cook, sew, forge, and yet, that habit never completely disappeared, deeply rooted into him like vines clinging to a tree.

And he was doing it again. Kazuha was stirring the pot they had found back in the hilichurl camp, the vegetables simmering and floating in the warm colored brew as a pleasant smell mingled with the scent of wood and pine. It was nighttime already and the glow of the fire hit Kazuha’s face, the heat blushing the apples of his cheeks.

He was still mad at Kazuha. For worrying about Belial when there was no point, for pretending like he would care if Belial were to somehow die. He may not be a god, but he was still more resistant than any human.

“And you’re doing it again,” Kazuha said.

Belial wanted to yell at him to shut up, but one look at Kazuha was all it took for him to close his mouth. Kazuha was now grinning at him and there was no trace of anger left in his voice, just a spark of playfulness that hadn’t been there before. Belial’s words stayed trapped in his throat. Instead, a forced sigh was all he let out.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he poured all pretense of tiredness into his voice.

That grin never fully fell from Kazuha’s face as he slowly sipped his broth and Belial caught every single one of his glaces over the edge of the pot (they didn’t have plates or spoons or any fancy cutlery normal people had in their homes. Instead, they had a pot they would get rid of in the morning and water to rinse their hands).

“Can I ask something?” Kazuha said. Belial knew all those stares had to have some deeper meaning.

“Sure,” he answered as he took off his hat and leant it next to him, against the tree trunk. He sank deeper into the ground and closed his eyes. “If I find it interesting I might answer.”

Kazuha hummed as he dipped his finger to the bottom of the pot. “Earlier, when you got hit. That purple thing, was it blood?”

Belial huffed. “Have you ever seen purple blood?” His sarcastic tone didn’t bother Kazuha, but Belial could feel the seven holes in his back, the seven remnants of the months he spent plugged to the body of the god.

“It used to be red,” Belial said, instead. “Before.”

“Before what?”

Belial didn’t want to talk about this either. He realized that he didn’t want to speak about himself in any of his lives, because no one who knew about his past self would want to remain by his side. There was no reality in which explaining all the things that made him so different from anyone facing him would serve any useful purpose, other than to convince them to stay away from him.

Kazuha could be insufferable at times, and too good to be traveling alone. A goody-two-shoes who could get swindled by anyone he crossed. Hell, Belial would have never trusted anyone that offered him mora in exchange for killing some hilichurls. Especially because looking at that goddamn marionette in the Adventurer's Guild reminded him that even the most trivial tasks like handing fifteen iron chunks to a shop owner were controlled by one of his most despised ex-coworkers. Thinking about the Seventh made his blood boil. But that insufferable researcher could only be surpassed by the other way more annoying, way more disgusting piece of shit. That Doctor.

Belial shook his head. “Before. Stop asking stupid questions. I don’t want to think about it.”

Kazuha chuckled, always calm, always collected. Belial wanted to scream.

“When I was little,” he started, setting the finished pot aside and reaching into his bag. He pulled out the waterskin to wash his hands as he continued. “I was told that royal blood was blue. That’s what the tales my parents told me said.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Kids tend to believe everything they’re told. Their imagination knows no bounds. I even used to believe that my toys came to life whenever I left them alone in my room,” he said with a chuckle.

Belial shook his head. Kazuha was no different from any other human he had ever met. Too simple, too innocent, too believing of everything they were told. Belial was sure that Kazuha was the type of person that always saw the good in people first. Good people like him always got themselves killed.

“I was just a kid,” he said, not as an excuse but with a melancholy and tenderness that kept Belial from speaking. “I had a good childhood. My clan was already facing vicissitudes, although my parents strived to leave me in the dark about them. They wanted me to remain untainted from their troubles, for as long as they could. So, sometimes, my parents had matters to attend to at the Kamisato Estate and I had the pleasure to accompany them.”

Belial was looking at Kazuha, at the way the words flew out of his mouth like flowers. He always spoke like every sentence deserved to be carefully crafted and Belial was enraptured. Kazuha was not seeing him, though, his eyes were set somewhere over his shoulder, into the night and the forest. But he was looking much, much further, at the memories playing right before him.

“I was a little scared of the young daughter of the Kamisato clan,” he admitted with a soft smile. “People called her the Princess, because she was gentle and polite and a pleasure to be around.”

Belial rested his face on his knees, arms around his bent legs. Listening and observing, because old habits died hard, while taking in all that Kazuha was saying, every single mention of his clan. Perhaps in true interest, perhaps in an act of honor for Niwa and his descendant who sat right in front of Belial as an echo of him.

“But one day we were playing around, climbing some tree in the garden while his older brother—the now Commissioner—told us to be careful. I guess you can imagine what happened next,” he said, a soft smile rising the line of his mouth.

Belial rolled his eyes. “That she fell.”

“Actually,” he raised a finger. “She fell and I, in an attempt to catch her, fell as well.”

“Fools,” Belial snickered and Kazuha chuckled as well.

“We both ended up with our knees scraped,” Kazuha continued. “But that was the day I found out that not even noble blood was blue.”

Kazuha’s gaze came back to the forest they were in and his pupils shone under the light of the fire as he looked at Belial.

“But yours is,” Kazuha said.

“It is not,” his grip tightened around his legs.

“It is purple, though. A mix between red and blue.”

Belial couldn’t help but frown.

“What are you even implying?” He loosened his grip and reclined his back against the tough bark of the trunk once again. He preferred the painful sensation on his wounds rather than whatever Kazuha was eliciting out of him.

“Sometimes I feel like you know everything about me,” Kazuha said, with a scrutinizing gaze. Reading him, taking him in. Belial hated it. “But I know nothing about you.”

“There’s nothing worth knowing.”

“That’s not true,” Kazuha said, his eyes flying to his hand. Belial's nails were going through the lines of the golden adornment by his chest, as they always did whenever he needed any type of grounding.

He withdrew his hand as if he had been burned.

“Maybe you do have royal blood,” Kazuha said. “Or you could just say so. You could be anyone you wanted, if what you said is true and no one remembers you.”

Belial finally looked at him and didn’t have the strength to complain about being called a liar.

“I don’t want yet another persona. It's been too long. I already have way too many names.”

“Would you like to tell me about them?”

Belial found himself hesitating for a second. In the end, he shook his head. “Belial is the only one that matters now.”

Unconsciously, his hand went back to the plume and he contemplated its details, almost surprised to find himself reaching for it. The inside of his wrist fell into view, under his sleeves where he knew he would find no signs of veins, just pale skin. Neither red, blue nor any other color under the sky. Belial chuckled at the irony of it all.

His blood wasn’t red, for he wasn’t a human, nor was it blue, since the ruler of this land discarded him, deeming him unworthy of her divine power.

Belial caught Kazuha staring at him again, at the hand that caressed the golden proof of his origin, and he braced himself for the question. For whatever unexpected reaction it would have on him.

“What is that ornament?”

Belial’s hand tightened around it. The night was cold and the fire was slowly dying out. It was late and, on any other day, Kazuha would have long since been asleep. He looked tired, though. His eyes shiny with it, dark bags under his eyes after yet another long day. Still, he was awake just like him, and this one time, Belial appreciated the company.

So he told him.

“This plume,” he started, as his fingers gently caressed it, running through its imprints, feeling its weight in his palm. “My creator gave it to me before setting me into a deep slumber. One from which I should have not woken up.” A slumber he wished he never woke up from. It seemed like the trees around them were able to swallow his words, to engrave them into their rings. “She said that it was proof of my creation.”

“She?”

Belial chuckled. He couldn’t wait to see the reaction on his face. To find out if he would still have a travel companion by morning, after he knew. If Kazuha would still be set on redeeming him, when he learned that he was too far gone for that.

Belial stood up and walked around the fire to get to Kazuha’s side, his gaze pinning him, step after step, like Kazuha was a wounded animal he didn’t want to scare. With light steps, with clear intention.

“Stand up, Kaedehara Kazuha,” he said, with a dramatic flare. He could try all he wanted, but the years he spent surrounded by the Fatui had taken a toll on him. It made it easier to mask how much he felt like he had been skinned raw. “The one who went against the almighty Shogun’s musou no hitotachi.”

Kazuha kept his eyes on him as he obeyed, but there was caution all over his face.

Kazuha’s alert intensified as Belial made use of his Vision’s power and lit up the parts of his body that left no remains of doubt that he was indeed not a human being.

“Who do you think my creator is?” He asked as he turned around.

He could not see his reaction, but Kazuha’s gasp and the sudden step back he took didn’t go unnoticed by Belial. And Belial knew that if he had had a heart, it would have been beating wildly, thundering in his ears. That was what he had learned that people felt when they were nervous. He remembered Niwa’s face as he had explained it to him eons ago. He too had felt beating hearts under his own hands inside his victims’ chests, many years later, racing like cornered animals.

He may not have had a heart, but the Mitsudomoe engraved in his nape pulsated like one as his power lit it up.

“Oh,” was the only thing Kazuha said in the end.

He didn’t expect to feel the warm tips of Kazuha’s fingers grazing the lines with a barely there touch, and Belial jumped against the contact. A weirdly pleasant electric tingling on his neck remained as he turned around.

Belial let his body relax, his Vision fading off, and saw Kazuha looking at him like he was meeting him for the first time. 

“Sorry,” Kazuha whispered, but he paid it no mind.

It made him sick, the way Kazuha was examining his face, seeing the similarities once he knew what to look for.

“Yeah,” Belial said, and wondered if he apologized for his impulsiveness or for Belial’s origins. “A spitting copy of her.”

“I knew your face was familiar the first moment I saw you,” he commented, and Belial was confused by the surprise in his voice. No fear, no rejection, no disgust, just… Interest. “Are you still involved with her in any way?”

Belial shook his head. “I want nothing to do with her and she doesn’t even know who I am anymore. There’s nothing bounding us.”

“I see.”

Belial raised his head to inspect his crimson gaze, but still all he could see was genuine curiosity and a gentle compassion—so unlike the pity he expected to see—that Belial didn’t think he deserved.

“You’re not going to ditch me like she did, right?” He asked, just to make sure. To shut up that voice in his head that always came up with the worst outcomes for himself.

Kazuha smiled. “I won’t,” he said. “You surely are an interesting person, Belial,” and his mouth shifted into a mischievous smirk.

“Don’t get used to it,” Belial said, turning around to delve into the forest, away from that place for a while. The conversation was over.

“Where are you going?”

“We need more wood,” his tone left no room for discussion. “It’s late, go to sleep. I’ll come back soon.”

To Belial’s surprise upon his return, arms full with way more twigs and branches than they would need for one night, Kazuha was already laying by the fire, facing away from him. Belial could see his body rising and falling with the quiet cadence of his breathing.

He threw some branches into the fire.

It took Belial way too long to realize that Kazuha had referred to him as a person.

Sometimes, morning came before Belial realized. The sun hitting his eyes, calling his attention back to the real world. And when asked, he would be left totally incapable of recalling just what he had been thinking about—not that he would have explained in the first place.

Kazuha was already up and looking at the rising sun by the time Belial came to himself again. Still here, Belial noted, with foreign relief.

The blond one noticed instantly, and Belial always wondered how he was so attuned to everything around him. What hints did he hear in the wind.

He turned to him, a leaf between his fingers. “I see you’re back,” he said, by way of greeting.

Belial felt himself tensing up, his instincts sharp as he felt his walls rising at the mere thought of justifying his actions. He hadn’t been asleep. He hadn’t been distracted. But he also didn’t know what it was that happened to him on occasions when his mind didn’t want to shut up.

Yesterday’s conversation awakened something in the depths of him. Mostly memories of times past. Worse times he usually wouldn’t want to recall. But after they were done talking and Belial returned to their camp, that was all he could do. He had time and time to do it, to mull over it, to let it consume him as long as the moon hung up in the sky. To think about old houses lined with soot, the sound of iron hitting iron in the air, of soft childish hands and snow-covered palaces.

His limbs felt heavy and he couldn’t help but make an admission to himself as he refused to answer the question in Kazuha’s eyes. These memories he insisted were from his past… They felt recent. New. As if he relived them all on the day he got them back.

And they hurt like open wounds, as if those losses didn’t happen hundreds of years in the past but just mere months ago. And his mind was a mess as he tried to process the noise of their absence, which felt even more endless now that it was like the counter had been reset.

“Or maybe not yet,” Kazuha said, voice soft yet feeling like whiplash to Belial’s slow mind.

He shook his head. “I’m fine. Worry yourself about more important things,” he responded.

Kazuha sat against the tree beside him, the same place in which Belial had set himself after coming back from his walk last night. Kazuha had been asleep by that time, so he hadn’t seen the harm in resting a little bit closer, instead of by his usual place on the other side of the fire.

Mentioning her never did him any favors. And neither did acknowledging their relationship, the bond that would never be truly severed as long as Belial knew about its existence. A bond that had served for nothing that day when he went to Tenshukaku to seek an audience with the Shogun, when he had begged for her attention only to be met by her perfect creation, his replacement. It only brought pain back, and yesterday’s conversation was nothing but a reminder.

But instead of continuing to ask, on deepening the knife inside Belial’s deep cuts, Kazuha lessened his grip on the crimson leaf and watched it be carried away.

“I came up with another haiku,” he said, as he contemplated its dance with the breeze.

Belial just hummed in acknowledgement. He felt so tired.

“ In the autumn night, breaking into a pleasant chat .”

Belial chuckled, but the sound escaped his throat like a cry.

“Pleasant,” he spit back.

“Was it not?” Kazuha’s disbelief threw Belial off. How could he be so simple-minded and laid-back? He always seemed to live without a worry in the world, like everything had a solution and a time. Like the world hadn’t given him anything but good things and he couldn’t help but give them back in appreciation.

“I don’t quite enjoy anything about life lately,” Belial said, and because he wanted to sink Kazuha into his own misery, he continued. “You said you would show me that living is worth it, but there is nothing making me excited for tomorrow’s dawn.”

“Has there ever been anything that has?” Kazuha asked. “Maybe we can start from there.”

Belial knew what the thing was. Instead, he said, “I didn’t know you were my therapist.”

“And I am no such thing.” A grin slipped into his tone at the end. “But I can try to be of help. As a counselor, a friend or just an acquaintance. You don't have to be involved with a person to want to help them.”

It was too early in the morning to be baring himself like this again, Belial thought as the sun filtered through the early mist. But Kazuha was next to him, his body emanating a comforting warmth that hit his side in the most foreign way possible, and his gaze was fixed on the trees that touched the horizon line, as far as the eye could see.

Belial thought that maybe the Snezhnayan saying was right and it was possible to fight a hangover with more alcohol.

“Do you know what a Gnosis is?”

Kazuha shook his head, and his negative confused Belial enough for him to get over his initial discomfort. Everyday he learned something new about humans, and everyday all it did was to confirm his assumption that maybe these insignificant beings lived better in their blissful ignorance. Perhaps, one day he would tell Kazuha about the truth of this world, just for the sake of seeing the twist in his face at the prospect of having all of his beliefs be turned upside down.

And in this state of utter disbelief, he broadly explained Kazuha everything of relevance around the eyes of the gods.

“Ultimately, it was the purpose of my creation. I was to be the one to safeguard it. It was my right of birth, but they took it away from me,” he said, struggling to detach himself from his words, to keep it as neutral as possible. But how could he? “It was my heart.”

Belial was glad Kazuha wasn’t sitting in front of him. He preferred this pretended privacy that sitting shoulder to shoulder gave him.

“They took it from you?” Kazuha asked.

“I… May have stolen it first,” he hesitated in saying. His play got one of his coworkers killed, but Kazuha did not need to know that. Also, he did advise Signora to avoid letting her feelings get in the way. But, alas, as always, she did whatever she wanted. Not his fault, although her absence was just another one to add to the list of people he didn’t want to think about.

“And then they stole it back from you,” Kazuha provided.

“It almost killed me,” he said, in an attempt to make sure Kazuha didn’t underestimate how much that loss cost him. His walls were up high again. “Nahida kept me alive. Against my will, I must say. She saved me, but only after taking my proof of worth from me first.”

“I understand that you can be conflicted.”

“I had been going after the Gnosis for hundreds of years, and once I had my hands on it I realized that it wasn’t the heart I had been longing for.”

Belial sighed just for the sake of it. To feel how that hole in his chest stretched its edges and clawed its way just an inch further, growing, fierce, trying to consume him whole in all directions.

“Perhaps that Gnosis wasn’t for you,” Kazuha said, turning to him. Belial kept his gaze straight ahead, as he ignored the gruesome illusion of the chasm growing bigger, stretching him from the inside. His skin felt too tight for his body. “Perhaps it really wasn’t your birthright.”

“Then, what? What is my purpose?” Belial turned to look at those crimson eyes, fire at times, embers some others. “Why was I even created?”

“Perhaps for something much greater,” he said.

Belial shut his mouth and just stared at him. Kazuha’s gentle smile seemed to stop the expansion of the abyss under his skin, leaving behind nothing but a light tingle.

“And, besides, wouldn’t it mean that you are free now?”

He didn’t know what to say in response to that, so he said nothing. He leaned back against the tree trunk again and gazed ahead as a flock of birds lost themselves in the vastness of the horizon. Belial raised a heavy hand and caressed the cold surface of his anemo Vision. It was alive under his touch and he could feel its soft buzzing against the tips of his fingers.

Nahida had once said that accepting his sins and choosing to atone for them was proof of his identity. He had never had a home, nor the ability to do anything but follow everyone’s orders. Experiments, missions, teachings… Those were things that people wanted from him, but not what he had wanted for himself. Nothing had ever belonged to him. Not the Gnosis. Not his choices.

Perhaps that’s what freedom was all about. Being able to live by one’s own choices.

He struggled to wrap his head around it, but eventually he nodded in Kazuha’s direction. It was possible that fate could not be rewoven, but what screamed freedom louder than the will to rewrite one’s own path.

Kazuha didn’t expect him to say anything else on the matter as he peeled some apples with a small knife that Belial still didn’t know where he kept hidden. “Look,” he said, picking one of the slices and showing it to Belial. “A bunny.”

He didn’t see it, but he still nodded in his direction. Where was the tail? Was the raised peel supposed to be the ears?

“Do you want to eat it?” Kazuha asked, focused on his task with skilled hands.

Kazuha never complained about being the only one eating and sleeping, slowing them down—even though they weren’t in any type of rush. He had nothing to apologize for, anyway. Belial understood that he had no other choice. So, in return, Kazuha didn’t expect Belial to do them with him.

The first time they sat down to eat, Kazuha offered some of his food to Belial. He refused it, because it made more sense for Kazuha to have it. And after that time, he didn’t ask again.

But now he was, and Belial wondered if this had anything to do with their previous conversation. If this was Kazuha’s subtle way of showing him that he was allowed to choose things for himself. That he could live however he wanted.

So, after tilting his head in confusion and staring at Kazuha’s stretched hand, he nodded. “Sure,” he said, grabbing the slice and biting into it.

It tasted sour in the way fruit did when picked too early, way too unripe to be enjoyable. Kazuha’s face contorted as he too took a bite and Belial grinned.

“Too sour,” he complained.

“I like it,” Belial said. He hated sweet foods and it had been a long time since he ate anything at all. Maybe it was just him gladly recalling these old tastes he had long since forgotten.

Kazuha tried to give him the rest of the apple but Belial denied all of his attempts with a sly grin, watching as Kazuha slowly made his way through the whole thing. Even though Belial told him several times to throw it away, Kazuha refused every single one of them. He was a firm believer that everything he took from nature had to be properly made use of, and so Belial nodded and tucked those words into a corner of his mind, intent on revising them at some quieter moment. Probably in the depths of the night, when the moon was high and there was no one to question him for wasting time on such banal matters.

But in the meantime, Belial waited for Kazuha to peel the whole thing, taking his sweet time if only to delay his agony. It was ridiculous, it was pointless, and yet midday arrived before Belial even noticed.

Their shadows disappeared under them by the time they collected their things and started to make their way to wherever the path would take them. They were in no rush, after all.

Sometime later, as they were treading through the lands of Narukami, Kazuha stopped dead in his tracks. Belial almost bumped into him.

“What is it?”

Kazuha hummed. “It’s going to rain.”

Belial raised his head and covered his eyes against the sun. There was a lone cloud floating near the sky’s end, entirely harmless.

“Are you sure?”

Kazuha nodded. “Tonight. I can feel it, it’s a strong one.”

Belial was already too used to Kazuha’s weird predictions to do anything else than agree with his words. They continued their way into their last commision of the day, the seabreeze reaching them even if they couldn’t see the coast.

“So what do you usually do when it pours?”

“Normally, I would knock on someone’s door and ask to spend the night,” he said without looking back at him as he stood on his tiptoes to reach for an apple. This one was redder and its sweet smell reached Belial from afar.

The only other time that it rained, some nights after their journey started, it was but a light drizzling. Just a few drops which seemed to be more than they were as they hit the roof of the abandoned house they had found. Wooden planks had been missing at some points over their heads, but it still hadn’t been enough of a problem for them.

When Kazuha raised an eyebrow in his direction, Belial shook his head in response.

“I’m not staying in anyone’s home,” he said with finality.

Just the thought of having to be and coexist with some strangers, with other humans in close proximity, had his skin prickling. Before Kazuha could hear the hair on his arms stand on end—because of course he would—Belial walked past him. He knew Kazuha would follow.

“Are you sure?” Kazuha asked.

“I am, yes,” his rotundity left no space for doubt. It wasn’t easy, but he had just gotten used to being around Kazuha, to find his presence easy, to deal with him. He wasn’t in the mood to start adding more people into his life. It was fine as it was.

“All right,” Kazuha said, and Belial heard the lack of annoyance he would have put into his own voice. “We will find another way. There are plenty of possibilities, after all.”

In the back of Belial’s mind, a voice wondered if maybe he was still not ready to let other people into his life. To watch them come and go as he stayed.

Belial brushed those thoughts aside as a grin opened its way into his lips. He stopped, and not even Kazuha bumping into him could dwindle the tingle in his gut.

Kazuha followed his eyes.

“I think I just found our solution,” Belial said.

There, in between the cold blades of grass and near a stream that flowed behind it, was a Fatui camp. With one big tent, surrounded by wood crates filled with all types of food. A Pyro Agent was guarding them, pacing around as a couple of Skirmishers and a Cicin Mage lounged around. Nothing they couldn’t deal with.

Kazuha stood by his side with a hand under his chin. He hummed and when Belial gazed at him, he saw his expression mirrored on Kazuha’s face. The same raised eyebrow, the same grin. There was a sense of amusement rolling off him in waves that Belial had never seen before.

“I thought you weren’t one prone to violence,” Belial said.

Kazuha smirked. “Only when it is not necessary.” Belial looked at him like he was meeting him for the first time. “But we need a place to stay for the night, and they are a little bit too close to the city.”

And Belial was not going to contradict him, not when such a chance to fight was presented to him on a silver platter and with Kazuha’s stamp of approval.

Anemo energy wrapped around Belial’s fingers, his catalyst appearing by his side as Kazuha drew his sword.

Kazuha directed one last look at him, so charged that Belial could not look away even if he wanted to. The intention was clear: do not get yourself in danger.

Belial breathed out a laugh. “You group them, I finish them.”

“As you wish.”

They cleared the camp so fast that not even the birds around them were disturbed by their currents. Belial’s fingers tingled in the aftermath of the fight, a feeling he was already used to everytime he made use of his Vision. It was dangerously pleasant and he always bid it farewell with the sweet desire for more.

The tent was theirs in no time, and as they looked around their loot Kazuha emitted a gasp as he raised something in the air.

“A spoon,” he announced, and one would think he had found the greatest weapon on this island.

Belial wondered how one could enjoy such pointlessness so intensely. Perhaps that was also freedom.

There was a rock by the tent, big and smooth. It had been caressed by the sun the whole day until the stormy clouds had hung over their heads, and so Kazuha spent the afternoon dozing off on top of its warm surface before they had to make their way into the city to reclaim their last commision. 

Belial scoffed. Kazuha was always right about the weather, after all.

In between his second and third nap, Kazuha sat up. “Later, when we go back to the city, maybe we could treat ourselves, spend some of our money. Don’t you think so?”

Belial lowered the book he had been lazily flipping through, a collection of classic tales he had found in one of the crates. It was written in Snezhnayan and he could almost hear Nahida’s voice in his head talking his ear off about the importance of practicing the languages that he already knew, complimenting his ability to speak more than three languages and going on and on and on about it.

“On what?” Belial asked.

Kazuha laid on his back again, and gently tapped the space next to him. The rock was big enough to fit them both. But Belial just slithered closer and rested his back against it, his feet in front of him on the grass. He couldn’t see Kazuha this way, and maybe it was for the best.

Kazuha’s face was ingrained into the back of his eyelids. Ever since that moment before they raided the camp, that mischievous expression, the grin with which he had approved Belial’s plan, his easy compliance. They all stuck with him and there was nothing he could do about it. It was all he could think about. Belial felt stupid. Had he come to know Kazuha, or had he simply convinced himself that he had? Perhaps it was his prejudices against humans which were at fault. Nahida’s voice infiltrated his head again, reminding him in her chirpy clear voice, like a little bird, to not underestimate humans.

Kazuha took Belial’s silence as indifference to his question. “Maybe some rice, or tofu. A new release from the Yae Publishing House… We can figure it out later,” he said, not worrying his head about it for now, turning around and proceeding to drift into his fourth nap of the day. Belial heard him humming as he nuzzled the fading warmth of the rock.

But the answer became clear once they reached the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Thank you for completing your commissions,” said Katheryne, in that cheerful tone of hers that made the back of Belial’s neck crawl. “Here’s your reward.”

She handed Kazuha a pouch full of mora, which jingled graciously as Kazuha shook it in his hand with a satisfied hum. He turned his head toward Belial, who always waited for him a few steps away. He didn’t want to deal with the marionette, nor with anyone else that could potentially approach the ronin. An invisible hand closed around his throat everytime he thought about crossing paths with her .

“Thank you, Katheryne. Have a good night.”

Belial shook his head as Kazuha joined him on their way to the next shop. He ignored Katheryne’s response at their leaving. “You know she’s a puppet, right?” He said.

Kazuha added the reward to their increasingly heavy bag of mora and grinned. The night was cold but the streets were buzzing with people. There was music playing around, vendors from food stalls trying to attract new customers, lanterns all over their heads. The shorter the days became, the brighter the lights shone in the city. The colors of the sunset lasted until the dawn of the new day.

Kazuha’s breath materialized in front of him as he let out an exhale. “Being nice doesn't hurt.”

“Still.”

He looked at Kazuha, totally aware he was doing that thing again, and tried to reconcile the Kazuha in front of him with the one at the Fatui camp. He could see his gentleness, the hope that surrounded his heart and, at the same time, underneath there was that mischief he had come to know. Like an open door, Belial could now feel how much there was behind it, inside his warm eyes. Pain, loss, something dark slowing him like a ball of steel around a prisoner's leg.

Kazuha opened his mouth, ready to tease him for staring. But, before any words left him, he stopped walking, a hand on Belial’s forearm. “I know what we can spend some of our mora on,” he said, and that grin resurfaced. Belial watched him instead of whatever he was looking at. Some playfulness sparkled inside his eyes.

But a jerk in his arm finally made him rip his gaze away and onto the sign on the façade.

“Uyuu restaurant,” Belial read. “You know I don’t eat, don’t waste mora on that.”

“I wasn’t thinking of eating,” he said as he dragged Belial inside by the arm. And he allowed him.

The restaurant welcomed them out of the cold streets. It was exactly the warm respite Kazuha seemed to need as a visible chill shook him from head to toe. The lights were dim, spread all across the space in the form of lanterns and candles, and noren hung from the ceiling and swayed with the breeze brought in by their arrival.

There were families, couples and groups eating around the place. Kazuha took a seat at the far edge of the bar and Belial sat next to him on the tall stool and thought the place was cozy. Maybe even nice.

When the owner of the izakaya approached them, Kazuha didn't hesitate to order some sake for the both of them. They were left alone immediately after and Belial was thankful for it. For all the times that they had come into the city during the last few weeks, they had always left as fast as they arrived, not lingering a second longer than necessary per Belial’s insistence. But tonight was different, even if Belial was still battling himself against the urge to get up and run away. Run from all these people, the lives of which he was sure his past actions had altered in some way, and hide inside their tent. And wait. Wait for Kazuha to come back, wait for the clouds to clear, wait for the new day.

Even though he didn’t need it, he took a deep breath.

When he turned his head, Kazuha was already looking at him, a question in the scarlet of his eyes. It was forgotten as the same man brought their pitcher and Kazuha wasted no time in pouring them some of the clear liquid.

“Have you ever tried it?” Kazuha asked him.

Belial grabbed his cup and his reflection stared back at him from the surface of the clear drink. He nodded. “There was a lot of sake in Tatarasuna, and I also used to drink during diplomatic meetings,” he said. His own self from the forge and the 6th Harbinger were trapped inside his drink. He shook the cup to diffuse the reflection and raised his head for good measure. “I was always the designated Harbinger to travel to Inazuma, for obvious reasons.”

Kazuha hummed, deep in thought. He took a long sip of the beverage and sighed at the taste. He rested his elbow on the bar, his cheek against his hand and his body toward Belial.

Another smirk shaped his lips. “Can you even get drunk?” He took another swig, and so did Belial. It tasted just like he remembered, this unknown thing he wouldn’t call sweet, nor bitter nor anything else he had tried before.

“I don’t think so.”

“Have you ever actually tried ?”

Belial thought back to his days in the forge, and the way they would take his drink away after just a couple of gulps. Their innocence in thinking that Belial’s body behaved in the same way a youngling’s would, feeling its effects after just a few swigs of the alcoholic beverage. And back to his Fatui days too, how he would always be the one to have his cup full so as to stay alert, not risking to fall under its effects in order to negotiate with a clear head and get them useful pieces of information, whilst the people in front of him lost their senses to the drink, letting their tongues slip, making his job seem almost too easy.

Kazuha sensed his negative answer long before he articulated it.

“Wouldn't you want to try?” He said, although Belial didn’t leave him much of a choice as Kazuha refilled both their cups.

“I think you just want an excuse to keep drinking,” Belial said. His voice light, tone teasing. Was he getting drunk on the sake, or was it just everything else around him? The laughter, the voices, Kazuha’s bright cheeks, the warmth of their bare knees brushing against each other from time to time. Belial took another sip and Kazuha imitated him.

“Perhaps  I do,” Kazuha said. “Though some sake ought to make a rainy night better.”

“Is it raining already?”

Kazuha closed his eyes. His head was still propped against his hand and for a second Belial wondered if he fell asleep. “Not yet. But soon.”

It took just another swig for Kazuha to empty his cup, as well as their pitcher and upon noticing, he instantly ordered another one. Belial didn’t oppose it.

Even though Belial didn’t feel it himself, he could see the way the drink was affecting Kazuha. His cheeks were an unnatural shade of pink he had never seen on him before and his eyes were glazed, unfocussed from the world around him at times.

Belial wasn’t sure if Kazuha was drunk, but it was certainly entertaining to watch. He was the one to refill their cups this time, eager to see more of whatever this was.

“Drunk already?” Belial teased him. His head was as clear as always. The drink felt like water in his body, at least in small amounts like these. He wouldn’t be drawing conclusions this early into the night.

“Getting there,” responded Kazuha.

He nuzzled his own hand after drinking some more, and Belial easily kept his pace. The blond one closed his eyes, eyebrows relaxed, and breathed deeply.

“When I was a kid,” he started, and Belial unconsciously brought his chair closer to listen. Kazuha’s tone was lower now. “When I was a kid,” he repeated as if he just retrieved his train of thought. “During a family dinner… I confused my drink with my father’s. It tasted sweet and I was really young, so I didn’t think there would be anything wrong with me drinking a few sips out of it... Just a few. It wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?” He didn’t wait for Belial to agree with him and Belial didn’t feel the need to answer. So he went on, his words starting to get slurry. “I got so drunk that I fell asleep in the middle of the garden, and when I woke up again it was already the next morning and I was in my bed.”

“What a fool,” Belial grinned, his gaze focused on the swirl in the center of his cup as he moved it in small circles. His knees were pressed against Kazuha’s, his skin was warm. It felt nice.

Kazuha laughed, uncontained, and Belial couldn't help raising his head at the sound. “The family servants took care of me that night, and prepared me a soup to treat my hangover. They never spoke about it again…” He giggled, a bright little thing. “I think to spare myself the embarrassment. I was really grateful to them for that,” he laughed again.

Kazuha emptied the cup and rested his head against his arm, right on the bar. There was no doubt that three cups were more than enough to knock out Kaedehara Kazuha.

“Are you drunk?” Belial asked as he too rested his arms against the bar, sideying Kazuha as he took another swig.

Wanting to keep up, Kazuha groaned and tried to reach for his cup, but Belial was faster and he placed it right next to his, out of Kazuha’s reach.

“I am not,” he responded, elongating all the vowels.

“Sure not.”

Kazuha whined. “Give it back,” he complained, trying to reach for the cup. His movements were so slow that it took no effort at all to move them a bit further away. It was kind of entertaining, messing with Kazuha like this. Kazuha, who was always so calm and collected, reduced to a whiney, brat-ish mess.

“It’s mine,” he insisted. “I paid for it.”

“We still haven’t paid.”

“I want more,” he opened his eyes again, trying to face Belial. As if he was trying to prove that he was fine, even if his eyes shone with the effects the drink had on his body. Belial had to agree, though, that his act made him seem a bit more sober. But his cheeks still gave him away.

“It’s not fair,” he whined again.

Upon seeing that Belial would not fold and determined in his actions, he resorted to waiting. The night was still young and there was nowhere else anyone would need them. Here it was warm, and dry, and there were endless amounts of alcohol, Kazuha’s addled brain probably supplied.

“How are you holding up so well?” Kazuha asked Belial, a giggle following his words.

Belial lowered his head to get a bit closer to him, and Kazuha waited with wide eyes. “You know why.”

Belial must have imagined Kazuha’s roaming eyes, the way his face got closer to his. Kazuha hummed in agreement, even if his gaze was blurry and he seemed to be in a completely different place than Belial.

Although Kazuha’s attention shifted to focus again after a while. It was like watching the waves on the shore. Come. Stay. Go. Repeat. Cleansing the sands with each caress. Kazuha raised a hand and it landed on Belial’s fingers, holding the hand closest to him hostage against Belial’s will. With a single bare digit, Kazuha traced Belial’s index finger all the way up to the back of his hand, making stops on every knuckle he passed.

Belial wanted to pull away, and maybe it was the alcohol finally getting to him that made him stay put, waiting for Kazuha’s next move with an intrigue he didn’t know where it came from. But still, he waited.

Kazuha’s finger traced the line of his knuckles and then followed the seam of this glove until reaching the ring on his middle finger, making its way up to his knuckle again. There were thoughts behind those eyes, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Belial wanted to coax them out of him.

Kazuha spoke in a whisper. “I thought puppets would have joints.”

Belial really fought against the urge to slap Kazuha’s hand away, while at the same time new images appeared in his head. Kazuha’s hand was warm.

“They have,” he grabbed Kazuha’s hand by the wrist. “I have.”

“Where?”

Belial hesitated only for a moment after letting go of Kazuha. He wasn’t like this, and neither was the man in front of him. In the past weeks they’d been traveling together they were comfortable with keeping their distance with each other. Always with a fire between them, resting against different trees, walking a few feet away from the other.

But these last few days, he had felt Kazuha’s presence closer to him in a way he hadn’t realized until now. In a way that hadn’t bothered him. In the same way that Kazuha’s fingers dancing on the back of his hand just now didn’t make him want to pull away.

So he took off the ring and raised the part of the sleeve that covered his hand, just enough to reveal his wrist. Belial stretched his arm towards Kazuha, his palm up and inviting, grabbing Kazuha’s hand and gently bringing it to his wrist.

Belial placed his fingertips on top of Kazuha’s own as they caressed the unblemished skin. Fair to the point of perfection, betraying its artificial nature. Then, he pressed a little bit harder against the skin on the inner side, right over where the veins should have shown.

“They faded over time, but they’re still there,” he moved the fingers over a line so subtle one wouldn’t be able to find it without the aid of the one who saw it vanish. “They will never really go away.”

Kazuha gasped when he felt the light indenture on his skin, thinner than a nail but deeper than a wrinkle. “Oh,” he exhaled.

Now that he knew what to look for, Kazuha grabbed Belial’s hand between his own and lightly traced all the junctures he could find. His bandaged hand holding it up, the other going over his knuckles, in between the phalanxes, across the palm of his hand, with the delicacy one would regard to battle scars.

“Your hand is warm…” Kazuha observed, his words mingling together under the liquor’s effects. “Just like mine.”

Belial let him do his thing, silently watching him concentrate on the task like a cat playing with a toy. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes entirely too focused on such a banal thing for it to be attributed to anything other than his inebriated state.

The sounds around the restaurant dulled. It was getting late, the families going home, the groups leaving for other places where they could continue celebrating. The izakaya became an entirely different place, and Kazuha and Belial were still there.

The next time Kazuha spoke, his voice was slurred and a little raspy, his grip on Belial’s hand bordering on too tight. “I don’t think… Your creator hated you,” he said.

Something halted inside of Belial at his words, and in this moment of stillness Kazuha stretched his arm and retrieved his cup, as if he had nothing better to do as Belial recomposed himself. Belial didn’t have it in him to complain when he emptied it in just one go. Didn’t want to admit to this moment of weakness.

“It’s not funny, don’t say things like that.”

Kazuha placed his cup again by Belial’s, and his body stayed close to him, eyes fixed on his own.

“If she hated you,“ he went on, intent on examining Belial’s features. His eyes, his brows, his cheeks… Maybe more, if Belial hadn’t broken eye contact. “She wouldn’t have made you this beautiful.”

His body froze in place. These had to be the ravings of a madman lost to the drink, because Belial couldn’t come up with another explanation. And yet, something within him wanted to cling to these words until his hands gave out, to hope that there was some semblance of truth in them.

And Belial was hit with three painful truths. One, there had been hope in the Shogun, the day of his creation. Yearning for this prototype, this creation of her own to which she had already gotten attached, to be the first and last one she created. Two, human beings were not insignificant. They were complex enough to make his head race, the hole in his chest ache, his nonexistent breathing halt. Three, maybe it was just one human.

“Nonsense.” Belial ignored the tremor in his voice as he pulled his hand away from Kazuha’s slender fingers. He fixed his sleeve and covered himself under layers upon layers that he wished could swallow him, vanish him from existence.

Belial was angry at Kazuha, for making him think about stuff he didn’t want to dig out, for baring him in every way he fought tooth and nail to conceal and for saying stupid things that made him want to run. Out of this city. Out of this island. Run until his legs fell off or he reached the end of the world.

So, he placed both of their cups in front of them again. He filled them in and took the first swig out of the two. Kazuha picked his head up in interest and Belial couldn’t care less if the other drank himself unconscious. He watched him as he drank from his cup and smiled contentedly, completely unaware of how furious Belial was.

They didn’t speak again for a while, save for an isolated comment slurred by Kazuha in between sips.

“Rain,” he just said, low enough that Belial wouldn't have heard it if the izakaya weren’t as silent.

And certainly, lightning lit up the thin paper doors on the entrance, immediately followed by a thunder so loud it almost split the night in two.

The moment Kazuha began to giggle into his cup was when Belial knew he had had enough. He groaned in anger. He had just told himself he wouldn’t worry about Kazuha’s state, sinking in a well of pettiness, but he still snatched the pitcher just as Kazuha was about to reach for it.

“No more for you,” he said, arm stretched, alcohol outside of Kazuha’s reach.

“Noooo,” he whined, like a fucking baby. 

Kazuha tried to get the sake back by stretching as far as he could, almost climbing on Belial’s lap. Belial huffed and planted a hand against Kazuha’s face. “Stay still and behave. What are you, five?” He complained, voice strained as he pushed Kazuha until he got him off his personal space and back to his stool.

“I’m old enough to drink.” His words said one thing, but his ability to say them told an entirely different story.

And luckily for Belial, Kazuha ended up falling asleep not long after, cup in hand and head against the bar. Belial sighed in relief. The rain knocked against the building’s façade, the lights were dim and Belial wondered how in the hell he was gonna bring Kazuha back to their camp as he finished his cup of sake and the pitcher with it.

The owner of the place approached them—him—as he dried some glasses with a towel. “We will be closing soon,” he announced.

Belial nodded and without muttering more words than the strict necessary, paid off their bill and finished off Kazuha’s cup. He almost had to tear it from between his fingers, from how hard he was holding onto it and Belial couldn’t help but sigh again with his nonexistent breath. This guy.

Belial shook his shoulder. “Come on, Kazuha. Get up, we’re leaving.”

Kazuha muttered something that sounded nothing like actual words and turned his head away from Belial. So Belial shook him again. Harder.

“Kazuha, for fuck’s sake.”

Belial was just about to grab the guy by the neck and throw him to the floor when the owner approached them again. They were the only patrons left in the whole place.

“It’s raining pretty hard right now, will you be able to carry him home, boy?” He asked, and Belial noted that it wasn’t out of concern but because he didn’t want to have to deal with two drunkards tonight.

Belial wanted to grab this man by the throat too and threaten him to try to call him boy again. A voice that sounded a lot like Nahida’s told him that he shouldn’t treat people the way he wouldn’t want to be treated. But, well. Nahida was not here and he thought he himself deserved to be called a couple of ugly things.

His mind was running laps, and he felt like he was going to go crazy at any second, to fall back into ugly behaviors that he wanted to forget, that weren’t him anymore. They weren’t. They were not. But before he could snap, Kazuha moved where he was sleeping. “Belial…” He called him, extending all the vowels for an infuriating amount of time.

“What, now.”

Kazuha’s eyes were closed as he nuzzled his face against his hand and the bar. “Wanna go home,” he said in that same tone again.

The owner was waiting for… Something, and Belial sighed once again, unclenched his fists and walked right by Kazuha.

“Then let’s go, stand up,” he said.

Eyes still closed, Kazuha raised his arms as if waiting for Belial to carry him. Belial couldn’t almost recognise the man in front of him, and if he didn’t die from intoxication then sure as hell Belial would be the one to finish him. But not there, not in front of the owner who kept looking at them like they were some type of hazard for his place.

“We will be fine,” he reassured the man as he put one of Kazuha’s arms around his shoulders, another around his waist and lifted him off the stool. It should have been an easy task for Belial, instead it wasn’t and he almost fell over. But that didn’t matter. The only thing he wanted right now was to get out of that place before he killed everyone in the room.

“Are you sure you will be alright?” The man asked again and as if the world conspired against Belial, another lightning lit up the façade. “There’s an inn just across the street, if you need a place to stay.”

Belial knew that the weight he felt inside their bag of mora wouldn’t be enough to get them a room for the night, but he still smiled toward the man. “We will stay there, thank you for your concern.” He kicked Kazuha on the leg. “Help me out a little, would you?”

Making use of probably the last of his strength, Kazuha held himself up enough for Belial to leave the izakaya and close the door behind them.

The streets were empty under the wet filter of the rain and the only sounds to be heard were the droplets hitting the pavement, the little roof over their heads and everywhere around them. The lights were still on but the atmosphere didn’t feel near as nice as it had before they entered the restaurant. There, in front of them, was the inn the owner just mentioned, but no sounds came from the inside. The whole city felt sad and diluted at this time of the night, a shadow of itself from some hours ago.

Belial tried to wake the other up again by shaking him. “Kazuha, how the hell am I supposed to carry you back,” he said, hitting his rosy cheek with every word as his face lay on his shoulder, completely dead to the world but somehow still standing up.

“Are you listening to me?”

To his surprise, Kazuha hummed in agreement but, instead of helping out, he turned around and hid his head in the crook of Belial’s neck and shoulder. Oh, Belial was going to kill him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he told him. Because he had to know.

Kazuha paid him no mind. “Captain Beidou never lets me drink when I’m on her ship,” he muffled a giggle against the fabric of Belial’s clothes.

Belial didn’t know who this Beidou person was, and right now he didn’t care. “I can see why.”

Kazuha’s arms wrapped around his waist and then he proceeded to snore in Belial’s ear. Belial seriously considered leaving him there and picking him up the following day. Or not at all.

But then he was reminded of that morning when they had been lazily eating apples under the sun, and Belial had felt freer as he chewed on a sour piece of fruit than in his more than four hundred years of miserable existence.

Had it been anyone else, Belial would have already dropped them to the cold wet floor, repulsed by their proximity and mere presence. But this was Kazuha.

Belial shook him, in a sad attempt at waking him up again. “Will this rain stop at any moment?”

Time went on in silence but, on the edge of it being considered an entirely new conversation, Kazuha answered. “In a few minutes.”

So Belial trusted him and resigned himself to waiting, wondering about the extent of Kazuha’s senses if even in his state he remained sharp as a razor. He rested his arms against Kazuha’s back, confused about how he got himself into this situation.

It took him by surprise when Kazuha started to sway them around, humming in Belial’s ear. His conscience kept fading in and out and Belial didn’t know when he was asleep and when he wasn’t. It was less of a dance and more of a swing that could put babies to sleep. Belial almost sensed as if it was Kazuha the one taking care of Belial and not the other way around. He wondered if Kazuha had felt the nervous breakdown he had almost succumbed to earlier, maybe in an instant of clarity, maybe deep within his dreams.

Perhaps out of boredom, or to sooth Kazuha as the minutes passed by, Belial resigned himself to moving around as he listened to Kazuha’s voice hum what must have been an invented melody, notes flowing freely out of his throat. And just like Kazuha said it would, the storm receded soon after that, lightning and thunder going quiet like sleeping beasts.

Belial kicked him again. “Will you throw up on me if I carry you back?”

Kazuha groaned and Belial took his lack of answer as the worst outcome. But, alas, they didn’t have much of a choice. It was so late into the night that one could start calling it early. The rain had only lightened, but Belial knew that it was the moment to move.

He held Kazuha up with an arm around his back and another under his knees and raised from the floor with the help of the Anemo tendrils dancing around his frame.

“Hold on tight,” he advised Kazuha, who hid his face again against Belial’s shoulder now that he was airbound, his fists firmly clenched on the fabric of his back.

The camp was close to the southern entrance of the city, and Belial reached their recently reclaimed tent without much effort. Upon arriving, he fell to his knees inside the place. His arms and legs felt weak and he wasn’t sure if it was the extra weight or the alcohol in his system. He tried to throw Kazuha to the floor, but he tightened his grip around him.

The hair on Belial’s neck stood on end as Kazuha breathed directly against it, a deep scorching exhalation against his skin.

“Kazuha, let go,” he said into the night, because Kazuha certainly wasn’t listening to him.

He lit up the oil lantern the Fatui always installed inside their tents before he sat down against the wooden post in the middle, right under the flickering light, with Kazuha’s dead weight on his lap, against his chest. Warm, fragile, alive and human.

After Kazuha let go of a deep breath and relaxed further into him, in between one dream and another, Belial was able to loosen Kazuha's fists, which left deep wrinkles all over his front. Laying Kazuha on the floor next to him was an easy task now that he had sat down for a while, drawing enough strength for that and just that. Once Kazuha was snoring in his new position, Belial drew his legs closer to himself and watched his body move with the cadence of sleep.

Without giving it much thought, he raised a tentative hand, placed it against Kazuha’s back and there it was. The beating of his heart, beating and beating and beating against his palm, accompanied by the rise and fall of Kazuha’s body. So much effort for such a fleeting existence.

Belial sighed and raised his hand to his own hair. He tousled it and shook his head around in an attempt to get rid of the few droplets that had fallen on them on the way back, and it was that moment of rustling which finally woke Kazuha up. Barely.

He turned around on the floor, facing the ceiling and brought a hand to his forehead in a futile attempt to keep the incoming headache at bay.

“Where are we?” He wasn’t even close to sober yet, his voice still slurred, jumping and skipping syllables arbitrarily while his eyes tried to adjust to the light.

“Our tent.”

Kazuha looked around for a moment, clearly surprised by his answer. Belial wondered how much of this conversation Kazuha would remember in the morning. He ended up closing his eyes, trying to ground himself, to fight the alcohol off his system by sheer will alone.

He turned around, laying on his side and facing Belial, and tucked his hands under his head. “I’m… sorry,” he muttered. His voice sounded so different from his usual one, so light and clear, always attuned with the wind. This one was fighting its way out of his throat with every word. An effort from which he had to rest from time to time. Another pause. “For everything... For my selfishness… For lying to you… For everything weird I may have said earlier. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Belial’s first instinct was to revive the anger that almost consumed him back in the izakaya and blame him for the things he had said, the things they had made him feel. His mouth was already open, ready to spit them out but, at the last second, they all left him in a long exhale. It wasn’t worth it. Not now. But Kazuha’s slip of the tongue stuck with him.

“Selfishness?” The Kazuha he knew was anything but that. Then again, the Kazuha he knew a week ago was a completely different person than the one in front of him now.

But even though Kazuha’s mouth worked faster than his brain, he had it in him to remain silent. As if ignoring Belial’s words would make them both forget about them.

And people’s brains may have a tendency to forget things, but Belial didn’t. He was proof of that. So, he tucked Kazuha’s words into a corner of his mind and changed the subject. “It’s fine, Kazuha,” he ended up saying.

Kazuha looked at him and Belial knew that even as drunk as he was, he could read him like an open book. And he knew that Belial would bring this up again. But instead of complaining, he yawned.

“This floor is uncomfortable,” he whined. Belial smirked while his eyes remained closed. “And… my head is spinning,” he giggled.

“And what do you want me to do about it?”

The ground was hard against his legs too, but he wouldn’t complain about it. All these other nights, they had mainly spent them lying on grass and flowers. Those weren’t a bed either, but they resembled one much closer than whatever the Fatui had going on with these tents. Belial had always laid on bunks when on expeditions, but there weren’t any of those around this place. This must have been a day watch camp only.

Maybe it was the night, the cold that he couldn’t feel but that he was sure Kazuha could, the rain enveloping them inside a waterfall. Or maybe it was the memory of Kazuha’s fingers on his skin, Kazuha’s face against his shoulder, the warmth of a human body. Maybe that was why Kazuha’s next move didn’t shake his core in the way it would have at any other moment.

But it definitely was the alcohol acting on Kazuha's behalf, which helped him turn his body and speak. “Don’t hit me for this,” he muttered, as he laid his head down on Belial’s thigh, quickly getting comfortable and not sparing Belial a single look.

But Belial couldn’t really find it within himself to get angry at him. It was way too late—early—into the new day for that, the rain was too loud and he was too tired to pick up a pointless fight that would end up with Kazuha falling asleep in the process.

And not even then, because Kazuha was already asleep by the time he reacted, and Belial knew he wouldn’t be able to wake him up again. Belial’s long flowy sleeve was draped over Kazuha, his breathing deep; way deeper than all the other times before, and Belial could almost see his glazed eyes behind closed lids.

His bright eyelashes, gold against the light of the lantern, brushed his cheeks as they fluttered from time to time, pupils moving while he dreamed. Sometimes Belial wondered how it felt, to rest this peacefully.

But what really caught his attention was that red streak of hair that rested on top of his head, exactly in the same place he remembered it, in another person, in another life. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his fingers through it now that he could. Now that the night would keep his secret. The strands were soft and silky between the tips of his fingers and, for the first time in a long while, with the warmth of a person against him and his fingers moving as his mind flew to a place where everything wasn’t as bad, he almost fell asleep.

Not quite getting there, but ready to let the night drift by him and the rain lull him into that strange headspace he could feel approaching. If that was all he could get, then he would gladly take it. If only for tonight.

Kazuha woke up when the sun was already starting its descent again. Still midday, but not quite.

Belial noticed because he heard a deep groan coming from inside the tent. With a chuckle, he abandoned his current task in favor of witnessing the scene in all its glory.

Kazuha exited the tent with a hand over his eyes, protecting himself from the sun that had decided to show up again today. His feet dragged after him and his slouched posture was far from elegant and collected.

Belial laughed and rested his elbow on his flexed leg from where he was sitting on the grass.

“Water,” Kazuha muttered. His voice sounded like he had screamed his throat raw, when all Belial remembered were hushed mutters and short sentences.

But Belial took pity on him, if just for a second, and grabbed the waterskin laying next to him to throw it in Kazuha’s direction. He barely contained a snicker when it fell in front of Kazuha’s feet, his reflexes way too slow for him to catch it. And when he bent down to pick it up, it seemed like his back had aged hundreds of years in the span of a few hours.

“My head is killing me,” was the first thing he said after remorselessly downing all of their water reserves.

He sat down next to Belial right by the fire where he was stirring the contents of a pot. Part of what had woken Kazuha up had been the warm smell that sneaked into every crevice of their camp. Rich in its flavor and way too familiar in Kazuha’s mind. It smelled like home.

“So you really can’t get drunk.”

Belial hummed as he concentrated on his task. It was the first time he cooked for both of them and he felt rusty. The spoon didn’t quite fit in his hand, his sense of taste felt askew and his timings were all off.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Belial pressed a piece of turnip against the side of the pot. It was tender already, and it came apart under his touch. “Or perhaps the amount was not enough.”

Kazuha scrunched his nose as he brushed his fringe away from his forehead. The headache was visible in all his features.

“But we will never know, because we’re not doing that ever again.”

Kazuha sighed. “I guess you are right. I am never drinking again,” he complained.

“Don’t speak so early, Kaedehara Kazuha.”

Kazuha snorted. “I am not, I have no intention of going through this again.”

Belial fell silent, even though he would have wanted to keep pushing him. He wasn't trying to blame him for anything he did yesterday. Even if alcohol wasn't an excuse for someone's behavior, Belial would let it go just this one time.

“So what are you cooking?” Kazuha asked in a clear attempt to change the subject.

“Soup.” Belial poured some into a bowl and passed it to Kazuha. This camp had everything they had missed in the past weeks. It would be a pity when they decided to leave.

Kazuha’s hesitation flickered for a second as his hands warmed against the ceramic but, eventually, his surprise came out.

“I used to have this soup back at home, at the Kaedehara’s. It’s a hangover soup, right?”

Belial folded his legs and wrapped his arms around them. “Yesterday you told me about it, don’t you remember?”

Kazuha bit his lower lip, his eyes set on his reflection in the broth. It made his stomach rumble. “Barely. Some moments are just blurs that clear and fog from time to time.”

Belial had expected it, but some surprise still showed on his face.

“So, how much do you remember?”

Scarlet eyes traveled down to his hands, which firmly held his folded legs. Kazuha’s eyes were too focussed on them and there was a train of thought running across those pupils. Belial felt bare in the same way he had yesterday as Kazuha’s fingers traced the gaps on his skin.

“Just enough,” he said, and not even a headache could stop the smirk that shaped his lips.

Belial averted his gaze.

“Do you like the soup?” It was but an attempt to try to make Kazuha forget probably the only thing that had stuck with him from the whole night.

Kazuha smiled, and it was warm like the sun shining through a summer breeze. Belial could almost smell the sea salt in the air.

“It's the first time I see you cooking,” he commented as he ate some more. “You didn’t have to, but it’s really good.”

Belial knew perfectly fine that he didn’t have to do anything for anyone. But this morning, when he woke up (had he even been asleep? He didn’t know), Kazuha was still lying on his lap, the sunrays hitting his face with their soft caress and there had only been silence around them. And Belial had felt a warmth inside his chest so intense he had had to grab the front of his clothes and take a deep breath. To try to cool down, to make it stop. It was scary, knowing that the hollow in his chest wasn’t an infinite void, that there were things big enough, strong enough, to make him feel like he was more than an empty container.

“I wanted to,” he said. He knew that he didn’t suddenly start to cook out of the goodness of his heart , because in the center of his rib cage there was a thorn, stabbing him everytime he thought about it. “Yesterday, I almost did something. Something bad.”

Kazuha set the bowl next to him on the grass and straightened his back, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Belial knew he had his full attention and he hated it.

“What’s wrong?”

The mere thought of explaining made him want to disappear, to look for a way for Kazuha to forget the name Belial ever existed. He had gotten nervous. Borderline hysterical. There had been lots of voices, Kazuha’s clinginess, and something within him that just wanted to grow and grow and grow and consume him until there was nothing left.

And he had almost lost control of himself, of everything around him. He had almost hurt that man. He had almost hurt Kazuha in his defenseless state.

Kazuha’s eyes were soft as they waited for him to get out of his head, not even a hint of fear in them, but Belial’s own guilt had grown too big to be placated by so little.

Belial still felt like he was watching that part of himself he didn’t know that still existed, moving his strings without him being able to do anything about it. He deserved to be abandoned again and he deserved every bad thing that happened to him.

This was scary too. These feelings, fierce in a way so completely different from this morning’s under the light of dawn. High walls rose around him, burying his thoughts within themselves, and in moments like these, there was nothing he could do to stop them from racing.

“What did you mean, yesterday?” In between his denial, Belial resurfaced just enough to change the topic and hope for Kazuha’s attention to slip away. “You said something about being selfish. What was that about?”

Kazuha’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, about to talk, then stopping himself. His eyes were set on his face and Belial knew he was trying to read him. But when his walls were up, there was nothing that could get through them. Not even Kazuha. Especially not his own feelings.

A part of Belial wanted Kazuha to answer. The other was the one that articulated the question, hoping for Kazuha to close off. Make him avert his gaze and change matters.

And still, when he did, Belial was irrevocably disappointed.

Kazuha took the bowl once again and took a sip from it. His voice was completely devoid of that sadness that had tainted him just an instant ago.

“Well, if this soup is your way of apologizing for whatever it was, then I forgive you.”

It shouldn’t have felt genuine. Was one allowed to forgive without even knowing what? And, somehow, it was. Belial didn’t feel like he deserved any type of forgiveness, but he could try. He wanted to try.

There was a different type of silence hanging between them after their conversation died off. It was charged with unsaid words and Belial hated it. One of the things he had appreciated from Kazuha since the very beginning was his brutal honesty, very similar to his own. Even though they tended to disagree on almost everything and often fought because of it, it didn’t stop them from speaking their minds the following time as well.

But this. Belial directed a pointed gaze at Kazuha, who was conveniently distracted by some bird on a branch. Something in Belial’s chest ached and he couldn’t help but be reminded of today’s morning, when he came to his senses and the first thing that grounded him was Kazuha’s warmth right next to him.

Kazuha broke the silence after a while, as he fiddled with a tree leaf in between his bandaged fingers.

“I need to go back to the Alcor,” his voice sounded as calm as ever, but the words made Belial flinch as he was pulled away from his thoughts. “To tell Captain Beidou that I will not be leaving with them this time, and to help her with anything she might need for a while.”

There was that name again, Belial noticed. Kazuha fixed him with his gaze.

“You can come with me, if you want.”

It was like Kazuha knew he wouldn’t accept his offer. The mere thought of getting bossed around and working hand in hand with lots of other people made his skin crawl. Last night was still fresh in his mind and something in him wondered whether he was maintaining his distance with everyone for his sake or for theirs.

“I would prefer not to.”

Kazuha hummed, utterly unimpressed.

“Then, I will be back in a couple of days.”

Silence fell between them again, but there was nothing that Belial felt like he needed to say at the moment. So he didn’t. A travel bag already rested by Kazuha’s side, and the hole in his chest grew bigger at the sight.

If only to stop it from taking over already healed territory, all scarred tissue and hope, Belial spoke. “You will be back, right?”

Kazuha’s gentle smile did help Belial. He always had that effect on people. His voice was soothing when he spoke. “Of course I will,” he said. “I still have to make you pay for your transgressions.”

Belial smirked. “And I do have a lot to pay for.” He already felt lighter than a second ago.

Even if still charged, the air tasted a little bit like relief too.

Kazuha left while Belial was rinsing the pot in the nearby stream. He just responded to Kazuha’s farewell with the afterthought of a hum. His gaze remained focussed on his working hands, and the ronin’s footsteps soon faded away and blended with the wind in his usual stealth.

Only when he sat down on the grass, he felt that he was truly alone for the first time in what felt like millenia. No one was there when he turned his gaze toward the camp.

Belial should have found relief, to finally be spared. But in this breach that allowed him to leave if he so pleased, he only found an echo of himself from hundreds of years ago, as he was put to sleep inside a buried palace for no one to find ever again.

Chapter Text

Nahida’s voice, again, chimed inside his head as he sat in their tent—well, it was his now. He had heard that chirpy, lively tone more often now that he was away from Sumeru than while she was taking care of him. And if he weren’t so far away from her Sanctuary, he would have suspected this to be one of her doings, infiltrating his mind and planting unsuspecting little seeds of thought, waiting for them to bloom in his brain.

But this wasn’t Nahida, because she was nations away from him and because there was no one else in this camp but him.

Still, it didn’t feel like that. Like a mantra, he repeated those words she told him time and time again in those terrible weeks when he had been no more than a puppet without strings. Weeks before the day Nahida finally offered him one: to stay with her in the Sanctuary, and soon after the first, another one: to help her with the Irminsul, a task that no one but him could accomplish.

Two strings that he could hold in his own two hands.

She told him, healing is not a linear process. It is not like climbing a set of stairs with a clear destination. Sometimes you are better, but sometimes you relapse. And what matters is that you have the strength to get back up and climb one step higher once again.

Today, these words made sense to Belial. He chuckled as he ran his palms across the grainy soil in front of the tent. Always the God of Wisdom.

The rough grains didn’t hurt against his tips for he had no fingerprints and his pain receptors were duller than ones of humans. He had seen Kazuha getting accidental cuts from that knife he always carried around as he peeled some potatoes or carved little wooden figures. He didn’t make a big fuss about them, but Belial never failed to hear the inevitable gasp of pain he let out in the moment, the hisses as he licked wounds as thin as paper cuts.

Belial shook those thoughts out of his head and wondered what to do with all of the spare time ahead of him. And he figured that “nothing” was a good notion. He didn’t intend to go into the city, because he didn’t feel like being around people just yet, so he resorted to lying on Kazuha’s rock on this uncharacteristically sunny autumn day, fully aware that he didn’t have to care about getting sunburnt. He felt the sun rays on him, their red light in front of his eyelids, the breeze biting as the sun warmed him up and he waited, always awake, to see who would win even though he already knew the answer.

Against his will, Nahida’s words came to him again, and the knife in his chest twisted a little as he felt like he was at the bottom of the stairs. Again. He couldn’t get physically tired, but he figured that if he could, this would be how it felt. Heavy, rigid and guilty. Confused. Conflicted.

He turned to the side, intent on stopping his thoughts, but they just kept coming.

There were two lives inside his mind, every instant had two versions. Every moment had been lived and then lived again. Which one first, which one second, why did they come to him in arbitrary order when reminiscing about them, Belial didn’t know. Nahida would, he was sure.

There was a puppet who was born, who slept, who learned and who lost, who raged and raged and raged and then lost everything he was, everything he had and then some more. But there also was a wanderer, a shugenja who paced, who prayed, who worked, who lived and lived and lived.

And both were him. The one who had been lied to and the one who craved knowledge, both versions were him, and Belial couldn’t hope to just pick one. The careless wanderer would always want a purpose. The torn puppet would always want somewhere to belong. 

The wanderer was hurt by the knowledge he had been looking for. The puppet painfully learned that there was purpose in forgiveness.

Belial was the sum of all of his parts—Nahida said that none of them were shameful, but he still had yet to believe her. There was so much to him, that he sometimes felt like a puzzle, the pieces of which he had lost and scrambled by his own fault. It felt impossible to put back together; he didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, what the missing pieces were. He didn’t know if he even wanted to do that.

Sometimes it felt like he had finally managed to piece together some semblance of himself, and then he fucked up and they all fell back into the mess again. The process of bending down and picking each ripped piece of himself back up was repetitive, excruciating. But he had all the time in the world to work on it. To take a look inside the hole that lived in his chest, blindly stick an arm inside and wave it around in search for another piece of himself that lay dormant as it waited for someone, anyone, to look for them.

By dawn on the next day, Belial realized way too many hours had passed since he had laid down on that rock, which was now cold and humid, under moonlight and dew. He sat up and dried his face with his sleeve. He sighed.

Belial slid off the rock and stretched his body, turning his limbs around invisible ball joints as they clicked into place and unstuck from disuse.

Hours later, after walking around and recounting their supplies for the third time, he figured that they could use some money. He didn’t have anything better to do and his skin was buzzing with the itch of using his Vision again. He craved the feeling of its warmth against his chest.

For a second his mind supplied him with the horrible thought that maybe he was becoming a little bit too similar to that bloodthirsty dumbass Tartaglia. He shivered in disgust.

The midday sun was high but weak when he reached Hanamizaka. A chilly breeze carried sakura petals and maple leaves alike and he concentrated on the rise and fall of his chest that came to him like second nature. He had no interest in blending with humans or becoming one, but he had had hundreds of years of practice on the matter and at this point it was harder to stop himself from breathing in and out this air he didn’t really need.

Hanamizaka was quiet. The low murmur of people around him still far enough to remain comfortable, the soft hum of the river as background noise and his steps around the tree silent as he marched towards the Adventurer’s Guild. His mind was set on not thinking about the conversation he so not wanted to have with the marionette working there.

Over the slope rested the forge run by one of the descendants of the Amenoma clan. White smoke dissipated into thin air as the sounds of iron against iron slowly reached him with every step he took. Blood buzzed inside his ears as he remembered the heavy feeling of a hammer in his fist, the strength and precision it took him so much time to learn until he finally struck his first decent blow onto the flaming iron with his thin arms.

But before he could do something stupid, like walk towards the old man guarding the place and confessing that everything he thought he knew about his family was false, or ask him if he could use the forge just for the sake of nostalgia, he noticed the crowd that gathered around the flight of stairs.

“Not fair!” The voice of a kid shouted, but Belial couldn’t exactly pinpoint where it was coming from. Although there were a couple or three adults around the circle, the rest of them were all children. Estimating human ages had never been his forte, but as he stood at a safe distance from them, Belial could be sure that they were at least shorter than him.

A raucous laughter boomed in the crowd, loud as thunder as its owner stood up from his crouched position on the floor and rested his arms on his hips. Belial almost took a step back. He had already been taller than the kids while on his knees, but seeing him in all of his size made Belial think that the world wasn’t fair.

“Ah, my guy, my bro, my friend, it is what it is,” he said, as he snatched a card from the kid’s hand with little effort and a way too smug look for someone who had just won a game against a kid. “I win and you lose,” he reiterated, loud. Way too loud. And then he laughed again.

The other kid threw a tantrum as his friends pulled their cards from their pockets, ready to avenge their fallen friend. But before they could start another game, someone screamed from behind Belial.

“Arataki Itto!” The voice was accompanied by fast steps as a door closed behind her. A blonde girl appeared by Belial’s side and paid him no mind as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “How many times have I told you not to scream in front of our fireworks shop?”

“But Yoimiya,” the big guy—Arataki Itto—whined, as if he were no older than the literal children around him which he doubled in size and probably tripled in age. “We were just playing and I was winning.”

Belial was convinced that she was going to shoo them all away, but Yoimiya’s frown didn’t remain for much longer. Soon, a smirk slipped into her lips.

“Your winning strike won’t last long, right, kids?”

Belial didn’t know how, but suddenly Yoimiya was commanding an army of children as they jumped in place and raised their cards.

Yoimiya raised a finger up to her lips. “But remember not to scream too loud, okay? We don’t want Miss Nakamura chasing us away with the broom again.”

Belial didn’t need to know the full story to understand the pure look of horror Yoimiya just instigated on the kids. Some of them even looked at one another with their hands over their mouth and eyes wide, others muttered whispered affirmatives.

“Who wants some,” Itto clamored, ignoring Yoimiya, and Belial wondered if maybe he was just physically incapable of lowering his voice.

“Me first, me first!” One of the kids said, unafraid and stepping to the front, assuming a battle pose. Belial didn’t think it was that serious, but here he was, completely invested in a child’s game.

“Bring it on!” Itto said.

Belial disconnected from the games which Itto kept winning, apparently to everyone’s surprise, while wondering if he always spoke like a character out of a children’s theater play. He wasn’t sure why he was still there when he came into the city with a purpose, why he didn’t leave and head to the shops which were already open.

Yoimiya sighed and shook her head, tired from the banter that kept going back and forth as Itto riled the kids up. She turned her head towards him.

“Hey,” she greeted him, to which Belial offered a nod of acknowledgement. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around here.”

Belial hummed as he drew the strength he needed for this conversation. Everything was still too recent and he kind of felt like a hypocrite for refusing Kazuha’s invitation to go with him in order to avoid new people, but then here he was.

Well, if anything, he could always hide under his hat.

“I just came back after a long time,” he said.

“Makes sense,” Yoimiya replied in her cheerful tone, and there was clearly nothing more behind it. “In that case, welcome back…”

“Belial.”

“Yoimiya,” she provided as she brought a hand to her chest. Belial already knew, but he nodded nonetheless.

Then, as the games passed, Yoimiya just talked and talked and talked. About Hanamizaka and these kids, about Itto and their gang, about the fireworks shop that her family ran. She was a little bit too cheerful for Belial’s comfort, explosive in a way that tired him in an attempt to politely keep up with her at least to a minimum.

She always had things to say and Belial almost didn’t notice the yet another win from Itto as she was talking about the preparations everyone was working on for the upcoming Winter solstice.

“In two days from now,” she clarified, holding the said number of fingers up. Or perhaps it was a victory sign as she rejoiced in the fireworks she had already prepared for the show. “You should come, it will be so much fun.”

“I won again?” Itto said, and the disbelief was evident in his voice. Belial raised an eyebrow. “I mean! I won again!” Another one of his boisterous laughs. “Of course I did!”

One of the kids approached Yoimiya. “Yoimiya, I’m out of cards,” he whined.

She patted his head and pouted with him. “Don’t worry, Ryuu, you will beat him next time.”

But some other kids weren’t as peaceful as Ryuu and they didn’t take their losses just as well.

“Dumb oni Itto. I hate you!”

“Hey!” Yoimiya raised her voice. “Language, Shun.”

“Yeah, little man, calm down,” Itto said, and Belial was surprised that he could behave like an adult too. “I would also have beaten you had I been human,” he showed him his tongue as he winked and then laughed again at Shun’s tantrum.

“That’s not true, you’re stronger than us. It’s not fair.”

Belial noticed for the first time the horns that crowned Itto’s head that matched the rest of the tattoos all around his huge form. Itto was so intense that even looking at him tired Belial to no end, so it made sense that he didn’t see them until now. Had he not noticed them, Belial would have gone on with his day thinking he just met the weirdest human he had ever crossed paths with.

“You’re just weak,” he said, and Belial was sure that, oni or human, he was the same mental age as the kid in front of him. “Me being an oni has nothing to do with it,” he scoffed, ignoring the kids’ complaints.

But the fight was quickly forgotten as another round of the game started. Though Belial’s head was in a completely different place.

Itto exuded a type of confidence in everything he did that Belial could only wish to have. He only knew him for less than an hour and he could already read him like an open book. He was way too simple-minded, but he was also so unapologetically himself . Unashamed of losing against a bunch of kids, proud of his identity as an oni, big and loud and dumb and Belial could only think about that time he got called a youkai when he was at the Tatarasuna forge. The way he had denied the statement and had been left speechless as he hadn’t been able to answer to what exactly he was.

“How does he do it?” Belial asked, still staring at Itto as he threw one of his cards and ignoring Yoimiya’s gaze on him. “I thought the oni kind had a hard time integrating into human society. But Itto seems so…” He didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

Yoimiya hummed. “It’s true that youkai and hybrids’ situation has improved over the years in that regard, but I think it has nothing to do with that. Itto is just Itto, I guess. He has always been and the kids think so too,” she laughed, bright and open. “Besides,” she turned to him and knocked on her knee. It sounded hollow and Belial realized that what he had thought to be armor, in reality, was a prosthetic leg. “Am I less of a human if part of me is made of wood?”

Belial took way too long to answer that, but not because he denied Yoimiya’s words. His head was spinning and her words echoed in his head like they wanted to engrave themselves in the insides of his skull.

Yoimiya didn’t seem fazed by his lack of answer, though. Belial was starting to think that nothing could shake her.

“I don’t think so," she answered her own question. "I think that even if I was completely made of wood, I wouldn’t be less of a human.”

Belial thought about turning on his heels and leaving this city forever, until it burned to ashes or at least until Kazuha was back, but before his feet moved, his attention was brought back to Itto and the circle of kids that surrounded him.

“I beat every single one of you,” he said proudly, loudly and everything that only served to rile the kids up even more.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Itto. You’ll never beat us at beetle brawl.”

Dramatically, Itto brought a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Hiromi.”

“And we will get our cards back, you will see.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

One of the kids approached them again. Belial thought his name was Yuuma. “Yoimiya, we need your help. You need to beat him,” he implored, his hands in little fists in front of him.

Yoimiya shook a hand in front of her face with an apologetic look. “Sorry, Yuuma but I’m really, really bad at this game,” she laughed and hummed in thought for a second. “What about him?”

When Belial saw the kid looking at him with starry eyes, Belial raised an eyebrow and turned his head to see Yoimiya pointing in his direction. “What?”

“Weird grown up with the hat! Please! You need to help us.”

Belial looked at him with squinted eyes to see if he dared call him that again. But then he noticed that picking a fight with a child made him no better than the oni standing just a few steps away from him. He sighed.

“I don’t even know what game you’re playing,” he said.

But to Yuuma that sounded like the confirmation that he needed, as he gasped and brought him to the circle with a hand around his wrist as two more kids pushed him with their little hands against his back. Belial knew that he could send them all flying to the Statue of the Omnipresent God if he wanted to, but he still sent a look over his shoulder to where Yoimiya stood and hoped his eyes conveyed the help that he needed.

She just nodded and sent him a thumbs up. He resigned to his fate.

With all the kids behind and the oni in front of him, Belial felt like he was the leader of a very small army.

“Guy with the funny hat!” Itto greeted him.

“It’s Belial.”

“Belial!” He said in the same voice. “Ready to get crushed?”

Belial would at least want to know what exactly he had gotten himself into. Yuuma pulled his sleeve and he crouched so that the kid could reach his ear.

“Here,” he whispered, “this is my last card.” Yuuma handed it to him with both hands like he was giving him his most prized possession. At his age, maybe he was. “You have to throw it to the floor and try to flip Itto’s card, okay?”

Belial nodded. “So it’s just menko?” He asked, and the kid's eyes glowed at the mention of the game’s name, wrongly thinking that Belial knowing it automatically made him an expert at it. 

He looked at the piece of cardboard in his hands. The figure of a girl was printed onto the front, striking an elegant pose as her hair and dress flowed with the wind. On the backside there was a description of, probably, said character and her abilities. It read “As graceful as the frost drifting in the wind, as elegant as a heron perched in a courtyard.” And a name, “Kamisato Ayaka”. Belial knew that name. Kazuha mentioned her as the youngest daughter of the Kamisato clan.

Under that, there was a complicated description of normal attacks, ultimates, buffs and lots of numbers he didn’t understand.

He frowned and turned the card in all directions, as if there was more to see than a front and a back side. Clearly, this wasn’t a card made to play menko. “What even is this?”

“They are Genius Invokation cards. The game is very difficult and we don’t know how to play it, but the cards are really cool, so instead we use them to play menko.”

Oh. So that was why they were familiar to him. Belial remembered Nahida coming back once to the room where he had been resting and healing—even if at that moment it had felt more like a jail than a bedroom—with three cards and she had explained to him what they were and how the General Mahamatra had taught her how to set up a deck to play. He hadn’t been in the best headspace at that time and sometimes his only method of rebellion against Nahida’s care and kindness had been to close within himself and not listen, so it made sense that he didn’t recognise them.

Belial stood up again as Itto set his card on the ground.

“I’ll start,” Belial said. “Given that this is my only card.”

Itto shrugged with the confidence of a man that had been winning for way too many rounds. If he squinted, Belial could almost see his shoulders reaching the sky, almost as high as his ego.

“If that’s what you want,” he scoffed, placing one of his own on the ground.

“I don’t have any other choice,” Belial responded. Was he trying to make Itto underestimate him so that he subconsciously went softer against him? Yeah. Was emotional manipulation part of the game? No, but Belial had never cared about fair play.

When he was at Tatarasuna, time after he found his place amongst its people, he remembered playing this exact game with the other kids living there. It was a stark contrast, the puppet that looked the oldest of all, playing with the rest as the kid that he was. He remembered first playing in between reading and writing lessons and, later, after his shift at the furnace. Not with cards but with milk caps from the bottles that they received every couple of days from Inazuma City.

Belial threw his card with a dry slap that came to him like second nature. The kids gasped when Itto’s initial card remained still on the floor and Belial clicked his tongue. It was dumb to get so worked up over a game, to turn around, look at the kids’ faces —kids he didn’t know an hour ago— and care about their worried expressions.

But he did, and the next time Itto threw a card to the ground, he uselessly held his breath in anticipation. Itto’s second card fell next to his but its slap felt more like a caress and the cards didn’t move an inch. Belial held his breath and noticed that the more time he spent surrounded by humans, the more his masking habits resurfaced.

That hadn’t happened with Kazuha, though. Around Kazuha he had never felt the need to try and blend in with him. And although he had fallen back into the habit of observing him, that was it. His skin never prickled with the need to imitate Kazuha’s actions, to eat, to pretend to sleep, to pretend to breathe at all times.

“Come on, you can do it!” Yuuma said from behind Belial, and he didn’t need to turn around to know that his face was full of determination and blind faith.

So Belial picked his blue toned card up and the next time he threw it, he infused it with just a little speckle of Anemo energy. Almost nothing at all, but enough so that when it touched the ground, the air bubble he had stuck to the backside popped, dispersed and turned around both of Itto’s cards.

Shouts of joy erupted behind him, accompanying the kids jumping up and down. But Belial ignored them in favor of smirking as he picked all three cards from the floor. “These are mine now.”

Itto fell to his knees in such a dramatic way that Belial took a step back. He brought his hands to his face. “I admit defeat,” he sounded so heartbroken that Belial almost felt bad for cheating. Almost.

But not enough so that when another kid asked for him to recover his cards too, he repeated his little trick on an Itto with renewed energy and the hope that he had just had a stroke of bad luck. And again. And again, and again, and then one more time until he slowly but surely got all of the kids’ cards back and the deck in his hand was so thick he could barely hold onto it.

He alternated games in which he played fairly with others where he paired himself with his Vision. It was fun even if a bit distressing at times, being around so many people. But kids were different. Even in the Fatui, they expected him to hate kids given his horrible attitude towards everyone, but that was just because they were a bunch of assholes. Kids were naïve, yes, but they were also easier to deal with than adults, and much easier to content and treat too.

Itto sighed one last time as he lost the remaining card in his deck and raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, I learned my lesson.”

“Are you sure?” Yoimiya asked him from the sidelines.

“If you get too greedy you can lose everything just as fast.”

“Perfect,” she smiled.

Belial turned towards the kids and started going through the deck as they reclaimed their cards. From time to time he had to scold some of them as they tried to call dibs on cards that were not theirs, but other than that the kids were good around him.

Yuuma approached him later, as he was standing next to Yoimiya watching them play against each other and Itto, who had already forgotten everything he promised he had learned. 

“Belial,” he called him. “Want me to show you the cards in my deck?”

“Of course,” Belial said, even if he was already too tired of being around all of them.

So he sat down on a step of the stairs leading to the main street and watched as Yuuma listed what apparently was almost every Vision holder in Inazuma and its neighboring regions, including Itto and Yoimiya.

“You can pick one and keep it,” he handed the deck to Belial so that he could study them in more detail. 

Belial hummed in thought, but Yuuma’s voice interrupted them. “Do you know them?” He asked, and Belial was confused about what he meant until he saw his little finger pointing to the cards. “I know that people with Visions tend to go together.”

“Some of them do, yes.”

“Yoimiya and Itto always play together, but sometimes Itto goes too far and Miss Kuki has to come pick him up. And sometimes Thoma plays with us too,” he continued as Belial flipped through the deck, only half hearing him rant about a list of names that he didn’t know nor cared for.

Yuuma pointed at Belial’s chest and then lowered his voice as he covered his mouth with his hand. “I saw what you did earlier. With the cards.”

Belial hummed. It wasn’t an affirmation nor a denial. Just a neutral hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Yuuma didn’t seem to catch onto Belial’s sarcasm. “I saw you using your Vision to win,” he whispered even lower.

Belial stopped the movements of his hands and looked at Yuuma. “Are you disappointed in me for what I did?”

The kid brought his finger in front of his mouth as if he was deep in thought and was trying to answer a very deep, philosophical question. “Yoimiya always tells us that cheating is wrong and that we shouldn’t do it, but in the end you got us our cards back, so I don’t think you can be a bad person.”

“What if I was a really bad person, though?”

Yuuma tilted his head, as if it weighed a lot, full of confusion and contradicting thoughts. “But a bad person wouldn’t have come when we asked for help. You didn’t even complain about helping us. I think that would make you a good person, right?”

Belial averted his gaze from the kid’s overwhelming intensity. That was one thing that Belial disliked about children, how difficult gray ideas were for them, and Belial was full of colorless tones.

In an attempt to change the subject, he picked one card from the deck and raised it to Yuuma’s face. “I want this one,” he said.

The kid snatched it from his hand and looked at it. Only when he lowered it, Belial could observe which one he had picked. It showed a woman striking a dramatic pose with her weapon at the ready, all blue, purple and red tones. But the most striking feature was the huge hat she was wearing. Belial blinked in disbelief.

“Not this witch,” he said aloud before he could stop himself.

Yuuma turned the card around. “Mona,” he read. “Do you know her?”

Belial scrunched his whole face as he was reminded of her existence. The last thing he needed now was to pull the card of the other weird girl with the talking bird. “Unfortunately,” he said. Even if she didn’t know him anymore.

But still, he got his card back and savored the irony of the whole situation. Mona could try to learn all that she wanted from the sky and the stars, she could study every constellation against the false sky and still. Still. She would never find anything about him. He would always know more about her than she would know about him. Kazuha would have said there was some sort of poetic justice in it all, and he would not be the one to deny it this time.

Belial was ready to flee the city by the time he got away from the many waves and goodbyes the kids bid him farewell with. For the first time in years, he felt tired. Not from the physical effort required to reach the top of the stairs that led to the Adventurer’s Guild, but from everything else.

Worse than entertaining twenty Nahidas, because back then he used to ignore even the only person that worried about him.

He didn’t know what brought him farther into the city when all he wanted was to leave, until he saw the small shop crowned with an assortment of colorful umbrellas under the name of Tsukumomono Groceries. Kazuha’s words came back to him, unintended, from that moment a couple of days ago, before they decided to spend all their money on alcohol. Before everything else that followed. Kazuha’s voice suggesting they buy some tofu, rice, or anything else they usually couldn’t get their hands on.

“Good morning,” a cheerful voice pulled him out of his head and Belial realized he had walked the few steps separating him from the shop. “Is there anything I can get you? I would recommend our shrimps, we just got them fresh from Watatsumi Island this morning.”

Belial looked at the assortment of food and avoided the woman’s gaze in front of him. There was only so much he would be able to tolerate after being drained out of his own body by a bunch of kids.

“I’ll have some tofu,” he said, before stopping to remember that he didn’t need any of that. “And rice and miso paste, please.”

He paid with what was left at the bottom of their sachet and left with a nod and long steps towards a street he didn’t know where it would lead him. Away. Just away from the Commercial Street and he would be fine.

Or so he thought. Because on the first turn, he heard his name being called. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end, but when the voice called again, Belial noticed it had a childish ring. His shoulders relaxed, his need to run away quelled once he remembered that no one in this city really knew him.

The trinkets on his hat clinked when he turned around and Yuuma was an easy to spot silhouette against the backdrop of the sky next to a small shrine. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever that was about, yet he tightened his grip on his bag and one step after another led him to the wooden platform some of the kids were now sitting on.

“Remember Thoma?” Yuuma asked, pointing towards the only adult in between the bunch of kids. Some of them were familiar to him and they were sewing something that looked like stars but that could very well be something completely different.

Thoma raised his head as he finished a stitch and secured the needle before waving at him. “Hey,” he greeted him with a warm smile. “You’re Belial, right? Yuuma told us you helped him and his friends with Itto earlier.”

Belial didn’t remember Thoma, but he hummed in acknowledgement. He couldn’t help but wonder if his fate was to be the hero of some eight-year-olds, if that was what being worshiped had felt like back when he had been plugged to the conscience of the God.

Although Belial considered he deserved all the compliments he was getting for everything he did for those kids, he didn’t need more attention than the strict necessary. Not while they were in the city, where she had ears in the air all around them. Humbleness, that was what he needed to get them to drop the subject. He didn’t know much about that, but Kazuha did.

“I just did what I could,” he said, in the same tone that Kazuha used every time they completed one of their commissions.

“Would you like to help us now too?” Thoma asked with an inviting smile as he raised the fabric he was working on. “Or maybe just sit around for a while?”

And before Belial could refuse or ask what even it was that they were doing, another one of the kids raised to her knees.

“We’re making winter stars!” A brunette girl provided, raising a blue shape of some type over her head. Was that really a star? Belial knew better than to ask.

Without another word Belial sat cross-legged on the floor and mourned the possibility of leaving for his camp as soon as possible. All of this was too much to be doing alone. Belial just wanted to lay in that tent and wait for Kazuha to be back as soon as possible. He would be the one to talk to Katheryne, and buy from the shops, and speak to the kids, and every other draining human interaction Belial was looking forward to avoiding at all costs.

“Tomorrow’s the first day of the festival,” Thoma started to explain to him before he even had to ask. It seemed like those eyes could read him easily and Belial suddenly understood how he was able to handle a bunch of kids armed with needles all alone. “It is said that tomorrow’s the longest night of the year, so we’re making star garlands out of fabric scraps to hang across the streets.”

“We will write our wishes on them and they will shine all night and become true in the morning.”

Belial wasn’t entirely sure wishes worked like that, but refuting them would lead to a fight he didn’t want to get himself into. Instead, he just nodded in mock understanding.

“Do you know how to sew?” Thoma handed him a bunch of stuff Belial just grabbed without questioning himself. Two pieces of red fabric, a pair of scissors, some thread and a needle.

“It’s been a while,” he just answered.

On his first try, he silently imitated whatever Thoma did, cutting the pieces by following the pattern, placing them over each other, stitching them together and, slowly, like getting to meet again a long lost friend, the needle started to fit in between his thumb and pointy finger as if there was a long thin indenture in its shape in his skin.

Once all that was left was a small hole, Yuuma helped him fill the star with fabric scraps and thread ends before he sewed the ends together. Then, without asking for permission from anyone, he picked up two more pieces of fabric and got back to work.

The way the needle disappeared into the fabric and later resurfaced slightly further down the line was mechanical, therapeutic in a way Belial had completely forgotten. His fingers placed precise stitches into the fabric, almost in a trance, allowing for his mind to race. In. Out. In. Out. And Belial didn’t deny the images when they came to him instead of the view of the needle. Other sewing needles. Different companies. Still the same enthralling sensation of being able to let go of everything else that wasn’t the pattern of stitches in front of him.

In between these kids he didn’t think he stood out much. Especially now, with a needle in his hand, he felt no different from the blank slate that arrived at the forge of Tatarasuna on bare feet and an innocent view of the world, ready to learn whatever they were willing to teach him.

At some point Belial resurfaced and realized there was now a pile of stars laying by his feet. The sun was low against the horizon and its orange light darkened the sea waters below. It was cold, but it didn’t matter.

“And we’re done,” Thoma announced with a clap and the kids cheered as they raised their creations in the air. “Now let’s put all the stars into this box and I’ll make sure they’re all ready to hang up by tomorrow morning, alright?” His tone was warm and even though it didn’t sound like an order, the kids still rushed to get their little projects into the crate by Thoma’s feet.

Belial got up and cracked his joints as he took a deep breath, his chest still rising and falling against his will. His body was stiff from inadvertently hunching for too long, but that heavy weight from earlier was gone. The one that had made it hard for him to go up the stairs, to get his voice out in front of the vendor, that made him want to get away from the city and its people.

“Here,” Thoma spoke again and Belial, still in somewhat of a trance, startled when hearing him. The blond guy was holding some of the materials they just used. “I saw you enjoying yourself while working and we have materials to spare now that we’re done, so you can have them if you want.”

Belial received them into his hands as if it was something akin to a treasure. Instead, it was just a pile of fabrics of different colors and sizes, threads and some needles. Belial closed his hands around them.

“Thank you,” he muttered, with a softness he didn’t intend to let out and that expected Thoma to forget as soon as possible.

“By the way,” Thoma said, and if he noticed Belial’s little slip, he didn’t show. “Tomorrow morning we will be writing our wishes on the stars, you can come write on yours if you’d like.”

Belial glanced at the kids, who were now explaining to each other by making a big fuss about all of the things they were going to ask for in their stars. They were big wishes, new toys, their parents to treat them like grownups already or the clouds to become candy floss. Very crucial, important wishes to the betterment of humanity.

Belial scoffed. “I think they will make better use of them than me.”

He waved them all goodbye and left before Yuuma or any of the kids had any great idea like suggesting him to stay around. He could tolerate their presence in short bursts of energetic innocence, but only for so long before it got to him in the most painful way possible.

When he reached the tent that night, he turned on the lantern and set aside the bag with the groceries he wouldn’t be using. As he sat down against the middle pole, legs stretched in front of him, he side eyed it. Then, he pulled out everything Thoma had given him and started sorting through it with new eyes. He was certain the night would not be a long one, as he slid a knife through a purple cloth and got to work.

The doll was left forgotten on some corner as Belial left the tent when dawn broke the following day. 

The sun had just risen and the wooden planks under his feet were slippery with the remains of freezing dew. He left Ritou behind on his way to the last dock, the biggest one. As he heard one of the dock stevedores say as he pointed his finger at the huge ship already taking its place, it was the only one that could fit The Crux's flagship.

Belial watched it sway over the calm seas of the early morning, but it was far from silent on the last pier as dozens of sailors with sweaty brows and flexed muscles worked on taking all the merchandise off the ship in between huffs and groans. They followed orders from a woman with a firm voice who kept pointing here and there, leading the heavy boxes to where she needed them to be.

It was loud and hectic, and Belial wondered if perhaps the size of the ship wasn't the only reason they had to dock the Alcor at the farthest pier in the harbor.

It couldn’t have been long since their arrival and Belial was in a sort of trance, watching from afar all the people come and go like a well-oiled machine, as if everyone knew where they were needed most at every moment.

And yet, the flurry of the dock wasn’t enough to make him miss the mop of white hair and autumn clothes walking down the gangplank, making his way through the crew with swiftness and light steps, as if moving with the wind.

Before he even registered it, Belial had jumped off the crate where he was sitting to meet Kazuha halfway on the long dock. As if he could feel Belial’s steps on the wood below his feet, Kazuha met his gaze with a warm smile.

“Greetings,” he said once they reached each other. Something in the middle of Belial’s chest fluttered in excitement.

“Why are you so formal?” He said instead, getting a chuckle out of Kazuha. He looked out of place in the middle of the rising winter day ahead of them.

Kazuha raised an eyebrow at him and Belial had forgotten in the span of these two days, that in retrospect had felt like a lifetime, what it felt like to be read like an open book, to be speared in the middle of the chest, poked and probed.

“Kazuha!” A voice screamed behind the ronin. He immediately turned around as if faced with a threat. His shoulders slumped upon noticing its origin. Belial located the woman from before, probably the captain, which he could now see had an eye covered by an eyepatch. She seemed stronger than any other person on that ship. “Are you leaving?” She asked. It didn’t sound accusatory.

“Yes,” Kazuha answered, and Belial released a breath. “Unless you need me for anything else?”

The woman turned to give a couple more directions before dismissing Kazuha with the shake of her hand. “I’ve had enough of your poetry, kid,” she said with a smirk. Even though Kazuha’s back was facing him, he could see Kazuha mirroring it.

She didn’t tell him when to come back, and Kazuha didn’t tell her he would. Still, Belial sensed it. The way in which both of them knew that their paths would eventually cross again with a certainty that didn’t need words.

“Alright,” he said, and Belial was able to take him in for the first time. His hair was disheveled, cheeks a rosy red from the caress of the seabreeze and the cold’s bite. He looked the same as the day he left except for the very subtle tan on his face and the bags he was carrying on his shoulders. Belial wanted to ask, to tell him lots of things but, more than that, he wanted to leave the harbor right now.

There were still things unsaid between them that these couple of days wouldn’t make him forget, but answers were not something he desperately needed right now.

On their way back across Ritou, Belial paid attention to the decorations for the first time. He saw the flags, the posters announcing the fireworks show and the marketplace that would take place the following day.

“A festival?” Kazuha asked, bringing a hand to his chin.

Belial hummed. “The Winter Solstice.”

When he raised his head, he saw the stars, garlands of handmade little things hanging from the trees all the way to the middle of the square with messages written on them in terrible calligraphy.

“Belial!” The voice of a kid and several pairs of fast steps approached them at dangerous speeds. Yuuma and his friends were again in front of him, dragging with them an extremely tired-looking Thoma, and for a second Belial felt like he hadn’t left them all since yesterday. He sighed.

“Did you see the stars?” One of them asked. Belial nodded, ignoring Kazuha’s very entertained, very not concealed look at him. “That one’s yours,” he said, pointing somewhere above their heads. Maybe a human wouldn’t have been able to read it, but Belial could easily see the words now written on his first creation: “health for my family”. It was legible, so Belial assumed it was Thoma’s doing.

“Kazuha, you’re back,” Thoma said, as if one kid wasn’t just hanging from his arm like it was a branch.

“Hello, Thoma,” Kazuha greeted him with another one of his gentle smiles. “Are Ayaka and Ayato doing well?”

Thoma huffed. “The Kamisato State is a mess, the Yashiro Commission is in the middle of organizing the festivities, but we will be fine once this storm passes. At least we’re having fun, right?” He said to the kids, who cheered and jumped as if they were trying to reach for their stars. The one on his arm swinged back and forth.

Belial tried not to react to the fact that Thoma was part of the Kamisato clan and that he, like a fool, hadn’t connected the dots until now. The stars, activities for kids; and the Kamisato Clan, head of the Yashiro Commission, in charge of civilian affairs and cultural festivities. He sighed and tried to ignore Kazuha’s side stare.

As they left Ritou behind and made their way to Konda Village, Belial felt a weight lifting from his shoulders once they left the city. That was, until Kazuha decided to speak again.

“You made some friends, I see.” Of course he would bring it up again. Belial wondered if he really needed to keep traveling with him. A voice in his head instantly gave him his answer.

“If you want to call them that.”

Kazuha glanced at him before returning his gaze to the line where the skies met the buildings of Inazuma in the horizon. His breath fogged in front of him before he spoke. “I think they would call you friend and so should you.”

For a second, Belial was assaulted with the thought that perhaps the only person he would call friend was Kazuha. He was the only one he tolerated for extended amounts of time, the only one he wanted to see again and again. Although maybe his definition of friend was too strict. Nahida was also a friend on top of everything else, and somehow the Traveler and Paimon were too if he felt like broadening his views just a little bit more. In an effort, he decided to include Itto, Yoimiya, Yuuma, Thoma— Belial was suddenly overwhelmed with the amount of names he could place in that bag that used to be so empty. Was it right? Did it matter? They were just labels, anyway.

Their camp was in the same patch of soil Kazuha had left it some days ago. To Belial, everything was placed exactly like in the morning. It felt natural for them to get comfortable. They didn’t have designated spaces or seats, but still they folded around each other with ease.

Kazuha’s gaze flew to the pot Belial had covered with a lid as he sat on the ground. It was hard and the day was cold, but Kazuha didn’t complain. He never did.

“What’s this?” He asked, his hands kept away from the food even though there was no other person in the camp who could make good use of it.

Belial sat down next to him and rested a cheek on his palm. “I was bored this morning and felt like cooking,” he said. What he didn’t mention was that he had tried to occupy his time before he grew bored and made his way to Ritou, because he didn’t want to arrive too early. Kazuha didn’t have to know that. “You can have it,” he gestured to the pot with his free hand.

“Thank you,” Kazuha said with a cheekiness that Belial recognised as him getting his way. Belial huffed as he helped him light the fire to heat it up and he slapped Kazuha’s hand away when he tried to peek into the pot.

It was pointless. “Tofu?” Kazuha asked. His nose dove deeper over the broth that was slowly but surely heating up despite the cold surrounding them. “You made miso soup?”

“You don’t like it?” Belial retorted.

“You know I do.”

As the soup warmed up and Belial stirred it and stirred it just for the sake of keeping himself entertained, Kazuha scooted back into the tent to take out of his bag some kind of fabric that looked wide and thick. He draped a blanket over his shoulders, and it drowned him under tones of orange and brown.

Even though the day was cold, the sun was high in the sky and as the miso soup started to fill their every breath, Kazuha laid back flat and enjoyed the quiet of the empty road a few feet away from the tent. Something caught Kazuha’s attention out of the corner of his eye, and Belial paid him no mind as he prepared two servings of his simple rendition of the miso soup. He would indulge himself, just this one time.

“What’s this?” Kazuha asked, cradling the little doll in between his hands. Belial held his breath and tried not to spill the ladle he was serving. He stopped midway, his gaze fixed on the way Kazuha held the doll like it was precious, like it was alive.

“Something I made,” he said.

“You made it yourself?” Kazuha asked and Belial frowned. Of course he did. The tent was littered with thread ends and fabric scraps. Kazuha knew he made it.

Still, he answered. “I did, when I was bored.” His attempts to disregard the doll clad in a white and purple attire, with a single tear under an eye fell to deaf ears as Kazuha turned the little thing around like there was much to study about it. “I was going to throw it away.”

“Can I keep it?”

Belial’s gaze flew to Kazuha’s, who was still eyeing the doll like he knew exactly who it was supposed to be.

“Why would you want to keep it?” Belial frowned. The stitches were all lopsided due to the lack of light and his scissors (which the kids had somehow covered in glue) had left dents on the edges of the fabric with their soft blades.

“It’s cute, I like it,” Kazuha said, still transfixed by his creation. “Does it have a name?”

“I didn’t give him one.” Belial knew they weren’t talking about the doll anymore and the edges of the hole in his chest fluttered with something he didn’t want to think about. He hadn’t felt like this since Kazuha left because, when he was around, Belial’s other names existed in places outside of himself.

“But people have to refer to him in some way, right?”

Many nights ago, when the days were longer and the seasons warmer, he had told Kazuha that there were no others. At least none that mattered. And Kazuha had accepted his answer with a curt nod and a change in topic.

Yet, now, he was asking again, and the question fell differently into Belial’s ears. This time, it didn’t feel like an attack, like he needed to hide the part of him that he made the world forget.

“Kabukimono,” his voice choked, and he hated it, but Kazuha pretended not to notice.

“Kabu-chan it is, then,” Kazuha placed the doll in the front part of his haori, tucked away safely as he grabbed his bowl from the ground and sipped the scalding broth with eyes pressed tight and a hum of satisfaction.

He couldn’t see the way Belial’s world had stopped spinning as he heard time and time again inside his head the way Kazuha had said his name—no, not his anymore. And yet, with that red stripe of hair on top of his head and that gentleness that seemed to come in the Kaedehara blood, Belial was once again faced with the image of Niwa.

So, instead of looking at it, he closed his eyes, picked his bowl up and drank it with his eyes closed as well, as he listened to Kazuha retell the stories he had heard on his two days aboard the Alcor. Of great feats and sea monsters, of waves taller than the Jade Chamber.

Belial came back to the real world as Kazuha set his bowl down with a sigh and reached back into the tent once again.

“I have something for you too,” he announced.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Belial frowned.

But Kazuha shook his head and pointed towards his haori. “That’s not true,” he said with a tone that left no room to argue.

“I don’t deserve a present.”

Still, Kazuha extended his hands and Belial took the bag. “Presents are made for the pleasure of the one who gives them, not for the merits of those who receive them.”

Belial huffed at his flowery words. The bag was heavy and hard, and when he peeked inside he saw a wooden plank. Curiosity got the best of him and when he took it out he was faced with some type of checkerboard. Without intending to, he shook it and a rattling sound came from inside. It seemed to be a box as well.

“What’s this?” He still asked.

Kazuha sat back and rested with his hands on the ground behind his back. “When I told Beidou I would be leaving again to keep traveling with you, she gave this to me,” he explained, his bright eyelashes shining against the sunrays, eyes closed as he took in the warmth like a cat.

Belial still didn’t know who this Beidou person was, but he remembered Kazuha mentioning her so many nights ago. That night in which he was completely drunk out of his mind, brushing Belial’s knees against his own, tracing the lines on his fingers with an adoration that Belial still struggled to think back to. Belial assumed that Beidou was the same woman who bid him farewell on the harbor, who he supposed was the captain of the Alcor.

Kazuha kept talking before he could ask.

“It’s chess, a game for two, so technically it’s a gift for me as well,” he said, a subtle smile raising the corners of his lips.

“I knew there had to be a catch.”

Kazuha dismissed him with a shake of his hand. “Beidou said it would be useful to me. It’s her favorite game to play with Ninguang and every time she visits—” Kazuha’s voice slowly died down until his mouth fell shut, his eyes suddenly open wide as he eyed Belial for a second before completely avoiding his gaze. “Oh. Nevermind.”

“Every time she visits… what?”

But Kazuha wasn’t answering and he looked like he just had a life-changing epiphany. Belial tried to think back to the words Kazuha had said in an effort to find a reason as to why Kazuha’s face was turning as red as his hair. That this Beidou woman and someone named Ninguang played chess? That she gifted a board to Kazuha? Belial didn’t see a correlation.

“What’s wrong with you?” Belial pointed a finger at him, frowning. Still, this Kazuha that for some unknown reason had turned into a blushing, silent mess made a smile rise to Belial’s lips. Where had his flowery words gone? “Why are you freaking out?” He insisted, not moved by curiosity anymore but by the need to keep nagging him.

Kazuha’s blush rose to the roots of his hair. “Nothing, seriously, just forget about it.”

“Like I am going to.”

But Kazuha was intent on ignoring him. A smirk kept shaping Belial’s lips while Kazuha’s face turned into a frown. Rigid, neutral, as if he didn’t trust himself with a different expression. His hands moved to empty the checkerboard and all the pieces fell to the ground.

“Let’s play,” he just said. Belial wondered if he could fry some tofu just on the heat emanating from Kazuha’s head.

But in the end he let out a sigh and resigned himself to forgetting about it. Learning the rules to the game wasn’t easy, and if this was Kazuha’s plan to make him ignore the whole thing it was certainly working. He won their first game with a frown of disbelief, as well as the second and the third. He had to be letting him win. But Belial was much too happy about it to question his apparently innate ability at playing chess in front of a Kazuha that surely had a record of hundreds of games against everyone on The Crux during their long travels overseas.

And conversation flowed easily between them as they thought about their next moves. Kazuha told him about the people on The Crux, the banter between the crew members, their camaraderie, the late nights drinking under the moonlight.

“I think you would like it there,” he said, even though Belial had his reservations about it. “Beidou wanted to meet you.”

Belial moved a pawn. “You told her about me?”

“She was curious.”

A beat of silence. Then, “About me? Why?”

Kazuha took a second to respond, his silence filled with something heavy. “It’s been a while since I’ve traveled with someone else.”

After the sixth or seventh game, which Kazuha won with a gente but satisfied grin, Belial noticed that soon the sun would hide behind the line of trees on the horizon.

“Tomorrow’s the start of the festival,” Belial said, watching as the first stars appeared against the warm colors of the sunset. “Yoimiya said that she prepared a fireworks show to celebrate it.”

Kazuha hummed in thought as he stored the chess pieces back in the checkerboard, a subtle smile against the corner of his mouth. “Would you like to go?”

“I think so. Yuuma and the other kids were pretty insistent, they would be disappointed if I didn’t,” he answered as he hugged his knees against his chest.  “They worked pretty hard on their winter stars,” he said as an afterthought.

When he looked to the side, Kazuha was eyeing him with a smile on his face, his eyes upturned into crescent moons, and a warmth within his gaze that Belial didn’t know the meaning of.

His back tensed up, hands tightening around his legs. “What?” He asked.

Kazuha shook his head and returned to his task of putting the game away. Though the smile stayed as if it were a fixed feature on his face.

“Nothing,” he said. “I would love to go. Although… You know I don’t quite enjoy loud sounds, so maybe we could find someplace far from the city to watch them?”

Night fell and a whisper of frigid wind danced around them. Kazuha’s nose was red, and so were his lips and the tips of his ears.

“Sure,” Belial said with a shrug, stretching his legs in front of him and contemplating the dome of flickering lights above them. So different from the ones he crafted. So heavy with wishes too.

The festive ambience reached even the outskirts, the city covered in a warm glow that chased the cold away.

The sun was beginning to hide when they made it to the main street. It was bustling with life in a way they had never seen it before. Lights adorned the sides of every building, food stalls lined the sides of the street and all the shops had selected their best products to display in stands in front of their doors. Even Uyuu restaurant had placed some of their tables outside in a makeshift terrace that made it difficult to walk by, but it was so lively that no one felt like complaining about it.

They let themselves be pulled by the current as they bypassed the people buying, eating and talking on the sides of the street. Most of them had ditched their everyday clothes in favor of wearing their most elegant kimonos. On the particularly busy sections Kazuha grabbed onto Belial’s long sleeve as they made their way through a sea of fabric consisting of every color under the sky.

It was as they emerged from a cluster of people stopped in front of a Dango stall, that two hands grabbed at them and pulled them to the side.

“Found you!” Yoimiya said, ignoring Belial as he recovered from the scare in order to hug Kazuha. “You came. It’s been so long since I last saw you,” she said, jumping on her toes.

Kazuha grinned and hugged her back before she separated from him and slid an arm over his shoulders. She was taller than both of them, especially with the geta she was wearing today. Belial noticed she had changed her clothes for a warm colored kimono she still wore just like her everyday attire. With only one sleeve covering her shoulder while the other one flowed freely by her side, the bandage underneath showing through.

Another girl popped up from behind Yoimiya, and Kazuha quickly greeted her too. Belial acknowledged her with a curt nod of his head, but for the most part he kept to himself. Kamisato Ayaka, from the Yashiro Commission. She was as prim and proper as Belial had imagined her to be from Kazuha’s stories, but nice enough that her calm energy was still able to match Yoimiya’s bursting one.

Yoimiya then turned back to him, her enthusiasm still a bit too much for Belial. “Will you stay for the fireworks show?”

He quickly glanced at Kazuha, who had his arms crossed but wasn’t complaining about Yoimiya’s arm around him, like he was used to such antics coming from her. Kazuha eyed him with a warm smile, even if underneath laid a tinge of amusement.

“That was the plan.”

“Great! Because everything is ready and it’s going to be really, really cool. Right?” She asked Ayaka, who just grinned and nodded. “Don’t miss it!” She said, as she grabbed Ayaka’s hand and pulled them away and into the crowd, her focus surely fixed on something else she had just spotted.

And just as fast as she had made a show of grabbing them, she was gone. Belial sighed. Kazuha’s permanent grin widened and he shamelessly laughed at him.

“She’s like an earthquake,” Belial complained.

“More like a firework.”

“A whole fireworks show.”

Kazuha was right, though. She arrived, exploded into everything that was always loud and bright and colorful, and then she vanished leaving a loud silence at her parting.

The ambience was vibrant enough that when they immersed themselves right back into the waves of people passing by, Belial forgot all the reasons why he normally wanted to stay as far away from the city as he could. Kazuha’s hand around his sleeve was a permanent fixture to his attire and there were so many eyes on him at all times that they made him forget the ones he so desperately wanted to avoid.

He still despised being around so many people, felt annoyed by their banal conversation, the way they pushed him around like he was nothing. But at the same time he thought that today he could let it go. The crowd didn’t really matter when there were some people within it that weren’t that bad, when the sight of Kazuha having a good time and meeting with old friends overshadowed everything else.

They stopped on the bridge by the police station to quietly watch the sea for one minute that soon turned into more. The day had given way to a night sky empty of stars, hidden behind thick clouds here and there. It was a shame they couldn’t be seen, but Belial figured it was so that they wouldn’t steal the spotlight from the ones hanging in garlands all throughout the city; so that they could also be the perfect backdrop for the fireworks.

Belial looked sideways towards Kazuha, who had his eyes closed as if the frigid wind was talking to him, a gentle smile on his face. He looked like he welcomed those sounds better than all the conversations in the crowd they had left behind. Belial too appreciated the respite.

“Will it rain?”

Kazuha took a deep breath, his hands on the wooden parapet. “Yes, but later tonight.”

“Do you want to go back?” He signaled with his gaze the warm lights of the main street, the hum of conversations that still reached them.

Kazuha stayed quiet for a second. It almost seemed like he wanted to extend their time there a little longer. His fingers traced the patterns along Belial’s sleeve which rested by his hand with a distracted look.

“As long as you want to,” he ended up answering.

“I… Actually, I do.” Belial found himself saying as he followed with his eyes the lines Kazuha was tracing. “I still haven’t seen Yuuma and his friends.”

Kazuha’s smile, though, was a lot more interesting than his sleeve. Perhaps that was why he didn’t hear the steps behind him until they were already on top of the bridge. Two pairs of footsteps he didn’t give much thought to at first. After all, they were on top of a public space quite close to the main street and people were in their right to come and go as they pleased.

What caught his attention was Kazuha. It always was, he was starting to learn. The way his eyes opened the slightest bit as they looked over his shoulder, his breath getting caught in his throat for a second. He looked like he was about to open his mouth when someone spoke from behind him.

“If it isn’t Kaedehara Kazuha. Such a long time since we last saw you,” a sultry voice intoned.

Belial’s whole body tensed upon recognizing it. His eyes flew to Kazuha’s and his wide stare matched his. Kazuha blinked a few times before a forced smile raised the corner of his mouth.

“Guuji Yae, it’s always a pleasure to see our paths meeting once again,” Kazuha said, the calmness and playfulness of Yae Miko’s voice reflected back at her.

Belial then turned around to face her, staying just one step behind Kazuha. It was as much as he could do lest he decided to walk two steps back, then three and then leave the city altogether. Because instead of gazing at Yae, who looked exactly the way he remembered her, his attention shifted to the other set of eyes by her side.

The Shogun’s gaze, though, looked entirely different to the one in his memories. The sadness and grief in her eyes as she placed the gnosis inside of him, as she watched him cry night after night, as she put him to sleep in that forgotten pavilion, buried under the earth where no one would find him ever again. The stoic indifference when he was faced with her again, the copy of her, the better version of him that showed no emotions as she listened to him cry about his people dying around the heat of the forge.

The void in his chest made itself known as he watched those violet eyes. It still felt like looking into a mirror, even though this time it was the real her, the one he hadn’t seen in the last lifetime. That sadness he had learned to correlate with his failures was so tame he could barely distinguish it, muddled with the passing of time, healing from it as she went forward, as moments ceased to exist. A sadness that came from something that couldn’t be him.

Because Belial had to remind himself that there was no way she knew who he was. He sacrificed everything for it.

And yet, he felt like she was watching him as if she could pin him down and dissect him like he had been so many times before. On top of an iron table as the Second poked and probed within his chest in search of something not even he had found in his more than four hundred years. But letting him, just to feel like he was being useful, like maybe something was there and he just hadn't been able to find it.

“Always the charmer,” Yae Miko commented, and Kazuha bowed as if to agree with her. Even if she wasn’t looking his way, Belial could feel her attention being drawn to him.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence? Were you on your way to the festival?” Kazuha asked. Belial knew what he was doing, it wasn’t his first time seeing Kazuha sweet-talk someone to get his way, be it to stir a conversation or to get a discount.

Yae Miko hummed. “We wanted to see what all the fuss was about. But first, won’t you introduce us to your friend?”

Her deep violet eyes were now on him. She crossed her arms and brought a hand to her chin, her head tilted.

Belial heard a distant hum inside his ears and nothing else. He raised a hand to his chest. He felt like his insides were going to fall out of the hole in his chest as he felt it widening, stretching, eating him from the inside out. “I’m just a wanderer, no need to worry about me,” he found the words to say.

“We have been traveling together for quite a while now,” Kazuha added.

Yae Miko nodded, but her eyes creased.

“Is there a problem?”

“You look familiar,” the Shogun spoke for the first time and Belial felt the start of something bubbling up inside him, an anger strong enough to knock him out, to awaken something ancient from within him. She was eyeing him like she was looking at a stranger. And that, she was. “You look like someone I knew.”

Wasn’t this what he wanted?

Belial’s breath couldn’t catch in his throat, his blood couldn’t freeze, his heart couldn’t skip a beat. And yet, he felt like he couldn’t move from where he was standing. The sadness he remembered from her was back, visible in her eyes which were looking somewhere else. She wasn’t seeing him. She had never seen him.

“I am from Inazuma,” Belial said, his voice faltering on the last word. “Though if we have seen each other before it must have been years ago. I just came back after a long time.”

“Are you enjoying the festival?” She asked, a gentle smile shaping her lips. Every emotion other than her intrigue over this complete stranger was gone.

He felt his vision losing focus as he reminded himself to maintain the rise and fall of his chest, to keep blinking even if there were spots shaping the edges of it.

“It’s good to be back,” he lied.

Belial was stretched thin, pulled in every direction. He wanted to leave, to stay, to scream and to speak of words that had taken root within him over hundreds of years. He had awaited this moment. It wasn’t vengeance that he wanted from her. He was tired of being the only one to hold onto these ties that would never be truly severed.

Belial opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.

“In that case, I hope you can find a home in Inazuma again,” she said.

Whatever it was that he wanted to say, it didn’t matter anymore. His words flew away with the seabreeze and all he could see was his—her—face looking back at him against the backdrop of the Tenshukaku, in front of the Statue of the Omnipresent God.

Her smile was sincere, free from all the burdens that Belial kept carrying around. And maybe that was the worst part of it all.

A hand grabbed his wrist, firm, warm and grounding. Even if the hole in his chest kept its chokehold on him, the edges of Belial’s vision cleared slightly, just enough for him to realize that Kazuha was standing next to him. He wasn’t a desperate puppet in need of help from the one who created and discarded him. Not anymore.

He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded at her words. He would never find a home in Inazuma, the place that had rejected him since the day of his creation. But she didn’t have to know that. It was better that she didn’t know. As Kazuha’s hand tightened around his wrist he realized that there was nothing he wanted to tell her. Nothing that would do him any good.

So he resorted himself to counting, as Nahida had taught him time and time again when he felt like his strings were pulling too hard at him. Count, as far as he could until he felt his joints unlocking. One, two, three… He still heard the conversation going on around him over his numbers, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Thirty six, thirty seven, thirty eight… He just wanted to go.

“Have fun at the festival,” Kazuha said, as he traced shapes on Belial’s wrist, right over the ridges he knew he would find underneath his clothing.

“Oh, we will,” Miko responded with a sly smirk. “Right, Ei?”

“Miko…” The Shogun—Ei—said in warning, and that was the last thing Belial registered before he felt the vibrations of their steps as they crossed the bridge towards the main street underneath his own sandals.

Before silence could stretch between them, Belial let go of Kazuha and started walking. One step after the other until his vision blurred and his knees gave out before he could even think of running away from this place for good. He didn’t know how much he had walked. There was grass against his legs, barely prickling his porcelain skin, and in between his fingers too as he grabbed the blades in the strongest hold he could muster in an attempt to not rip his hair out instead.

It took him a while to register that the heaving he could hear came from him, from the erratic rise and fall of his chest and shoulders while he tried to keep himself grounded and look at the sea in the horizon. But he couldn’t see anything because the droplets that were falling onto his hands weren’t from the rain Kazuha had foretold earlier.

Those were his own tears, falling uncontrollably in the heart of the city as he was once again reminded of how little had this place ever done for him.

He was no longer the puppet that he used to be. He was useful and capable. He didn’t cry. He was over that. Crying was for the weak. And yet, he couldn’t stop as he watched with hatred every single tear that rolled down his face against his will.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see them sooner.”

At some point, Kazuha had sat down next to him, close enough that Belial could feel his presence without needing to look. He was staring straight ahead, into the dark depths of the sea under an overcast night sky, as if to give him some false sense of privacy.

“Why are you apologizing?” He spit.

The tears kept flowing freely down his cheeks, a dam that had broken under the pressure of centuries of bottling everything up inside his chest. And there was plenty of space there for it.

“If it's any consolation, I didn't want to talk to her either.”

An ugly snort left Belial at his words and the corner of Kazuha’s mouth lifted even if his brows remained furrowed in worry.

He cried when she created him, and now he was crying again. He brought a hand to his chest, fisting the front of his clothes as he, for one brief second, felt the remnants of the Gnosis pulsating against his fingers.

His emotions were hitting him with aggression, pushing their way out of him through his eyes, the trembling in his form and the way his brain seemed to be far, far away from his body. It felt like watching a stranger from outside. His anger was so strong that it boiled inside him. He was angry at her, for being able to pull so much out of him against his will, for making him feel so much, for the fact that this was all she'd ever done for him.

Belial rubbed his face without care as he was reminded that, in his useless quest to redress the wrongs from his past, he gave her an escape from hers as well. An eternity free from a guilt Belial wasn’t that sure she would have ever dwelled on in the first place.

“You will scrape your face raw,” Kazuha said, his voice as loud as the silence around them. He grabbed Belial’s wrists and pulled them away from his face.

A fresh batch of tears escaped the corners of his eyes and Belial shut them closed, turning his face and body away from him.

“Leave me alone,” he said flatly. “Or are you perhaps enjoying how pathetic I look? How weak I really am?”

Kazuha didn’t answer and the grip on his wrists didn’t falter either.

“Stop wasting your time here. Go away, find your friends, do whatever you want,” his voice broke on the last word. “Just leave me like they all did.”

He had been having fun, just before she found him. He had had plans of looking for Yuuma and his little friends. She had ruined a perfectly fine night for him. She ruined everything for him again.

“I am not leaving,” Belial thought he heard over his own sobbing. His chest raised and fell more frantically the harder he tried to stop himself. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. His body didn’t feel like his own, and for a second it felt too much like being joined back to the Shouki no Kami. Weak, in pain, defenseless, alone, wondering every passing second if that was what he really desired.

“You’re lying.”

“I have no reason to lie to you.”

But that wasn’t completely true, was it? Because even if Kazuha didn’t, Belial still remembered Kazuha’s words whispered to the walls of their tent, the night after their visit to Uyuu restaurant. Perhaps being witness to forgotten words and lost memories was just another form of atonement.

He resigned himself to the tears flooding out of him in waves he was too tired to wipe away. And with them came a sadness so deep it seemed to be rooted to his very self, past and present. To all those steps he had climbed with tooth and nail, which he was starting at from the bottom. Again.

“Kazuha.”

“I’m here.”

“I can’t breathe.” Not that he needed to, but now it seemed like the only thing that would keep him from completely collapsing into himself.

He felt shuffling beside him and it took him way too long for him to realize that nothing was holding his wrists anymore. Nothing around him to stop him from drifting away, from completely shutting down and letting the hole in his chest engulf him until there was nothing left from him in this world. That was until a source of warmth enveloped him and the invisible hand released its grip from his neck, a mouthful of air scratching against the raw walls of his throat as it filled his chest.

“That’s right,” said a voice in his ear, a puff of hot air by his neck. “Breathe.”

Belial closed his eyes, two drops falling to the ground as he was pressed towards the warmth from before and he just let himself be pulled. A couple more cascaded down his cheeks at the feeling of a heartbeat against his back, right over his own chest, and for a second Belial allowed himself to long for that one thing that he would never have, the one he would keep searching forever.

“I hate this city. I hate everything about it.”

Kazuha hummed, and it resounded inside Belial until it faded away.

“We can go, if that's what you want.”

“I do,” he heard himself say. “I want to leave.”

“Then we’ll leave,” Kazuha’s voice was still low, and when he talked it didn’t vibrate against Belial, as if there was only wind moving inside of him.

Those words lifted a weight within him the way no words coming from her would ever have. And yet, there was nothing seemingly able to stop the tears that kept falling down his face.

Like he was able to read his thoughts, Kazuha’s hand rose to his chest, sliding just under his Vision, his ornament, his proof of worth, and drawing circles over the place where there was nothing to soothe.

His other hand rose to his nape, just like that first time so many nights ago when Belial wondered if that one mark would be what finally pushed Kazuha away from him. Right now, though, Kazuha was covering it. The touch felt electric this time too against his porcelain skin through thin fabric, foreign in a way he didn’t reject. And Belial started feeling again. The cold breeze against his arms, the grass blades prickling his legs, the waves in the distance. Belial’s eyes closed as Kazuha covered the Mitsudomoe on the back of his neck, and it felt like it wasn’t there anymore. Like nothing was tying him.

“She doesn’t remember you,” Kazuha said, sounding everything but mocking. “Now you’re sure of it.”

“And what about it?” He whispered, unable to move in fear that Kazuha would withdraw his touch.

“You’re free to move on, now it only depends on you.”

And those few words felt cathartic in the way nothing had felt since he fell from the heights of the Shouki no Kami.

He didn’t say anything to that, but he figured Kazuha wasn’t looking for an answer either. He felt tired, worn down after being pulled apart in such a brutal way, and the last of his concerns was the flow of time. The first clue that it was still going by was the colorful explosion that overtook the night sky over their heads.

Belial didn’t feel like watching after that first one, didn’t care about the chorus of exclamations he picked up in the distance. The colors created weird shapes against his crying eyes and made his head hurt. Kazuha’s heart hammered against his back and he flinched after every firework.

“Cover your ears,” Belial said as he stared at the ground, indifferent to the show taking place against the uniform backdrop of the cloudy night sky.

“I will be fine,” Kazuha said, his breath catching again and his grip on Belial’s nape tightening. His forehead joined it soon.

“And I will be too, so do it,” Belial tried to sound stern, but he didn’t have the strength for it. Kazuha disregarded his words with a shake of his head that Belial felt against his skin.

Belial wasn’t sure how much time passed in between the end of the fireworks show and the first drops of rain falling over their heads. His limbs felt like they were made of lead, and as tears kept rolling silently down his face, Belial wondered how much more time would pass before his joints started working again, before he felt able to get up from the increasingly wet grass.

His body didn’t move an inch as he muttered, “You are going to get sick.”

Kazuha shook his head and pressed his body closer to Belial’s back, his legs bracketing him, isolating him from their surroundings. “Your hat is covering me,” Kazuha said stubbornly.

Belial didn’t know how true that was and he didn’t feel like finding out. He didn’t feel like anything yet, and he wondered if he would ever again. His own self from that very morning felt like yet another one of his personas now. An entity of its own, another one he couldn’t refer to as himself anymore.

The rain got worse and he even welcomed it because it didn’t allow him to think as much. Its cold touch against his skin seemed to slowly ease some movement back into his limbs. Firstly his toes and fingers, ankles and wrists. At last, his chest stopped trying to turn him from the inside out, even if the stitches he had set over the edges had popped under the pressure, rendered to nothing but yet another failed attempt at healing.

But then, his mind snapped from the spell he had been under. Belial’s brow furrowed as he turned around and faced Kazuha, his scarlet eyes bright under drenched hair and clothes.

“You liar,” Belial said.

Kazuha took a look at himself, but his gaze remained calm. “You’re still crying,” he pointed out.

Belial was aware of the tears that occasionally fell down his cheeks even if the sadness from before had been locked again somewhere deep inside himself.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Kazuha spoke again, his unbandaged hand facing the sky. “Crying cleanses the soul just as this rain does with the earth.”

And that could be true. Belial had been repressing so much that he would need another four hundred years of crying to let it all out.

“There’s a saying in Fontaine that tears are the most pure form of water,” Kazuha continued as his drenched hair fell over his eyes. Droplets of water fell down his fair skin as if he were weeping too. “They hold the strongest emotions humans are capable of.”

They're not a weakness but a proof of humanity , was left unsaid between them, and Belial’s Vision fluttered, his plume swinging with the wind as he got up and grabbed the brim of his hat to turn his head towards the sky. His tears mixed with the raindrops and he took one deep breath.

“You and your flowery words,” he complained, eyeing Kazuha who was still sitting on the grass, letting the rain fall on him like he didn’t mind its caress at all even if the air was frigid against his skin. “Let’s get going.”

“Where?”

“I don’t care, just somewhere dry.”

He didn't need to be coddled nor taken care of, and Kazuha's gentle stare was not something he deserved.

Without questioning him, Kazuha got up and brushed his hand through his fringe, sprinkling water droplets everywhere around him. Belial still hated this city, but now there was purpose in his mind to will those thoughts away for a while, to forget the lingering warmth that still pulsated against his back and the nape of his neck.

He placed his hat over Kazuha’s head, grabbed his arm by the sleeve and started his way back into the main street with a place in mind. The rain hadn’t managed to scare all the people away just yet, and while they made their way through the watercolor that was the city under the lights of the lanterns, their excited chatter reached them as they rushed by. A chorus of raindrops splashing in puddles and dripping from the façades of the buildings had substituted the music.

“Are we going back to our tent?” Kazuha asked, dodging the empty tables in front of Uyuu restaurant.

“Of course not,” Belial looked around for a certain place he had mindlessly brushed off during the last storm. “You would freeze to death there.”

Before Kazuha could reply to that, Belial halted his steps in front of a paneled doorway filtering light from the inside. The inn in front of Uyuu restaurant exuded the type of warmth and liveliness he would usually avoid at all costs. Today, though, he slid the door open and stepped inside the minuscule entrance.

"Are you sure about this?" Kazuha asked, taking Belial's hat off as soon as he entered the place. Belial scoffed at his good manners. 

"I thought you wanted me to pay for my sins? How do you plan on doing that if you're dead?"

Kazuha rolled his eyes. "I don't think we can even afford a room."

He was right, though, and Belial was aware of it too. Their money pouch had never recovered after Belial bought groceries that day that seemed so far away now. He had been on his way to pick up some commissions from the Adventurer's Guild when Itto and his army of children intercepted him. And, very unlike him, he lost focus and completely forgot about it.

"Can I help you, young men?" A voice spoke from behind his back and when Belial turned around he saw an elderly woman behind a weathered counter. The whole place seemed like it had seen the Archon War and somehow lived to tell.

“Good evening,” Belial greeted her with a curt nod. “We are visiting the city for the festival and got caught in the rain just as we were making our way back.”

The woman raised a hand to her cheek and shook her head. “Ah, yes. We haven’t been able to stop for a second since it started, it’s always like this when it rains in the city. Suddenly, everyone decides they can postpone their travels one more night.”

“Would there be room for us too?”

The woman hummed as she flipped the pages of her notebook with wrinkled fingers, sliding them across the page as her eyes followed the movement. Her mouth creased. “I think we are full for tonight. I’m sorry, I don’t see any vacant room left.”

Belial’s eyebrows creased and his gaze turned to Kazuha, who sported a straight smile of understanding. His body trembled against the cold, wet clothes adhered to his skin.

He shook his head. “Are you sure? Could you please check again? We have nowhere to spend the night.”

The elderly woman frowned as she checked the reservation book again and shook her head. Another younger woman entered the room from the sliding door on the left wall and went out again through the one on the right. Her arms were full of what looked to be towels and bedsheets and she could barely see where she was stepping. Belial entertained himself by watching her come and go, carrying her weight’s worth of fabrics of all types.

Just as she left the room, the elderly woman raised her head and adjusted her glasses over the bridge of her nose. “Chiyoko!” She called, and the woman from before peeped her head back into the reception’s area.

“Yes?” She asked, laden with what looked like wet towels this time.

“Have you seen any vacant rooms that we may have missed by mistake?”

She rested the basket on her hip and brought her free hand to her chin. “Not that I can think of. Although…” She bit her lip and looked towards the elderly woman. Belial wondered if they were mother and daughter. “There’s that one room on the first floor.”

The elder frowned and shook her head. “You know we don’t offer that one.”

“I know, I know. But maybe we could make an exception?”

Belial looked between the two of them. “What is it? Is it because there’s not enough beds? That would be fine with us too.”

At the end of the day, he didn’t need to sleep so he wouldn’t need a bed at all. The younger woman looked between the two of them with a blush and a hum of understanding and Belial put two and two together. His face felt hot and as he avoided her piercing gaze, he noticed that Kazuha’s ears had gone as red as his eyes too.

“No… It’s not just that. It’s more of a storage room than a bedroom. It doesn’t even have windows or furniture. There’s not even beds in there.”

Belial could work with that. After all, they had been living in a robbed Fatui tent for days, sitting on cold hard ground just fine.

“We’ll take it,” he rushed to say.

The woman behind the counter stuttered. “We can’t give you that one, it wouldn’t be fair to charge you for it. Perhaps we can give you a discount?”

Belial nodded so enthusiastically that the younger woman couldn’t help but side with them. “What about we give them a discount and get the room ready while they take a bath in the onsen?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Kazuha answered, arms crossed over his chest. Belial wanted this conversation to be over. Now.

The elderly woman eyed them, her forehead littered with wrinkles. “Are you sure this is fine with you both?”

Belial sensed Kazuha nodding next to him and he did too as the woman sighed and wrote down their contact information. The younger one rushed again by their side. When she came back, she handed them two navy yukatas with the name of the inn written in the front.

“The onsen is over there,” she said, gesturing to the door on the left as she too explained to them where to find their room once they were done. “You can give us your wet clothes before heading to your room and we will take care of them. Have a nice stay!” She greeted them.

Belial rushed out of there and was met with the long corridor that led to the rooms. It was dimly lit and not a single voice could be heard on that wing of the building. Down the left side, though, a closed door emanated an unmistakable warmth and the sound of trickling water filtered muffled, more like a fountain than the rain that fell outdoors. The air was charged as soon as they went through and were met with a pair of doors with noren hung in front of them.

Kazuha stepped towards the one signaling the male bathroom and stopped in his steps when he noticed that Belial wasn’t following him. He was standing still, clinging to the yukata and the towel in his arms as he watched between the two characters written on the pieces of fabric.

“Is everything alright?” Kazuha asked.

Belial felt incredibly tired after all he had been through, and he hated to admit that he still felt barely a shadow of himself. His self-hatred was well known to him, but this creeping feeling of never being more than what he was created for was even worse.

“Is it okay for me to go into the male bathroom?” He asked.

Kazuha tilted his head in confusion. “Even if you are not entirely human, you should be able to go to the one you are most comfortable with.”

“That’s… Not exactly what I mean,” his voice was small, and he felt like he was still under the rain, doubting every part of himself. “When… She created me, she did it with her image in mind. Which means I wasn’t… Intended as a man.”

Kazuha’s eyes opened in surprise as understanding dawned on him at the same time his cheeks picked on a rosy color. Belial wanted to think it was because of the dense air around them. But then, Kazuha’s eyes traveled up and down his body.

“Did you just check me out?”

“No,” Kazuha quickly answered.

Belial rolled his eyes. “Sure you didn’t,” he said, walking past him and through the slitted curtain.

The first thing that Belial noticed was that no one else seemed to be indulging in a nighttime bath. The large room was filled with only the sounds of dripping water echoing in the tile walls around them, a dense layer of warm fog clouding their vision. Kazuha walked past him at the same time that he unwinded the scarf from around his neck and unfastened his haori. Fueled by the way the cold garments made him shiver, he dropped everything into a basket by the door, where some shelves held other people’s forgotten belongings as well. A pair of glasses, something that looked like underwear, a sandal next to a pile of clothing the same color as their yukatas.

He didn’t seem to care that Belial was standing still, watching his every step, intrigued by the swiftness with which he moved through the space as if he had done this thousands of times before. Perhaps he had, in his ronin life before Belial came into the picture.

As he started unraveling the bandage he always wore over his hand, Belial noticed that he was staring. Stuck to the floor like some creep. He shook his head and turned around, finding an empty shelf and discarding his clothes with mechanical indifference. His gaze fixed on the tiles, so covered with condensation they were unable to return him even the silhouette of his reflection. He wrapped the towel around his waist and placed his Vision in between his folded clothes, safely hidden beneath his haori.

Kazuha was already thoroughly scrubbing his body, sitting down on a stool as he washed himself for the first time in who knew how many days. The drawbacks of sleeping under the stars and living by the day with their limited resources. Belial sat on a stool opposite Kazuha, with their backs turned to each other, and he too started the job of cleaning every reminder of the last days from his body. It felt good, pretending like he could erase what was left of them at will, because after today’s events he could barely stare at his hip joints, a lot more stubborn to erosion than the ones on his fingers; at his abnormally perfect skin, almost shining under the light like porcelain. Belial knew it was just the effect of the water and the soap on him, but today everything felt a little bit like too much, so he raised his head and continued with the mindless scrubbing.

There was a mirror in front of him, just as fogged as the tiles had been, and in an effort to avoid the depth of his gaze, he noticed Kazuha over his own shoulder. The movements of Belial’s hand faltered. He couldn’t see Kazuha’s face through two fogged mirrors, but what caught his attention was his back. Not so wide shoulders, pale skin flushed by the heat, and all of its extension riddled with scars. A map of lines, some deeper and darker in color, some ancient-looking and crisscrossed by newer additions, and a particularly ugly-looking one near his shoulder, bursting through the rough, marred skin like an explosion.

When Kazuha stood up and adjusted the towel around his waist, Belial’s gaze went back to his hands covered with soap suds. He felt like he had seen something he shouldn’t have, even if Kazuha probably wouldn’t have cared.

“I'm going to get in the water,” he said. Belial hummed in acknowledgement, his eyes set on his hands like he was performing a complicated task. “Join me when you’re done.”

Belial hummed again even though it was lost under the sound of Kazuha’s bare steps over the stone as he made his way to the onsen. He heard the ripple of the water, and then nothing else.

Belial rinsed himself and then waited a couple more minutes to join him. The floor was cold under his soles and even he could feel the chill from the winter night as he got out into the onsen. When he dropped the towel by the edge of the water, Kazuha pretended to be very interested in the sway of the bare branch above his head. Belial smirked, once again amused at his manners as he submerged himself until not even his head peaked out of the water. He didn’t need to breathe, so he could stay surrounded by this welcoming warmth all the time he wanted. He stayed still, floating as the remainder of his teartracks mixed with the water, and listened to the muffled void around him for what felt like too short but probably wasn’t.

A hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out. He took in a sharp breath and opened his eyes, as if he had woken up after falling down a cliff.

Fiery eyes looked at him, deep like an abyss and frantic as they tried to find what was wrong with him. Nothing was. Maybe everything.

“You were down there for minutes,” he said. The hand on his arm tightened.

Belial chuckled, the corner of his mouth barely rising. “You know I don’t need to breathe.”

Kazuha blinked, as if he just realized. Kazuha always saw a humanity in him that left Belial with the need to hold onto something, to remind himself of what was real.

“Were you scared for me?” Belial asked.

“After today’s events, I can’t say I wasn’t.”

Kazuha let go of him when Belial raised his hands to push his hair out of his eyes and rub his face. Still, he stayed close when they moved to rest against the edge of the onsen. Belial leaned his head back and closed his eyes as raindrops fell on him again. This time, they felt cleansing.

He could feel Kazuha’s gaze on him. “Whatever it is that you want to say, do it,” Belial urged him. “Unless it’s weird, then save it.”

Kazuha chuckled and the water rippled against Belial’s shoulders. “It’s just… You’re blushing.”

Belial opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “And what about it? It’s hot in here and you’re blushing too.”

He could feel the warmth against his cheeks and the fog that filled his head. It probably matched Kazuha’s, whose face was stained a reddish color that rose in his cheeks and traveled all the way down to his chest. It was the first time he was seeing Kazuha with his hair down, flushed by the heat and bare in a way so completely different to how he always saw him.

The heat on Belial’s cheeks was burning him.

Kazuha titled his head. “You blush purple, did you know it?”

Belial didn’t. Of course he didn’t. How would he know, if he avoided his own reflection in the mirror? If he didn’t allow anyone to see him like this? Up close, stripped bare, defenseless.

“So like a bruise?” He asked. “Do I look like I just got into a fight?”

Kazuha tilted his head as if he were contemplating a painting.

“Not quite,” he determined. “I guess it makes sense, since your blood is purple.”

Unabashedly, he continued staring at him. Belial wondered what it was that he was seeing. How different it would be to watch himself through Kazuha’s eyes, since his own despised everything they saw, everything they got reminded of. And still, when his gaze traveled down the surface of the water, Belial couldn’t help but sink until just his head peaked out.

“Are you checking if I have boobs? Stop staring at me, archons,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kazuha’s eyes flew back to his face, wide as saucers. For a second, it seemed like it was his face, the one emanating steam instead of the water underneath them. “I swear I wasn’t doing that, I’m so sorry.”

“I am not blind, Kazuha, stop making this weird or I will leave.”

“Please, don’t. Again, I’m sorry,” he said, hurried, worried and a little bit desperate. His brows furrowed and he looked genuinely remorseful. Belial believed him, even if he still flicked a finger over the surface to splash him in the face. Kazuha chuckled.

“I was actually thinking about the night we went to Uyuu restaurant,” he explained, voice still bright with a smile. “You taught me where to find the crevices of your wrist when you have clearer joints on your shoulders.”

For some reason, Belial’s creator thought that it was a great idea that those, together with the mitsudomoe on his nape, were the parts through which his power glowed when canalized. His anemo energy was much more welcomed than whatever he had before, so now he didn’t mind people seeing them through his everyday clothes.

“Next time you want me to show you my joints, remind me to get naked in the middle of a family restaurant.”

Kazuha burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter that spilled some water out of the onsen with the movement of his body and drew a smile on Belial’s face. His head was clogged with the steam around them and his chest resounded with the remaining chimes of his laughter.

It had been a long time since he had felt as bad as he did today, just as it had been a long time since he had felt this good. And it wouldn't be the last time either, of the latter.

The room was just as terrible as the younger woman had told them it would be. There were no windows, though it would hardly matter since most of the walls were hidden behind piles of boxes. It was easy to tell from the lines on the floor that they had been lying all over the place until just under an hour ago. The dust and the musty odor of humidity also bore witness.

And yet, it was so much more than what they had had up to that point.

There was a single futon in the center of the room, a lamp on a low table too clean to have been there for too long, and a couple of towels. Along with their Visions being the only thing they carried, that was all they had.

“You take the bed,” Belial said, walking into the room and looking through the boxes for something to do for the rest of the night. A book would be ideal, but anything would do. If Nahida found out that he had taken on reading again, he would never hear the end of it.

“Are you sure you want to sit on the floor?”

Belial dropped the trinket he had been examining—it looked like some sort of… Kamera? He wasn’t sure—in order to turn around so that Kazuha could see the full extent of his judgmental expression.

“That’s what we have been doing for weeks.”

“You’re right, but we both did. Now that there’s a bed I don’t feel like it’s fair to leave you on the floor.”

Belial sighed. “Just take the bed, Kazuha. Archons,” he cursed.

Kazuha stayed quiet for a second, measuring him. For some reason, his face was abnormally red, as if he had brought back the warmth of the bath. “Alright,” he resigned himself.

When Kazuha left for the bathroom so that he could get ready for sleep, Belial flipped a book closed and dust specks flew through the air. He slapped them away, nose scrunched.

Kazuha was being ridiculous, Belial thought as he eyed the futon. Surely that thin little thing couldn’t feel that much different from sleeping on the floor. He first put a foot on it, stepping on the duvet and, yeah, it was nothing special. When he lay down on it, though, his back appreciated the rare respite. He thought he had gotten used to grass and soil, but as soon as his body got anything slightly better, it was quick to forget the hardships.

It wasn’t much and yet, he placed the book on his chest and felt invited to close his eyes. He still felt so tired, so incredibly drained from today’s events. It almost seemed like the day would never end and he had run dry from crying so much.

A strange sense of calmness filled him for a second. His hand tightened around the book, but he felt like instead he was grasping to that feeling that was threatening to pull him under. He didn’t resist.

The next thing he noticed was that he was swaying, like he was drifting on a ship, carried by the waves under their swinging motion. As his consciousness returned to him, he realized that he wasn’t ashore but being shaken by the shoulders. A voice was calling his name.

“Kazuha?” Belial asked. His body was above his, still wet white hair framing his face.

“You were crying and so, so still,” he answered. His eyes were filled with fear, and Belial saw that same face from earlier in the onsen. He had been nothing but a burden today, hadn't he? “You don’t even breathe so I couldn’t know if you were okay. I think I overreacted,” Belial noticed that Kazuha was on the brink of apologizing, so he shook his head. He didn’t deserve his mercy.

There was something else in that gaze. Underneath the fear, Belial recognized the debilitating grip of solitude on Kazuha, a primordial thing that seemed to be as old as the boy in front of him. Suddenly, Belial was reminded of that night in which Kazuha called himself selfish, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Kazuha wasn’t as free as he made himself believe.

Belial got up, and Kazuha moved to sit next to him. He rubbed his hands all over his face, felt the tears on them, whipped them on the duvet underneath. He still hadn’t run dry, after all.

“Were you… Sleeping?” Kazuha asked in a hushed voice. The room was dark save for the lamp next to them. It was too late for anyone to be around, too early for the birds to start their morning chirping.

“I’m sorry,” Belial whispered, the words sounding unfamiliar on his tongue. He couldn’t speak any louder.

“I thought you couldn’t sleep,” Kazuha frowned, determined to focus on the technical aspect of it all.

“I can, under certain conditions,” Belial indulged him. “When I am hurt, so that my body can heal. Or when I am really, really tired and emotionally drained.”

He wasn’t weak, he had to remind himself. He remembered his days in the Fatui, when he had to sleep every night after he was done with his duties, in pain after the experiments, wounded from his expeditions to the abyss. Always so incredibly tired, and he hated how vulnerable he felt everytime he lay down in his chambers, closed his eyes and tried to forget how everything hurt.

“Then, you can have the bed,” Kazuha said, his eyes like crescent moons as they accompanied a gentle smile. When he tried to get up, Belial grabbed him by the wrist.

“No,” he said. “You need it more than I do.”

“I don’t think I can agree with you on that,” he answered, and when Belial’s hand tightened, he didn’t flinch.

“Get into the bed, Kazuha.”

Kazuha was being thick-headed, but Belial could be more so. He had almost five hundred years of experience under his belt.

They stared at each other for a while, and for a second Belial thought that neither of them would give in. But then, Kazuha sighed and looked away in resignation.

“Only if you do too,” he agreed.

“No.”

“Then we have no deal.”

Belial huffed as he got up and, accompanied by hard tugging and muttering to let Kazuha know he wasn't doing it willingly, removed the duvet so that he could get into the bed. His last rebellious move was to push the pillow to Kazuha’s side and lay his head against the mattress.

“You’re exasperating,” Belial declared.

Kazuha exhaled a chuckle as he raised his side of the duvet and got in. It was a tight fit and yet they managed to lay down and leave some space between each other. Kazuha laying on his side helped, so Belial turned towards him, ensuring that a frown still shaped his face.

He quickly noticed that Kazuha had pushed the pillow over his head and that it now lay somewhere on the floor, his silky hair splayed over the mattress too. Belial wanted to hate how stubborn he was for no reason, but instead the hint of a chuckle was born within him.

“I hope you’re happy,” he snapped instead.

Kazuha grinned. “I certainly am,” he answered, cheeky.

His eyes had that strange glow in them reminiscent of drunk people, of that one night inside their tent; his cheeks were tinted bright red as if a fire burned beneath them and for a second Belial wondered if he was sick. But then he was reminded of the face the young woman had made earlier tonight when Belial suggested that they were fine with only one bed. What it might have seemed in her eyes.

Belial refused to give that thought more importance than what it deserved, so he huffed, rolled his eyes and turned his back to Kazuha as he stretched to turn the lamp off.

As it turned out, Kazuha did, in fact, get sick.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Kazuha did, in fact, get sick.

And Belial, sitting next to the futon, body rigid and hands pressed into tight fists, helpless at the sight of Kazuha’s panting, wondered how he didn't notice it sooner. The towel on Kazuha’s forehead did little to lower his body temperature and he furrowed his brow when Belial adjusted it over his damp hair.

He was ashamed of the fact that, when morning came, it wasn’t the first thing he noticed upon waking up. Because that was the first thing, waking up. The fact that when his consciousness returned to him, no memories of the night came with it. No spiraling, no pacing to pass time or spacing out, just some faint light filtering under the door to their room and warmth against his body, so light with rest. And with it, the rhythm of a heartbeat against his back, resounding inside the walls of his empty rib cage that for a moment felt like it was no more.

Belial had indulged in it for a bit, against the better part that told him he shouldn’t wish for certain things, that he didn’t deserve them. Especially not after yesterday’s events. Because that warmth against him reminded him too much of being under the fireworks, enveloped by the grounding feeling of a body against his. Despite his guilt, he couldn’t help but wonder if every human was as warm, if they all shone like miniature suns.

It was so obvious to him now, hours later, how bad Kazuha had been feeling at the time. But earlier in the morning in the darkness of their room, when the world had been still for the first time in centuries, everything had felt muted and distant. That was partly why it took him longer than it should have to realize that it wasn’t right, that Kazuha’s fast breathing against the mark in his neck had been unnatural and feverishly hot.

Belial had gotten up and out of bed with a start, taking in Kazuha’s condition. His chest had been rising and falling with a cadence visible to the bare eye, cheeks as bright as last night and fringe stuck to his face with sweat. There had been a fire burning inside Kazuha, for who knew how long, and Belial had felt it against the palm over his forehead.

He had tried calling his name, shaking his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, but Kazuha’s face remained slack and even though his breathing had been frantic and shallow, Belial had known him to be unconscious.

An ugly, electric sort of panic clogged his throat. Belial knew what sickness did to people, what happened when they went to sleep.

He wasn’t sure if one or three hours had passed since. The room was still dark save for the little lamp on the table and Belial busied himself with short journeys to wet the towels. The only reason why he wasn’t on the verge of burning down the whole building was because of that short instant, not so long ago, in which Kazuha had opened his eyes, seen him and put on a soft smile.

“I’m fine,” he had said in a weak voice, before Belial had the chance to ask anything. Which meant he was pretty much not fine at all.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Belial replaced the towel on his forehead. “I told you you would get sick in the rain.”

Kazuha hadn’t gotten the chance to reply. He had been out like a light before that and Belial’s panic had been back in full force, the words “ Are you hungry? ” stuck in his throat, unvoiced.

Belial’s hands tightened around the towel and some water fell on his lap. He didn’t care. Not when his mind was focused on his last words. He got sick in the rain because of him. It was Kazuha’s fault. It was Belial’s.

Before he could spiral any further, he got up from the floor. He would do what he had been doing these past few weeks: to make up for his mistakes. Atonement in any form it could get.

So, first thing, getting Kazuha out of that terrible, terrible dark and suffocating room. The sun was back in the sky, he realized as he stepped foot in the corridor, so he figured he could get them another room now that the storm had passed.

He made it to the reception before the fact that he had left Kazuha alone could take root in his head and paralyze his limbs.

“Good morning,” he greeted the old woman. She was standing by the open door, taking in the sunrays and morning breeze.

“Good morning, young man. Have you both slept well?” She asked. “Is your partner still in the room? You don’t need to rush your leaving, if that’s an issue for you.”

Belial didn’t want to look into the implications of that sentence. His mind was on other, much more important stuff. Focused on only one line of thought. But before he could make the request he had walked all the way here to make, the younger woman made her way into the reception.

“Good morning! Your clothes are dry already,” she greeted them with a big smile, hands full of scarlet and navy garments.

Belial took them all in his arms, allowing the young woman—Chiyoko? Had the old woman called her that last night?—to place his huge hat on his head. The clinking of the bells as he moved his head was familiar in a weirdly reassuring way.

“The thing is,” he started, putting on his best good boy voice, “my friend is very sick, so we would like to stay for another night. Preferably change rooms, since this one doesn’t have a window and it gets hot at night,” Belial said. Guessed. As if he could feel temperatures with the same sensibility a human could. At least they would have the option of airing up the room if they wanted to.

There was only a small issue.

“We need to ask for a favor, though,” he said, amping up the likable tone he had learned over years of undercover missions and intel gathering. “We still don’t have enough money to pay for another room.”

The older woman tilted her head and raised her glasses over her nose, but Belial spoke again before she could do anything annoying, like trying to refuse them.

“I assure you I will be able to pay,” he said, knowing fully well that right at that moment their Mora was barely able to cover the bottom of their pouch. And that their credibility was the same as those merchants that sold remedies able to cure aging or remove bad energies. “I just wanted to request that you give us a couple of days to do it.”

It was right then and there that Belial learned that kindness took him places, even if it didn’t come all that natural to him. Even if he didn’t really feel it.

“Of course,” said the older woman. “We are not full anymore, we can give you another room if you want to, that’s not a problem at all. On the other hand, we can employ you for the day if you need some money. We have a lot of rooms to take care of, so we could use another pair of hands.”

Belial’s eyebrows rose till they hid behind the line of his fringe. It couldn’t be this easy. This was a lot further, and then some more, than he thought he would get on good terms. He even had his Vision in a tight fist in case things didn’t go his way.

He decided he wouldn’t overthink this one. It wasn’t worth it, he had more pressing matters at hand.

So when he went back and the suffocating hot and rancid air of their room hit him, he knew he had made the right choice.

Kazuha was light when he picked him up from the bed, a hand behind his back and the other under his knees just like so many nights ago. He remained asleep the whole trip, his head falling and rolling over Belial’s arm. He also felt lighter, but Belial pretended not to notice.

The new room was exactly the same as the old one, save for the fact that it had a huge window on the wall opposite to the door and a wardrobe. Same tatami floors, same table and lamp and same single futon in the middle of the room.

Kazuha woke up some time later, groaning and pulling the towel from his head.

“Where are we?” He asked. Belial didn’t know if he was talking about the inn or the new room, but he looked slightly more alert than some hours ago. He placed a hand on his forehead and Kazuha let him, closing his eyes as if it was a caress. His head felt somewhat cooler. For now.

“I got us a new room. You were about to die in the other one.”

“I wasn’t going to die,” he complained, but his words were immediately followed by a coughing fit that sounded like he would expel his lungs out the mouth. Belial’s whole face furrowed in displeasure.

“I don’t think I can agree with you on that,” Belial said in exactly the same tone Kazuha had used on him last night.

A pained smile shaped Kazuha’s face. He was more awake than Belial expected, and something dangerous set in his stomach. Something that felt a lot like relief, even if it didn’t last long.

“Do you feel like eating anything?” Belial asked. Humans were so fragile. If they didn’t follow through with their physiological needs everyday, they died. They were so simple it made Belial furious.

Kazuha closed his eyes and shook his head, following the movement with a groan. His head surely throbbed like a heart out of a chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he said in a low voice.

Belial thought back to last night, to the last thing he remembered Kazuha eating. Was it the takoyaki they bought from that one stand? Was that really the last thing? They hadn't even been intercepted by Yoimiya at that time.

“You need to eat something, Kazuha,” Belial insisted, swallowing the nervousness that rolled inside him like a ball of yarn in the hands of a cat.

“I will throw up if I do,” he complained, with his eyes closed. His breathing had gotten shallower again.

Belial granted that much to him, even if he didn’t say it outloud. What could he do? Shove some soup down his throat? He probably wouldn’t like that.

“How are we going to pay up for this room?” Kazuha whispered, but Belial’s ears had no trouble catching it.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” he answered. “I will get a job or whatever, the women from the inn are willing to help me.”

Kazuha hummed, and Belial thought that was the last thing he would be getting from him. But he spoke again. “Then shouldn’t you be gone?”

Belial frowned. Kazuha’s eyes were closed, his fever at an all time high. He didn’t know where he was finding the will to speak. 

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he scolded him as he placed a new towel over his forehead, even though Kazuha didn’t get to hear it. He had fallen back into a sleep so deep that Belial wondered, as his hands tightened into fists, if he was unconscious or just resting. If he would wake up again.

But watching him wouldn’t do them any good. So he got up, changed into his own clothes—though he decided to leave his haori and hat behind in their room. He wouldn’t be needing those to tidy up some rooms—and left Kazuha with a feeling of dread he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake until he came back.

At least working kept him occupied. Cleaning windows, folding bedsheets and towels and placing them in the rooms, scrubbing the floors until he could see his reflection—even if he averted his gaze every time.

It was easy work. Physically exerting for any human, but he was used to it. Thanks to his days in the forge doing similar work as he helped the women of the village, and to the Fatui, who subjected him to far worse things than mopping some corridors under the midday sun rays.

The day was over and the debts were paid by the time the sun set. Only then he allowed himself to go back to their room.

Kazuha didn’t get any better on the second day either. His chest maintained its rapid up-and-down cadence in a way that had to be exhausting, and although his lower fever spells lasted longer than during the first day, when the fever went back up Belial wondered if it got worse every time.

Belial brought a tray of food to the room that morning. The women downstairs insisted, saying that they never saw him coming back with food when he went out. They said he looked way too thin, that he needed to eat better. He didn’t feel like explaining anything to them. So, instead, he picked up their good intentions and tried to get Kazuha to eat something. He got a sip of the soup into him before he shook his head and shrugged his body in the clearest refusal Belial had ever seen.

The women had said that they couldn’t give him work today, that they couldn’t afford it now that they weren’t as booked as that first day. Which left him with a much more unpleasant situation: the Adventurer’s Guild.

He had to leave soon, if he wanted to squeeze a handful of quests into his day, and he was about to stand up from the floor when Kazuha spoke. A mumble, low and dragged. Belial’s face turned so fast his neck should have disjointed.

Although Kazuha’s lips were moving, Kazuha wasn’t awake. His brow was creased as if even sleeping required a great deal of effort, and in the beginning Belial couldn’t make up the words he was saying. That was until he started calling names, and Belial held his breath as he recognized the vast majority of them. 

When Kunikuzushi started carrying out his revenge against the Raiden Gokaden, it wasn’t an impulsive act. He remembered the premeditation that went before every attack, the names that he had to learn. First from the Futsu Art, then the Hyakume Art, followed shortly by the Senju Art. He couldn’t afford to mistake someone for a member of a clan. He had a message to get across and the will to see it through.

The names Kazuha was uttering, he knew them. The master of the Kaedehara Clan, one of the swordsmiths, a samurai, a treasurer. A grandfather, an adoptive son, an uncle, a father.

Sometimes, the names got mixed up with Kazuha’s complaints. To his father, so that he let him help him, help the clan. To his grandfather, because he wanted to learn how to wield a sword. To his mother, to please, please not leave him all alone. To Beidou, his brow furrowed because she kept treating him like a child when he was already an adult.

To someone named… Tomo? Tomu? To stop walking up those stairs. Belial tilted his head. He didn’t recognize that one.

Belial was torn between staying, listening to Kazuha’s delirious rambles and keeping guard so that his life stayed inside of his body. So that he could catch it with his own hands were it to take flight with wings as weak as Kazuha’s exhalations. Or perhaps leaving, exhausting himself to the point of forgetting about Kazuha and his own guilt altogether, which threatened to swallow him the moment he let his guard down.

He couldn’t avert his eyes, but looking at him pained him all the same. Because sometimes, when Belial looked down, he didn’t see Kazuha fighting his illness. He saw a little boy with thin arms and a coughing so strong it rattled his whole body. He saw in that red strand of hair the only person who had seen him not for what he was worth, but for himself.

But he also saw himself. Lying down as he rested inside the Sanctuary of Surasthana under Nahida’s silent care during the weeks of his recovery. The same thing his creator saw that she despised enough to discard him and never look back.

With limbs as heavy as tree trunks, Belial got up. He asked the women from the inn to check on Kazuha periodically, which he didn’t particularly enjoy because relying on other people still made him sick. And even though their faces looked determined to take care of him, Belial didn’t feel the slightest bit less at fault.

The discomfort he felt as Katheryne gave him all the commissions she had available was welcomed in a penitentiary sort of way. The worst he felt about all of this, the more worthwhile it would be in the end.

And so he did what he had to do. Defeating a bunch of Nobushi that had been blocking a domestic trade lane, trying to help an old man find a wallet he swore he lost during the festival the other day, dismantling a Fatui camp. The list grew shorter sooner than expected and as the sun fell he crumpled the paper and headed to his last destination.

It was so simple it left an uncomfortable unease inside Belial. Handing five chunks of white iron to the head of the forge would not make him feel better about his wrongdoings.

He approached the place as he remembered the day he had almost been there. When he had been alone and a bunch of kids ended up distracting him from confessing his sins to one of the descendants of the Amenoma clan. Today, that same old man was standing in front of the working table, striking hard blows over the scorching piece of iron with a precision Belial had never been able to master. The apprentice he remembered from the last time was nowhere to be seen.

The man greeted him, and Belial bowed his head in response, handing him the result of his commision without opening his mouth. He felt like words would spill out uncontrolled if he did. He looked nothing like his ancestor and still, Belial preferred to focus his gaze on the sword that glowed like a sun. It would take more than that to hurt his eyes.

“Do you know how to forge?” The man asked him. Belial shook his head, not in response but in reprimand because he was doing it again. Observing the people at the forge as the rhythmic back and forth of their tools hypnotized him for hours on end. By the time Belial had picked a hammer for the first time, he already knew the theory better than most of the apprentices.

The man hit the blade with finality and took a closer look at the blazing edge. “You seem like the kind of person who would know what quenching means.”

“To cool down a blade,” Belial answered before he could stop himself and the man chuckled before sinking the blade in the barrel next to the table. The iron sizzled and its redness disappeared as white smoke filled the space.

“Correct,” he said, and for some reason Belial felt like a student being rewarded. “Who taught you? You move around the city like a local, but it is my first time seeing you here.”

This commission had left his desire to appease his own guilt unsatisfied, and praise wasn’t something he deserved. So he opened his mouth and the words that had been choking him spilled like rain under a pitch black sky. His origins, his first betrayal. His time at Tatarasuna and all the things he learnt, all the people he met, his second and third betrayal. The things he did as his desire for revenge fueled him and consumed him during a time in which he didn’t care if in the end there was nothing left of him anymore.

The man listened carefully, his face still as Belial recounted the atrocities he had committed against his ancestors and his clan. He remembered saying these very words to the last Isshin clan members left standing by the beach over a hundred years ago, and back then his aim was to wound, to use them as swords that would carry his thirst for vengeance. Today, however, they sought redemption.

“Do with these words as you please,” Belial finished. “Spread them around, point everyone’s blades at me. I will accept every punishment you deem fit.”

Amenoma Tougo looked at him with a gaze as sharp as the swords he forged. “It seems like you already have an idea on how to do that,” he said.

Belial frowned. He didn’t know. If he already knew how to repent from his wrongdoings he wouldn’t be here, wouldn’t be asking for punishment, wouldn’t be traveling with the last standing member of the Kaedehada clan, wouldn’t care about Kazuha’s fate.

He ended up realizing that Amenoma Tougo was right, that there was an underlying purpose to his actions. “I would like to stop by the forge sometime, and make use of it if possible.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the swordsmith complied.

Belial's simple commission to deliver five chunks of iron had dragged on into the night and by the time he reached the inn, the moon was high in the sky. 

Kazuha was fine. At least, the innkeepers had said so when he came back and paid what he owed for the day. And he wanted to believe them.

They said that the fever had finally broken sometime during the afternoon and that Kazuha had been sleeping ever since. They had managed to feed him some rice and a couple bites of omelet and he didn’t give them any trouble. In true Kazuha fashion.

Belial smirked as he sat on his legs next to where Kazuha was lying, still fast asleep. “I brought you something,” he said to no one in particular. His voice sounded hollow, from his chest to the empty room.

He had bought a new set of bandages on his way back, because Kazuha had thrown away the ones he had taken off that night in the onsen. He remembered, in another one of his trances, the circular motions as he unraveled the one around his right hand, the others covering his chest that he had never noticed.

For now, though, Kazuha would have to be content with getting only one of them back. Belial pulled his right hand from under the comforter and it was warm, just as human skin always was and then some more. It wasn’t smooth, but covered by a web of burned and badly healed skin, a completely different map from the one on his back. The reverse side was rough, with the worst part being the palm. Belial ran his fingers over the tips. There were no fingerprints anymore, only scars, and he wondered if perhaps Kazuha flew too close to the sun and got burned by that passion that always guided his actions.

He began to bandage along the little finger, repeating the circular motions he remembered in reverse. As he did, he told him everything he did today. The quests he completed, his dislike for the puppet of the Adventurer’s Guild, the people he met, the weight he had let go of.

“Hear that, Kazuha? I told that old man about what I did one hundred years ago. I hated every second of it but I think that’s a good thing. It shouldn’t come easy. If it did, it would mean that I have no regrets about it,” he said, as he fastened the knot around his wrist and hid it in between the layers of bandages. “And it won’t be the last time I tell this story. I won’t stop until I repay what I owe, and you should get better so that you can see it for yourself.”

But not even those words raised Kazuha from the depths of his sleep. What did, though, was a coughing fit so strong it woke Belial up too hours later.

It was like a sigil within him had broken and now, Belial found himself falling asleep like it was natural to him. As if his body had grown a fifth limb by itself. He didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep in the corner of the room, where he had previously been sitting with his back against the wall. The passing of time and the cadence of Kazuha’s breaths had lulled him and his body tilted until it softly hit the surface of the tatami.

He rose when he noticed scarlet eyes looking at him. They were glossy as an aftermath of the cough, and when he spoke his voice sounded rusty from disuse.

“You should sleep in another room. I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”

Belial crossed his legs and sat up straighter. “Don’t be dramatic, it’s just the flu. And it's not that easy for me to get sick.”

Kazuha hummed in understanding, able to follow a conversation without his mind wandering to the paths his fever took him.

“Let me,” Belial said, hand hovering over his head. Now that Kazuha was more conscious, he felt like he should ask for permission for such things. Kazuha nodded and closed his eyes when Belial pressed his palm under his fringe. It was warm, but a normal amount. The kind that was pleasant and didn’t constrict his chest with memories. Something unraveled within him as his hand fell to his side again. “Your fever has gone down,” he said with certitude. “Now, go back to sleep.”

“I’ve been sleeping for days,” Kazuha complained, brow furrowed without strength.

“And you should keep on doing so.”

Kazuha did not complain further, just closed his eyes even if his brow still didn’t completely relax. “You too,” he mumbled. “Sleep, Belial.”

Belial laid down next to the futon, turned towards Kazuha so that he could still keep an eye on him. The conversation at the forge had left him exhausted. “I’m not tired,” he whispered instead. “I will keep watch.”

Later, Belial didn’t wake up when Kazuha placed the pillow under his head right before falling back asleep, pulled under by the hand of a sickness that still threatened him with a tiredness that seemed to live under his skin.

Over the course of the following days, Kazuha slept better, got stronger and finally started eating normally again.

With twin deep bows, they thanked the innkeepers for everything and once they were back on the street they felt like they just said goodbye to their very caring grandma and auntie.

Their camp was exactly the way it had been the day they left, and it felt like ages had passed since the last time they stepped foot on it. Belial was surprised that the Fatui hadn’t tried to reclaim it upon seeing it empty, and he chastised himself for overestimating them. They were for sure causing troubles on some other part of the island and they should pray not to cross paths with the two of them again.

Their wandering life went back to normal, or so Belial thought.

The aftermath of Kazuha’s illness did not leave either of them unscathed. In the beginning Belial didn’t give it much thought, because Kazuha never called him out on it, but he soon realized how much he had started eyeing Kazuha’s every move. When he ate, he checked how much; when he coughed, he listened to the wheezes his chest let out afterwards; when he slept, he placed a hand over his forehead in between restless naps.

It was creepy and he hated it. He tried to convince himself that it was an involuntary response, something he couldn’t avoid after so many days keeping such close vigilance on Kazuha, but his chest constricted every time he saw him doing anything remotely different from normal. He couldn’t help but worry that Kazuha would leave him too against his will, slave to his fragile human nature when Belial least expected it.

So, for his worry’s sake, he started sitting, sleeping, walking a little closer to Kazuha, so that he could check in on him better. And if Kazuha noticed, he didn’t say anything.

On some morning between the winter solstice and the end of the year they were accepting some commissions when an unknown voice snuck up from behind.

“Well, well, well, who do we have here?”

Kazuha and Belial both jumped, Kazuha’s hand around the hilt of his sword as he turned around, tense as the string of a bow. Belial raised a hand unsure if to throw a punch or summon his catalyst, but stopped when he noticed Kazuha visibly relaxing at the figure in front of them. A cheeky grin shaped both Kazuha’s and the stranger’s lips. A man about the same height as Kazuha, with maroon hair, eyes as sharp as razors and twin moles on his cheeks.

“You need to stop doing that, Heizou,” Kazuha complained, his grin not faltering. Belial blinked in amazement but remained silent, because not just anyone was capable of taking Kazuha by surprise.

Heizou chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “I will do it every time you come back to the city without letting me know.”

“I’ve been… Kind of busy,” he settled on. “Who told you, though?”

Heizou crossed his arms over his chest. “My informants, of course. As a detective I must have a broad network of contacts.”

Kazuha hummed, that cheeky grin that Belial knew so well still in his mouth. “Let me guess. Yoimiya told Itto, who told Shinobu who then told you. Am I right?”

“Close enough,” Heizou answered and he took a step closer into Kazuha’s breathing space. His eyes dropped as he whispered. “It was Katheryne, actually. Wait. Yoimiya knew?”

Kazuha turned his head away to grin but didn’t move away from Heizou’s hand over his crossed arms. Belial frowned but stayed put.

“You know why I came looking for you, right?” Heizou asked playfully, and Belial still wasn’t sure what his deal was. If it was necessary that he stood so close to Kazuha when the street wasn’t even that crowded. He didn’t like this guy. They should be completing their list of commissions, not standing there doing nothing useful.

“Because you missed your friend,” Kazuha responded, to which Heizou tilted his head as he contemplated his answer.

“Of course. But, also, there’s this case I’m working on. A serial pickpocketer that started acting during the Festival. Allegedly, during the fireworks show,” Belial forgot about his stupid quarrel as soon as he remembered the commission he took about a missing wallet that seemed to have vanished from the face of Teyvat. “But you know how much it rained that day, right? It poured the whole night and the rain seems to have washed all the clues away.”

Kazuha hummed as he listened to Heizou, still wearing that stupid smile that was starting to make Belial a little bit sick. It wasn’t that funny.

“I was wondering if you would be available for this little favor that you still owe me,” Heizou asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Nothing big, just walking around with your good sense of smell lending us a hand. What do you say?”

Now everything made sense to Belial. What linked them was the way in which they could use each other. That was it. Kazuha owed him something because Heizou had been useful to him in the past, and now it was Kazuha’s turn to return the favor.

And, yet, Kazuha laughed, but this time with the need to reject Heizou’s advances. “I am afraid I am still a little bit sick and my sense of smell hasn’t recovered yet. I wouldn’t be of much help.”

Heizou brought a hand towards his chin, deep in thought. “I see. That makes things more complicated. What about your… Partner? Friend?”

Before Belial could react, Heizou was now in front of him, examining him like he probably did with his suspects. If Kazuha was able to read him like a book, Heizou’s gaze felt like he could rewrite him at will. He was annoying, but he seemed like a pretty damn good detective.

“You haven’t introduced us,” Heizou reprimanded Kazuha. “Are you from around here? I’ve never seen you before. I would remember a face like yours.”

Belial’s eyes were open as saucers and thanks to the size of his hat and his extended hands, he could keep Heizou at a safe distance.

“Friend. Kazuha’s friend,” he answered in a frenzy. It almost seemed like Heizou’s piercing gaze could pull his darkest secrets out like weed. “I’m Belial. We’re traveling together.”

Heizou’s gaze intensified, even if it deviated towards Kazuha for a second. Like he was judging him for something Belial had said.

“I see,” he answered, in a tone that made it sound like he had made a big discovery thanks to Belial’s slip of the tongue. “You wouldn't also happen to have a prodigious sense of smell, would you?”

Belial’s senses were probably sharper than those of humans, but still, he didn’t see how Heizou could be useful to him. So, he answered, “sorry to disappoint, but not really.”

Heizou clicked his tongue and the corner of his mouth raised to a grin. “Such a shame, we could have gotten to know each other better.” 

He grabbed Belial’s hand and bowed to bid them farewell before speaking again. “If you change your mind you know where to find me,” he said, winking before disappearing inside the crowd.

For a second Belial had thought he would kiss his hand, and he remained stuck to the floor as he found the strength to shake his head and regain the mobility of his limbs. When he did, he turned towards Kazuha, who sported a smile that Belial instantly detested.

“What the hell was that?” He asked. He still hadn't completely recovered, but good riddance.

Kazuha had the decency to hide his grin behind his fist. “That was Shikanoin Heizou, a good friend of mine.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

With Belial’s brain now functioning at normal processing speed again, he realized he had just been hit on. What was probably a horrible purple blush raised to his cheeks.

“Heizou being Heizou,” Kazuha said, and Belial was getting kind of angry that no one but him found it weird. Because it was. “You get used to it. It is a little bit funny.”

And the thing was that Kazuha wasn’t excusing him, just telling him how it was. Like he accepted Heizou just the way he was.

“So you put up with that because… You owe him something?”

Kazuha frowned. He started walking away from the main street and Belial followed him. “I don’t put up with anything, he’s my friend. He helped me flee Inazuma during the Sakoku Decree and I will always be thankful to him for that.”

“So that’s why you keep in touch? Because of the favors you owe each other?”

Kazuha stopped walking the steps towards Hanamizaka to turn towards Belial.

“He is my friend, I don't need to have a reason to be friends with him. That’s not how it works, Belial,” his frown deepened. “Why do you think you and I are traveling together?”

Belial didn’t need to think that one very hard. It was clear in his head. “Because you want me to pay for my sins, and I want you to punish me for them.”

Kazuha stared at him for a while, his face serious in a way it hadn’t been around Heizou. Like Belial had said something terrible, even if he couldn’t point out what exactly. He had just stated the truth, nothing more, nothing less.

In the end, Kazuha shook his head and resumed his way down the steps. His frown was still in place.

Belial stuck close to him as they made their way to their daily commissions.

Kazuha’s irritation didn’t last long. It never did. He wasn’t the type of person to hold grudges and Belial had learnt it the hard way during their first few hours together and so many other times later down the line.

His mood had lifted up, eyes bright as they again made their way down the stairs to Hanamizaka hours later, their commissions completed and rewards claimed. It was a cold afternoon and yet, the streets were crowded with people. This part of the city always seemed alive in a different way the main street was. It was in the warmth that emanated from the homes lining the road, its lights being a little more yellow, the smells of food mild and inviting.

And the sound of the hammer against malleable iron in the forge, rhythmic, a metronome that marked the beat of the voices chiming like bells as they soared the air. Belial couldn’t ignore the place as they walked past it and it was the man who saw him first. Amenoma Tougo, Belial remembered him because he remembered the names that preceded him too.

“Oh, young man, glad to see you again,” he greeted him. He wasn’t on the working bench this time though. Instead, his apprentice was forging what seemed to be the blade of a tachi, given the curve and the length. He hadn’t seen them yet, his attention enraptured by the blazing sword in front of him and Belial understood. He remembered the way in which the swords he forged stole his attention, his perception of time and his ability to perceive the world around him further than the blade inside his fist and the weight of the hammer on his arm.

“Good afternoon”, Belial responded with a nod that his hat made appear more pronounced than it really was. There was a claw grabbing his ribcage, trying to hold him down and tell him that there was no way this man in front of him accepted his actions, that he would take revenge just like he deserved.

Kazuha turned to him before he could spiral any further. “I feel like I am missing something.”

But before Belial could open his mouth, Amenoma Tougo walked towards them. “I remember that sword, young Kaedehara. The Kagotsurube Isshin. It’s been a while since I last saw it.”

Kazuha’s hand instinctively moved to its hilt and he unsheathed it in one swift move. It wasn’t Belial’s first time seeing it. It had been against his throat and by his side as the two of them fought together, but he knew it no further than that. Even though it had been laying on the floor of their inn room all those days Kazuha had been sick, he hadn’t really paid attention to it.

But now that he really looked at it, he noticed it wasn’t like anything he had ever forged. The blade was the color of blood, sharp as well as light. Ominous and alive in a way a sword shouldn’t be.

“It’s been a great companion on my journeys,” Kazuha said, sheathing it again. The sword vanished in golden dust as his Vision glowed over his shoulder.

Belial’s brain was stuck on the name of the sword, ignoring the conversation the other two were having in front of him. More specifically, on the last word.

“Who forged the sword?” Belial asked, without caring to interrupt. He thought that the Isshin Art had vanished, but that sword couldn’t be older than Kazuha. It looked too sharp, too young.

He thought that he had eliminated every last trace of the Isshin Art, but that sword said otherwise.

“I did,” Kazuha answered. Belial frowned, ready to object, but Kazuha beat him to it. “Technically. I just repaired it.”

“You never told me that you knew the Isshin Art’s forging techniques,” Belial’s voice sounded slightly out of breath. For some reason, he suddenly felt like perhaps he judged his actions a little too harshly. He never considered that he didn’t do a good enough job in the process of slaughtering the Raiden Gokaden.

Perhaps he, again, underestimated human’s will to persevere. Because even if he spared the last members of the Kaedehara’s Clan, he had considered his statement to have been strong enough.

It was then that Kazuha told him of a sword that had been forged in snow-covered lands by the hand of a bladesmith that refused to give up the Isshin Art after the events carried out against the Raiden Gokaden. A sentient blade forged on guilt and regret, that eventually made its way back to Inazuma, infused with the spirit of its creator and the will to perpetuate the Art with which it was created. That very sword in Kazuha’s sheath, which had convinced Kazuha to let it possess him in order to reforge it, at the cost of its consciousness, so that Kazuha could use it in his studies of the Isshin Art. So that it could fulfill its will of creation.

It was a great sword, Belial’s trained eyes appreciated. It wasn’t the type of sword someone forged on their first try, but the work of an experienced bladesmith.

“So, what I am hearing is that you didn’t forge it.”

“I told you,” Kazuha retorted. “It was by my hand that it was repaired, but as it was guided by its consciousness.”

Belial had found a will on the last day he had been in this same place, as Kazuha fought against his illness and the possibility of ending the Kaedehara Clan forever.

“I will teach you,” Belial said, eyeing Amenoma Tougo with eyes as sharp as the blades displayed behind him. “You said I could make use of the smith, right? I would like to take on your word, if it’s still possible.”

“Wait a minute, are you serious?” Kazuha grabbed his sleeve and Belial’s attention broke away from the man in front of him. He nodded. “We don’t have to do this. Didn’t you say you wanted to leave Inazuma as soon as possible?”

Belial nodded again, but his resolve remained firm. “And I still want that. But I need to do this first.”

“Why?”

Kazuha’s scarlet eyes, as dark as his sword, looked at him like they were seeing him for the first time. There was a strong sense of admiration deep within those irises that Belial couldn’t eye for very long, scared of seeing something he didn’t deserve.

“I thought you wanted to see me mend my mistakes?”

The intensity that burned between them was extinguished when Amenoma Tougo made himself known again. For a second, Belial had forgotten they weren’t alone. He had become too used to just being around Kazuha.

“We close one day a week and open right after dawn. On any other time, the forge is yours as long as either me or Hajime are present.”

“We don’t mind getting up early, right?” Kazuha smiled in Belial’s direction and he smirked in return.

Kazuha knew the answer to that one already.

Showing up at the Amenoma smithy ended up being just another one of the things they did in their days. Now that Kazuha was fine and their tent was still the place where they spent all of their nights, the amount of commissions they had to request at the guild reduced significantly. So much, that some days Belial thought that the world was a place worth living just because he didn’t have to visit Katheryne’s counter once.

With Mr. Amenoma’s authorization and under the strict surveillance of, mostly, Hajime, Belial started teaching Kazuha the basics of bladesmithing. Just what the apprentices learned on their first weeks at Tatarasuna, the things that Belial had picked on as he observed them in between carrying sacks and tools from one place to another and helping the women of the village with their chores.

The part of him that couldn’t distance himself from Kazuha had to bite its tongue to stop himself from sounding like a weirdo. To not tell Kazuha to stop for a bit when sweat started to coat his face, to be careful with the hand that held the blade as the hammer hit the iron, to step away from the furnace and breathe some fresh air when the remnants of his sickness made a reappearance in the form of a dry coughing fit.

He had seen way too much sickness in Tatarasuna, and even if Kazuha wasn’t sick from the Tatarigami, he couldn’t help seeing the correlation.

Some other part of him wanted to speak as Kazuha worked. In between his instructions and reprimands—that Kazuha took exceptionally well even if Belial’s tongue sometimes was as sharp as he had been with the Fatui recruits—, Belial wanted to tell him about different times in another forge. About the things he learned, the people he met, the things he lost. About the one they called Kabukimono.

Those two hurt him in different ways, but Belial’s relationship with pain had always been different than anyone else’s. To him, pain felt more like a transaction than a consequence. If it hurt, it meant it was working, right? Pain was what ascended him to Harbinger, after many expeditions in the Abyss and nights spent on lab tables. This type of pain proved to him that what he was doing to repent for his sins was paying off. It had to feel difficult. It had to hurt him in some way.

So, ironically, in order for him to succeed, he had to make sure that Kazuha was in perfect condition. Exactly. That was why he was so worried about him at all times. Because if something happened to the last descendant of the Kaedehara Clan then all of this would be pointless. The Isshin Art would disappear, and so would the last traces of his friends back at Tatarasuna whose wills and memories Belial carried within himself.

Over the days, they started adjusting their schedules to the moments they knew the smithy would be emptier. They didn’t show up everyday of the week, but with the passing of the days they learned that the moment they both enjoyed most was as the sun shone its final rays over the city and people started retreating into their homes. Hajime, too, stopped showing up whenever they did, once he made sure they wouldn’t break anything. Belial liked that kind of freedom they now had and that, once again, it was just the two of them.

Right now, though, as the sun shone over the iron of the forge, Belial couldn’t help but see Niwa instead of his descendant. He embraced the pain of grief as it hit him like a carriage. Good.

“When will I finally forge a sword?” Kazuha demanded, as he wiped off sweat from his forehead with the forearm of the hand holding the hammer. Between that and the fact that it was a cold day and Kazuha could get sick again, Belial was on the verge of snapping.

“You’re not ready,” he just said. It wasn’t the first time he had said those words, yet Kazuha still whined as he hit the iron again. “And you are being incredibly annoying today, you know that?”

Kazuha huffed, brow furrowed and focused on landing precise hits on the edge of the blade. Perhaps Belial was being too harsh. He sat on the working table next to Kazuha and leaned over him to examine the incandescent piece of iron. It looked fine.

“Quench it when you think it’s ready and I’ll think about it,” he said, crossing his arms and ignoring Kazuha’s complaints, who let out a deep breath as his frown vanished. It seemed to be that easy for him to regulate his emotions.

Kazuha didn’t strike the piece of iron any more, but rather looked at Belial straight in the eye as some contained type of animosity danced inside them. Then, he lowered it to a barrel of water and continued to stare at him as steam filled the forge.

Belial had to bite his tongue. From telling him that he was going to get burned, that the boiling water might splash him, even if it was his bandaged hand. But he didn't, because it felt like walking right into Kazuha’s trap.

He didn’t fall for his provocations. “Let me see,” he just said and Kazuha raised the now cool piece in front of him. He grabbed it, turning it around and examining the light that shone over the surface for cracks or flakes related to temperature. “It looks fine,” he said. “But clean it first.”

Even if he was fast in turning away and towards the working table, Belial still saw Kazuha’s self-satisfied grin. Something about Kazuha’s smiles was contagious, because more and more often Belial found himself copying them.

They had spent most of the hours in the forge talking. It felt easy, with their hands moving and their eyes concentrated on other tasks: Kazuha on the practice piece in his hands, Belial on keeping close watch and correcting his actions. So, when Belial asked him about his hand, the one he was using to clean the metallic surface, Kazuha didn’t look all that surprised by the question.

“Those were burn scars. How did you get them?” Belial asked, remembering their patterns and textures, the way in which they toughened towards the palm.

His eyes were fixed in his reflection on the iron when Kazuha responded. “It happened during the Vision Hunt Decree. I had a… Friend. Yes. We were traveling together, just like you and I,” Kazuha’s hand stopped rubbing the surface in favor of closing into a tight fist. “You two would have gotten along, I believe. Sometimes I thought that his ambition was way bigger than he was.”

His last words were spoken as barely whispers. No human would have heard them, but Belial wasn’t like most people. Before he could do something dumb like interrupt Kazuha and distract him from this guy that was, for some reason, making him incredibly sad, Kazuha spoke again.

“We can go see him, if you want. I’m done with this,” he said, sliding the edgeless blade closer to Belial. He paid it no mind.

Archons, no. The last thing Belial wanted to do was go see some random guy that Kazuha seemed to care so much about. It was him with whom he was traveling, right? And they had important stuff on their hands, like reviving the long lost Isshin Art.

“I don’t wanna go to anyone’s house.”

“It’s his grave, actually,” Kazuha said, and the worst part was that his tone held no bite.

“Oh,” Belial uttered, in a mortified whisper.

All of his one-sided annoyance towards this complete stranger vanished quicker than the steam in the smithy, and the realization that his worry about Kazuha extended a lot further than his physical well being hit him harder than a hammer.

“It’s fine, I can go by myself. I would like to say goodbye to him before we leave Inazuma,” Kazuha said, pulling Belial out of his thoughts.

He shook his head, eyes fixed on Kazuha’s creation. His reflection returned his gaze and even if he hated it, he didn’t break eye contact. He deserved to see the face of the person he was becoming, so that reprimanding it felt a little easier.

“No. I want to go with you,” he spoke way louder than he expected to, cleared his throat and tried again. He grabbed Kazuha’s piece of iron and turned it in his hands. “This blade is fine. Smooth, no cracks. Next time we will try with a sword. We can leave now.”

“Now?” Kazuha repeated, eyebrows raised below the line of his fringe.

Belial tilted his head. “Oh? You wanna start again, you say? I don’t need to sleep, I can be here all night.”

But before Belial could continue pushing Kazuha’s buttons, the ronin grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him out of the forge.

It was almost night time when they reached the broken bridge that marked the location. They had walked all the way to the most eastern part of Narukami without crossing paths with nobody outside of the city, but that wasn’t strange. In Inazuma, the land infested by the remains of a war that never truly ended, staying within the cities was the sensible thing to do.

Them, instead, stepped forward into the void beneath the remnants of the bridge and fell down the shallow ravine. Anemo swirled under the tips of their toes and around their ankles as it eased their landing.

The bottom of it was just a canyon that led to the sea as it meandered like a snake. Just above the line of the horizon, the last rays of sun reached the furthest wall and casted a golden glow over the sword pinned to the ground.

Belial realized they were standing over a grave and took a couple of steps back. Kazuha stayed, crouching to grab what looked like a crystal orb from the ground. Its surface was shiny, even if the interior was cloudy and seemed to ripple like murky water. It was only when Belial noticed the encasing that he understood what he was looking at.

“Is that a Vision?” He asked, softly, as if his voice could disturb the stillness of the forest above them.

Kazuha hummed an affirmation as he turned the little thing around in his bandaged hand. “This is what happens when a Vision bearer dies. Their ambitions vanish with them and all that’s left is an empty shell.”

Belial sat down on a rock nearby and silently observed Kazuha as he used his sleeve to clean the edge of the sword that served as his friend’s tombstone. Unlike earlier in the forge, his movements were slow and careful, full of deep mourning. This expression on Kazuha’s face wasn’t new to Belial, the familiar lack of shine in his eyes as the shackles from his past caught up to him uninvited.

“I didn’t tell you how I got the scars in my hand, in the end.”

Belial hummed and rested his elbow on his knee, a hand against his face. “You didn’t.”

Kazuha opened his mouth and just as he was about to start, he looked towards Belial and chuckled. Belial arched an eyebrow, but Kazuha dismissed it with a shake of his head. “I've always been drawn to strong ambitions. And his shone so bright… He wanted to make a lasting change in Inazuma, and so he decided to duel the Raiden Shogun and risk facing the Musou no Hitotachi.”

“You're the only one who's ever survived that,” Belial commented as an afterthought.

Kazuha picked up the inert Vision once again, holding tight to it. “That's not entirely true. When I challenged the Shogun… I heard his voice. It was his will and bravery that pushed me forward, and his Vision glowed next to mine one last time. He saved me,” Kazuha's voice didn't break. It was calm and steady, but Belial heard the underlying pain of his repressed emotions. The grief he had never allowed himself to truly heal from.

As if sensing it, before Kazuha tippled over the edge and surrendered to the wave threatening to pull him under, something white curled against Belial’s ankles.

With a flinch, he looked towards the white cat that had sneaked up on both of them.

“Where did you come from?” Belial asked, but the animal continued its way towards Kazuha, and Belial saw in real time his face softening, the burden weighing on him dissipating as he picked the little thing in his arms.

“Tama,” he called the cat, which allowed Kazuha to coddle and pet it in between the ears. “It was Tomo’s cat,” Kazuha’s attention had been completely stolen by the fluffball in his arms.

That name. Belial recognized it from one of Kazuha’s feverish deliriums. What had he said? Something about going up some stairs. Ah. Now it made sense, the guilt in his voice.

“What kind of names are those?” He mocked, which resulted in a chuckle from Kazuha. Belial didn’t want to think about the lightheadedness he felt upon seeing Kazuha smile.

The cat—Tama—landed gracefully its jump from Kazuha’s arms before making its way back to Belial. With his free hand, he caressed it in between the ears just as Kazuha had done and he felt against his fingers the purrs coming out of its body.

“She likes you,” Kazuha commented. “Tomo wasn’t his real name. It’s not uncommon for us wanderers to choose new identities at the start of our journeys, because most of us tend to leave our whole lives behind.”

The hum Belial let out matched Tama’s vibrations as he stroked her curved back.

When Belial raised his gaze, he didn’t expect to get hit with the intensity of Kazuha’s stare. Belial recognized the emotions that could barely fit in Kazuha’s eyes, and remembered them in his own flesh. Regret and guilt, pain and grief. Old friends.

“I know grief better than most,” Belial started, averting his gaze from Kazuha. “And the thing is that you have to allow yourself to feel it. You will never truly heal from it, but your life will start to grow bigger around it.”

“I’m fine,” Kazuha said in a whisper, as if his throat didn’t allow for lies to escape.

“You don’t have to be,” he answered in the same tone. It felt like talking to himself. “Tell me about him.”

It took Kazuha a while to start talking. He crossed his arms, as if guarding himself. “The day that Tomo left, I was still sleeping. I figured he had gone into the city to get us some stuff, but I noticed things weren’t quite right when I started hearing what the people around me were saying. That some guy had challenged the Shogun to a duel. I immediately knew it was him.”

He stood there, allowing himself perhaps for the first time to truly feel what he had been hiding from for so long. To reopen wounds that hadn’t closed properly.

“It was his dying Vision that burned my hand. Once I reached him, I knew I couldn't have done anything for him, and that he wouldn't have wanted me to. He valued his honor over everything, and he believed he deserved to die at that moment. His will was so strong it felt like holding onto a sun. I felt it within myself and I understood that with an ambition as strong as his I would have done the same thing.”

Belial looked at Kazuha’s hand as it closed into a tight fist.

A sigh left Kazuha’s lungs, tired. “And yet, I can’t help but feel betrayed by the way he left me. Silently, as if no one would have cared if he were to disappear.”

His fist unclenched as he made his way over to sit next to Belial, within Tama’s petting range. She had climbed onto Belial’s lap and didn’t seem to refuse a good scratch whenever it came her way, so Kazuha did just that.

“There’s more you’re not saying,” Belial heard it in Kazuha’s restrained words, which sounded something like guilt but a lot like regret.

“I… Was in love with him,” he confessed, and chuckled afterwards. “Which may sound dumb because we didn’t know each other that much,” he sighed. Then, his hand stopped and Belial could feel Kazuha’s gaze on him. “It’s a weakness of mine, I guess. I’ve always been drawn to people with strong ambitions.”

The hole in Belial’s chest begged for attention at the sight of Kazuha’s feelings. So strong and dangerous they would consume him. And yet, Kazuha seemed to embrace them, let them hurt him and, in the end, accept them for what they were. For the fact that they would always be with him.

Would he feel as strongly as Kazuha if he had a heart? Because the ronin in front of him had never felt as human as he did now. Vulnerable and fragile like all humans were.

His chest hurt.

“You think too highly of me,” he said in a low voice. He didn’t need to speak much louder with how close they were seated. “Sometimes, I still have a hard time believing there’s a meaning to me being alive.”

Kazuha shook his head. “Then tell me, if life has no meaning why do I keep coming back to this grave everytime I step foot on Inazuma. Our lives are meaningful to the people that love us.”

A frown divided Belial’s face and his gaze went back to the warmth of the cat on his lap. “Do you still love him?” He asked, for some reason.

As Kazuha stroked Tama’s fur, he wondered. “I never got to tell him, so those words will always haunt me and some part of me always will. But, right now, I believe the regret and the guilt occupy much more space.”

Nahida’s words from time past came back to him. When he was lying in her chambers and all he wanted to do was die and disappear. “It gets better,” he heard her say, but it was his own voice.

With a soft smile, Kazuha stood up. “It already is. Should we head back now?”

And so they left everything as it was. A sword on the floor, the casing of old ambitions and a wandering cat that would wait for their return.

When things finally exploded in Belial’s face, it happened in the most stupid way possible.

The days went on as they spent them roaming around, coming back to the forge, going back to their tent.

And the nights were long. With their return to normality, Belial fell back into old habits and no matter how much he wanted to sleep the nights away, reality was he ended up with his eyes set on the navy cloth that covered them. Because Kazuha was sleeping soundly next to him, and Belial hated that he didn’t want to walk too far away from him. As if something was tying him to the ronin.

Belial thought about it a lot, the way in which he didn’t feel like a dog on a leash, but free in the sense that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

When Kazuha suggested that they take on some commissions to buy food to celebrate the upcoming New Year, Belial couldn’t say no to him. And when Kazuha asked him if Belial would cook for them, Belial didn’t agree, but neither did he refuse.

He was restless, even if he didn’t know exactly why. The reason always involved Kazuha and that alone was enough to annoy him. The Kaedehara Clan had always managed to in some way, throughout Belial’s existence.

So, when Katheryne offered them some of the available commissions, Belial interfered and quickly pointed to the one that would offer him some relief. Kairagi had been spotted near the beach east to the city, threatening the safety of the fishermen in the area, and had to be dealt with immediately.

Spotting them wasn’t hard. There were two of them and their bright colored armors clashed against the clear sky from a cold winter day. Even if the beach was littered with fishing rods and nets laid on the ground, they could see no one else in the vicinity.

As he summoned his catalyst, Belial could already feel his Anemo energy pulsating all throughout his body and against his chest like a heartbeat. His Vision glowed even before he raised into the air.

“Leave them to me,” he told Kazuha. He could already see the ronin unsheathing his blade with collected precision.

“It’s more efficient if we each take care of one.”

“I can deal with them both by myself.”

“I know. But just like you, I don’t want to sit still and watch.”

Belial knew he was being unreasonable. There was a restless prickling dancing around the tips of his fingers and his senses had heightened to bothersome degrees, to the point of almost feeling overstimulated. He needed to get rid of it as soon as possible, and that entailed avoiding this fight with Kazuha.

Kazuha raised the side of his mouth upon seeing Belial sigh. “We make a good team.”

“I know,” Belial said.

It was at the exact moment they charged forward, that Belial realized something wasn’t quite right with him. Fighting had always felt easy, instinctual. The fact that he didn’t care about the damage he could cause to his body made him immune to hesitation, and his combat prowess always ended up making him come up on top.

Today, though, his surroundings felt large. His field of vision reached further than the enemy in front of him. To the sounds of the sea by their side, to the feeling of a wind that wasn’t his own on his skin, to the vermilion silhouette moving next to him.

When a downright stroke almost cut right through him, distracted as he was by everything that wasn’t the blade he should have been focusing on, he had a frightening realization. He wouldn’t want to die during this battle. He already knew he didn’t want Kazuha dying anytime soon, but to have that feeling reflected on himself would have had him stumbling over his feet, had he not been suspended mid air.

His reflexes were still sharp, though, so he had just enough time to shake his head before he avoided one, two and then a third circular slash that spanned a lot further than what was needed to reach him. He glanced to his side. Kazuha was just some feet away from him and dealing just fine with his own opponent.

The next time the crimson Kairagi rushed forward, Belial wasn’t as fast. That split second he had used to take in Kazuha’s state had been more than enough for the blade to slide through the skin of his upper arm and rip right through the length of his sleeve.

He was knocked backwards in the air and the only thing that he could hear in that short instant was Kazuha calling his name. When he raised again, those crimson eyes were wide and looking at him, and his mouth opened in a forced intake of breath. Kazuha’s back faced the Kairagi that was charging straight at him with yet another wide and circular motion.

It would have cut him in half, that blade that seemed as long as Kazuha was tall. 

As if being able to feel the threat looming over him, perhaps hearing the metal edge slicing through the air, Kazuha had enough time to turn around and raise his own to counter the attack. But Belial’s body had already started pushing through the air on its own accord, as if swimming through honey, and just as the sword was about to finish its swing he summoned two wind blades that diverted its trajectory.

He was weak, his head full of mud as it slowly made sense of the situation, and the sword cut right through his Anemo and continued to cut through the air. It stopped when it hit him instead. The edge sliced his middle and only because he wasn’t truly human, because he wasn’t made of flesh and bone, instead of cutting him in half the blade got stuck like an ax against the trunk of a tree and pushed him backwards until he rolled over the prickling sand.

The next few seconds felt like an eternity and Belial was reminded of the moment that felt so long ago when he plummeted from the heights of the Shouki no Kami. The sound of his body hitting the floor fresh in his mind, along with the calm that followed as he wished for his eyes to close and never open again.

There was no sound of hitting the ground in his head now, though. No dry echo inside an abandoned workshop, but the familiar clinking of metal against metal as his fingers sank into the sand, its grains slipping under his nails. Belial took a deep breath like he needed it and stepped into his feet.

Kazuha was barely managing to fight back against the two ronin that doubled him in size. He blocked one hit and then the next one from the other blade, pushing against it hard enough so that he could counter the new swing coming his way. Belial’s feet moved before he could order them to and soon his Anemo energy was flowing again to the fingertips that weren’t pressed against his middle.

The crimson Kairagi fell and vanished into thin air as Belial summoned a ball of Anemo under the sole of his sandal, causing the ronin in the purple armor to scream at them in rage. Belial wasn’t sure if the ronin was furiously swinging faster or if it was just him getting slower.

Kazuha took a second now that the scales had tipped in their favor to glance at him. In just that brief second Belial noticed the furrow of his brows, the worried look in his eyes that soon turned sharp.

“Why did you do that?” He reproached him.

Belial scoffed and tightened his grip against the skin of his waist as Kazuha deflected another swing with his katana. His knees felt weak, but Belial pushed through.

“Maybe because that thing would have cut you up like a steak?” He responded, taking advantage of Kazuha’s counter to shoot out another Anemo attack.

Laced with a tinge of anger so unlike him, Kazuha summoned his Anemo field and the Kairagi fell to its knees under the influence of the maple leaves infused with the water from the ocean. He seemed unable to avoid the sharp slices as they periodically inflicted damage on him. Kazuha used that moment of respite to face Belial.

“It’s not that easy to kill me.” Belial spit just before Kazuha spoke. “Trust me, I’ve tried plenty of times.”

“Please stop joking, I don’t think now’s the time.” Kazuha’s eyes were set on the very obvious wound on his stomach. “I had it under control, I was about to strike back.”

Belial knew it. He had seen it, Kazuha turning around ready to face the incoming attack. And, yet, his body had launched forward before he had been able to connect two thoughts. Instinctual. The result of human error. The evidence of a soft spot.

There was a sheen of something covering Belial’s skin. He wasn’t sure if it was sweat or humidity from the sea. He could barely think with how much his body trembled. There was a pulsating sensation on his injured arm that traveled down to the tips of his fingers.

“But I was faster,” Belial countered with a bite, angry at himself first and foremost. In a desperate effort to hide everything else.

“Is that it? You don’t trust me to fight alongside you? This isn’t our first time, why is it a problem all of a sudden?” Kazuha’s attention was on Belial, as if the agonizing Kairagi at his back had been reduced to just a minor inconvenience. Kazuha’s eyes opened in realization. “You have been acting quite strange these past few days, extremely overprotective and hesitant. You thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Belial said, not to deflect but because at that point he barely knew what they were saying. There was a buzzing sound in his head that didn’t let him hear the sea.

“I’ve been roaming the world for years, Belial, I know what I am doing and even when you are gone, I will manage to stay alive. That’s what I have been doing all my life.”

Belial wasn’t sure if, when his knees gave out, it was because of Kazuha’s words or his own weakness. He was panting, his head feeling hot and the word overheating appeared in an instance of clarity. The void in his chest had lowered to his middle, threatening to rip him to shreds by the wound, widening its edges and turning him inside out.

There was only one thought in his mind. “You’re going to leave me too, right?”

Kazuha’s face cleared from the remnants of an anger he refused to let consume him. With a gasp, he kneeled in front of Belial, perhaps for the first time taking in his deplorable state. The Kairagi might have still been around and yet, Kazuha sheathed his sword in order to cup Belial’s face in his hands. Belial welcomed the warmth, because even if his head felt like a boiling pot, his skin was somehow cold.

“No. Of course not. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” Kazuha’s voice was soft, caressing the porcelain skin of his cheeks with his thumb as he glanced at him, taking in the state of his wounds.

Belial didn’t need to look to feel his clothes soaked with his blood. A small, still conscious part of him, wanted to know if it really was purple. If the remains of the time when he was a gullible god would never truly fade away.

“Look at me. Hey, look at me,” Belial heard Kazuha talking as he very slightly shook his head with each sentence. He opened his eyes and glanced straight into deep crimson pools.

“I’ve been through worse,” he managed to say.

Kazuha nodded, perhaps thinking that agreeing with him would serve as a healing method. And yet, he decided that it wasn’t enough, because he spoke again. “I need to take you to a doctor to treat your wounds.”

Belial’s consciousness made a brief return upon hearing those words. He made an effort to shake his head through Kazuha’s hold. “No. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Have you seen yourself?”

He shook his head again, more vehemently. “They can’t treat me. Wouldn’t know how. Bring us back to our tent and let me rest there.”

Kazuha’s next intake of breath was shaky, very unlike his casually collected self. “I won’t leave you to die.”

With whatever was left of his strength, Belial raised a hand—his clean hand, the one that didn’t feel wet with blood—and grabbed Kazuha’s forearm. He tried to squeeze it and failed.

“Please, Kazuha. Do you trust me?”

The ronin’s hand slid to the back of his neck as he nodded. “Of course I do.”

“Then take us to our tent. My body can self-heal with rest, I will be fine.”

His consciousness finally faded away the moment Kazuha picked him up and pressed him against his chest, a fast heartbeat luring him to the depths.

As it always happened when he slept, his dreams came for him in full force. The box in his chest opened as his mind flew away from him, unable to keep its hold on the lid.

His body was placed over the cold metal of the operating table. There were beeping sounds all around him from machines and tools alike, and the room was freezing. In between the darkness of his closed eyes, he recognised the familiar place.

And then it started. The poking and probing. His skin was cut open, his insides laid on a table next to him and the void within him felt bigger than ever, exposed for the whole world to see.

His throat hurt. The only thing he could hear over the beeping was agonizing screams and the rhythmic splatter on the floor from some dense liquid that seemed to drip from the holes on the metallic table he was lying on.

He tensed his jaw, inserted his fingers through the holes and waited for it to be over. Sometimes he heard Dottore’s voice as he talked about the things he discovered. How his components held against the corrosion of the abyss. The cracks and marks on his surface as he peeled it from his body like he was an apple and stored it as a clue from the recent expedition. The next experiment he was gonna perform on him, the perfect puppet he was trying to replicate in the form of yet another one of his segments.

Time passed differently during these tests and repairs, as the Doctor called them. Some days were so awful that they were over in an instant, as he passed out in the beginning when being ripped open without any sort of anesthesia. The Doctor didn’t bother because he was just an imitation of a human. He had no nerve terminations, blood or vessels, after all. Some other days, when he stumbled upon the most wicked of the Doctor’s clones, he made sure that he stayed awake throughout the whole thing.

He praised him while he tortured him, and he endured everything as he let his brain go to other places that weren’t the lab or the palace of the snow covered mountains surrounding it. The pain was needed if he wanted to climb up the ranks, if he wanted to be useful. And, yet, sometimes, when his mind refused to leave, he caved in and heard a voice in the room beg and scream for it to stop. He never cried during those times, no matter how painful it was, because Dottore would put his tears under the microscope as he writhed, just a torso and a head at the mercy of the next thing that came to this clone’s mind.

Belial woke up with a start, because there were fingers running through his hair. He still couldn’t open his eyes, as he wasn’t sure they were in its sockets, couldn’t hold onto the table as he believed his hands were just palms and couldn’t feel the holes underneath him.

But where he had thought to be nothing, just a bald head after the Doctor had pulled and cut at his scalp until his skull had been nothing more than a box with a lid, he felt a caress against his hairline, all the way back to the crown of his head. And, oh, there was hair, and skin, and a shiver was born on his scalp like his hair roots were conductors of electricity. It traveled down his veins like wires and it was exactly what he needed to be able to slightly open his eyes. They felt heavy like iron shutters.

He couldn’t move, just like when he was on top of the operations table, but now he didn’t feel the need to hold onto dear life and be useful for something. He waited. His hand could move now, he noticed, and with great effort he raised it to grab the one that was still running across his fringe, combing it away from his eyes. It was Kazuha’s right hand, and he welcomed the rough feeling of the bandages against his soft fingers.

“Hey,” Kazuha greeted him. “How are you feeling?”

Belial shook his head, just to try and see if he could. He felt like closing his eyes again. They were wet with spilled tears.

“It has only been a few hours,” Kazuha spoke again, seeing he would have to do it for the both of them.

Talking was difficult for Belial right now. He still could barely move, and he knew that he shouldn’t push himself if he wanted to heal quicker. Belial wasn’t used to healing on his own, always pumped to the brim with new concoctions Dottore had wanted to try on him and the results of his multiple trials and errors in the attempt to enhance or block his abilities.

“I had some spare bandages, so I tried to clean and cover your wounds with them. I hope you don’t mind.”

It was then that Belial noticed that his haori was gone, as well as his black undershirt, which were probably torn and in need of some mending. Instead, some bandages covered his waist and arm, and the blanket that Kazuha had brought from the Alcor was on top of him. They were all pointless, because his wounds couldn’t get infected and he couldn’t die from cold or sickness, but Belial liked the support they gave him, as if the bandages were keeping his insides from spilling out of him and the blanket was trying to comfort him with its weight.

“You already look so much better,” Kazuha said, giving a squeeze to the hand that Belial was still thoughtlessly holding onto. “Go to sleep again, I’ll keep watch over you.”

So, with a peace of mind that Belial didn't know he needed, he once again sank into a sea of dreams that could take him anywhere.

He drifted.

There was a kid dying in his arms. He was dying, dying, dying, and he wanted to help him breathe, to infuse his lungs with his air. But how could he, when he hadn’t breathed in all his existence?

A little bird flew in front of him, it raised into the sun and the only thing he got to see was the shadow of its tail feathers. When the chirping faded, he was left all alone.

And then, his feet took a couple of steps on a ground that mixed with the sky in the horizon. It wasn’t wet and yet, it rippled under the soles of his sandals. Everything was violet, darker than the evening sky, but brighter than a cloud loaded with lightning. The ground, the sky, the combination of both, the tree and the person standing in front of it, their back facing Belial as he continued walking. His body felt light, the presence of the person and the deep echoes in the farness calming in a way they maybe shouldn’t have been.

Upon hearing him, the figure turned around and Belial’s steps faltered when the umbrella she was carrying revealed a face he knew so well. The soft smile she was wearing was unfamiliar, though. Uncanny in the way it would have been on his own face.

But it didn’t falter, and it welcomed him to keep going, to walk the rest of the way and stand next to her.

“The tree looks beautiful today,” she said, as if this wasn’t Belial’s first time seeing it. Now that he really noticed it, it looked like no other tree he'd ever seen. This one seemed to be made out of a substance that moved like oil on water. From time to time a droplet separated from the foliage and raised into the sky. It reminded Belial of the Irminsul more than anything else, because he knew that one tree in a way most didn’t.

Then, she turned to face Belial and her face softened even more. “You look just like me,” she commented, her voice suddenly tinged with sadness.

Belial was aware he was dreaming. That in the real world his body was recovering and that Kazuha was taking care of it in his absence. Perhaps that was why he was able to speak without restraint. “You created me like that.”

The woman in front of him smiled softly at his words, completely unaffected by them. As if they weren’t directed at her. “I see. So Ei created you,” she wondered out loud. “I believe I should introduce myself, then. I am not Ei, but her sister. My name’s Makoto.”

Belial frowned, tempted to look around and see if he was being tricked by the universe. It was his first time hearing that the Raiden Shogun had a sister. That the Electro archon was a couple of twin gods.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Makoto’s gentle fingers, which were raising his face by the chin. “What..?”

While she studied him, Belial did the same. Her features were identical to those of the current Electro Archon. Hell, even to her puppet's. But there was a gentleness in them, a softness he had never seen on Ei's face, let alone directed at him. Makoto's face was free of the sorrows of war and wounds never healed.

Belial broke the silence, because he didn’t want to think about her anymore. Everything was still too fresh, a wound that wasn’t physical still trying to heal. “I look like her, I know.”

But Makoto shook her head, that soft smile never faltering. She raised a finger and placed it under his eye. “She had a beauty mark here,” she pointed out. “But you don’t. It was the only thing that set us apart, so when she had to appear in my stead we made sure to cover it up.”

His whole world shook under the implications of those words.

Makoto’s hand raised to his hair, combing his longer side fringe behind his ear, and Belial was so enraptured with looking at her that he ended up welcoming the comforting touch. “Oh, Ei,” she lamented. “I hope she was able to move on without me. She did some terrible things in my absence, didn’t she? I'm so sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

Belial hadn’t told her anything, but it was like she just knew. Like she understood why her sister did the things that she did, as if they were just extensions of each other. And it was then and there that Belial understood the look on Ei’s face the moment she had seen him on the bridge. Who she was seeing instead.

“But if she created you in my image, that almost makes me your mother more than Ei, don’t you think?”

The side of her lips raised into a smile that was softer and more welcoming than anything Belial had ever seen coming out of his creator. The women at Tatarasuna looked at him like that sometimes too. Like he was someone worth taking care of, worth accepting just the way that he was, worth loving without expecting anything in return.

Makoto hummed in thought while looking at him. “I feel like you need a hug,” she determined. “Can I hug you?”

Belial felt that perhaps he did need a hug, so he just nodded and stood still as Makoto's arms gently wrapped around his shoulders and pulled his head tight against her. Her hand combed through his hair and it was almost like Belial could feel her smile against his strands.

“You know? I always wanted to have kids, so meeting you has made me really happy.”

It was just a harmless comment, but Belial could feel something burning in his chest and an unmistakable pressure behind his eyes. Why was he mourning something he never had?

“I wish we could meet again.”

“I would like that.”

One last time, Makoto cradled his face in her hand to look at him. “I know that you are angry at her, because she created you as a means for her grief. But I like to think of you not as a product, but as a gift from fate.”

Belial’s throat was knotted around the words he couldn’t speak, so he remained quiet in a silent urge to keep Makoto going. Nothing had ever felt as comforting as her words—perhaps only just one other person’s, but she wasn’t here now.

“I know you are destined for great things. Live your life for both of us.”

“I will,” he promised without hesitation.

When her touch vanished like sand carried away by the wind, Belial felt the floor disappearing from underneath him. He watched the tree he now recognized from its sakura petals on the Grand Narukami Shrine one last time and then, he succumbed to the endless fall.

Maple leaves soared in the wind. They reminded him of lost pavilions and eternal days. When he opened his eyes, the maple leaves turned warm and a couple of eyes of the same hue glanced down at him. They scrunched into waning moons and Belial felt a weight lifting off his body.

“Welcome back,” his airy voice greeted him.

Belial didn’t know how much time he had been asleep, but seeing Kazuha sitting next to him made him realize that he didn’t really care. That no matter how much time had passed, Belial would not have woken up alone.

Kazuha’s hand, the one free of bandages, wiped a stray tear that had traveled all the way to his temple. “A nightmare?” He wondered.

Belial shook his head and closed his eyes, revering in the warm touch of Kazuha’s fingertips, remembering Makoto’s touch and how it still felt too real, too tender.

“It was a good dream,” Belial answered, speaking for the first time in perhaps days. His body didn’t feel as tired anymore, the lead that had lined his veins gone for good.

It took him hardly any effort to lift the blanket that was covering him and with Kazuha’s help, they removed the bandages from his stomach to discover a closed wound. A thin line that stretched from side to side of his waist just where his navel should have been, and that would end up fading with the passing of time, just like his joints did. 

“Incredible,” Kazuha couldn’t help but utter. “It’s not that I didn’t believe you, but it’s been barely a couple of days.”

“Told you,” Belial smirked.

“Well, forgive me for doubting your words when you had a foot on the other side.”

“I can’t die just yet, you still have a sword to forge.”

Kazuha’s face scrunched at the reminder while Belial’s grin stayed in place as he got up and retrieved his now mended clothes. He didn’t comment on it and neither did Kazuha, the sewing supplies he had gotten from Thoma laying discreetly by the side of their tent.

“Wrong,” Belial crossed his arms over his chest. “The blade needs to feel like a part of you. An extens—”

“An extension of the soul,” in between one hit and the next, Kazuha recited the words he knew by heart without glancing at Belial once. “I know. My family taught me this, at least, when I was a kid.”

But now that Belial wasn’t as permissive with Kazuha given that his cough was gone and that he was sure the samurai wouldn’t die with the sway of the breeze, he wouldn’t let one error slide. They would forge this sword and keep the Isshin legacy alive even if that was the last thing he did.

“Much talk but little work,” Belial shook his head and the ornate bells from his hat chimed. “Niwa would roll in his grave if he saw what we’re doing, Archons.”

Belial would have already jumped at his own neck, had he been the receiver of those words. Luckily, the one in front of him was Kazuha, who just took a deep breath and let a slight smirk curve his lips.

His eyes suddenly set on him, and some days ago Belial would have gone tense at Kazuha’s nonchalance for the burning blade in his hand. Now, though, Belial’s eyebrow raised in question.

“Then show me how to do it,” Kazuha challenged him, stepping aside in invitation, even if the blade and the hammer were all that he needed and still in his hands.

“I can’t, you have to do it yourself,” Belial responded, but he had already jumped off his seat on the working table. He stepped closer to Kazuha, so that he could look over his shoulder. To monitor him.

He turned his head to the side, and Kazuha’s warmth reached him like a wave. The more Belial remained beside him, the easier it was to feel it emanating from his body like dew dissipating on a summer dawn. For a second, Belial felt like a cat basking in the sun.

“You should watch closely,” Kazuha said. “Because I could make a mistake.”

“Don't worry, nothing escapes my eyes,” and it seemed like Kazuha was determined to test it, because he didn’t even try to hide the smirk that shaped his lips, the glow inside his eyes.

And the thing was that Belial was being strict for no reason, because Kazuha was always careful and determined in everything he did. Even if some days had passed since the last time they showed up at the smithy—enough that Amenoma Tougo wondered where they had been—, Kazuha’s hands remembered how to move at all times.

With a great amount of effort, once he began to see the end coming closer Belial unstuck from Kazuha’s side in order to work on the hilt of the sword. Because if Belial just stood there doing nothing, an uncomfortable itch started in the middle of his chest, quickly traveling down to his fingers with the need to move. So Kazuha kept hammering at the blade, precise hits that embodied the Isshin Art in a way no one had seen in hundreds of years, and Belial grabbed a piece of wood and a carving knife and got to work.

Quietly, after Kazuha quenched the blade and Belial helped him polish it, they mounted the hilt and the sword cut through the air with a hissing sound as it traced an arc in the evening light.

Like a new companion, the sword lay by the rock outside their tent as Kazuha prepared dinner for them both.

“You need to get strong again,” Kazuha reprimanded him while stirring the contents of the pot. 

With a huff, Belial shook his head. “If anesthesia didn’t work on me, you think some broth will?”

“You won’t know until you try mine.”

He didn’t want to admit it, but just its smell, its warmth, was comforting. And perhaps that was exactly what he needed. Not food, but something that could equally fill that void inside him that, despite everything, kept growing like weed. He couldn't help going back to his dream, to the safety of Makoto’s arms around him and the ease that had loosened his limbs in a way so foreign to him he was barely able to miss. How could he, if he had never felt like that before? Oh, but he had, before the betrayals and everything that had made him forget who he used to be, who he was supposed to be. Kind? Good? Could those words apply to any version of him?

Or perhaps that feeling had found him again long after those days from a past life. Under the rain, in front of an empty restaurant as Kazuha rocked them in slow circles as if they were doing more than just waiting for the storm to pass.

A shooting star raced across the night sky, and only then Belial realized his mind had gone to places far, far away from their little patch of land in the world. Perhaps he wasn’t as healthy as he thought, with his head spinning and his body fighting him to lie down.

He rested his arms behind him, supporting his weight as he took in the silence around the tent, the distant sounds coming from both Hanamizaka and Konda Village as everyone awaited with uncontained excitement for the fireworks welcoming the new year.

As if he too was unable to disturb the calm around them, when Kazuha spoke he did it in a whisper. “ Stars in tranquil sky ,” he said, in that dreamy tone his voice only took when he was particularly inspired. “ Far but intimate with light. ”

Belial couldn’t help but snort, something loud and ugly inside the darkness. “Another haiku?”

“Precisely. I believe that we have to praise our eldest companions, since they have traveled by our side at all times.”

This Kazuha, who was perfectly sober and aware, reminded Belial again of that one night at Uyuu restaurant. He thought fondly of it now, because the bitter instant in which he almost lost control of himself was now buried under layers of Kazuha. Kazuha examining the indents of his fingers. Kazuha instinctively getting closer to him so that they could whisper instead, until their knees bumped together and stayed connected like alchemical links. Kazuha holding onto him as they danced, as Belial brought them back to the tent, as they slept the night away.

Belial had been close to falling asleep that night, but in the end he had been unable to walk that last step. Tonight was different. His body felt heavy, just like on their first night at the inn, but this time he couldn’t feel his sins’ hands pressing against his throat. His limbs buzzed in an effort to stay awake. Because he had to, at least until the fireworks finished. He felt indebted to a certain Hanamizaka shop owner, given that he didn’t pay attention last time. And when he leaned back in search of the rock he knew he would find next to the tent, it wasn’t its hard surface what received him.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, too low to be heard by anyone that wasn’t Kazuha as Belial accidentally lay on him. Belial’s muscles tensed and the reminder of the slash made itself known as he tried to sit back up. But then a fist closed around the back of his clothes, and even if it would have been easy to let go from its hold and put some distance between them, Belial realized that perhaps he didn’t want that.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind,” Kazuha said. He loosened his grip on him and Belial succumbed to his body’s demands, dropping backwards like a rag doll.

“Alright,” Belial whispered in mock resignation.

Kazuha was warm against his back. His chest raised and fell in a lulling cadence and his soft exhalations stirred Belial’s hair strands. So lightly that a normal human wouldn’t have felt it, the same way that he could listen to Kazuha speak when the other’s voice barely raised to the volume of a whisper. Exactly like Kazuha did whenever Belial copied his low tone to answer back. His hearing was attuned to his surroundings, nature and now Belial too.

With his chest barely heaving from his words, Kazuha spoke in a whisper lower than the wind howling around them. “You should finish the haiku.”

“Recite it again,” Belial pleaded, like a kid asking to be sung a lullaby.

Kazuha hummed an agreement and a hand raised to Belial’s hair, placing a wild lock to its rightful position. “ Stars in tranquil sky, far but intimate with light. ”

“I’m not good at these types of things,” Belial responded, eyes closed and ignoring the stars above them.

“That is too many syllables.”

A fortuitous smile grazed Belial’s face and his arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to contain this growing feeling inside him. It felt dangerous and unfamiliar, like a trap in the middle of a meadow. It was luring him in with its sweet smell, and he was about to knowingly walk right into it.

For a moment, he pretended to think, and used that time to take in the world around him. It reached no further than the rock they were lying on. But Belial didn’t have to open his eyes to know where their tent was placed right beside them, that there was a stubborn tree some feet away whose leaves still refused to fall, that a stream silently flowed somewhere behind them, that there was a warm body tightly pressed against his as if the night was colder than in really was, that the stars shone unperturbed against his closed lids.

“ Stars in tranquil sky, far but intimate with light ,” Belial repeated, eyes now open to the bright sky. “ Burned into my sight. ”

Kazuha hummed in satisfaction and Belial could almost feel it radiating off him in waves.

“Beautiful,” Kazuha felt the need to compliment out loud too. “I hope I won’t forget it by morning, I would like to write it down.”

Even if Kazuha didn’t remember, Belial certainly would. For good or for bad, he never forgot anything. And that was a weight he was willing to carry if it meant Kazuha could pen those words down on a page another day, when he was suddenly reminded there was something that needed remembering in the first place.

There was a heartbeat against Belial’s ribcage, and it was pulling him under, making him think about empty boxes inside deep voids. There was a hand combing through Belial’s hair, spreading within him a sense of comfort he had never thought he deserved—that he still believed he didn’t.

To stop this train of thought, he stirred towards another. “Remember that I told you I had a good dream?”

“The one while you were healing, I remember.”

“I met Makoto,” he couldn’t see it, but he sensed Kazuha’s confusion. “Did you know that the Raiden Shogun… Well, Ei, had a twin sister? Because I didn’t.”

“I wasn’t aware. I don’t think anyone knows, to be fair. Did you get to talk to her?”

Belial nodded, and then retold their conversation to Kazuha, who hummed and listened and combed his fingers through Belial’s hair in between his words.

When he finished, Kazuha’s hand stopped for a second. “You severed your last tie to her, then. If you decide to view Makoto as your true mother, what is tying you to Ei?”

“Nothing,” he said, and no other word to ever come out of his mouth had sounded freer than this one. “Nothing,” he repeated in disbelief.

Kazuha’s other hand raised to squeeze his arm. A silent sign of support that Belial appreciated. If anyone had shown this type of affection to him during his time in the Fatui, or even right after waking up in Nahida’s chambers he would have ended them on the spot. But Kazuha never did it out of pity, fear of him or to patronize him. So Belial didn’t reject it.

Instead, he turned his head to the side, slid it to the crook of Kazuha’s neck and shoulder and felt Kazuha’s vitality underneath him. His heart against his ear, his pulse on his forehead.

A part of him wondered if this was weird. Was this something friends did? He didn’t think so, because if the Traveler or Yoimiya were to stand within two feet of him, he would rush to put some space between them. Kazuha didn’t seem bothered by any of it, however, and Belial remembered the way Yoimiya had clung to him during the festival, how Kazuha had allowed it as if it were a normal thing to do. And maybe it was.

When Belial rose from his resting place, Kazuha’s attention diverted from the sky to him. His expression was as relaxed as Belial himself felt, and perhaps he had needed that confirmation more than the warmth of his body against his side. He was starting to miss the feeling, though.

“We should go inside the tent, you must be cold,” Belial said, telling himself that he moved to ask that and not for anything else. 

The hand that had been on his hair hovered around Belial, and he wondered if he would reach out. If he wanted Kazuha to reach out. But before he decided, he answered. “I’m fine like this, and we will miss the fireworks if we do.”

“Don’t you dare get sick again, Kazuha.”

The ronin chuckled as he closed his hand around Belial’s long sleeve to pull him back. Belial followed, reclaiming his spot on his chest as Kazuha's chin rested on top of his head. The sigh he let out didn’t go unnoticed by Belial.

As if they had been waiting for them to finish talking, the first explosion lit up the sky, followed by the excited shouting of the people in the nearby towns. After that, the fireworks show picked up and the sky painted with more colors and shapes than Belial had ever seen above his head. When he turned his head, Belial caught a glimpse of Kazuha’s enraptured gaze, glowing with the reflection of the lights inside them. His hands were covering his ears and, still, Belial could feel the replicas of the explosions as missed heartbeats against himself.

Soon, it turned dark again, only the remains of smoke and gunpowder against the backdrop of the sky and the greetings to the new year could be heard at a mile’s distance. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to make wishful promises in the uncertainty of their lives.

Perhaps immediately or maybe some time later, Kazuha squeezed Belial’s arm to get his attention. “Let’s spar. Tomorrow. To test the new sword.”

The blade was laying beside them, and Belial thought that it looked like it was watching the stars with them. “I’m quite rusty at swordsmanship.”

“I will go easy on you.”

Belial chuckled, shaking them both. “I will end you if you do.”

By the time they went into the tent to sleep, their ears were still ringing and Kazuha's presence felt so familiar to him that he even welcomed falling asleep with a bandaged hand around his wrist.

As the sun was being swallowed by the horizon and the depths of the sea, a biting wind howled through the abandoned remains of Kannazuka. 

With the new sword in hand, Belial figured it was only fair he finally went back to the place that had teached him how to forge them. He didn’t know what he would find there, or if his mourning would resurface like a tsunami on calm waters. But he still planned on leaving Inazuma some time soon, hopefully for good, and he didn’t want to do that before visiting Tatarasuna one last time.

There wasn’t a single soul in that place that used to be a home to him even before he understood the concept of belonging. The houses were ramshackle, with sagging roofs and broken windows. He remembered making some of those. Remembered blowing air into globs of molten glass as the people on the forge looked after him, worriedly because they couldn’t quite believe that he didn’t get dizzy after going at it for hours on end. When winter came, all the houses were prepared to keep the heat in for the first time in years.

Upon raising his head, the Mikage furnace loomed over them like a bomb about to blow the whole place up. In the end, it technically did. 

Kazuha walked silently alongside him, taking in the little details that Belial pointed out, but mostly just listening for signs. That they weren’t safe from their surroundings, as Belial’s mind traveled years and years in the past and forgot his present self. That Belial wasn’t safe from himself, as the lingering spirits from the place, which had nothing to do with the filthy remnants of fallen gods, clinged to him.

Right before leaving, Belial finally went to the only place he had avoided looking at since stepping foot on the deserted forge. The door was holding onto one of its hinges, open and inviting and Belial stood there under its frame, as if taking the last step into Niwa’s home was the single most difficult thing he had ever done.

Kazuha did it first, passing by his side and gazing all around. At the clothes scattered around the room, from when Niwa’s family left after his death or perhaps the work of some treasure hoarders looking for anything more valuable than the memories of the family that once lived there. At the mixture of dust and ashes that covered all surfaces. At the baby crib next to the double bed in the corner.

Kazuha’s fingers brushed its wooden frame and the old navy blue painting flaked off under his touch. Seeing him there, right where Niwa had stood so, so many years ago, made Belial’s chest hurt in the same way it did the day he got all of his memories back. Like a punch to the gut and a hand against his throat.

“This crib was… It had to be my grandfather Yoshinori’s, right?”

Belial crossed his arms over his chest and nodded with hum. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted to leave and forget about the baby he helped raise as he lived in this community. The baby that later grew up and was adopted by the Kaedehara Clan. The one that he spared that one cloudy day near the beach, when he finally stopped his crusade against the Raiden Gokaden. It wasn’t easy to wrap his head around these two people that in reality was just one.

And Kazuha wasn’t making it easy for him either. He was standing in front of the crib just like he had seen Niwa do so many times, and the red strand on the ronin’s hair stood out like a rose on the snow.

When Belial snapped out of it, Kazuha was already looking at him and his eyes were cloudy with a sadness that hadn’t been there before.

“Sometimes when you look at me, I feel like you’re not really seeing me,” Kazuha started, leaving his place by the crib to roam around the shabby cabin.

When he turned a piece of paper around, a family portrait stared back at him. A man with a red strand on his hair and a woman who was holding a sleepy baby in her arms. They looked young and happy, joys of a bygone era. Next to them, standing way too straight and with an awkward smile across his mouth, Kazuha recognized the face of his traveling companion, the golden plume that hung from his neck. Even if his face was the same, he looked younger in spirit, his burdens lighter and ambitions intact.

Kazuha couldn’t help but glance again at his ancestor and Belial in the picture as he ignored the careful steps walking through the room. He raised his head when Belial looked at the picture over his shoulder.

“It seems like you see him instead of me,” Kazuha whispered, because he didn’t need to speak any louder than that. The house could collapse at any second, just like their worlds.

“I can’t help it sometimes,” Belial answered, his arms firm against his sides and with no intention of taking the portrait from Kazuha. “You remind me of him.”

“Physically?”

“Not just that. Niwa was the first person to look at me like I could be something more than a wandering puppet,” Belial couldn’t help but glance at the picture and then at Kazuha. The difference in their gazes painfully tore at Belial’s seams. “After I told you who I was, I saw that same expression in your eyes too.”

“I am not him, though,” Kazuha estated with a frown, eyes fixed on the static gaze glancing back at him.

“I know, but you too treat me like I deserve good things happening to me. As if I weren’t the ill result of a broken creator.”

“Because you do deserve them, Belial. I look at you and see kindness, ambition, and a grief that I recognise in myself. I am no saint either, does that mean that I deserve misfortune and pain for the rest of my life?”

“Of course not, because you are a good person at heart.”

“And you are too.”

Belial chuckled. “I don’t have one of those.”

“And I don’t think you need one, because when you look at me and see Niwa instead, that pain is very much human.”

Belial’s chest hurt like his ribs had been crushed under the weight of Kazuha’s words. He was hurting them both again.

“Can you call me by my name?” Belial asked him as he grabbed Kazuha’s wrist in a firm grip, suddenly scared of the possibility of Kazuha leaving him.

“Belial?” He asked, head tilted in confusion and momentarily forgetting about the picture he was holding.

Belial shook his head. “The name they gave me when I was living here.”

His mouth opened in understanding, and Belial braced himself for it. “Kabukimono,” Kazuha pronounced in a whisper, and something within Belial took flight, free from the confines of his grief.

Kazuha’s voice didn’t sound like Niwa’s, neither the tone, nor the cadence nor the airiness. Kazuha’s mixed pronunciation of voice and wind died within the walls of the cabin and Belial nodded as he raised his head, noticing that it was Kazuha in front of him. Just him. Always him.

Letting go of his wrist, a smile shaped Belial’s lips. “You sound nothing like him.”

Soft fingers traced the line under his eye and when Belial brought his other hand up, he picked up a stray tear. He didn’t know why he was crying when his chest weighed less than it had in ages.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kazuha grabbed his hand and they left the house, the furnace and everything else behind as Belial followed his steadfast steps and let himself be guided back to the beach. "You owe me a sparring match, remember?"

Night had almost fallen by the time they made it back to the edge of the ocean. The furnace lay dormant behind them, invisible with its lack of lighting and disappearing from their gazes and minds until daytime came back around.

To get their minds off the place they had just left behind, Kazuha raised the sword he had forged in front of him. Not pointing at Belial with it, but instead offering its hilt for him to grab.

“Here,” he said, and waited until Belial’s hand covered the other half of the hilt. He didn’t let go just yet. “I want to give this sword to you.”

Belial shook his head. “But you made it. It’s yours.”

“And I want you to wield it,” Kazuha insisted as he pushed the blade in Belial’s direction. “Besides, I already have one,” he added, materializing his crimson sword out of thin air in his other hand.

Only then did Belial agree with an annoyed sigh as Kazuha ceded custody of the sword to him.

It fit easily in his hand, Belial noted, its weight comfortable as he held it by his side. He hadn’t been able to try it out yesterday, limiting himself to observing Kazuha swing it around with satisfied hums, but now he realized what a good job Kazuha had done. Not that he would say it aloud, because there was always room for improvement, though he could admit it to himself inside the privacy of his mind.

“Alright,” Belial acceded, walking a few steps on the sand to put some distance between him and Kazuha. “So how are we doing this? What are the rules?”

“No Vision usage. As for the rest, anything goes.”

Belial let out a chuckle. “Anything? Are you sure about that?”

“Positive,” Kazuha nodded, as he assumed a relaxed stance. His body just slightly turned to Belial, with the sword in his hand pointed towards him. Kazuha’s fingers readjusted their grip on the hilt and he tilted his head twice to crack his neck and roll his shoulders. “Whenever you are ready.”

Belial remained still as he took in the ronin in front of him. He wondered if this too would resurface unwanted memories or, instead, substitute old ones. If the moment he stepped forward would bring back to his mind one of the steps of the sword dance he used to perform.

“I thought you had wanted to fight me the day we met. Now’s your chance,” Kazuha teased him even if he remained still, waiting for Belial to accept his invitation.

He ended up launching forward without overthinking it, and when their swords clashed it was like he was back to the days in which he had learned to properly wield a sword. It fit into his hand like an old friend.

One-handed to attack, with both on the hilt to deflect the hits. It came to him easily, as if he never forgot how to do it in the first place. His senses were sharp, so it was easy for him to stop every single one of Kazuha’s slashes. The ones from the top, the side slashes and even the ascending ones, his feet moving across the sand lightly.

But Belial had always believed that following the rules was boring, so during the next window in between two of Kazuha’s attacks Belial slid his foot through the sand and raised a cloud of grains in Kazuha’s direction. The ronin’s concentration faltered as he turned around and wiped his face with his sleeve. A grin shaped his face as he looked at him with only one eye open.

“That's not an Isshin Art sword technique.”

Belial’s expression was smug. “You sure know a lot about the Isshin clan, minus the forging part,” he mocked him.

But Kazuha didn’t yield. Instead, he rushed forward into a series of slashes that made Belial take a few steps back. “I know about that one too.”

Belial hummed and struck back. “Thanks to whom?”

“Would you like a payment for it?”

“In which form? Can I ask for anything I want?”

Kazuha’s energy was radiating off him in waves and Belial felt a buzzing emotion on himself too. He wondered if he would be having this much fun were he sparring against anyone else.

He already knew the answer. During his Fatui days he had had his fair share of sparring matches against the overly enthusiastic 11th Harbinger. Tartaglia must have been addicted to getting his ass beaten, because he kept asking for it, and Belial didn’t have much choice but to obey because the orders came from above and he needed to keep his place in the table of Harbingers as he waited for a chance to seize the Electro Gnosis. So fighting he did, in all of its forms.

“Is this the best you can do?” Kazuha asked, as he made him take another step back.

“Don’t piss me off.”

Belial was getting distracted, and he didn’t want to admit that Kazuha’s teasing was getting to him. He had more years of swordplay than Kazuha to his credit, that was not in question, but it was also true that Kazuha’s skill was already like second nature to him. 

Still, he didn’t let it get to him. Right after Kazuha’s next hit, he took a step forward and sneaked in a swing that made Kazuha falter almost imperceptibly. It was enough so that Belial’s smug face resurfaced as the tension on his muscles, the buzzing in his limbs and the emptiness in his head made him forget that he often needed the pulsing of his Vision against his chest to feel so… Alive.

“You’re just trying to rile me up,” Belial complained, now that he sensed he had the upper hand.

“What made you think that?” The other answered as he pushed forward and deflected two of Belial’s hits with ease. “Perhaps you’re getting too old for this.”

Belial scoffed. “Insufferable brat.”

“Only because you’re holding back.”

He noticed that he waited for Kazuha’s next words with expectation, because he couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun with another person. Was he really holding back? A small part of him didn’t want this match to end, so perhaps he was unconsciously adapting his strength to match Kazuha’s.

But that wasn’t the whole picture. Another part of him wanted to win, to see what Kazuha would say to that. And the rest wanted to lose for the same reason. But losing wasn’t something he did, so he took in a breath he didn’t need and parried one, two and then three of Kazuha’s attacks as he made Kazuha back away in the process.

His surprised expression didn’t go unnoticed to Belial, who smirked in satisfaction as he thought that that was it, the combat was his to win. But then Kazuha lowered his sword, grabbed him by the front of his haori and slid a foot behind Belial’s ankles.

When he hit the floor, his chest heaved as all the air left him in one forced exhalation. His sword left his grip when Kazuha pinned his wrists to the sand and sat on top of him. His midsection no longer hurt and he realized that Kazuha had probably noticed. He never treated him like he would break, and Belial liked that.

They took a second to catch their breaths. Just Kazuha, whose sweat coated his forehead in a thin layer that made him shine against the last lights of the day. His chest raised and fell with deep inhales and Belial thought that he looked like he belonged to a world beyond the stars.

“That wasn’t an Isshin Art technique.” Belial said in return, fighting against the hold on his wrists and unable to move an inch.

Kazuha’s strength didn’t falter, not even in between exhalations. A smile shaped his open mouth and he repositioned on top of Belial, further strengthening his hold on him.

“What? You’re not gonna tease me again, now that I’m at your mercy?”

Belial’s words faltered towards the end, because the intensity in Kazuha’s gaze was rivaling his hold on Belial in terms of keeping him still. 

“Do you yield?” He asked.

Belial swore that Kazuha gave him a once over before his gaze went back to his eyes.

“Obviously not.”

But, apparently, Kazuha didn’t count with Belial’s legs when he immobilized him, so when Belial sneaked them under Kazuha’s arms and pushed him backwards by his shoulders, he didn’t have time to respond. In the blink of an eye, Belial flipped their positions and had Kazuha pinned underneath him. Kazuha gasped and held onto Belial’s arms as they caged him.

There was a blush on Kazuha’s face as he tried to recover this breath, his eyes shining with the remnants of adrenaline still rushing through him.

“Do you yie—?”

Before Belial could finish his sentence, Kazuha kicked him in the side and rolled them around until he was sitting on Belial’s midsection again. He held in a gasp when something brushed his neck.

Instead of opening his mouth, Kazuha’s eyes stared deep into Belial’s as the sword they forged rested against his throat. Belial swallowed around the knot in his throat, testing the tightness of Kazuha’s press and a sharp sting welcomed him as he took notice of Kazuha’s focus on the movement of his throat.

The night had almost completely fallen around them and the last lights on the horizon and the moon were their only witnesses. The sea was calm, only disturbing them when the waves broke mere inches from where they lay.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Belial said, feeling each syllable.

“I think I’m going to do something else.”

Belial raised an eyebrow in challenge when Kazuha’s hand hesitated. The press on his neck weakened, then tightened again.

“Then do it.”

So Kazuha took a deep breath, pinned the sword deep into the sand and used it as leverage to lean into Belial’s space and press their lips together.

Belial’s head spinned as he took in the warmth of Kazuha’s lips and the roughness of his bandaged hand against his cheek. His eyebrows furrowed. Kazuha’s gasp filled his lungs like he was breathing new life into him and when Belial raised his hands and carded his fingers through Kazuha’s soft hair, he stopped thinking altogether.

For a while, his head, which was always so full with thoughts and memories and voices he didn’t want to listen to, felt empty. Void of everything that wasn’t Kazuha against the tips of his fingers, his tongue, the length of his body. Only when Kazuha broke away, he opened his eyes.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first time I put my sword to your throat,” Kazuha’s breathless voice confessed.

“Took you a while to commit,” he couldn’t help teasing. “What’s changed, for you to do it now?”

Kazuha’s finger traced the underside of Belial’s lips before answering. His eyes were downcasted and his movements slow. “You changed. I could smell anticipation on you too.”

It was a very Kazuha thing to do, to realize that Belial wanted something even before Belial did himself. Even before he could start to think about putting a name to the sense of security, belonging and understanding he felt around Kazuha. Even before he could wonder if he deserved any of it.

Belial couldn’t help but chuckle and in return, a smile broke across Kazuha’s lips. He wanted to know what it felt like, so with very little pressure he tugged on Kazuha's head and the ronin shortened the remaining distance between them again.

It tasted fresh, like wind against the walls of their tent, caressing the surface of the sea, above in the sky carrying the clouds along. It felt like everything he had ever experienced before, like talking to Kazuha in the early morning, like being taken care of, like laying on Kazuha’s chest as he counted heartbeats.

When Kazuha pulled him up by the back of the neck, a shiver emerged from below the mitsudomoe and rushed all the way to the roots of his hair. Kazuha sat up and Belial followed, already becoming addicted to the feeling of emptiness inside his mind, as everything shut off in order to properly take in the person in front of him.

Kazuha’s teeth tugged at his lower lip and meanwhile his hands traced the shape of his jaw, the shell of his ears, the edge of his undercut as if he was trying to draw him from memory. Belial ignored the strong sense of adoration that threatened to swallow him in order to take in how full his chest felt instead.

Holding onto the robes on Kazuha’s waist, he deepened their kiss. Belial felt like a starved man in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by water that couldn’t sooth his thirst. So he frowned as he chased that newfound tingling of vines crawling in between his ribs in the form of more. More Kazuha. Closer. Louder, so that his head would stop and his heart start.

After a while, Kazuha drew apart with a big gasp of air and a chuckle on the tip of his tongue. “I know that you don’t need to breathe, but I do,” he closed his eyes and smiled towards the sky.

“Ah,” Belial whispered, his return to the beach gentle as Kazuha’s voice guided him back. An unfamiliar type of warmth raised to Belial’s cheeks.

A subtle smile took place in Kazuha's lips before he added. “However, I enjoy the enthusiasm.”

Just before Belial could retaliate to his mocking tone, reaching out to get a hold of whatever of Kazuha he could reach, the ronin stood up and put some distance between them. His smile had not faltered one bit and Belial just sighed.

“You’re so annoying.”

“I don’t get that often.”

“Because you've got everyone fooled.”

“But not you?”

“Not me.”

Kazuha hummed as he pulled the sword out of the sand and held his other hand out, which Belial ignored when standing up by himself. He couldn’t mock Belial and then expect him to accept his help just like that, even if he knew he was acting like a fool.

The flutter in his chest felt too tender and he still didn’t know how to live with it. Whether he wanted it to leave or to stay.

So when Kazuha started his way along the edge of the sand and the waves, Belial caught up with him and silently slipped his hand into Kazuha’s. He didn’t look at him, but he could imagine the kind of face Kazuha was making as he gave it a quick squeeze. Belial’s chest replicated the motion. 

It was too late to make their way back to Narukami, and the sea breeze cut deep during the night. So they walked in a comfortable silence as they listened to the waves beside them until reaching one of the abandoned huts around Tatarasuna, just far enough from the forge that Belial wasn’t plagued with unwanted thoughts.

The cabin was as tattered and forgotten as all the other houses around the area. But it had a big bed, a mattress that raised a cloud of dust into the air as Belial sat down and mostly functioning windows, so it was more than enough for two wanderers who just looked for a place to rest their heads, away from the inclement weather.

“Can I?” Kazuha’s hands hovered in the air around Belial as he unclasped the ornament that hung around his neck. His hat was already leaning by the foot of the bed and an old lamp that still had oil burned its warm light into the small place.

“Sure.” Belial’s hands let go of the metallic piece in order to nod and pull at Kazuha’s sleeve so that he sat down at the edge of the bed beside him. He turned to the side, raising a leg to the mattress and their knees touched. Belial didn’t back away and neither did Kazuha.

Silently, Belial reached for the piece of armor on Kazuha’s arm, untying the knots and placing it on the bed. Meanwhile, Kazuha took care of the piece of fabric holding Belial’s Vision, wrapping around his shoulder and down to his waist. Kazuha handled it with care, folding it and placing the set of ornament, Vision and plume on top of it. Kazuha’s back was turned to him, so Belial unfastened Kazuha’s Vision too and placed it next to his own on the chipped nightstand. Two matching Anemo Visions encased in different frames.

In the span of the next few minutes, the lamp flickered as the oil gained temperature after ages unused and the sound of it popping was the only thing to be heard beside the ruffling of clothes and metallic items being discarded.

The night was still cold and unforgiving outside their window, so after placing the ornaments of their attires by the foot of the bed, Belial climbed to the side closest to the wall and Kazuha lied next to him. He hadn’t bothered taking out his haori, gloves or bandages, but Belial’s eyesight was sharp and he still saw the goosebumps lining his arms. Now Belial wished they remembered to bring the blanket that Kazuha had stolen from the Alcor.

This bed was way bigger than the futon they shared in the inn and yet, the distance separating them was the same. It felt like they couldn’t physically stay further apart. Perhaps they didn’t want to.

Belial wasn’t cold. Kazuha’s gaze was warm and focused on him, his eyes deep and shiny with a feeling Belial couldn’t quite put into words. It made his chest flutter in a way he had never felt before, and the void felt like a shadow confined to the corners of a room.

Unable to help himself, Belial reached out and undid Kazuha’s ponytail. His white hair looked soft and silky, and Belial couldn’t help but comb a hand through the strands as Kazuha just laid there and let him do as he pleased.

Still, the first to open his mouth was Kazuha. “You’re beautiful,” he muttered, gaze still focused on the angles of his face. Belial was reminded of that one night at Uyuu restaurant, when those same words hadn’t felt real to him. Now, though, a blush rose to his cheeks at the same time that a smile curved Kazuha’s lips.

“Shut up,” Belial frowned. He had always enjoyed power, praise, adoration, but when those things came from Kazuha they felt genuine, not out of fear or personal interest. And Belial felt raw and exposed in a way his chest, shut as a safe box, shouldn’t have.

The rhythmic movements of Kazuha’s fingers up and down his leg made his eyelids feel heavier and heavier. They matched Belial’s strokes across Kazuha’s hair, which didn’t falter when Kazuha’s hand closed around his thigh to bring it closer to him, so that he could trap it in between Kazuha’s legs as they intertwined like vines around the trunk of a tree. At some point, Kazuha’s hand stopped its caresses, and Belial wasn’t sure who fell asleep first.

The sun was way too high in the sky by the time Belial’s eyes opened. They were heavy with a tiredness he hadn’t felt since his days recovering from his metaphorical fall from godhood, his literal fall from the Shouki no Kami.

His body was pinned to the uncomfortable surface of the mattress, full of bumps which dug into his back, but he couldn’t move. He was warm, both from the sun rays hitting his face and the body sleeping on top of him. He closed his eyes again, littered with tears as they always were when he woke up, and let the day pass by.

The next time he came to, it was due to a hand softly stroking his scalp and for a second he felt like he was looking at a sky full of stars again.

“Hello,” Kazuha greeted him the moment his eyes blinked open. “I think we slept in quite a lot.” His chin was propped on his hand, which was pressed against the center of his chest, and his cheeks were slightly bloated with the traces of a good night’s sleep.

“Do you need to be anywhere else?” Belial asked, already aware of the answer. “Then don't worry about the time.”

So Kazuha sighed and complied, lying back on Belial’s chest as the early bliss from waking up still filled the room. Belial was terrified of how good everything suddenly was, of how much time he had lived without this. Of how ephemeral it all felt.

“I like sleeping like this,” Kazuha broke the silence. He always seemed to know when to speak. “You’re warm, and your chest is silent. Heartbeats are way too noisy for me, but I can hear a low hum inside you. It’s comforting.”

Belial didn’t answer. Couldn’t form words around the lump in his throat. He just wrapped an arm around Kazuha’s back and held him tightly so as to ignore the prickling feeling behind his eyes.

“Let’s leave,” Belial said that same night as they rested on the gravel in front of their tent.

They had reached Narukami by nightfall, and the walk towards their camp was tranquil in the middle of the darkness. It had been fine, because Belial’s eyesight was better than most humans’ and just Kazuha’s hearing would have been enough to guide them back.

“This place?” Kazuha wondered. He pointed around their patch of land, the tent, the firecamp and the general surroundings they tended to call theirs.

“Inazuma,” his voice was decisive, as was his choice. Everything he liked from this country was either gone or would leave with him. Not even the Vision in his chest tied him to this place. “I told you I wanted to leave and I meant it. So when is the next time that the Alcor docks in Ritou?”

Kazuha examined his face for a second, calm as ever, and Belial took comfort in the encouragement he saw in his eyes. For a second it seemed like he had let go of his ties to Inazuma too, as if by Belial’s words he had already made a choice.

“Tomorrow.”

Belial’s eyes flew wide open, his back straightening to look at him.

“Tomorrow?” He repeated. Kazuha nodded. "And you would have let your chance to leave Inazuma slip away just like that?"

“I travel with the Crux whenever I want to move to different places, not as a chore or a job. Beidou is not expecting me, so why would I leave without you?” He rationalized.

Something dense settled within Belial and he felt it when he took a deep gulp of air. “So if I asked you to come with me to Sumeru, would you?”

The side of Kazuha’s mouth raised into a grin as his eyes took the shape of the moon. His hand reached to toy with the plume dangling from Belial’s chest, and he said nothing about it. “It’s been a while since I've been there, I heard that a lot has changed since. Of course I would accompany you. Will you show me around?” He asked, tilting his head as he unconsciously leaned into Belial’s space.

Belial felt the force pulling him forward too. Feelings were difficult, but dealing with Kazuha had never been. Even if everything surrounding them had substantially changed since the aftermath of their sparring match, learning about Kazuha wasn’t something new to him, in whichever form it took.

“Sure,” he answered. “Will we dock at Port Ormos?” He asked, and Kazuha nodded, egging him on. “Port Ormos is nice and all, but I much prefer Sumeru City… The forests surrounding it are so dense you never cross paths with anyone. I think you will like them. Not even Nahida is able to find me there whenever I run away.”

The subtle grin that had taken place on his face fell when he noticed the intensity in Kazuha’s stare, his eyes in slits as a contained smile shaped his face. His cheeks were tinted red and he almost looked… Endeared.

“What?” Belial couldn’t help the defensive retort.

Kazuha shook his head as if he was just now realizing. “I look forward to seeing these places, is all.” From Belial's narrowed eyes, he didn't look at all convinced, so Kazuha dismissed him with a hand movement. “You only speak about your days at Tatarasuna with such enthusiasm. I’m just glad you have a place where you can feel comfortable again.”

Did he, really? Sumeru had been, in much less time, harsher to him than Inazuma ever was. Sumeru had seen him rise to godhood and touch his dream with the tips of his fingers. Then it had ripped everything away from him and forced him to rebuild himself from scratch. But Sumeru had people he wouldn’t mind going back to.

“Do you have a place there? Will I get to meet this Nahida you always speak of?”

Kazuha’s eagerness should have been overwhelming, because Belial had never tolerated anyone stepping even a foot in his personal matters, less trying to intrude into his life. Instead, he was just confused.

“Sure. If you want to. I don’t know why you would, though.”

His answer didn’t come out of his mouth immediately. Kazuha’s forehead creased and Belial felt like his chest was wide open to him, with words written all over its walls. “Because I told you I wouldn’t leave you. Because I’m interested in the life you led before we met,” Kazuha made a pause, evaluating Belial before deciding to keep going. “And I think you have already noticed, but I do care about you.”

It just dawned on Belial how little he deserved Kazuha’s affection, when his empty being would never be able to return it with the wild intensity of a human heart. He would always battle against himself, because he was selfish and he wanted everything that Kazuha was willing to give him.

And yet.

“You shouldn’t,” he ended up saying.

But Kazuha was not bothered by his words. He reached for Belial’s hand so that he could place his lips on the back as he looked him in the eye. Maple leaves danced within, in front of a fire that burned with an intensity Belial was sure he would be unable to feel.

“Let me show you,” Kazuha said, pulling at Belial’s hand and he let himself get dragged like a doll hanging on threads.

Kazuha’s warmth against the cold of the winter night would never cease to surprise him, and Belial remained still as Kazuha brushed a finger over his porcelain skin with a soft smile and slightly flushed cheeks. Belial was doing it again, he realized. Observing. He used to hate this habit of his, but what was he supposed to do but watch as Kazuha stole his hat and placed it on his own head, while looking Belial in the eye with a playful smile?

“How do I look?” He asked.

Belial shook his head. “Dumb.”

Kazuha’s grin only widened and Belial stopped questioning his reactions when Kazuha’s hand found its way to the back of his neck and grazed it with his fingernails, as if he was trying to feel the mitsudomoe and scrape it from his skin like flaking paint. Belial’s eyes closed when a shiver tried to raise goosebumps into his arms. But his skin didn’t react like that, so that electric sensation traveled all throughout his body like a ray of light reflecting on mirrors, unable to escape.

“I barely touched you,” Kazuha whispered against his neck, and Belial felt another spark rising up as Kazuha placed a kiss on the point where his pulse would have been.

Belial didn’t fall for his taunt. Instead, he grabbed Kazuha by the front of his haori and joined their lips in a kiss that had Kazuha gasping into his mouth, breathing against his cheek, holding onto his clothes. And this was fine. Belial knew how to do this, instead of just remaining still and letting Kazuha do whatever he wanted to him.

Kazuha’s lips were soft, warm like all of him was and that blissful emptiness overtook Belial’s head again. He could only focus on one thing at a time, and at moment that was undoing Kazuha’s ponytail so that he could bury his hands into his longer strands and feel Kazuha’s gasp against his face as he raked his nails along his scalp. 

He still had half a mind to remember to pull back slightly some time later. Kazuha’s sharp intake of breath raised a grin to his lips.

“Careful there, wouldn’t want you to faint.”

Instead of retaliating, Kazuha pushed, pushed, pushed and, somehow, Belial’s back touched the ground underneath them. It was humid and cold, harsh against his head. But he didn’t really care about anything that wasn’t Kazuha’s tongue tracing the shape of his lips in between pecks, as it made way into Belial’s mouth.

So Belial shut up and kissed back, his legs flexing so as to let Kazuha lay on him. His heart beat furiously against his chest, and Belial felt it against his own empty rib cage as if it was an amplifier to those deep sounds.

Kazuha’s lips were swollen when he pulled back and raised to his hands and knees. For a second, he was glad that he didn’t need air, because his breath would have halted at the sight of Kazuha on top of him. Hair tousled and falling like a curtain, cheeks and lips flushed against the paleness of the stars behind his frame, eyes the color of dark molten lava and clothes disheveled from pushing and pulling around. His haori wasn’t centered on his shoulders and Belial couldn’t look away.

“Your efforts are pointless, I can’t feel the same way humans do,” Belial said, his voice neutral and feigning boredom.

Kazuha merely hummed and his eyes roamed his body. “Is that a challenge?”

“No.”

“I’ll see it as one.”

Just like last night, Kazuha unclasped the ornament around Belial’s neck and set it aside, letting his fingers wander over the collar of his undershirt. Belial gulped around the knot in his throat and noticed Kazuha’s eyes following the movement like prey, feeling it under his fingers.

And unlike that day on the beach, this time Kazuha did shorten the distance between them in order to kiss that point on his throat that had Belial feeling the need to hold onto something, anything, and furrow his brow in order to keep his mouth shut. His hand clawed around the fabric on Kazuha’s shoulders and his lips ended up opening in a gasp when Kazuha’s hand slid under the nape of his neck, tilting his head back and giving him more space to cover with his lips and teeth.

His work was thorough, careful in a way that had Belial’s head spinning. His back arched in response to Kazuha’s lips grazing the joint of his neck over the fabric of his undershirt. Fingers slipped under his haori and caressed the ones on top of his shoulders, and it was like they knew exactly what they were looking for. As if that day at Uyuu restaurant Belial had shown him how to spot his joints and since then, Kazuha hadn’t been able to stop seeing them.

“What are you doing?” Belial asked, breathless as his other hand went to Kazuha’s head and closed into a tight fist just like he had learned it made Kazuha gasp.

Kazuha’s tongue traced the line of his neck, finishing it with a period in the form of a kiss and raised his head to look at Belial. “Making you feel good,” he said, slightly breathless, which made Belial frown because Kazuha seemed to be enjoying this way more than him. Belial was just lying still, fingers fidgety with the need to do something. To feel useful. To make Kazuha feel good too.

“You can hit me,” he said. “Or hurt me. I’m not afraid of pain.”

The fog in Kazuha’s eyes vanished, a frown taking its place instead.

“What… What are you saying?”

Belial’s eyebrows furrowed as well in return, confused by Kazuha’s question. For some reason, it seemed like he was not so great at making Kazuha feel good. He was messing up again and making Kazuha sad instead, like he was hopelessly bound to do.

People had always seemed to enjoy hurting him. When he was with the Fatui, he let himself be used as a test subject for poisons, weapons, forms of torture and much, much more that Belial didn’t have trouble remembering because they made him useful in a way nothing else ever had.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Kazuha whispered.

“Why? People always felt good when doing it to me.”

“What about you, then? Would that make you feel good?”

Belial’s frown deepened. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t feel the way you do, so you can use me to your pleasure.”

His eyes… Kazuha’s eyes held a sadness within them that Belial had never seen before. It was directed at him, felt for him. It was full of worry and care and a burning determination that Belial wasn’t sure what to do with. He was unable to look away.

“I don’t want to use you,” he said, and something in Belial’s chest widened. Something ugly that stopped growing as soon as Kazuha spoke again. “And I don’t agree with you. I know that you’re able to feel, but I think you haven’t allowed yourself to for a very long time.”

He knew he was capable of feeling. The tears he had let out on the day of his creation had been proof enough that he was sensitive in the worst way. The way that made him expendable.

Suddenly, the cloud of rejection over his head faded as he figured Kazuha was referring to a different kind of feeling.

“Trust me and let me make you feel good,” Kazuha whispered against his cheek, placing a kiss there. Such a sweet, innocent gesture. It clashed against Kazuha’s hands grabbing at his haori, untucking it from inside his pants and pulling it over his head.

Then, as it finally dawned on Belial what Kazuha was so subtly referring to, Kazuha stood on his knees again and pulled at his outer robes too, leaving him in just a flimsy white underlayer and a pattern of goosebumps against the cold of the night.

From in between his robes he pulled out a little purple figure. Belial’s eyes opened in realization as Kazuha placed the doll Belial had sewn on top of his haori. Its crying eyes were facing the rock beside them.

“You still keep that?”

“You gifted it to me,” he just said in response.

Belial couldn’t keep still, so he reached for Kazuha’s hands and started working on his gloves, freeing the bandages from underneath and slowly unwrapping them in circular motions. He needed to feel Kazuha’s touch on him. Perhaps it was the only way to make him believe that he deserved the affections he was receiving.

“You really don’t have to do anything,” Kazuha’s gaze was focused on their hands as Belial unveiled the rough scars he usually kept concealed. “I thought you said you once became a god,” he said, lacing their fingers together as he pinned Belial’s hands over his head, letting go to caress the soft skin of Belial’s waist underneath his only layer of clothing. “So let me worship you.”

Kazuha’s words completely shut down the voices in Belial’s head. They were loud and adamant on reminding him that Kazuha was too good for him, that nothing ever lasted, that he would end up betraying him too. But once Kazuha’s lips brushed against his and his tongue found no resistance upon entering Belial’s mouth, nothing else mattered. Perhaps he was selfish, but he had already made peace with the fact that he wasn’t a good person.

Those thoughts disappeared too when Kazuha’s rough fingers started making their way across Belial’s midsection, feeling the remains of the scar that still hadn’t truly faded away. Kazuha’s fingers traced it like they were words written on a page, and Belial’s skin burned on contact. But it was good. He didn’t have to think and, in this moment of weakness, he allowed himself to just feel.

Kazuha’s kisses were deep, loud in the words they didn’t need to speak and warm as they lit up another fire inside Belial. He broke apart for a second to breathlessly mutter. “Your skin is so soft.”

The fingers of the hand that wasn’t supporting Kazuha’s weight on top of him moved across Belial’s skin as if he was trying to map the slope of his stomach, the place where a navel should have been, the peak just below his last rib as his back arched under his touch. They followed the bright markings across his body which usually canalized his power and now served as guides for Kazuha to follow up his torso.

Padless fingers brushed across one of his nipples, just a barely there touch, but Belial still felt it like an electric current traveling to the tips of his toes.

“Kazuha,” he whispered. He didn’t know when he had stopped kissing him, why he wasn’t doing it now, why his eyes were closed. Belial didn’t need to open them to feel Kazuha’s gaze on him as he moved his thumb again. “Kazuha,” he repeated, like a mantra.

Kazuha just hummed, as if he were listening to him, as if he could understand more than just the mention of his name. His thumb repeated the motion as he placed a kiss over his other nub. Goosebumps raised from Belial’s scalp and escaped him.

Belial’s toes curled into his sandals and he hated that he was still wearing them. Everything felt like too much right now, but he didn’t want it to stop. As if Kazuha heard him, his tongue swept across his nipple again over the fabric of his undershirt as he rolled his thumb on the other and Belial’s eyes screwed shut, head tilted back with the sudden need to draw an intake of breath. His chest raised and fell under Kazuha’s attention and he would have known what was happening to him if he had taken one second to think.

But thinking was far from what he wanted to do and, instead, he sank a hand into the back of Kazuha’s clothes as he carded the fingers of the other through white strands, pulling Kazuha closer to him. And Kazuha understood Belial’s need for closeness, so he finally raised the black undershirt over his chest until it met his armpits and exhaled a breath of hot air over his skin.

The void in Belial’s chest had never felt more like a conductor than now. He didn’t have a heart, so every emotion within him wasn’t contained to that specific part of his body and traveled within him, bouncing on each corner and lighting everything up in their wake.

So when Kazuha’s teeth closed around the skin in between Belial’s breasts and his lips sucked around the mark he had surely left, Belial felt the spark travel all the way down his body like a snowball that only got bigger and bigger as it rolled.

“You’re so sensitive,” Kazuha muttered, utterly fascinated, and Belial didn’t need to open his eyes to see the stars shining in Kazuha’s. He didn’t want to miss the trail of fire that Kazuha’s hand was leaving as it made its way back downwards. Instead this time it kept going past his waistband, lower and lower. His pants were wide enough that on a normal day they were comfortable, but now they bunched against his groin and exposed the length of his flexed leg. Kazuha’s fingers felt it in all of its extension, taking their time undoing the knots around his shin guards and discarding his sandals somewhere inside their tent.

Belial’s common sense returned for one brief second, and he held onto it before it faded into oblivion again. “Someone could see us,” he said, looking at the lit up lamp in the middle post of the tent behind them. It seemed brighter than ever, even if its light was faint and sometimes flickering. “We’re barely a few feet away from the road.”

But Kazuha’s lips pressed against the inside of his knee and then traveled slightly up to suck another little mark on Belial’s pale thigh. They were blank as a canvas and Kazuha often had bouts of artistic inspiration.

“No need to worry, doll, we could hear steps from miles away. We are all alone.”

The fire burning within Belial grew as if fueled by the gust of wind that was the way Kazuha had called him. Coming from anyone else, Belial would have made quick work of them leaving nothing to bury, but Kazuha’s adoration made his forced breathing halt, his hands rising in order to grab whatever of him they could to bring him closer. Perhaps it had been a slip of the tongue, something so completely unconscious that Kazuha hadn’t even realized. Belial didn’t care when he pulled at his arms so that Kazuha had to move and only one leg remained between Belial’s open ones. Kazuha’s wandering hand didn’t stop its movements over his thigh and Belial kissed him with a hunger he hadn’t felt since that day at the beach, when he had needed Kazuha closer than it was physically possible.

“More,” he asked. He didn’t know what he wanted, but he trusted Kazuha to know.

He stilled for a second, deep in thought, and Belial hated those instants of suspended anticipation.

But then, Kazuha’s hand traveled to the space between his legs and Belial had to stop himself from closing his thighs around it. Two of his digits traced a circular motion over his clothes and Belial’s head shot back, a loud gasp leaving his mouth as his hand closed around Kazuha’s shirt and the gravel that surrounded them.

“Like this?” Kazuha whispered against his lips, and Belial nodded with a frown and eyes shut tight. The fireball within him moved downward, gaining weight the more it grew. Kazuha's fingers repeated the motion and Belial’s legs tensed, trembling slightly. “Archons, I’m obsessed with you,” Kazuha said against Belial’s mouth as his tongue traced the shape of his top lip, its subtle curve and a plumpness that was no one’s work but his.

“Keep their name out of your mouth,” Belial couldn’t help complaining in between gasps. “It’s not the time nor the place.”

Kazuha chuckled, though it was heavy with that same hunger that plagued Belial and that he didn’t know how to tame. The part of him that wanted to give instead of receiving was nowhere to be found.

“What do you like?” Kazuha asked, as the movement of his hand continued and Belial forgot that questions required answers.

He shook his head. “I… I don’t know,” he said in a whisper.

Apparently that was not the right thing to say. Belial groaned when Kazuha’s hand stopped and he opened his eyes to be met with Kazuha’s wide open, dark ones.

“This is… Your first time doing this, right?” He asked.

Belial’s brain still worked in slow motion, as the heat in his head didn’t allow him to properly tie two thoughts together. A different kind of fire rose within him and if Kazuha didn’t start doing that thing with his fingers again already he would lose it.

“Does it matter?”

Belial had never thought himself capable of physical pleasure anyway. His entire existence had been bout after bout of survival. During his days at Tatarasuna he was seen as a child and he himself had felt like one. Later, with the Fatui, he heard agents and Harbingers alike speaking openly about sex, pleasure, kinks, and everything he thought he wasn’t interested in with great amounts of detail. The trysts he sometimes overheard behind closed doors seemed messy and inconvenient, as his head was set on his goal of obtaining his gnosis. The last one of his worries was learning if he would like those things people couldn’t seem to shut up about, and even less when his only reference for physical touch and experimentation was lying limbless and in pain on top of Dottore’s lab table.

“No. It doesn’t,” Kazuha rushed to say. “I’m sorry, it just took me by surprise.”

“Why? Because I’m almost five hundred years old and I should know at my old age?”

Kazuha shook his head, a subtle grin pressing against blushed cheeks. “Because I can barely keep my hands to myself, and I know I can’t have been the only one.”

Belial hated how Kazuha’s words made him feel. Out of control, as his chest fluttered with something so different to the void he was already used to. Full of overwhelming feelings he couldn't name.

It didn’t really matter how many people wanted to put their hands on Belial because, at the end of the day, he only needed to send one cold look in their direction to make them rethink their intentions. So, as long as Belial didn’t want anyone close, no one would be.

“You’re shameless,” he said, hitting Kazuha on the shoulder and receiving a chuckle in return.

Kazuha grabbed Belial’s hand before it fell by his side and pressed his lips to the pads of his fingers. One at a time, feeling all the lines and crevices in them, proof of Belial’s inhuman nature. But Kazuha didn’t care about that detail and just worked on leaving soft kisses and caresses that had Belial blushing and pressing his thighs together. He couldn't look away from Kazuha’s focused gaze as his tongue traced the valley between two fingers, his golden rings and up one phalanx, another and the last one, crowning his ascend with a sweet kiss before wrapping his mouth around two digits and going down in a single motion. Belial’s breathing halted, his head spinning as he reconciled this feeling with having Kazuha’s mouth against his and how different it all felt as a shiver ran throughout his whole body. It settled in his stomach like coal embers, burning and consuming him.

“You took that one to heart,” Belial was still unable to break eye contact.

Kazuha’s tongue circled his fingers one more time before letting go. A trail of spit followed his retreat and connected to his shiny lips. Belial swallowed around a knot in his throat he hadn’t noticed, too enraptured with Kazuha’s mouth to focus on anything else.

Kazuha’s hand wrapped around Belial’s wrist, his thumb pressing against the part where his pulse would have been beating wildly and held it there as he got closer to Belial again, their breaths almost intermingling. The space between them felt thick and unnecessary.

Instead of kissing him immediately, Kazuha’s hand pushed on Belial’s wrist, pressing it against his chest and Belial should have been grossed out by his spit-slicked fingers. He wasn’t, he realized as his clouded gaze settled on Kazuha in question.

He received a quick peck as an answer at first. Then two, three, and the longer they kissed the more difficult it was to stop and remember he had doubts and thoughts that didn’t necessarily revolve around Kazuha. Although at the moment that seemed hard to believe.

“Touch yourself,” Kazuha finally responded, letting go of his wrist and sliding the pads of his fingers until they covered Belial’s wet ones, guiding their hands together as one over Belial’s nipple in slow circles. “Just like I did to you earlier.”

Once Belial’s hand started moving on its own and the motions matched the dizzy feeling in his head, Kazuha went back to kissing him with a depth and an intensity Belial had missed. The soft pecks were fine with him but Belial also enjoyed the way the slurping, humid sounds their mouths emitted silenced his thoughts and voices with their volume. His head was empty, his chest full and that fire within him reminded him that his body wasn’t as barren as he was made to believe.

Belial’s fingers now moved on their own, so Kazuha’s hand slid across his chest feeling its up and down motion as Belial breathed more than he ever had and a subtle tingle shook his whole body. Kazuha felt the lines on his torso as he splayed out his hand, almost trying to cover as much surface as possible and never getting enough. Then, his hand met with Belial’s waistband.

He was so out of it that he didn’t react at all when Kazuha’s hand slipped under the hem until that place where he had been touching him over his clothes.

Kazuha’s middle fingers brushed him and Belial’s back arched again, head tilted back. What sounded like a moan was ripped from his throat and Kazuha gasped too as he again pressed against that spot that had electric currents traveling all throughout Belial’s body.

“You’re so wet,” Kazuha was barely able to pronounce, his body pressing against Belial’s tense as a rod.

“Is that bad?” He asked. Kazuha’s fingers moved again and another shiver shook him to the core, setting fire to everything that wasn’t already alight.

He thought he knew how his puppet body worked after the countless experiments he had been submitted to, but this was unlike anything he had ever felt. Kazuha treated him with unnecessary gentleness. His body was strong, stronger than most, and yet, when Kazuha’s fingers easily slid in between his folds he couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

“It’s good, don’t worry,” he reassured him again. “It’s your way of showing me that you like this. Keep moving your hand. That’s right, good job.”

Kazuha’s fingers moved in tandem with Belial’s, and his soft way of speaking overwhelmed Belial even more than the attention he was receiving. He spoke about his body like it really was something worth venerating, words that caressed him as he commented how soft his skin was, how pretty his lips were, how much he was enjoying this, how good he was being. Such a stark contrast to what he used to hear as he let the Doctor abuse his body, accustomed to words about how durable his components were, how easy to replace they would be after some experiment, and how conveniently inhuman he was.

Belial was pulled out of his spiral when Kazuha’s fingers moved slightly downward and pressed in. Just barely, enough to make Belial’s breath catch into his throat, and then they stopped.

“If you don't like something I do and you want me to stop, let me know,” Kazuha pressed a kiss against Belial’s bare neck as his fingers remained still, watching for a signal of distress on Belial’s face.

He had closed his eyes a long time ago, completely overwhelmed by his surroundings on top of the things he was feeling. Still, he pressed them tight and couldn’t stop his hips from writhing against the hard ground. Kazuha’s fingers pressed in a little deeper and his throat closed around another intake of breath. For some reason, the air felt necessary. In the back of his head, Belial knew that he lacked something. That as good as this felt, there was a nagging he couldn’t get rid of.

“Use me,” he breathlessly uttered.

Belial could feel Kazuha’s squinting eyes looking at him. His thumb pressed against that place that had Belial seeing the stars above their heads in the back of his eyes. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

He hated Kazuha’s refusal, his stubbornness that in other circumstances he would make fun of, so he frantically shook his head. “I like this. I do. But I want you to feel good too. Please,” he was too out of it to realize his voice had broken into a sob. “Please.”

It seemed like an eon had passed, trapped in this terrible stillness, before Kazuha sighed a hot exhalation against his neck and nodded against it. “Alright. Yes, yes.”

The world around Belial disappeared when Kazuha’s fingers started moving again. Slow motions at first, in and out without pressing further and then, a little bit deeper. Belial felt the need to fill his chest with air. Everything was burning inside of him and nothing he did seemed to help. His head spinned around the lack of air he suddenly felt and he was overwhelmingly aware of everything in contact with him. The rough gravel against his back as he arched it and writhed in Kazuha’s hold, Kazuha’s fingers inside him, which felt like being electrocuted in a way he couldn’t stop craving, Kazuha’s harsh breathing against his neck, Kazuha’s lips against his throat, Kazuha’s hips rolling against his side as something hard poked him, Kazuha’s chest raising and falling with a cadence much faster than Belial’s. Kazuha’s thighs against his legs, Kazuha’s thin clothes against his arm, Kazuha’s hair against his face.

“Kazuha,” he pronounced. It sounded like a prayer. His voice was filled with the air he lacked. “Kazuha.”

“Yes?” He sounded close, so Belial’s eyes opened into slits and it was enough to take in Kazuha’s utterly debauched expression. His dark eyes, red cheeks, sweaty fringe sticking to his face, mouth open as he tried to steal the air Belial was trying so hard to catch. Belial raised a hand, fingers pressing into Kazuha’s warm cheek, the shell of his ear, his silky hair.

“Kazuha,” he repeated. There was nothing else he could say, too focused on just feeling. Everything was too much and not enough, like his mind and body could separate at any moment. Every part of him was shaking, muscles and limbs tense as his head tilted back and he listened to the desperate sounds his mouth was emitting on its own. Belial’s hand tightened its hold on Kazuha’s hair, the other continuing its mindless rolls against his chest and Belial had never felt so out of control inside his own body. He was approaching a precipice he didn’t know how to fall off.

But Kazuha always seemed to know what he needed, and right now it was no different. So, when he spoke into his ear, “Let go, Belial. I’m with you, I’ve got you.” He did. As one last intake of breath clogged his throat, the fireball in the pit of his stomach almost turned him into ashes as it expanded to every corner of his body like a firework. His body tensed, trembled and his mind went completely blank as it just kept going. The pleasure was blinding. Belial wanted it to last. He didn’t want to get off this ride that only seemed to go up, up, up.

It took him some time, and he didn’t know how much, but his high wore off and what remained was a blissfulness that left his limbs heavy and his breathing fast. In the aftermath of what had pushed his body as far as some experiments he had been submitted to, all he felt was calm.

He didn’t want to move, and no one was nagging at him either, so he closed his eyes and breathed in and out until his chest finally stopped moving. Now, with a clearer mind, he remembered the word he had been looking for earlier. Overheating. The Doctor had thrown it around during his most extreme experiments as a result of overexertion. His body trying to keep up, to adapt, to reach its limits. Belial had always associated it with the tortures and pain, but this gave it a completely new meaning.

There was a hand brushing his fringe away from his forehead. It then moved to catch the stray tears that were sliding down his cheeks and temples, and it would never cease to surprise him how easy it was for him to cry once he had relearned how to, how difficult every single other emotion was for him. He wondered if all it took was a reminder for them to be able to be born within him again.

Kazuha’s clear, maple red eyes welcomed him in the form of crescent moons.

“Dottore will pay for what he did to me,” Belial spoke right before Kazuha could even open his mouth.

Instead, an eyebrow raised in question before his eyes lit up in realization. “The Harbinger?”

“Yes. The fucker that experimented on me. The one who turned me into a god. I think I learned more about myself today than through years of experiments.”

“I’m glad,” Kazuha’s eyes were still warm, his hand playing with the hairs over his forehead and its touch was so light Belial felt the sparks of shivers rise from below.

“I’m gonna kill him, Kazuha. With my bare hands. I’m gonna make him remember me through the pain he inflicted upon me.”

Kazuha’s gaze was now sharp, and Belial wondered if it mirrored the one in his own eyes. “You know I don’t believe violence is the answer to everything. But… I want to see this ambition of yours come to fruition,” he said, eyes fixed on the lines across Belial’s torso. He was tracing them with a finger. Such an intimate act for such an unromantic topic.

Belial felt tender and bare. This vulnerability should have scared him, but with Kazuha silently fixing his undershirt back to cover his body, how could he feel anything other than full? “So… How was it? Did you like it?”

Belial’s eyebrows furrowed. “I think that’s a pretty stupid question on your part.” The night again felt like part of their surroundings. Its cold was sharp, but it seemed to be avoiding them. “Besides, you didn't even listen to me. I told you to use me, and you ignored me.”

“I… I didn’t ignore you,” Kazuha replied, matching his frown as a blush quickly rose to his cheeks.

“Then what—” When Belial glanced down at Kazuha, it became clear to him that he was wrong. Even if the fabric was dark and the light from the tent flickered, there was a noticeable stain in the front of his pants. “Oh.”

“Indeed.”

Nothing else was said between them as Kazuha steeped in his mortification and Belial tried to make sense of the spark that wanted to light another fire inside his chest. He had never felt like this before. So far, no one had been able to arise within him feelings as strong as anger, revenge or every other emotion that could threaten to consume him. And even then, those weren’t capable of lighting his chest up like a candle or caressing his healing scars as the void was kept from growing.

“Next time just fuck me,” Belial ended out spitting, unable to handle much more.

Kazuha's eyes flashed with contained joy. “You’re a delight to be around,” he smirked, pulling at Belial’s arm until they were lying inside the tent. Closer to the light, he could finally confirm that they looked as disgusting as he felt.

“We can’t show up at the Alcor like this, they are going to make us walk the plank.”

Kazuha smirked, eyes closed and turned to the side to face Belial. “Easy shower.”

“You’re so unfunny when you’re tired,” complained Belial, grabbing the thick blanket that lay piled up in a corner of the tent and throwing it over them.

Kazuha peered over the edge, opening one eye. “If you’re not going to sleep, then wake me up at dawn. We have to pack up the whole camp.”

“I’m going to sleep,” he objected, getting up to turn off the light.

If by the time they were in the dark Belial settled a little closer to him, Kazuha didn't complain. And if, when Belial turned his back to him, Kazuha put his arms around his middle, Belial didn't say a word about it either.

There was a hole in his chest, the shape of which was still unknown to him. But he could guess, add in some elements for the list of things that were able to fill it:

• Lost pieces of himself
• Emotions strong enough to break him apart and put him back together
• A heartbeat against his chest, the cadence of which was able to lull him to sleep

Chapter Text

The waves surrounding him were different from the ones he used to see from the coast. Clear foam broke the surface in a disordered net that kept catching his attention as it hid the depths below, the unseen secrets of the ocean.

They caressed the side of the ship, pushing and pulling in greedy wide swings. Belial closed his eyes and let himself be rocked by it, feeling the gentle breeze on his cheeks, the caress of the sun, the cacophony of voices coming from below. Belial frowned. Why was it noisy even from up there?

Only when a hand closed around his ankle, did Belial open one eye. He tensed his body, not from the hold but to help Kazuha use him as leverage as he finished climbing the last steps up the rope ladder.

“Here you are,” Kazuha’s voice mixed with the wind blowing against his face. “Juza is looking for you. They need to prepare the cargo for when we reach Liyue tomorrow morning.”

“Is there no one else on this ship?”

Kazuha huffed as he turned around in the reduced space on top of the crow’s nest and rested his back against the mast. It was a tight fit, but the days since personal space existed between them were long gone.

A light chuckle reached Belial as fingers played with his long sleeve. “I think Captain Beidou just wants to see how many boxes you can carry at once.”

“Three is more than enough.”

“Well, Furong believes he could do four and they bet over who would pay the next batch of alcohol.”

Belial chanced a glance at Kazuha’s side profile. His eyes were bright as flames against the midday sun rays.

“Who did you bet for?”

Crimson eyes met his, and a playful sparkle danced within them. “I said that you could carry five boxes.”

That was cheating, Belial thought. Because no one on this ship knew him the way Kazuha did.

“And what will you get if you win?”

Kazuha’s feet dangled over the edge, in between the wooden bars surrounding their hiding place.

“They will let me drink with them tonight.”

Belial couldn't help rolling his eyes, the images from the night he had to carry a barely conscious and wasted Kazuha coming to him in flashes. Kazuha was one of the smartest people Belial had ever met, but he was also the most insufferable whenever he drank. Still, a smirk made its way into his lips, because he wouldn’t be the only one dealing with him tonight.

“And if you lose?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Kazuha said with finality and a frown. But then Belial shoved him with his shoulder and he sighed. “I said that I would be the one carrying the crates instead.”

Something akin to the fire of a candle started in Belial’s belly at the thought of Kazuha carrying the heavy weights, muscles flexed and shiny under a thin layer of sweat as the sun reflected on the waves. His hair sticking to his forehead, a frown set in place, cheeks warm and breathing shallow with exertion. The reminder of their last night in Inazuma still fresh in his memory. Belial shook his head, extinguishing that flame before it could light up the void in his chest like a torch inside a cavern.

“What if I want you to lose?” Belial asked before he could stop himself. The warmth he felt on his face was because of the sun and nothing else.

Kazuha didn’t miss the implications of his words, because he never did. Instead, a smirk set on his lips as he rested his head on Belial’s shoulder and looked up at him.

“Is that something you’d like to see?” He asked, voice sultry as it rode the breeze that stirred their hair.

“You losing? Sure.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Kazuha’s smirk climbed to his eyes as well and Belial felt like he would fall into those warm pools if he wasn’t careful. “Let’s make a deal, then.”

“Bets, deals… Being on The Alcor has changed you, Kazuha. Where did you leave your haikus and poems?”

He just hummed, ignoring Belial’s words and Belial felt a weird sense of satisfaction in return. The low tone of his thinking covered the murmur of the waves. There was no land in any direction of the horizon.

Kazuha’s head left his shoulder and he shifted until he was sitting on Belial’s lap, straddling his thighs. He wrapped his hands around his neck and nails found their way to the mark on his nape. Belial felt shivers rippling under his skin, like the sea below them.

“If you help me win, I’ll get to drink and then, when we go back to our cabin, I’ll show you the view I am sure you were imagining,” Kazuha tilted his head. The stray pale hairs free from his ponytail moved with the breeze and glowed, surrounding him in a halo of sunlight. “What do you say? Do we have a deal?”

Belial’s throat closed as he refused his breathing to quicken. A different fire started within himself, a harmless anger against this very obvious and scary weakness of him with a name and last name.

“Sure,” he ended up saying, against his ability to pronounce anything much longer than that.

Kazuha’s face shaped into a grin brighter than the sun. Belial’s hands closed around the fabric of Kazuha’s haori.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” the ronin said as he pecked him on the lips and Belial’s grip on him was weak because, before he could even react, Kazuha stood up and jumped over the crow’s nest’s edge and onto the ship’s deck.

The voices below got louder again as Kazuha surely landed beside some sailors. The breeze hit his face again and Belial wondered, as he closed his eyes and let the waves tilt their ship in all directions, if he had made this last decision with his head or with whatever he lacked within his chest that didn’t feel as empty anymore.

Being in the middle of the sea meant that the sailors could laugh, scream and sing as loud as they wanted without anyone around to complain. The Alcor’s crew wasn’t as big as Belial had thought from that one day in which he had waited for Kazuha to disembark so many moons ago, just efficient. Some sailors, navigators, technicians and experts in areas Belial didn’t even know they required expertise drank in a circle of crates and barrels as they recounted stories from the past and impossible feats.

In between one arm wrestling match and the next, a new round of alcohol was distributed with great celebration. Xu Liushi then retold, not for the first time going by the slaps on legs and shouts of recognition across the circle, the story of how Captain Beidou defeated barehanded and without a Vision the great leviathan of the seas Haishan.

She raised her cup in the air and let out a big and unrestrained fit of laughter. Some contents of her cup spilled on the deck, but no one seemed to care. “I had a greatsword! And my crew!” She countered as she disregarded the whole story with a shake of her hand.

The ones around Belial laughed but his gaze snapped to Kazuha, who was sitting to the right of the Captain, one leg propped on the crate and the other serving as support for the cup in his hand. Both his and Beidou’s cheeks were red with inebriation and joy. In the end, Kazuha had won his bet and was rightfully enjoying his reward, laughing with the rest of the crew on this otherwise quiet night. The moon bore witness to their stories and the stars followed a white line across the sky and till the horizon. The torches around them felt warm against the darkness beyond the waves and lit up the crate in the middle of the circle.

“Next match, next match!” Someone screamed, and was quickly backed by some clapping and hitting on wooden floors, walls, masts, as it turned into a chant.

Given that Belial was the only one not drinking (it was a waste of alcohol that could be put to a much better use), he didn’t complain when they made him participate in their games instead. He was hit on the back and encouraged to walk to the circle. As he had done several times already, he propped his elbow on the box in the middle and waited for his opponent to join him.

Ever since seeing him lift five loaded boxes with his lean, scrawny arms, everyone had wanted to try and go against their new undefeated champion. No one had posed a challenge to Belial yet, and that seemed to entertain the crew members even more for some reason.

Belial couldn’t help raise an eyebrow when his opponent grabbed his hand and he saw Captain Beidou in front of him. The crowd around them howled like a pack of wolves and some laughter filtered through as well. Right over Beidou’s shoulder, Belial could see the wide, unconcealed smirk that pulled at Kazuha’s cheeks. His eyes were unfocused and everything had already started to seem really funny to him.

“Well, well, Belial,” Beidou’s grip on his hand was strong, just a preview of what she was capable of. Belial smirked and rolled his shoulders.

“Captain Beidou,” he greeted her with a tone of respect that rolled out of him as it mixed with a tinge of humor.

After the go, the cheers got louder as that first instant was crucial to determine how strong an opponent really was. And Captain Beidou was stronger than any other person on that ship, Belial quickly realized.

It was an even match, but Belial’s arm faltered for a second when Beidou’s challenging gaze brought him back to the moment they set foot on this ship some days ago.

Carrying their bags and the few possessions they owned, Belial and Kazuha reached Rito barely in time to board the ship. It had been a lazy morning for them and everything had felt difficult; waking up, tidying up and getting on the move. But Belial hadn’t wanted to miss his chance to leave Inazuma, and Kazuha had followed him like a shadow.

Beidou was the one to receive them on the main deck, hands on hips and eye squinted as she took in their appearances. Belial knew they had seen better days, and Kazuha’s gaze was turned away from the Captain like a kid waiting to be scolded.

But Beidou just let out a loud laugh and walked over to Kazuha to place an arm over his shoulders. “So I see that the chess table I gave you worked its wonders,” she said, shamelessly. Kazuha’s face was hidden behind his hands and Belial couldn’t help but chuckle at his misery. “So you must be Belial. Archons, finally! Kazuha couldn’t stop talking about you the last time he was here. Belial this, Belial that—”

“Captain…” Kazuha complained, but didn’t try to shake the arm around him off.

Kazuha let himself be rocked around, as if he had succumbed to a fate greater than himself.

“I’m kidding, gods. I see the bags, are you going back to Liyue?”

“Sumeru,” Kazuha quickly answered, hoping for a change of topic.

But the Captain was stubborn and it seemed like only the sea could sway her. “Sumeru,” she repeated, looking over at Belial as if trying to see through him. A wolf protecting its territory. Her arm around Kazuha tightened imperceptibly, unintentionally. “Alright. Welcome, boys, there’s work to do. You can both stay in Kazuha's cabin, right?”

The ronin nodded without directly looking at either of them and something in Belial’s chest tightened at the view. It was the first time he realized how young Kazuha really was, how condensed human lives were. So much maturity and wisdom in such a short time. But there was none of that now, as if the moment Kazuha had set foot on the ship, he had been able to let go of this burden and place it on someone else’s shoulders.

Kazuha had never referred to Captain Beidou as a mother or a parental figure of any kind, but Belial thought that was what it must be like. He remembered Makoto, and the way she had been able to pick apart the pieces and handle them with care. How he had allowed it.

At that moment, Belial thought that blood couldn’t really link people the way that choosing for oneself could.

And right now, as he pushed on Beidou’s hand until it hit the crate under their elbows, Belial could see it too. Beidou’s gaze, which looked somewhat approving of him as he was raised from the floor and crowned as the undefeated champion of the Alcor. Beidou nodded her head, first at him, then at Kazuha and when she sat back down around the circle, her stance wasn’t as firm as when they first arrived.

He let himself be pushed around, accepting hits—that were supposed to be pats—on his shoulders and back, and the familiar set of arms that wrapped around his neck.

“Congratulations,” Kazuha’s voice dragged out, as syllables seemed to be hard for him. Belial chuckled and held Kazuha’s full weight as his legs almost gave out under him.

“I’m not sure if you were paying attention,” he mocked him.

He felt Kazuha shaking his head against his shoulder. “I did,” he complained. Belial could almost hear the pout on his mouth and see his frowned eyebrows. Belial just hummed in response.

“Another round of beer!” Someone shouted around them, which was regarded with more cheers as the sailors quickly forgot about them.

“Yes, another round,” Kazuha cheered as well, eyes closed and body light in Belial’s grip.

His voice was loud enough so that not only Belial heard it, and before Belial could complain Beidou’s voice reached them over the surrounding cacophony.

“No more drinks for you,” she chastised Kazuha, taking the jar from his hand. Kazuha wasn’t fast enough to resist it. “You’ve had more than I was happy to give you.”

“But—”

“No buts, Kazuha. Don’t talk back to your Captain.”

Kazuha whined in discontent against Belial’s shoulders and he didn’t seem willing to let it go just yet. But Belial, who saw worry in Beidou’s frowned face, who knew less about families than he did about himself, felt the need to intercede into this thing that would blow into a fight and leave him in broken pieces.

So, he turned to Kazuha’s ear and, making sure that Beidou didn’t hear them, whispered. “You won your bet and we made a deal, don’t you remember? I believe you said there was something you wanted me to see.” The only reason his cheeks did not blush as his mouth shaped around those words was that Kazuha was the only one capable of awakening that feeling deep inside himself.

As if life had suddenly been infused into him, Kazuha raised his head and looked at Belial with eyes wide open. They were still clouded and unfocused due to the alcohol running through his veins, but he looked more sober than a second ago.

“We’re leaving,” he said, voice firm and syllables curt. He grabbed Belial by the hand and started his way down the stairs leading to their cabin. Belial looked back and saw Captain Beidou nodding at them, even if her gaze was asking him to take care of Kazuha’s sorry state. Some sailors cheered at their departure, and Belial didn’t have to pay attention to their words to know what it would seem, with the two of them leaving for their room late into the night, drunk and giddy.

But he didn’t have half a mind to care because, before he realized, Kazuha was pushing him into their cabin. It was so small that when he tripped backwards over their feet by the door, he fell directly onto the single bed.

Kazuha wasted no time climbing onto his lap, straddling him in a reflection of earlier on top of the crow’s nest. His movements were imprecise, but he made up for it with his frantic enthusiasm. Belial contained a chuckle as Kazuha remained still for a second, looking into the wall behind Belial. His eyes focused and unfocused a couple of times in the span of a few seconds. Kazuha could try all he wanted, but Belial knew what to look for. The stumbling down the stairs, his idle steps across the corridor, his weak grip on his clothes. He couldn’t fool him.

With newfound energy, Kazuha pulled at his own haori, fighting against it for longer than necessary until everything was dropped to the floor and Kazuha was bare from the waist up in all of his scarred, lean glory. Belial could already feel his breathing quickening, and he wondered if he would ever get used to this. Used to him.

“Let me fulfill my part of the deal,” Kazuha said, planting his hands on Belial’s waist and using him as support to lean closer to his face.

“How? I don’t think you’re at full capacity right now.”

He observed Kazuha as his hands played with the fabric of his clothes, legs wide open and sitting over Belial’s groin, back arched into him like a flower turning towards the sun. Belial’s hands raised to his face to feel the heat radiating off Kazuha’s cheeks directly onto his palms, and Kazuha closed his eyes and leaned into the touch just for a moment.

“Go to sleep already, you’re drunk,” Belial tried persuading him again. “Forget about the deal.”

“Stop distracting me,” Kazuha complained with a delay that wouldn’t be acceptable on a sober person, a frown set into his face as his hands started roaming across Belial’s chest again. They wasted no time in pulling at his garments as well and Belial complied, because he could never say no to him, sitting up and assisting Kazuha’s clumsy grips and tugs which were a lot more entertaining than they were efficient. The only thing Belial did of his own volition was clawing at Kazuha’s shoulder to pull him closer so that he could taste the beer he had drunk directly from Kazuha's tongue. It was wet and hot just as Belial’s breathing was starting to be, and Kazuha deepened the kiss until he was pushed onto his back. Belial felt like Kazuha wanted to devour him whole, to get closer and closer to him until they were nothing more than an amalgamation of limbs and desire, until Kazuha was able to fit in the void within his chest and make a home out of it.

It was a frantic kiss, intense in the way Kazuha’s labored breathing tickled his cheek as Belial’s tongue slid into his mouth, over the roof and the lines of teeth like he wanted to taste all of him, like he would die if they were to separate. When Kazuha’s lack of air manifested into a needy moan against his mouth, Belial felt those newly discovered embers being breathed into life inside his stomach.

With a gasp, Kazuha pulled away. His lips were plump and shiny with spit, his eyes closed and he looked slightly out of it. Belial could almost see his head spinning as he tried to recover from his intoxication, eyes pinning Belial down like nothing else existed in the world. But against the moonlight that entered through the window at the foot of the bed, Belial found it hard to breathe too when Kazuha found a new purpose in the form of latching his lips around the soft skin of Belial’s neck, mind set on the area where his pulse would have been.

“Kazuha, stop it already. I’ve seen everything I needed to see,” he found the will to say, which was difficult with Kazuha’s chest laying on top of his bare skin, the sensation new and overwhelming in a way Belial would never get tired of. Going against his own words, one of his hands traveled to Kazuha’s back, to the map of scars he traced with his fingertips, to the bumps of his spine. Their bare fronts were flush against each other and Belial wasn’t sure if he would be able to ever get away from Kazuha again. “Kazuha,” he tried once more. Weaker this time, his resolve wavering. His hands itched with the need to touch, push and pull.

Belial gasped against Kazuha’s ear when Kazuha’s hips started to move on circular motions over him, and Belial could feel everything Kazuha wasn’t saying, like the poetry he was so adept at. His movements were irregular, as if he was pulling on his last thread of strength while at the same time giving in to his instincts as they took control of his faculties.

Kazuha's tongue lapped at his neck, soothing the mark Belial could already feel on his skin. It didn’t hurt, but his breathing halted at Kazuha’s need to be gentle to him even when drunk out of his mind.

He finally surrendered to Kazuha’s ministrations when the softest of kisses was placed against Belial’s shoulder, such a contrast to the thorough movements of his hips, that Belial finally sighed and turned his head to place another one on Kazuha’s pale hair. He smelled like the sea and the soap they had borrowed from one of the sailors.

An uncontrollable need flared inside his chest and, without much resistance, Belial flipped them over so that he could straddle Kazuha’s thighs. He drank Kazuha’s surprised gasp directly from his lips and traced along his ribs as he fought the embers that were quickly turning into a fire. Kazuha’s willingness to surrender to his touch made him breathless in the best way possible.

Their mouths remained connected by a string of saliva when they separated and Belial could hardly look away and into scarlet eyes to catch his reaction when Belial started rolling his hips over Kazuha’s again.

Belial thought he was going to combust on the spot as they both moaned in reaction to the friction. Kazuha’s hands shot to Belial’s thighs, gripping until his fingernails dug deep into his skin. Belial gasped against the skin of Kazuha’s neck as a shiver ran through his entire body.

His tongue and teeth latched onto Kazuha’s jawline and he continued the slow rocking motions as Kazuha just breathed fast and hot directly into his ear.

“You’re surprisingly quiet,” Belial nibbled the skin over his Adam's apple and Kazuha responded by sharply raising his hips onto Belial’s. “Cat’s got your tongue?”

He continued his descent down Kazuha’s flushed chest. He was warm, his skin rough and Belial was now sure he would never get enough of this. Slyly, he placed a kiss right over his heart and, if Kazuha asked, he would merely say that he intended to go for his nipple and for him to shut up. But Kazuha didn't complain. In fact, he said nothing at all and it was only when the hands that had been kneading his thighs fell to the bed that Belial frowned and looked up.

Kazuha remained still for one second, two and then three, and the room remained about as quiet as it could get being just below the main deck, where the party was still going strong. Belial raised a hand and brushed the fringe away from Kazuha’s face. His eyes were closed.

“Kazuha?” He called him, but got no response as he tapped his cheek. Not even his eyelids fluttered, his chest rising and falling in a deep cadence.

The fire in Belial’s gut extinguished like a bucket of water was dropped on top of it. He huffed and dismounted Kazuha’s thighs as the bed dipped under his weight.

“You’re unbelievable, Archons,” he complained to no one in particular, frown in place as he took in Kazuha’s unruly hair and relaxed expression. He was out like a light and Belial felt pent up and relieved at the same time. But then, Beidou’s last look at them came to his mind and he ended up groaning and running his hands over his face.

When Belial put a pillow under their necks and wrapped his arms around him, this time Kazuha cuddled closer to him. Belial huffed again as he covered them both with the quilt and let the calming sways of the sea pull him under too. Kazuha’s back was warm against him, rough and soft at the same time just like the skin on his chest under his fingertips. Belial splayed his palm over Kazuha’s heart and pulled him even closer.

Port Ormos' hustle and bustle was the same as he remembered, even if Belial felt like a completely different person than the day he first arrived in Sumeru so many months ago. When godhood seemed plausible and the Electro Gnosis pulsed inside the front of his haori like a real heart.

Back then, the humans coming and going around the city seemed to be living insignificant lives, ephemeral and irrelevant.

But now, as they got off the ship and started their way across the streets, Belial felt no different from the people surrounding him.

Perhaps it was Sumeru, that with its greenery and vitality welcomed him like no other region ever had. Perhaps it was the power of the Dendro Archon, Goddess of Wisdom, as her care and benevolence reached even into the most remote corners of her land.

When they had stopped in Liyue a couple of days ago, they had been able to walk around the city for a few hours, as Beidou had stated her need to talk to the Tianquan briefly before the Alcor departed again. Kazuha had regarded her with eyes turned into slits, just like he always did when the wind told him about the lies some words were trying to hide. But he let it go and grabbed Belial’s hand to make their way into the Feiyun Slope.

It had been a while since Belial had been in Liyue. With Tartaglia being the designated Harbinger posted in the city, there was little to no reason for him to ever go as far as the Harbor.

As they walked in front of the stores and stalls lining the street, Belial noticed that in the city of an absent Archon, its presence remained within its people. Deals and bargains reached them in loud voices, innocent promises and agreements uttered in between groups of friends. A general sense of seriousness proper to contracts that reminded Belial of the everlasting presence of the Electro Archon he could always feel on his shoulders whenever he walked around Inazuma City.

He could feel the eyes of the Dendro Archon on his nape now too, ever since he stepped foot on firm land. Though he felt them not as knives, but as a gentle caress. A sigh of relief at his return.

They reached Sumeru City by sundown. They were not in a rush, so Belial indulged Kazuha’s need to stop and stare at every little thing. The herbs growing by the side of the road, the vibrancy of the petals of the flowers floating down the river, the mounts of fur that were the sleepy sumpterbeasts by the road, the way the wind seemed to brush past him differently.

Port Ormos was busy all day, unlike Sumeru City which came alive in the evening. It was then that people got out of work and students finally had time to find relief from their intense studies in the diverse taverns around the city. Belial ignored Kazuha’s request to go into what he had read as “Lambad’s tavern”.

“Not now, I need to show you something else first,” he said, pulling at his hand and pointing his finger to a different stall to divert Kazuha’s attention.

Kazuha quickly forgot about it, fascinated as he was with the way the city wrapped around the ancient tree in the middle like vines climbing up the bark and towards the sky. They walked up the slopes as the breeze picked up the higher they went and when they reached the doors of the Akademiya, Belial stopped in front of the fountain as multiple doors surrounded them. The way to the House of Daena represented the majority of the influx of students coming and going.

Belial ignored the weird looks they were getting as he brought a hand to his chin, contemplating the door on the left and the one on the right.

“One of the paths was shorter, but I can’t tell right now which one it was.”

“You not remembering something?” Kazuha raised his eyebrows, the beginning of a smirk shaping the side of his mouth. “Unheard of.”

Belial bit his tongue. I only remember what’s important , he didn’t say. In the end, he decided for the one on the left. As they made their way up the wooden paths hidden in between the branches and flowers of the Great Tree, Belial realized he had made the wrong choice.

“It was the other one,” he recognized some time later as he picked on Kazuha’s slightly labored breaths.

The ronin, though, smiled a thin gentle little thing. “It’s fine, we still got to see some beautiful gardens on the way up.”

The last rays of the day hit Kazuha’s face in between the foliage, his skin shiny with sweat or perhaps just the humidity that permeated everything in Sumeru. Belial turned around and continued his way up before he did something stupid. Like pushing Kazuha’s back to one of the marble columns on the landing and kissing him under the pergola lined with wisterias and other saplings Kazuha would have recognized.

This want was still scary and foreign, and the way it consumed him was unlike the hole that had lived with him since his creation.

In front of the Sanctuary, they could see the sun hiding behind the dunes in the faraway desert. It wasn’t as cold as in Inazuma but the skin on Kazuha’s arms was patterned in goosebumps, the breeze unforgiving in the highest part of the city as it danced within the leaves of the Great Tree over their heads.

“The view is amazing,” Kazuha said, eyeing the entirety of Sumeru with just the slightest turn in his neck.

Belial, though, had his back to the view. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it, but that’s not why we’re here.”

Kazuha turned to him, then. A hum in the back of his throat and his attention on whatever Belial considered more important than the breathtaking display before his eyes.

He could feel Kazuha’s gaze on him too, but his attention was on the figure approaching them with a light stride and the sound of chiming bells accompanying every step. Nahida’s smile was bright and wide the moment she saw him, the eyes he had been feeling since he arrived now set on him. And he felt light too, like a smile could shape his lips if he allowed it to take over.

Instead, he dropped to his knees and opened his arms the way Nahida had already been on the last steps that separated them.

“Up, up,” she ordered him, and Belial complied, wrapping his arms around her small figure and rising to his feet with her arms around his neck.

Belial closed his eyes and tightened his grip. Even if Nahida felt as light and fragile as a bird with hollow bones, he knew she was as sturdy as a tree. She smelled the same she always did, like fields of grass, morning dew and flowers blooming at night.

She broke the embrace first and he settled on holding her so that she could take him in. Those huge, bright eyes full of child-like wonder pointedly looked at him as her palms grabbed him by the cheeks. Belial was reminded of the grandmas at Tatarasuna seeing their grandkids after a long time at sea, and for a second he expected her to comment on how much he had grown, even if that was impossible.

“You’re back,” she said, and her enthusiasm would never cease to surprise him.

“We arrived this morning.”

“I know,” she giggled. “I felt you getting off the ship.”

Belial rolled his eyes. “You always know everything.”

“I do!” The grip on his cheeks tightened as her eyes looked into his own. He was already used to her reading him like an open book. At this point, he wondered if there was a single thought in his head that was only his. It irritated him in the beginning but with the passing of time he resigned to it. Another form of atonement, he told himself. Now, though, he didn’t really mind. “I missed you,” she said.

Belial didn’t have to say anything in return.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Nahida asked, looking over Belial’s shoulder.

When Belial turned around, he expected the intrigued look in Kazuha’s eyes. After all, he didn’t tell him they made their way here just to meet with Nahida. What he didn’t expect was the accusative squinting directed at him.

“You already know who he is,” Belial complained with a roll of his eyes.

Nahida shook within his hold in a faux scolding. “Still, manners.”

Belial sighed, but right before he could so much as extend a hand in Kazuha’s direction, the ronin put a hand over his chest and bowed his head. “I’m Kaedehara Kazuha, a wanderer from Inazuma and last member of the former Kaedehara Clan.”

Nahida’s smile widened as one of her hands left Belial’s cheek in order to close around the fabric of his haori. “There’s no need to be so formal. Pleasure to meet you, Kazuha,” she grinned.

Kazuha dropped his pose in order to get closer to them as for Nahida’s hand ushering him to. For a time that Belial didn’t know if it was seconds or hours, Belial held his breath, his whole body still as Nahida’s eyes traveled from Kazuha to him and back to Kazuha. An involuntary blush rose to his cheeks and he considered hiding under the brim of his hat. But Nahida was way too close for that and she would still know even without seeing. She always knew.

“You know something funny?” Kazuha broke the silence and Belial snapped from the spiral his brain was spinning on and on and on. “Belial mentioned you a lot while we were traveling.”

The squinting was back in his gaze, but Nahida was too busy looking back at him to notice. “Really?”

“Not that much.”

“Although he forgot to mention the little detail that the Nahida he was referring to was Lesser Lord Kusanali.”

Belial shook his free hand in front of his face. “You linger on the details,” he countered, grinning at Kazuha’s scoff.

He felt Nahida looking between them, and her eyes were analyzing yet bright. Just like him, she still had a lot to learn about everything around her even if she had all the knowledge needed already written in her head. Their banter seemed to entertain her as she laughed and stopped Kazuha from speaking the comeback on the tip of his tongue.

“You look so much better than the day you left.”

Belial glanced towards Kazuha who, in the warmth of his eyes and his gentle smile, seemed to quietly agree with Nahida.

“I feel better too,” he answered, eyes fixed on Kazuha to catch the moment when they would narrow into waning moons. There it was. “Some days. Some others are still bad.”

“That’s completely fine. You know that healing is not a linear process, but progress is still progress and I’m proud of you.”

Belial’s arm tightened around her one last time before setting her back on the floor.

“Enough. I didn’t come here to listen to your wisdom.”

Nahida brought a finger to her chin as she tilted her head, her eyes dancing between the bags they were carrying. “Will you be staying at the Sanctuary while you remain in Sumeru?”

“As long as you didn’t dismantle the room you gave me, then yes, that was the plan.”

Nahida giggled and it sounded like the rustling of leaves and the blooming of flowers. “Of course I didn’t. I expected you to come back eventually.”

“I’m a wanderer, nothing ties me to this place,” he reminded her, and it sounded slightly harsher than he intended. It was always like this around her. Everything felt heightened and raw under her sincere gaze.

Nahida’s smile didn’t falter. “There are lots of unused rooms in the Sanctuary, yours is not a nuisance to me at all. Moreover, even wanderers need a home to return to.”

Inside Belial’s chest something broke and rebuilt in the span of a millisecond. Nothing changed around him, and yet it seemed like the pieces within him suddenly fit better. Its jagged edges softer against the limits of the void.

“That’s true,” Kazuha agreed. Belial needed those seconds to regain his footing. “Would there be a place for me to stay as well?”

Belial wondered if he meant in between the missing parts of himself. He had already carved himself a space for himself there, even if Belial wouldn’t tell him.

“There always is,” Nahida grinned. “I can prepare a room for you.”

Belial wanted this conversation to be over. He shook his head. “Don’t bother, he will be staying with me.”

And with that, he grabbed Kazuha’s wrist and started his way towards the intricately decorated doors of the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

His ears didn’t heat up when he heard Nahida giggling and murmuring behind her hand about young love. They didn’t. Not even when Kazuha snickered from beside him as he caught up with him, grasping what only the two of them could have been able to hear.

Instead, Belial picked up his pace and Kazuha walked right beside him.

“Now, blow.”

Belial closed his lips over the border of the leaf and exhaled. Not quite like putting out a candle, softer than that time he blew glass at the forge and watched it expand around the endless force of his lungs like soap forming a bubble.

The sound he emitted though, was far from the whistle Kazuha had been able to intone. More like a raspberry. The sound of roaring thunder instead of chirping birds in the morning. He almost felt the leaf rip apart under the strength of his fingers, victim of his frustration.

“I can’t do it,” he complained, throwing it and ignoring the way it soared on the breeze. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re an awful teacher, Kazuha.”

Kazuha’s grin wasn’t as subtle as he certainly thought, lying as he was on the rock next to Belial who was sitting up and shading him from the sun. Kazuha’s eyes remained closed, unaffected by Belial’s attempts at disturbing him.

He sat up, shaking his head to rid himself of drowsiness, disheveling his hair in the process. He looked wild and free, like the endless extensions of greenness and nothingness that surrounded them. He fit right into this view just as he did in the cool tones and overcast skies in Inazuma.

Kazuha picked another leaf up from the grass and brought it to his lips, which tightened around the edge as they sang some notes. If they were from a song, Belial didn’t recognise it.

“Quit showing off.”

Kazuha didn’t complain when Belial snatched the leaf from his hand to try yet again. It was personal, now. He wouldn’t fail at something like this.

“I told you it’s all about the placement of the lips.”

“Yeah? How about a live demonstration against mine?”

Redness bloomed over Kazuha’s cheeks. “Focus. You have to put them like this,” his mouth formed a tense grimace and paid no mind to his words.

“You look dumb,” Belial smirked, and took great joy in the roll of Kazuha’s eyes as he brought the leaf to his lips again.

He tried imitating, for the umpteenth time, Kazuha’s expression and this time, when he blew, something that was a lot of air with a slight whistle in the back came through. Kazuha's whole face lit up and Belial’s eyes opened in surprise as well.

“Try again,” Kazuha urged him, in a voice so innocently awed that Belial felt helplessly affected by it.

When Belial did, the amount of air behind the high note he created was less audible than the first time. He tried again, connecting two sounds with confidence, and the leaf cooperated.

“See? I told you it was possible,” Kazuha was better than him, because Belial knew if the tables were turned he would be insufferable right now. “You just had to listen to me,” Belial withdrew his previous statement, annoyed by Kazuha’s petulance.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“I’m a great teacher.”

“You sure are.”

Even if Belial’s exasperation was all façade, he intended to answer back and see where this bickering would lead them. How far he could push at Kazuha’s buttons before his endless patience snapped. But before he could open his mouth, a dusk bird landed beside them. Belial’s words died on the tip of his tongue as they both stared at the bright colored little thing, as it seemed to wait for something.

“Maybe you called him with all that whistling,” the ronin’s chuckle was all air.

“Shut up, Kazuha. There’s a note around its leg.”

Carefully, as all the things he did, Kazuha reached for the bird. It stayed still as Kazuha untied the string holding the piece of paper secure. As soon as it was freed, the bird took flight and disappeared into the sky without so much as looking at them.

Belial frowned at the whole situation, and it only deepened at Kazuha’s next words. “It’s for you.”

The note he was handed had his name penned down in neat calligraphy he didn’t recognise. His frown remained as he started to read.

“What does it say?” Kazuha asked. “If you can say, that is.”

Belial’s expression relaxed at Kazuha’s politeness. He could be so ridiculous sometimes.

“It’s from the traveler. I guess Paimon didn’t write it if I’m able to read it,” he scoffed. He had never seen Paimon’s handwriting, but something in him told him it was awful. He would bet on it. “They are… Inviting us to have dinner with them? Tonight?” He read, questioning every word sent to him on that sheet that had clearly been torn from somewhere, as if written in a rush.

Kazuha hummed and he didn’t seem half as wary of the whole thing as Belial was.

“We should go meet with them.”

“How do they even know we’re back to Sumeru? I don’t like this.”

“Perhaps Nahida told them.”

The thing wasn’t who told them, though. It was the fact that word had reached them in less than two days wherever they had happened to be. He couldn’t help but silently admire their wide net of contacts spanning all across Teyvat.

In the end, he had no choice but to accept once Kazuha learned that the meeting place was Lambad’s.

They got back to the city in time to catch the evening bustle as people gathered around the main street, coming and going from the Grand Bazar to the different cafes, taverns and restaurants around.

When they entered Lambad’s, it was surrounded by a crowd of people with the same idea as them. Paimon was always easy to spot, being the flying loud creature that she was. The traveler was quietly sitting down at the table at the end of the place, and waved at them to catch their attention.

Belial made sure to materialize his sword and rest it against the edge of the table, right next to his hat as he sat down in front of the traveler. The movement didn’t go unnoticed, just as he expected. He didn’t know what they wanted of him, so he decided for a less friendly approach to set things straight from the beginning.

The booth wasn’t that big, with Kazuha trapped between him and the wall and the traveler in front of him. Belial always did that, he realized, sitting closest to the exit. He wondered if the traveler had done it without noticing or if it was a calculated move as well.

“You’re back,” the traveler started. Belial wasn’t sure if it was an observation or a greeting. He took it as the former.

Kazuha went for the latter, a subtle grin on his lips. “We are. Happy to see you again, traveler and Paimon.”

Belial crossed his arms over his chest. “In one piece, as you can see.”

“Paimon still has her doubts,” she said, squinting at them in the most nonthreatening manner Belial had ever seen.

“You want a medical report or what? We’re fine, we didn’t kill each other in the end.”

“Paimon was so worried about you, Kazuha. That day at the beach when we left I couldn’t stop thinking about the worst.”

Kazuha just laughed at Paimon’s words. He seemed to be the only one able to relax at the table. Seeing as Kazuha wouldn’t be telling the other two anything that happened since the last time they saw the pair, Belial began to unwind as well. His tense demeanor changed in favor of a shit eating grin that made the traveler squint at him in no time.

“So how did it go?” They asked, just as the dishes they had ordered before they arrived got to the table. An assortment of what looked like every dish on the menu was all Paimon needed to finally shut up, to Belial’s content.

“We had our differences to sort out,” Kazuha answered, digging into the dish closest to him, some type of buttered meat that smelled rich and made Belial want to grab a fork as well. “It wasn’t hard, I believe. He’s pleasant to be around,” Kazuha smiled in his direction, sweet and tight-lipped as he chewed around a bite.

At Paimon’s scoff, Belial snickered. “Pleasant? This guy? We must be talking about different people.”

“As with everything, we just needed to find our footing. He has helped me sort through some stuff too.”

“He didn’t do anything to you, right?” The traveler spoke, eyes fixed on Belial even if the question was clearly not directed at him.

Belial’s smirk fell from his face when their stern expression tried to pin him to his chair. For a second, Belial felt a tug in his chest. The void making itself known as it reminded him that they had every right to doubt him. That his sins spoke for themselves about his potential for harm and destruction. Who was to know if it would happen again?

A hand on his thigh, warm and firm, unafraid of him, pulled him to the surface. The claws around his throat released their hold, his teeth stopped their gritting. Kazuha’s gentle smile held a question and Belial nodded almost imperceptibly to it. He was fine.

“He didn’t,” Kazuha told the pair.

“This is the last thing Paimon expected to hear,” she said, as her fork picked half a dish in one go. Belial bit his tongue instead of entering some fray he didn’t want to be part of. “Paimon expected you to have put him in his place, not that you would become… Friends, or whatever.”

“Friends,” Belial scoffed, ignoring the traveler’s squinted eyes, jumping between them.

“Aren’t we friends, Belial?” Kazuha’s hand was still on his thigh as he picked quick bites of food with the other one. His thumb traced circles along his porcelain skin and Belial wanted to hate how grounded it made him feel. 

“You could say so,” he smirked. “We even forged a sword together and sparred with it.”

“That we did, yes.”

The traveler let go of their animosity in favor of glancing at the sword propped against the table. At its thin blade that resembled the sword that Kazuha wielded and the blue hilt matching Belial like it was made for him. Kazuha never told him if he forged it with Belial in mind or if giving it to him was a spur of the moment decision.

“You made this?” Paimon asked, unable to hide her surprise. She flew over the table to take a better look at it from all angles. “Paimon remembers when you let the spirit of your sword possess you when you reforged it. Did the same thing happen this time too? Because Paimon was so scared the first time, lucky we didn’t have to be around for a second time too!”

“Nothing possessed me this time, Paimon. Belial taught me some Isshin techniques and we worked on it together. I gave it to him because I wanted him to have it. I have no use for two and he is a good swordsman.”

“Can’t let the Isshin legacy disappear with your clan,” the traveler added, arms crossed and gaze still wary.

“It certainly would be a pity.”

Their eyes fixed on the sword and then pointendly gazed between them. Paimon looked at the three of them as confused as ever, but that didn’t deter her from attacking the biryani before it went cold.

“Did you know that in Khaenri'ah they viewed sword gifting as a romantic gesture?” The traveler commented in passing, trying to pretend they were not implying what they were very clearly implying as they mindlessly tore a piece of bread apart under their fingers.

Paimon chewed around her rice while nodding vehemently, completely unaware. “That’s right! We heard it was part of their wedding ceremonies. It is said that by giving their sword to their lover they were not only swearing to protect and fight for them, but it was a symbol of vulnerability and devotion too,” she explained, pointing one finger up, her words devoid of the traveler’s accusatory tone as she just seemed to be excited to share her knowledge on the topic.

“Is that it?” Kazuha asked, propping one arm on the table and against his cheek. Something tugged at Belial’s chest when he realized that Kazuha was just pretending to not know what they were talking about. “It would surely be fitting,” he added. Belial’s hand tightened around his fork as he looked into the playful intensity of Kazuha’s eyes.

The traveler sighed and brought a hand to their forehead, shaking their head. “Archons.”

“Wait, what?” Paimon’s gaze jumping between them went quicker as she tried to clear her confusion. It finally seemed to click in her brain. Belial’s smirk only widened as Paimon’s face contorted in horror. “No way. No way!” She pointed at Belial and her grimace only seemed to fuel Belial on. He even let out a chuckle. “You’re lying. Paimon can’t believe it. Not like there’s anything wrong with you being… Romantically involved? It’s just… It’s weird? I’m not the only one that thinks it’s weird, right?”

For some reason, the traveler looked like they caused a cart crash. “I can’t help but feel like we’re somehow at fault for this.”

Paimon’s look reflected theirs. “I mean, we introduced them to each other.”

“You did nothing for us,” Belial scoffed. “Don’t think so highly of yourselves.”

Kazuha openly laughed as he gave Belial’s thigh a quick squeeze. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shiny and Belial couldn’t help but think that happiness looked good on him. Even if their glasses were full of water, Kazuha seemed inebriated with something that wasn’t quite alcohol.

“Anyway,” the traveler interrupted and Belial side eyed them as he reluctantly teared his eyes away from Kazuha. “What are you going to do now? Will you be staying here in Sumeru?”

“I haven’t thought that far yet.”

Paimon made sure everyone in the room noticed her displeasure. “Aw, Kazuha, we will miss randomly running into you in the most weird places. We didn’t pin you for the type to settle down.”

Kazuha chuckled and picked a bite from what was left of the biryani. Belial wasn’t sure that he was avoiding his gaze, but the hole in his chest pulsed nonetheless.

“I didn’t say anything about settling down. Only that I haven’t considered what to do yet. I’m not alone anymore, it would be selfish to decide by myself.”

Belial knew more than anyone what it felt like to have strings tied to one's wrists. Even if Kazuha thought he had a say in any of this, reality was that he would never interfere with Kazuha’s free will.

“Time will tell,” Kazuha placed his glass on the table like a judge passing sentence and the topic was dropped.

But conversation didn’t stop there. As long as there was food on the table there were things to talk about. The tavern was still full of people coming and going, talking, playing games, eating and drinking, and by Paimon’s fourth story—this one about some ancient beast that resided in the depths of Liyue’s caves—, Belial disconnected. His brain raced with the echoes of Kazuha’s words, the sword next to him feeling like yet another presence in the room, and it felt too much like all those sleepless nights in which he just thought and thought and thought.

He came back when Kazuha touched his arm as he tried to stand up. Farewells were being uttered around the table and Belial couldn’t help but snicker at Paimon’s theatrics. As if this was the last he would hear of them.

Belial wouldn’t count himself so lucky.

Still, when Paimon dramatically waved at them as they made their way for their place, wherever it was that they stayed when they came to bother everyone in Sumeru, Belial waved back at them.

This time it was Belial the one that insisted on stopping by the edge of the landing leading to the Sanctuary. The last rays of sun, weak as they were orange, filtered through the tree tops and in between the steeped mountains and valleys as far as the view reached.

To the right was the vast extension of the desert and the Mausoleum of Deshret, to the left lands as far as the Jade Chamber crowning the sky. Nothing else, not even the sea. Inazuma was far and away from Belial’s mind and he breathed in deeply like it was needed. Perhaps it was, if only to just feel the humidity in the air and the weightlessness on his shoulders.

Kazuha looked like he could stare out this banister forever, even if the tips of his fingers prickled with the need to explore even the last nook of everything in front of him. To stay for one more day or to set out to satisfy their untiring curiosity, that was the only question that filled a wanderer’s mind.

Belial had been rootless his whole life, and from that he learned that having nowhere to go didn’t mean he was free. His need for the gnosis had always been at the front of his mind, tying his hands and influencing his every choice, no matter who was around. First the people of Tatarasuna, then the Fatui. Even if he had been surrounded by people, he had been alone.

Now, he wasn’t. He had Nahida who, as scary as it still was, said she would always be there for him. Belial wanted to desperately believe her.

He had the traveler and Paimon as much as they annoyed him. They had found a way to make contact with him earlier while they were in the middle of nowhere. If he called, they would come.

The people back at Inazuma. Yoimiya, Itto, Yuuma, Thoma… Even if he never intended to go back to that place, they had shown him that perhaps he was capable of human interaction, of friendship, as rusty as he still felt at it. 

And Kazuha, whose eyes shone under the golden hour’s light as they gazed into the horizon. When he turned towards Belial, the spark remained, strong and alive.

Belial’s heartless chest hurt when Kazuha gently smiled at him, with fear, longing, fear, yearning, fear, love. And fear, fear, fear.

He had never cared for another human as much as he cared for Kazuha and he was so used to having him by his side that the other option scared him. Would he be able to go back to how everything was before that day at the beach that felt like a lifetime ago? When all he saw in the ronin in front of him was the echoes of the people he lost and the weight of his sins which had felt greater than himself.

“Is there a reason we’re here?” Kazuha asked lightly. He always seemed to know when there was something in Belial’s mind. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the view. But you’ve been clawing at the stone for a while and I’m a bit worried about your nails.”

Kazuha chuckled and grabbed his hand, caressing the edge of his thumbnail with the pad of his finger. Only then Belial’s whole body distended.

“I was just thinking that we can’t see Inazuma from here.”

Kazuha chuckled and his gaze followed Belial’s eyes. He hummed. “You are right. But I don’t think that’s what’s troubling you.”

“Who says I am troubled?” He frowned, but Kazuha was patient and, in the end, he crumbled. “I was thinking about what the traveler and Paimon said during dinner.”

At Kazuha’s nod, he went on.

“Are we… friends?” He asked. “Lovers?” An uncontrollable grimace shaped his face at the word. It seemed… Inappropriate. Childish. Superficial for the overwhelming depth at which his feelings ran.

“Oh. You mean that one,” Kazuha's cheeks blushed at the word, perhaps he too thought of it as ridiculous. Or perhaps only Belial entertained these worries. “Do you want to be my boyfriend, Belial?” He asked, a cheeky grin on his face that did nothing to hide the temperature on his cheeks.

At Belial’s disgust, he chuckled again.

“What are you, twelve?”

“Significant other? Partner?”

“It just keeps getting worse. I thought you were a poet.”

Kazuha shrugged and diverted his gaze to the flock of birds perched on the sturdy branch supporting the floor they were on.

“I personally don’t really give much importance to this sort of thing. I know how I feel about you and I don’t think any word that has been used by other people could describe it. They would fall short.”

There it was, Kazuha in all his dramatism and glory. Belial shook his head and a light breeze hit his warm cheeks and ears. “You’re ridiculous,” he let him know. “Partner is fine. Archons.”

“Very fitting. We are traveling partners, after all.”

Belial ached with the need to belong. They had been traveling partners before anything else. Whatever it is that they became afterward was just an addition to what had taken them so long to build.

“So you’re really leaving?” He asked, the remnants of the traveler’s question still at the front of his mind. “Don’t you dare lie to me, I know you have already made your choice.”

Because not only Belial was like an open book. There had been something in his voice, a slight waver, the shortest delay. And Belial had known.

Kazuha’s answer took longer than Belial expected. He ached with the knowledge that if he had had a heart, it would have been pounding in his ears.

“I want to stay here with you. But I can’t lie and say I don’t want to keep traveling to where I please.”

“Then, don’t lie to me. If you wish to leave, I won’t beg you to stay.”

“I would stay if you asked.”

“But I won’t do that.”

Belial had already made up his mind, at least on this. He was used to pain, and he would take it if it meant Kazuha wasn’t hurt by his choices. Being loved by Kazuha was addicting. It was clouding his senses, making him selfish in thinking that he deserved it.

But Kazuha’s eyes were wide, his eyebrows downturned and Belial hated it. Sadness looked terrible on Kazuha, and it was his fault. His fault, his fault, his fault.  Desperate to bring back the flush and brightness from the tavern, Belial opened his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Unless…”

Kazuha’s chest visibly inflated and his eyes met Belial’s again. “Yes?”

Encouraged by Kazuha’s hope, he went on. “Unless… You stayed to make me pay for my transgressions.”

“You have more than paid for them, doll,” he scoffed. Belial’s eyebrows furrowed at the use of the word. It felt like a weapon. He hated how much he liked it. He hated that Kazuha knew it too.

“No, I haven’t,” he answered. “Not even in a million years I could pay for everything under my name.”

“But you did, I saw it.”

“How?”

Kazuha’s gentle smile was balsamic and a reminder for Belial to stop. To calm down and breathe, to think and feel.

“By healing from them. As Nahida very well put, it requires you to accept all that you have done, to take it in and nurture it so that you can forgive yourself and move on from it.”

“Well, Nahida also said that it’s a slow process. I think it could take me my whole life, if we’re being honest.”

The corner of Kazuha’s mouth raised into a smile as his scarlet eyes caught the golden hues of the sunset. “It is quite a hard thing to do, you are right. But you have made progress.”

“It’s still not enough.”

Kazuha’s hands against his cheeks didn’t allow him to be too harsh with himself. As if this was the last piece of confirmation he needed, Belial made another choice for himself.

“You said that you would stay by my side for as long as it took me to atone for my sins.”

“That I did, yes.”

“And I just said that it’s a process that never truly ends.”

“You did.”

He let himself take in the touch of Kazuha’s fingers against his face. The softness and the roughness he was already so used to. A smile shaped his face as he placed one hand over Kazuha’s. In an impulse, he brought it to his lips and kissed his knuckles. He wondered if Kazuha felt the same kind of reverence when he gifted him the sword.

“Then, I’m afraid that you’re stuck with me for as long as it takes me to heal. For atonement, that is.”

“You will have me for as long as you need me,” Kazuha’s dreamy voice stirred something within Belial. Something he couldn’t exactly name.

“I feel like this would be way easier if I had a heart,” he commented in passing, perhaps as a way to deal with the overwhelming weight of their words.

Even if he knew he wasn’t truly human, he was starting to allow himself to feel like one. To remind himself that he didn’t need to be. But at moments like this, with Kazuha next to him, a voice within told him that he already had what he had always been searching for.

“You already have one.”

Belial scoffed, refusing to lie to himself like that. “No, I don’t. Even if I’m alive and capable of feeling, there’s still something I’m missing.”

“But you do have a heart, Belial. Mine. It’s yours to keep.”

Only he knew how to stop and start Belial’s breathing, how to make him stutter and lose control of himself. He should have been scared, but the hole inside him was familiar and it fluttered in a way a void shouldn’t have. Perhaps Kazuha was right.

To counter the feeling in his chest and behind his eyes, Belial scrunched his face. “You’re so sappy when you want to be. But I don’t want to tie you down,” he insisted, because it was important to him. “So what will you do without your heart while you’re away?” His tone was mocking, trying to make him see that all of this was getting ridiculous. That the only one able to survive without a heart was him.

"There's no other place I'd rather be right now, Belial."

“Still. When Beidou comes back and you decide you want to go to… I don’t know, Fontaine. What then?”

Kazuha’s smile was as steadfast as his resolution. Sturdy like a tree, wise as the eldest of them all. When he pulled Belial towards himself by the front of his haori and enveloped him in his arms’ embrace, Belial's arms encircled his waist reflexively in response.”

“You keep it safe until I come back.”

“Will you?” He asked softly, safe in the space of Kazuha’s neck and shoulder.

Strong arms tightened their grip around him. “Yes. Always. No matter how long it takes.”

“It’s a promise, then.”

His heart beat wildly and alive and for a moment, it felt like his own. Kazuha didn’t answer back, but Belial didn’t need to hear it. The rhythmic cadence of his own heart was enough.