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Chapter Text

Sorrow and misery weren’t foreign to him, but hopelessness was a new flavor lingering on his tongue.

For the entirety of his life, Kaedehara Kazuha had refused to acknowledge this disgusting taste, simply gulped it down without hesitation. Yet he was nothing but a mere mortal knelt down before the cardinal hands of fate and was fed with despair. And for the first time in his whole existence, he was out of hope.

If he had the capacity to think thoroughly, he would’ve let out a chuckle at how ridiculous his circumstances were. As the former heir to his clan, a trustworthy comrade to those who fought alongside him, and the long yearned partner to his friend; Kazuha had had a lot to hold dear, to fight for and to breathe more. And even when he had found himself as a proclaimed traitor to his beloved homeland while losing all he knew fondly, Kazuha had never lowered himself to desperation: not when he heard his dearest friend breathe his last nor when he grabbed his dying vision and fled, slaying the soldiers that had run after him. Even when his heart was pounding with grief and pain, he refused to let himself wallow further. But this very spirit of his was captured, taken away and shattered by the wrath of the Electro Archon, yet somehow survived long enough to witness his own death.

It was stupendous, he thought. The exhilarating sizzle of Electro charging through his veins, the uncurbed winds swirling around him, the burning sensation of the Shogun’s mighty swordsmanship… He was captured right after, not even given a chance to soothe his nerves and adapt to the situation. He had no knowledge of his fellow comrades’ and friends’ wellbeing, nor did he know of his own, and it was not long after his vision - the embodiment of his spirit - was wrenched off of him alongside of his past friend’s. Being interrogated and tortured for an unknown time for any information about the Resistance, his comrades, Kazuha, the man who had lost everything, said nothing; he let them torture him all they wanted and offered a numb smirk in return. Dignity was the last possession to his name, and he was unwilling to let go of it.

Through his narrowed eyes, he surveyed the moonlit cell, built at the top of Tenshukaku. From the sounds through the small window that he was accompanied by in his solitude, it was a quiet night. He stretched his right hand until it was met with the beams of the moon. He observed the burn scars as he leaned against the wall, body still and mind numb; he could almost feel the dying heartbeats of the masterless vision that left his hand inflamed. For a sliver of a second, a curious thought lingered in his mind, wondering if his own vision, too, had burnt into the color of ash. A quiet huff that felt like a breathless laugh left his lips, grieving for the ambitions he once homed. He closed his eyes as he let his head fall back and feebly placed his hand back into his lap. 

Vague chatters of the soldiers waiting by the entrance of the ward had regaled him for a while until they were interrupted by a sudden motion. He didn’t bat an eye, nor did he move any muscle as he laid against the wall, not wincing but also unable to not frown slightly at the cries reaching to his ears. They were silenced as quickly as they rose anyway, and outlasted by a vague scent of what smelled like burnt flesh among the air. Kazuha tried not to put his mind into the familiarity of it, but he was very well aware of the sudden uneasiness forming in his stomach. A brief grimace took over his face right before he cracked his eyes open to a person standing before the rails.

At first glance, it was an unassuming young man dressed in a simple, light blue kimono. A gentle smile was offered vaguely, and an unreadable but innocuous glance was flashed by narrowed eyes. Although his expression was mostly covered by his veiled kakugasa, Kazuha could almost make out the entirety of his face. With the immaculate demeanor and humbly clad figure, the man looked pointedly harmless to say the least. Although, Kazuha was very well aware that neither of them thought it, considering the bellows that filled the ward a few minutes ago. He watched as the man approached closer and pulled aside his kakugasa, just enough to get a clear view of him as he offered the same to Kazuha and tilted his head, his smile widening. 

The blatant resemblance to the ruler of the Electro Archon, the Almighty Shogun that Kazuha had lost everything to, made him catch his breath. The intruder’s aura was far different from the Shogun’s, but his features were palpably similar. Kazuha felt his blood run cold, his dull nerves suddenly provoked. The man huffed at his reaction, as if he was waiting for it. Although Kazuha was quick to collect himself, he was still wary. He watched the man carefully as he pointed at him with a lazy gesture of his finger. 

“You look desperate,” the man stated matter-of-factly. Kazuha took a moment for his gaze to settle on the stranger before he took a quiet breath to compose himself and hummed.

“I am,” he agreed, making the man grin before straightening up his posture, clearly aware of Kazuha’s contemplating eyes. A soft hum, followed by a few footsteps towards the bars. Kazuha frowned imperceptibly at the action. The balmy breeze blowing up through the window and swirling around the stranger was offering Kazuha a helping hand about the man’s intentions while the presence of the uneasy feeling was giving him a few interpretations for his identity. 

He didn’t see the point of asking questions, and let the intruder take the lead.

“You don’t seem surprised, though.” Accepting the lead, the intruder raised an eyebrow, one hand on his hip. “Lots of visitors, I presume?”

“No.” Kazuha shook his head slightly, momentarily breaking eye contact. “You are not as discreet as you think you are if you thought no one heard you take down those guards. I simply opted to ignore the distraction,” he proposed, twisting his lips and shrugging. The man seemed entertained by this speculation when Kazuha’s eyes averted to his once more. Kazuha presumed he was marginally surprised by his response and cracked open the veil just enough for Kazuha to take a glimpse of his reaction.

“I thought it was obvious to any capable human that I did not want to be discreet.” the man pointed out with a scoff afterwards. The usage of “human” catching his attention, Kazuha hummed thoughtfully as he observed the man's challenging expression.

“It is,” he then agreed briefly. “You actually wanted the exact opposite, did you not?”

“Care to elaborate?” The man raised his eyebrow and folded his arms, still as conceited as he waited for Kazuha’s continuation. Kazuha chuckled softly, well aware that the cards he played were exactly the ones the man foresaw. He put no mind into being seen as a puppet at the hands of the puppeteer at that moment. 

“You wanted to be heard,” he remarked simply. “Not by the others, but by me. A fugitive being put in prison at last due to going against the ideals of Her Excellency and not confining himself by striking the very Archon. I believe the guards were quite the sturdy types, not ones to shrug at. Yet here you are, standing unscratched, not even sweating after taking out all those guards within minutes, all by yourself. One can only daresay your intentions are to grandstand before me. A tour de force.” 

The man looked at him with a knowing gaze, lips curled into an unmoving joyous smile. Kazuha didn’t share the sentiment, nor did he enjoy the nubilous man’s company. But he allowed him anyway, holding onto the tinge of curiosity formed by his unnerving similarity to the Electro Archon.

The man chuckled in delight as an answer, his gaze lingering around the ward for a few seconds. 

“How perceptive and articulate of you, Kaedehara.” The man nodded, chuckling. He ignored Kazuha's searching gaze on him before raising his head a moment later, and gazing back. “Although, I shan’t be surprised. Your discerning nature is well known amongst your fellows, and not everyone is as cryptic as you are when it comes to speaking about the things that should be kept secret. Don’t you agree?” 

Kazuha squinted at his words. They were rather enlightening, pointing at the man's own ambiguity, as if encouraging Kazuha to speak his mind without covering it with fancy symbols.

“I cannot agree more.” He flashed a glance, letting the man know he was playing his game as well. “Lord Harbinger.”

Rather than widening, the man’s smile shrunk, although his aura was more confident than ever. He was clearly waiting for their conversation to reach its climax by this reveal, and Kazuha could trust that the Harbinger was satisfied.

“It seems we’re on the same page, then I believe that is enough foreplay.” The Harbinger dusted off his clothes and hands before pushing his kakusaga a little further and looking back at Kazuha. He bit his lips as if he was trying not to laugh in delight before continuing. “I presume you have heard of me already?”

“Perhaps,” Kazuha tilted his head and grimaced inappreciably. “It is no shock for Harbingers to pay a visit to Inazuma, considering the current political climate. From what I have heard, only two of them had set foot on yet, and, thanks to the rather loud chattering of the guards, apparently one of them had just passed away. That clearly cannot be you.” 

Not trying to hide his curiosity, Kazuha rose from his spot, stepped closer to the bars as he glanced at the Harbinger and frowned. “My question is, which one of you was the one to cause my comrades misery and lead countless of them to die?” 

The man didn’t say anything in return for a few seconds as he glanced back at Kazuha’s eyes, lips curling upwards. “I think you know the answer, Kaedehara. You are clever enough to connect the dots.”

“Yes, I do,” Kazuha responded, not going along with the man’s intentions and pushing down the abrupt burst of ire coolly. “Yet, I don’t understand the point of you coming all the way up here to act incredulously arrogant about it.” 

Kazuha watched the Harbinger rolling his eyes as his haughty expression faded away before turning his back and combining his hands at his waist, strolling through the ward. He frowned deeper and walked until he was blocked by the bars. His head was spinning with all the thoughts running around in his mind after becoming accustomed to apathy. His heart pounding fast and his breath catching, he held the bars as the Harbinger inhaled theatrically.

“The thing you don’t understand is not it . But let me explain it to you in return for your pleasant company.” 

The man stopped to absentmindedly observe his nails and Kazuha wished to be at the other side of the bars, but could only listen. 

“I am not the mastermind of this operation, contrary to your blatant presumptions. As the Balladeer, I am merely one of the aides to Her Excellency, the Tsaritsa. My job is to serve her, do as she wishes just like the other aides, and I happened to be appointed to this mission. And to fulfill her wish,” he turned his back and gave a wide, fake, forced smile, just enough to irritate Kazuha, “you and your fellow soldiers had to be there at that exact moment. It may be personal and crucial for you, but it is just politics. For the greater good, some goes ignored.”

The dots connecting swiftly in his mind, “The gnosis,” Kazuha breathed with dread. 

The Harbinger hummed, amused. 

“Yes. See? Now you do get it.” 

Kazuha gaped at him for a few seconds, before he huffed and let his hands fall. Balladeer looked at him questioningly.

“I believe I do,” Kazuha nodded in agreement and folded his arms. This adiaphora was obviously not what the Balladeer expected of him, and his expression quickly turned into an annoyed one. Kazuha ignored it with a small smile. “I, of all people, know better than to not question an Archon’s wish.”

“You should’ve known sooner,” the Balladeer shrugged, before gesturing and raising a challenging glance. “Then maybe you wouldn’t be locked up in here now, and would be able to fight alongside your comrades.”

“Perhaps.” Kazuha tilted his head and shrugged, as if agreeing with the statement. “Maybe then I would go ignored, too. Unnoticed.” With the confidence of composing himself, he curled his lips upwards. “Wouldn’t I?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” the Balladeer spat, narrowing his eyes.

“I must ask you the same, Balladeer.” Kazuha stepped closer. “What is this meeting supposed to mean? Surely the reason you are here is not just to brag about the Fatui’s feat thanks to the sacrifices we had made. No. It would be quite pointless, even with your arrogance and cruelty. I can only guess you are here for your own personal gain, and, rather than being a pawn, you are now the mastermind playing a game,”  

The Balladeer remained silent, looking right at his eyes with a blank expression. But Kazuha was positive that his boldness was not what the Harbinger expected. He chuckled. “Would you mind enlightening me if I am supposed to be playing this game of yours too?”

“If you are done …with your disclosure,” the Balladeer gestured nonchalantly, waiting for a response. Although, Kazuha could tell that the Harbinger was blatantly annoyed by his ramblings. 

“You are correct,” the Balladeer answered after a few seconds of silence, and scoffed. “Your intellect and frankness has my respect, and in return I, too, shall be frank.” Kazuha observed his stagnant expression that had soon been cracked by a knowing grin. “I am here to present an offer.”

“Is that so?” Kazuha impassively raised an eyebrow.

“It is,” the Balladeer confirmed. “I am here for my personal reasons only, so you can trust me when I say that the Fatui’s intentions have nothing to do with my words here.” He waited for a moment, expecting Kazuha to interrupt him. But it was no surprise that Kazuha, veritably to his intel, was as perceptive as to know when to listen. The Balladeer lifted an eyebrow. “They say, thanks to your well known discerning nature, you can hear the sounds and smell the scents an ordinary person cannot. And with that gift of yours, you can also tell if one is lying or not.” The Balladeer stepped closer to the cell, slightly leaning against the bars while Kazuha remained impassive. A cunning smile formed in his face. “Would you mind telling me what exactly you think I am doing here? Telling the truth, or lying?” 

Although the Harbinger was very successful at getting on one’s nerves and manipulating them according to his wishes, he hadn’t told a single lie since he had set foot on the ward.  Not to Kazuha, at least. 

“You are telling the truth.” Kazuha confided. The Balladeer nodded as he straightened up his back and repositioned his kakugasa.

“Then I shall continue.” He hummed thoughtfully. “As I explained, the Watatsumi Army had to be at Tenshukaku at that moment for us to obtain the Electro Gnosis. The exchange, however, went more swiftly than expected, and afterward I happened to pass by the pandemonium when you confronted the Shogun and, somehow, managed to survive,” the Balladeer whispered with an unsettling smile, words laced with sadistic glee. Kazuha blinked in confusion, then frowned.

“Where are you going with that, Balladeer?” He asked cautiously. The Harbinger let out a laugh and looked back at Kazuha incredulously. 

“You are very interesting , are you aware of that? It has been eons since the last time I have been intrigued by a mortal, but you unintentionally deemed yourself worthy of my attention. And, this brings us to the topic at hand.” The Balladeer settled for a brief chuckle this time, and Kazuha felt his stomach twisting with perturbation. The more the Harbinger looked like he was enjoying himself, the more uneasy Kazuha felt. 

“Your offer,” Kazuha answered, muffled. His curiosities became ravenous as the Harbinger lifted his eyebrows, confirming, and slowly fished something out of his pocket with a wide grin on his lips. Something at the back of Kazuha’s mind whispered to him with a cold breath that, whatever the object the Balladeer was about to showcase, he already had a tangible guess of what it was. His breath caught momentarily when the Balladeer’s stare rested on his. 

“You are also very ambitious,” The Balladeer stated matter-of-factly, running down from his high spirit a moment ago. Kazuha’s throat went dry at the other’s change of demeanor, leaving him no choice but to listen to him. “Bold, calculating. I even daresay what restrains you from becoming an impeccable warrior is this sickening compassion of yours. Although from what I’ve heard, you’ve been rather lucky up until now regardless. But it’s not always going to go this way, and you surely share this sentiment.”  

Kazuha remained silent for a few seconds, watching the Harbinger as he refused to avert his gaze either. Narrowing his eyes at the Harbinger’s blank expression, he wetted his lips before muttering idly. “I believe my thoughts regarding this sentiment are purposeless for the sake of this conversation.” 

The Balladeer scoffed. “I believe not." Shrugging before he looked at Kazuha’s eyes pointedly. “And I think you will feel the same now.” He stretched his hand closer to Kazuha and slowly opened his palm. 

Something inside Kazuha twisted at the sight of his embodied ambitions: the blessing of the Anemo Archon. His still beating desire for freedom within the distance of a single reach out. Not in the color of ash, still very well alive.

“You are very well aware of the power I possess, as well as I am of yours,” the Balladeer stated as his flickering eyelids lingered on the Vision. “I am here to offer you your life, in exchange for your loyal devotion to me. Say the word, and have your life back.” He lifted his gaze up to Kazuha’s and watched the blood draining from his face as he swung the vision before Kazuha's eyes.

It was an undeniably magnetic offer, and Kazuha was at a loss for words, lips parted slightly with bemusement and trepidation.

His life, his ambitions, his ideals: offered right before his very eyes in exchange for him to devote those very things to another person. A Harbinger, and therefore, the Fatui. The Fatui that put his friends in misery, left them with incurable wounds, took precious lives without batting an eye. The Fatui that had fronted the entire world and left nothing but destruction wherever they had set foot on. 

The Fatui was nowhere near to be trusted, especially after everything they had done to his comrades. It was a ridiculous offer, and it was even more ridiculous if the Harbinger really believed Kazuha would be naïve enough to accept being another pawn to Fatui.

Even though he believed his ideals served right for his homeland, Kazuha didn't think it was unwarranted for him to be imprisoned. He never had malicious intentions, but it didn't mean his blade hadn't slain the innocent for the sake of his own safety. It didn't mean that he hadn't inflicted some incurable wounds either. He might have been captured for different reasons, but from his own perspective, the punishment fit the crime. Even though he had lost all his possessions, he still held his dignity highly, and his dignity was crossing the line between spending what was left of his solitude in a small cell and working for a Harbinger just to regain his pointless life. 

He was used to not having a roof over his head, yet he knew the endless wilderness as his home. But now, even if he escaped, those lands would be nothing but another prison for him. He didn’t see any difference between being locked up and being free . Especially not when he had lost the person who had made him feel at home whenever they had wandered and offered him a future. Without that person by his side, Kazuha valued the will to reach out the immense skies too little anyway. The burden of failing to save them was too heavy to carry on his shoulders to hold him back from looking up already. 

Not to mention, being saved by a Harbinger was a whole different burden to carry. His crimes might have seemed similar to the Fatui's in the eyes of the public, but never could he justify working for evil after witnessing the atrocities they had done to his fellow soldiers. He wasn't willing to let go of what was left of his integrity either. Not yet. 

At the absurdity of the offer, Kazuha had to fight down a scoff but was greatly unsuccessful. He let out a snicker, which turned into a laugh not so long after. His laughter echoed through the walls, shattering the still atmosphere, taking on the ideal fixity of Eternity. He laughed and laughed his heart out until his stomach was hurting and his eyes were flooding with tears. He wasn't blissful, nor was he feeling any sorrow. His brain was numb, and his consciousness deprived of any emotion. Contemplating was grotesque, and all he could have managed to think was that it all lacked meaning.

He gasped for air, soft chuckles still leaving from his lips. Languidly coming back to his senses, he could feel the Balladeer's gaze sending daggers. Kazuha simply brushed it off and lazily rubbed his eyes, drying them as he let out one last airy chuckle.

"What is so funny?" he heard Balladeer ask, annoyance discernable in his tone.

"Life." Kazuha inhaled, averting his gaze back at the Harbinger as he finally managed to collect himself. "It is quite ridiculous and insignificant at the same time that I could do nothing but laugh at this absurdity," he muttered with a smile. “And considering my current status, I’ve found your offer rather comedic. I am a man of nothingness, you see. On the contrary to your intel about the power and dexterity I once, allegedly, possessed, I hold none of them anymore. I have nothing but my rectitude, Harbinger, and I am not eager to hand it over to your dirty hands.” The smile on his lips faltering, Kazuha’s eyes darkened with detestation simultaneously and he spoke for the last time. “I believe this is where this conversation is concluded, and you leave empty-handed.”

He expected the man to lose his cool. He expected him to attack, or to shatter his Vision before his eyes. To torture him, and maybe leave him to die slowly but surely afterward. Or to simply walk out as if nothing happened. 

But what he hadn’t anticipated was for the Balladeer to snicker, dip his head in a rather pleased motion, shaking it slowly to choke his laughter back. It was Kazuha’s turn to grow annoyed, observing the mess before his eyes. Although, The Harbinger was far more successful at collecting himself than Kazuha that after a few short seconds he inhaled theatrically and dropped his kakugasa entirely as he approached Kazuha once again. Kazuha could only take a breather as the uneasy feeling became more intense.

“Oh, but these dirty hands of mine were never empty to begin with!” There was a newly lit spark in his eyes. Devious, cunning, dangerous. It was as if he had found out how he could get his way, the right string he needed to pull to actually conclude the bargain with his wishes fulfilled, and Kazuha dreaded finding out.

“I must apologize for how long this discussion has been lasting. I should've played this card earlier, and it would be convenient for both of our precious times. But I must say, your effort to outwit me was enjoyable and informative. I believe I learned a lot about you.” Balladeer regaled with curled lips and Kazuha's breath caught up when the Harbinger reached out for his pocket once again that meeting.

“How dare you-” was his immediate response as he marched towards the rails and grabbed them forcefully when he saw the Vision with dark clouds roaming inside of it.

“It is such a pity that you were unsuccessful at the end.” Balladeer cut him nonchalantly, observing the Masterless Vision inside his palm. “Don’t be too miserable, though. It’s always a hazardous gamble playing against me.” He scoffed as he shot a glance towards Kazuha and shook the Vision.  “This changes your mind?”

The fury was intolerable. His heart was pounding so hard against his chest as if to break free, it was hurting. His undying grief, sorrow, and shame were forming into a single hideous feeling that was foreign to him. It was so destructive and intense that even without his blade, his Vision, and regardless of the Harbinger obviously being an immortal, Kazuha felt like he could kill him in that instant even with the bars keeping him restrained. 

A shout escaped from his lips as he swayed a punch, which the Harbinger dodged swiftly. A groan, another punch that was dodged once again. A kick, and as the Harbinger simply moved aside, Kazuha reached out to grab his collar and yanked him forwards until his body hit the bars. His other hand grabbed the Harbinger’s neck, and his wrist was held tightly by the Harbinger instantly. The Harbinger scoffed, his breath washed over Kazuha’s face and something felt wrong.

“That won’t be necessary,” Balladeer stated as he pushed Kazuha’s hand down and stepped back, although the overwhelming proximity was still present. “If you think you can choke me, an immortal, to death, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Why don’t we find out?” Kazuha tightened his fist on the Harbinger’s collar, panting and steaming off with fury. 

“How sensitive,” Balladeer cooed, tilting his head. “You humans are so predictable, it almost takes the whole fun out.” Kazuha narrowed his eyes, not down from his anger in the slightest, seeking out a way to make the man regret crossing the line.

The Harbinger shook the Vision before his face, barely inches away, and Kazuha couldn’t help but reach out. Balladeer laughed as he pulled back the Vision and put it back in his pocket. 

“After seeing you in Tenshukaku, I should’ve known better that the way to inflame you entirely was to simply give you a glimpse of the past. You noble mortals hold others’ lives and ambitions higher than your own.” He cupped Kazuha’s jaw and Kazuha froze. As he lifted Kazuha’s head to force him to look directly into his eyes, he sensed the other’s body tensing up below him. “That being said, I advise you to listen to me closely.”

“I am not going to stand here and listen to your ravings anymore, Balladeer. You have lost your concession when you brought up my deceased friend.” Kazuha spat as he looked at the Harbinger intensely for a few seconds before tearing his hand out of the other’s hold. Although before he could take any steps back, the Harbinger pulled him back by his jaw, clenching his hand tightly. Kazuha hissed as he hit the bars.

“But you will,” Balladeer declared, his voice naked from his previous antics. His aura was dangerous and apathetic now, like a predator sneaking up to his prey. Kazuha refused to look away when the Balladeer's cold hand descended to grip his throat, squeezing it just enough to block him from breathing sufficiently, leading him to a slow, agonizing death with minimum effort.

“I am officially out of duty. My mission in Inazuma has been brought to a conclusion, and if I were to do anything now, no one would question my actions. Not even a single soul would know of them. The Tsaritsa wants us to be as peaceful as possible under her commands, and you saw everything that had happened in the Resistance first hand, did you not?” Kazuha looked at him incredulously. Balladeer scoffed while tightening his grasp and drawing circles around Kazuha’s skin with his thumb. “Now riddle me this, Kaedehara. Quoting your own words, I am no longer the pawn, but the mastermind playing my own game. I can do whatever I want in my time in Inazuma. I don’t have to hold back, I don’t have to ignore. My men might be burning down the Resistance camp at this very moment, who knows? If it were to happen, only one word of yours would stop it in that instant. Or even before that let's say, I just walk out of here as if this conversation never happened. Surely it won't be long after for the shift change, and the guards' bodies to be found. What do you say they will think? Will they believe you when you tell them about this encounter, or will they think your comrades tried to bust you out, but were greatly unsuccessful. Hm?" Kazuha gasped with terror and tried to yank himself out of the hold. The Harbinger grabbed his long white locks and drew him forwards, making his face crash against the bars once more. He leaned his face, his lips before Kazuha’s ears. Kazuha tried to inhale more air, but the hold around his neck was tightened immediately, making him begin to panic; every possible scenario running amok his mind.

“Not only that, but if you say the word, I can also guarantee your friends’ safety, since it is undeniably at stake, and my underlings’ support until we decide to discuss this matter once again. There will be no more tricks, no more loopholes since this offer is not from the Tsaritsa, but me. And you will be free to check whenever you wish. Think logically here.” 

Kazuha gasped for air as his neck was finally freed from the Harbinger’s hold. He leaned against the wall, panting and coughing as the words that were whispered to his ear echoed through his mind. He despised this, despised him. Under ideal circumstances, he would easily ignore the offer. He wouldn’t mind angering the Harbinger and dying in his hands. But with the way he played, the way he twisted his words just enough to irritate Kazuha, manipulated him into considering his offer by bringing up his friends; surely there was something more he held hidden up in his sleeves that Kazuha didn’t know of. Otherwise, why would a Harbinger personally put that amount of effort just to recruit someone as insignificant as Kazuha?

“You told me you would be frank,” Thus Kazuha muttered without lifting his head between his breath. “But you’re not.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to spill every single thing.”

“Which I don’t.” He cracked his eyes open and looked at the Balladeer. The man was now standing with his arms folded, and looking rather composed. “But I believe I deserve to know your motive behind all this scheme. Surely, I can’t be the most useful asset to your divine plans?” 

The Harbinger remained silent for a few seconds, then raised an eyebrow as he scoffed. “But the thing is, you are. Although, don't expect me to entertain you with my motives right now. Perhaps that is for another night. Don’t worry your head over that just yet, and take my word for it for the time being.” 

Kazuha was aware that the Balladeer knew he was unsatisfied, but he didn’t seem bothered by that. It was no surprise to Kazuha when he twisted his words yet again, and pulled the right strings once more.

“On the other hand, those divine plans you just mentioned, these are not in my knowledge. I have no idea what Her Excellency is planning for Inazuma’s political climate for the sake of her own desires.” Kazuha straightened up his back and frowned. The Balladeer curled his lips upwards before he continued. “I wouldn’t know how Her Excellency is planning to use the Resistance. So far it’s rather relentless, you must agree.” 

Kazuha opted to remain silent. Despite being devious, the offer was also conceivable once interpreted as helping out his friends. The Harbinger might be manipulating him, and he would be betraying everything he had stood for, but for the sake of his loved ones' safety, and the prospect of a humane future for his beloved homeland… 

“Am I to think this current state of Inazuma is also against your own motives, and not only the Tsaritsa’s?” he asked after a minute of silence, looking at the Balladeer’s eyes. He could see the man taking his time to form an answer, letting Kazuha know that his intentions were far more complicated than some internal affairs, but also that he was not entirely wrong.

“If you must know, I, too, want the Shogun gone,” he then confessed bluntly. But a part of this sentiment was buried much deeper than what could be discerned, and to his own bemusement, Kazuha found himself intrigued. The Harbinger’s expression was vaguely darkened, but Kazuha was quick to catch up on it. Though his demeanor and aura largely felt the same as before, Kazuha could confide that something was different, although he couldn’t put his finger on it. Something that made the Balladeer seem more intriguing, formidable, and human . Something that made Kazuha want to articulate this conversation further regardless of its infuriating nature, until he could comprehend his motives and intentions entirely.

“It would be such a pity if something happened to the only regular army that publicly goes against the Shogun, don’t you think? The folk would surely settle on living low and repressed. All sacrifices would be for nothing. All those lost loved ones, all those lives…” 

Kazuha watched while the Balladeer imperceptibly composed himself before showcasing the Masterless Vision once again. He walked towards the cell and stretched his hand, palm open. The moonlight reflected through the Vision’s shell and Kazuha’s throat went dry.

He lifted his eyes to meet the Balladeer’s indigo ones, and as he approached closer, he could almost feel the obscure sizzling of Electro running through his blood once again. The Balladeer gave him an encouraging nod as he reached out the Vision, not daring to wrench his eyes off of the Balladeer’s, not when they almost seemed like they were sparkling with vivid lightning. 

Kazuha reached out, and grabbed the Masterless Vision without any hesitation. He hissed when the Vision burnt his hand once again, but before he could react, his whole body was thunderstruck the instant his hand brushed over the Balladeer’s.

And suddenly, he understood.

Chapter Text

“But is being under an Archon's gaze really a blessing?”

Kazuha didn’t know at that moment. He hadn’t thought that way before until the words were spoken by his dear friend. Such a simple question, crushed under a heavy burden. To have a vision in Inazuma was nothing to be grateful for, after all. Having your ambitions and prowess being recognized by the Heavens, only to be stripped away from you the moment anyone catches a glance of its presence. 

Although the questions remained unanswered, Kazuha and his friend were discreet. Roaming around lands, sleeping under cloudy skies, relishing in each others’ company was more than enough. The constant run was exhausting, but an unchanging aspect of their lives at that point. But Kazuha did not complain. Although he was beyond miserable, his loyalty to Inazuma was undying. For the entirety of his life he had never allowed himself to despair in spite of the cruel fate. His parents died one after the other. The burden of a fallen clan weighed heavily on his shoulders from a fragile young age. The embodiment of his ideals had become an enemy of his safety. Kazuha did not complain, he had never complained. But the Shogun was restless, relentless. Her troops were unyielding. They were scattered around the entire nation and the run was growing harder to endure. Kazuha’s loyalty to Inazuma remained intact despite everything, and he never despaired. His friend, however, had been developing incredulous ideas as the tension worsened, and it was only to secure Kazuha’s escape from Inazuma when his friend had decided to take action.

“There will always be those who dare to brave the lightning's glow.”

What an incredible deliberation that was.

His heart hammered against his chest, his uneven breaths clouded his mind and vision. His legs were begging him to stop as he ran faster and faster. Every muscle in his body was trembling with trepidation and uncontained fear. His blade was ruthless as he climbed up the stairs frantically. A constant plea on his lips, as he prayed for the God he despised so much to spare his friend’s life. His grip on his unsheathed blade tightened; as it crushed against a spear, a deafening sound penetrated his ears. He then stood still at the top of the stairs, gasped heavily as all of his senses came back to life. Cold sweat dripped down on his neck, slid down among his standing hair. His heartbeat caught momentarily, the blood rushing down his veins froze his entire body, and everything stilled for a sliver of a second.

A body dropped before his own, a once-alive vision scattered on the ground. 

Blood rushed through his veins once again, inflaming his skin from beneath this time. His eyes widened, his whole body trembled, his blade collapsed to the ground next to a familiar severed one. His eyes desperately wandered around the body until his legs gave up at last, and he fell onto his knees.

His shaking hands covered his mouth as his eyes captured a glance at his dear friend’s veiled ones, devoid of the life they once had. Kazuha felt his stomach churning beneath his abdomen, his heart beating hectically as opposed to his dear friend’s. 

How much time had lapsed as he stood there, unmoving and still? Hours? Minutes, or maybe just a few mere seconds? His mind didn’t register anything other than the lifeless form of his friend before him. Guilt rose up through his sternum, his mind screamed at him desperately. If only he had been faster… If only he had known sooner, if only he had grabbed his friend’s hand and dragged him away from the nation with him… If only they had never met, and if only his friend never found himself mixed up with the mess that was Kazuha’s life. 

And to think what encouraged his friend to take this action was the safety of Kazuha’s own life and the assurance that he would breathe longer than him made Kazuha grit his teeth. He had been hand in hand with grief since the moment he had lost his mother, but facing it again was never easy. His heart felt like it was grabbed by a phantom of a hand, and its grip was only getting tighter with each breath he took.

His mind was buzzing with unrecognizable voices screaming at him, screaming at him to remind him of his failure and his betrayal. They filled his mind with a desire for revenge. Who was he supposed to revenge against? The god who hadn’t answered his prayers and slew his friend, or he himself, whom his friend had forsaken his life for?

His hand tried to reach his friend’s absentmindedly, an arrow sizzling with electro missed him by an inch as he dodged it unconsciously.

His vision became vivid once again. He blinked his eyes as he realized his whereabouts, quickly glancing at the soldiers circling him and the Shogun gazing at them away from the scene with her right-hand general Kujou Sara by her side, her bow aimed directly at him.

Before he knew it, he was running away once again. The Masterless Vision securely inside his hand, his blade beneath the other as he quickly fled away. The soldiers were hot on his heels. Their wails accompanied his cries as he swayed his blade, holding onto his vile life as he kept running, not minding the flames soaring from the Masterless Vision against his palm.

His heart wailed with grief, his consciousness never quit blaming him until he was thoroughly consumed with guilt. His body was covered with open wounds and gashes that were still bleeding by the time he was finally safely hidden away. His breaths uneven, muscles burning with exhaustion, heart heavy and mind numb; his gaze shifted down to his blade. His breath hitched when he saw the moonlight reflecting his treachery through the blood-clad steel, painted red by strange spirits: Of strangers he never knew, never met, injured and killed by his beloved, lofty blade. By the cause of his own life’s safety, ensuring he breathed longer.

The blade fell to the ground as he collapsed on his knees. He gasped for air as if he had been drowning underwater.  He tried to latch onto the cloth covering his chest, but he was unable to do so. It was only then when his gaze dropped to his other hand, pressed against his chest as if to hide something from sight. A fearful gesture made him feel like a cornered animal. 

His skin was completely burned, but he didn’t feel a single ounce of pain. His heart was already burning to the ground as he opened his palm, his face mimicking the ashy color of the clouds swirling inside the Masterless Vision’s shell.

Everything came rushing back to him in an instant. He heard a lighting shattering loudly as it illuminated the unmoving night skies. Rain started to pour down on him, hiding his tears, muffling his cries, washing the blood of unknowns off of his body until the only injury remaining was the one left by the embodiment of his friend’s ambitions as it burned to death.

A part of him accompanied the deceased that night.

*

They were out in the wilderness, away from Tenshukaku.

Kazuha’s mind was thoroughly preoccupied to recall the happenings from the moment he accepted the Masterless Vision, and a strong rush of electro sizzled through his veins. There was a swirl of magic, and the bars keeping him locked up were gone. He was told to change his attire apparently. His usual clothes with the crest of the Kaedehara Clan were replaced with an unassuming, plain kimono. A kakugasa was covering his face when they casually walked out of the most heavily guarded ward in Inazuma as if they were going for a night stroll.

His stomach twisted at the sight of the guards’ corpses, the slight smoky scent in the air made him clench at the Masterless Vision tightly. He could feel the Harbinger’s gaze on him as he stood there, frozen, eyes never leaving the bodies as he held the vision inside his palm as if his life depended on his grip. 

Before he had time to dwell on the blood of the strangers he was drowning in, the Harbinger shifted Kazuha’s attention back to him with a snap of his fingers, and before he knew it, they were out of Tenshukaku’s restraining walls.

He paid no mind to that either, only swallowing the bile rising in the back of his throat as he found himself in the outskirts of the Yashiori Island. His hands were trembling, and he felt as if he was freezing to death, although it was the middle of summer. The warm and gentle breeze swirling around them wasn’t putting his nerves at ease, and his trepidation was growing each passing second. He was unable to form a clear thought, let alone name and organize his overwhelming feelings. It was a foreign circumstance for his sensible mind. The only blatant thing he felt was the unnerving nature of being lost. Lost for thoughts, for feelings, for words, for identity.

He didn’t know how long he had been in that cell, only speaking occasionally if he was being questioned, only moving his muscles if he was being beaten up to fish the answers they wanted out of him, and only pondering while staring at the skies through the small window during slow nights. It must have been a while, he decided, for his empathic self to become this adapted to apathy, for the entirety of his virtues to crash down dramatically.

They had been walking for a little while in silence since they had set foot on the island. The Harbinger was walking a few steps before him, uncharacteristically quiet and lost in thought for someone who had busted out a high level fugitive half an hour ago. Although, his grasp over Kazuha was still blatant. He was ridiculously uncaring of Kazuha following him behind. Even without his blade or his Vision, Kazuha was aware that the Harbinger knew he could attack any moment. With his back to Kazuha, the Harbinger was completely defenseless. Kazuha, however, had the upper hand by being behind him, and had the Masterless Vision on his person. The Harbinger knew that he managed to revive it once. But regardless of this circumstance, the Harbinger was plainly undisturbed.

He didn’t look like he thought Kazuha might run away by using the Harbinger’s drawback to his advantage, either. All Kazuha could decipher was that he looked infuriatingly composed and calm, nothing like the person he was acting like while he was in the ward. Kazuha couldn’t see what his face looked like, but he could discern that his mind was flooded by thoughts. The winds swirled around him gave Kazuha the idea of the Harbinger feeling uneasy as they passed through the Nazuchi Beach. He frowned vaguely, feeling uneasy himself as he was unable to come up with a reason why. His own distress was momentarily forgotten with the distraction. Kazuha knew that whatever the Harbinger was thinking wasn’t caused by his presence, but something else entirely. However, before he could linger on any further the Harbinger halted at his steps and looked at him over his shoulder.

“I can hear you thinking, you know.”

Kazuha stopped at his steps as well, and looked back at the Harbinger with a thoughtful frown on his face. “You are not so quiet, either.” he answered quietly as he caught up with him in a few slow steps until they were face to face. 

The proximity had allowed Kazuha a moment of peace of mind, distracting him with the open pages of a sealed book that was the Harbinger’s expression before his eyes. The pages were the ones the Harbinger himself had allowed him to read, but Kazuha didn’t mind. 

The first thing that caught Kazuha’s attention were the Harbinger’s sapphire eyes that made Kazuha sick to his stomach with their resemblance to the Electro Archon’s. The small smirk tugged at his lips didn’t reach his half-lidded eyes. He slightly lifted his eyebrows haughtily, clearly aware that Kazuha was observing him. 

But he was also measuring Kazuha just like Kazuha was measuring him, and cataloging from his expressions to his actions. One hand rested on his hips, his demeanor was making Kazuha doubt his observations about the man thus far. He looked as if the uneasiness their current whereabouts had surfaced was an illusion Kazuha’s numb mind made up. Kazuha narrowed his eyes, his inner velitation quickly forgotten. The Harbinger scoffed, as if he had also realized the sudden shift in Kazuha’s mind.

“Can you tell me if there is anyone around that can eavesdrop our conversation?”

Kazuha frowned at the Harbinger’s request, but complied as he slowly averted his gaze away from him and looked around. His aesthesis searched for a nearby person, but there was no possible threat other than the Harbinger. His eyes roamed around the beach, the scattered ruins of ships, abandoned wracked houses and rubble, seeing no soul in sight. He sighed as he returned to the Harbinger who apparently had been watching him attentively. A deeper frown masked his face as he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive once more.

“There is no one.” he reported quietly. 

The Harbinger’s smirk grew wider. The already familiar vicious smile took its place on his lips. 

“Even without your vision?” he mused, somewhat full of glee. There was a strange look in his eyes that made Kazuha feel like prey, his blood running cold. The Harbinger raised an eyebrow. “Impressive.”

Kazuha didn’t see any need to answer, as he was also at a loss for words as well, which was strangely foreign of him. He had never been one not to formulate a response. He felt his throat going dry, his hands balling into fists at his sides, his heart picking up a beat every passing second under the Harbinger’s scrutiny, but he returned his gaze nonetheless. The Harbinger scoffed after a few seconds of tense silence and took a step back. Kazuha couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the gesture.

“Relax, would you? The moment you stepped out of that prison cell, you agreed upon joining my side.” The Balladeer rolled his eyes at him, crossing his arms. His eyes then landed on Kazuha’s once again and for the first time throughout the whole night, he looked like a true diplomat. Unfeeling and cold, his stance firm and dominant. “So, shall we discuss the details?”

After a beat of silence, Kazuha finally gave in and sighed, his eyelids dropped momentarily as his shoulders slumped vaguely, and he finally nodded. The images of his friends, the people who he was giving up what was left of him for played in his mind as he tried to console himself at the cut of the cord attached to his previous life, and the stinging pain it had left behind. The Harbinger waited for him to collect himself, much to Kazuha’s bewilderment, and started to talk the second Kazuha nodded.

“First of all, when I’m talking it is on my own behalf, and not the Fatui’s or the Tsraitsa’s. So when I say my side, I indeed mean it as my own. You will eventually become a Fatuus once we are actually in it, but your primary and sole role is to work for me. But not to get caught, you will need to act as a Fatui officer during this time. Regardless of your position, lying is second nature in the Fatui, and you better prepare yourself for this. I can’t foresee how long this deal of ours will last.”

As the Balladeer spoke, Kazuha’s frown got deeper. From what he understood, it wasn’t quite hard to stomach. But there was one thing that made him unsure of the Balladeer's intention.

“Are you planning to go against the Fatui?” he asked bemusedly. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow lazily.

“Whether I am or not is entirely for me to know. From this moment forward, the less you know, the better.” 

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line, thinking of quite a lot of ways to disagree with that statement, but didn’t protest. He could only nod his head slightly, gesturing for the Balladeer to continue. The Balladeer’s eyebrows twitched, and he placed a hand on his hips, amused.

“Good. With that clear, I shall relay the details. It is actually quite easy, since you won’t be an actual Fatuus.” He raised an eyebrow at Kazuha. “I understand that you are a wanderer?”

Kazuha was surprised that this had come up, his eyes widened only slightly. He nodded shortly, making the Balladeer’s smirk grow.

“Then I believe you won’t find this job hard at all. You can think of it as becoming an informant, a less significant harbinger if you so please, but for me. Basically, you will be attending and running meetings on my behalf all around Teyvat in which my presence, or rather absence, would raise unwanted attention and suspicion among my fellow colleagues and higher-ups. The officers under my command will know you as my right-hand man who has been gathering intel as an undercover rebel in Inazuma for the last three years, and eventually got arrested and locked up. After that, much is mostly the same. I am busting you out, because I cannot trust a lowly officer with a task above their pay grade. You are returning to Snezhnaya today with us, since you have completed your part with the latest disputes rising among the folk. You being above them will put a distance between you and the officers on board. It will keep your missions apart, and they won’t dare question it. Just to keep up appearances, you will need to tag along to a few operations with the lower-ranks. Other details are mostly task specific, but what you will be doing is basically this.” 

“What about my Vision?” Kazuha couldn’t help but ask, contemplating the details of this elaborate plan in his mind simultaneously. The Balladeer had surely prepared his case rock solid, but the issue with his Vision was a missing piece. 

The Balladeer raised his eyebrows and huffed. 

“Eager already, are we? Are you sure you have digested all of this information? You were rather uncooperative as of yet.” 

Kazuha softly shook his head and rubbed his palms on his clothes. He took a moment to organize his thoughts with a pensive look on his face, his eyes averted from the Balladeer. “No, you are correct. But, I surely will not survive even thinking about this whole ordeal if I cannot even bring myself to get familiar with it. It is an elaborate plan. Although, I believe there are certain aspects that are lacking, such as the question with the visions. With the whole Delusion crisis, surely it is hardly ever that a Fatuus receives a Vision?”

The Balladeer narrowed his eyes at him before he nodded.

“Obviously. You think lowly of me, Kaedehara, if you think I haven’t thought of that.” he rolled his eyes before he idly reached for his pocket, taking Kazuha’s Vision out. Too close, yet out of reach. The teal sparks wavering around it made Kazuha’s heart ache, but he swallowed it down roughly. Any display of his emotions was a weakness of his, now.

“The problem is not the Visions, to be clear, but rather the elements they wield. And yours is quite troublesome.” The Balladeer’s eyes lingered on the Vision for a few seconds before he looked back at Kazuha again. “What does it represent for you?”

Kazuha couldn’t hide his surprise. It seemed unlikely for the Balladeer to ask for his opinions, and the reason behind the question was surely not something he could swallow as easily as he just did. He pressed his lips into a thin line apprehensively, and The Balladeer raised his eyebrows to hurry him. Kazuha narrowed his eyes as if he was in pain and kept them on the shining stone. So close, yet so far away.

“Freedom.” he breathed out with his stomach sinking. 

The Balladeer hummed as he also observed the Vision himself, and nodded nonchalantly. “Exactly. Quite self-explanatory.” His glance shifted up to meet Kazuha's eyes, and Kazuha’s breath caught in his throat momentarily with trepidation. The Balladeer looked at him firmly. “Rule number one in the Fatui; yearn for your freedom, and you are a traitor. And at that point, you are better off dead.”

“You told me that you would return my Vision once we were out of Inazuma.” Kazuha tried to protest, but his voice sounded emotionless, making him doubt his own ideals.

“And I will,” the Balladeer replied calmly, his expression unfazed. “But for your own safety, you might want to come up with a cover-up story. You cannot receive a Vision, especially an Anemo Vision after your recruitment as a Fatui soldier.” 

Kazuha stayed silent as his gaze lingered on the Vision. His lips a thin line as he tried to come up with words, forcing them to be heard, but nothing came. His actual story was rather dull, but he still held onto it dearly. It was his story, after all. Reflecting his view of life, his thoughts and emotions, his ambitions, the experiences he had gained throughout his life, all collected and squeezed into a shell of Anemo, showcasing his authentic self for all the world to see. His heart ached in agony. His once full heart; full of hope, love, sorrow, anger and everything in between, suddenly felt empty. Its cavity weighed heavily on his chest. His hand unconsciously reached for his sternum, his fist clenched onto his clothes tightly.

Display of emotion was a weakness to his detriment.

The Balladeer rolled his eyes, clearly growing impatient. “Must I do everything?” he muttered under his breath as he placed the Vision securely into his pocket once again and crossed his arms. Kazuha didn’t protest as his eyes followed along the Vision, then shifted up to the Balladeer once again. There was an annoyed frown on his face.

“Fine,” the Balladeer snapped after a beat of silence, seemingly coming up with a cover in the blink of an eye, sighing with irritation. Kazuha swallowed thickly. “Might as well make it realistic.” He muttered under his breath, his fingers placed against his chin as he looked at Kazuha through narrowed eyes.

“If anyone asks for details, you will say that you had been raised to master swordsmanship before you caught a deadly illness as a child and soon after became bedridden. Your parents had passed away because of the same illness years prior, thus the people who looked after you never let you leave your bed or home. You begged them to let you out, but they didn’t let you. Your illness grew worse day by day, and you were surely about to die. In your dying moments, you were thinking how unfair your life was and how you wished that the illness hadn’t taken away your childhood and freedom. Your emotions were overwhelming, and it had granted you a Vision. Vision’s power helped you overcome your illness, and then you lived happily ever after, or whatever.” the Balladeer gestured his hand as he gave a look over to Kazuha who was listening with a conflicted expression on his face. “Basically, you were an ungrateful brat, but the Heavens took pity on you, and you were forgiven.”

“I am not sure if it’s a suitable story.” Kazuha muttered after a few seconds of silence. His eyes were focused on a ship's ruin ahead with a contemplative frown on his eyebrows. The story the Balladeer had just relayed to him felt somewhat peculiar, but he settled on not to dwell on it as of yet. There were far more greater concerns on his mind.

“You won’t come up with a story on your own, Kaedehara.” 

Kazuha looked at the Balladeer once again. There was a strange, ominous look in his eyes that made Kazuha feel completely exposed under his scrutiny. 

Reading people had always come easy to him, his attunement to the swirling energies around him was his second nature. Being read, however, was a completely different experience, one he was not familiar and comfortable with. The Balladeer looked at him as if he was well aware of Kazuha’s inner conflict. Tailoring himself a new identity was a twisted knife in his heart as his subconsciousness held onto what was left of him desperately, which was not much. His former self was ripped away from him a long time ago even before the Harbinger’s unexpected arrival. It was all those time he spent in prison that he felt a part of him disappearing into thin air every passing second. His life, his future, his hopes… When the Harbinger stepped in, the Kaedehara Kazuha that accompanied him was nothing but a façade. An empty shell that acted as if its habitant hadn’t left to find another one long ago. 

But there was no confrontation. There was no acceptance, either. His days were spent in ignorance. He couldn’t even bring himself to deny it. Denial was acceptance under a guise. It would mean that the Kaedehara Kazuha; the last eligible heir to the Kaedehara Clan, a beloved son to his late parents, a crewmate to his savior, a comrade to his fellow soldiers, and the lifelong companion of his friend, was gone. His soul had departed from this realm, and all left was a dead man walking. 

The Balladeer was prompting him to accept it and move on, Kazuha knew that. An asset such as himself would have caused more trouble than assistance if he didn’t just abandon his past and move on. It made perfect sense, but to actually do it was a greater feat.

His hands quivered on his sides as he took a deep shaky breath, and nodded stoically. “Alright. I shall adopt this story.”

The Balladeer nodded before he started walking again. “Good. Although you better do it quickly, because we are about to depart.”

“From here?” He couldn't help but ask. “But the encampment-”

“You think lowly of me again,” the Balladeer said, irritated, as he looked over his shoulder to Kazuha and gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Kujou isn’t here and the officers are already taken care of.”

Kazuha remained silent as he followed along, a few steps behind the Balladeer as he muttered quietly. A silence fell between them, surfacing Kazuha’s ignored battles in an instant. His life was on the edge of a cliff, and he was pushing it forward willingly. Even thinking about it was outrageous, blasphemous. But there he was, taking one step at a time to meet his inevitable doom.

“You will also need a new name, you know. Otherwise, there is a high possibility you might be recognized.” the Balladeer reminded him matter-of-factly as he turned back to look at him. Kazuha’s head was tilted forward, the everlasting frown present, lips a thin line; as if he was waiting in a death row. His eyes didn’t look up as he nodded shortly.

“I am aware,” he responded quietly.

The Harbinger hummed as he halted at his steps, forcing Kazuha to look at him with a swift gesture. Kazuha’s eyes wandered around once more before he looked back at his executioner, taking in the sight of a mighty ship ahead of their way. His eyes locked onto the Balladeer’s, and the Balladeer raised an eyebrow.

“Why me?” Kazuha asked at last after a pregnant silence, his voice barely above a whisper and quivering. His eyes met the Balladeer’s with a desperate attempt to get an answer as his defenses crashed down in an instant. “Why have you chosen me?”

“I believe we had already covered this,” the Balladeer sighed as he crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his other leg. Kazuha shook his head quickly, almost frantically. His demeanor was slipping from his grab. This new reality was crushing against him in waves.

“No, we had not. If you are asking me to devote my new life to your cause, then you should at least tell me why you have taken away my old one.” Kazuha raised his voice slightly, a shattered lilt to it.

The Balladeer raised an eyebrow at his sudden shift of attitude. Kazuha’s breaths were fastening gradually, as if he had been running further and further. His whole body was shaking, his lips trembling as he bit them harshly, hands balled into fists tightly in an almost painful way. But he didn’t cry, he didn’t scream. What bubbled underneath his skin wasn’t fury. Fate had let him down countless times, but it was the first time it had left him hopeless and taken away his own life rather than others.

“There are lots of other people who hold a grudge against the Shogun, and want her gone. People with much more skill and prowess. People who would willingly join the Fatui without batting an eye.” Kazuha tried to control himself, but his voice was cracking at every word he uttered. Display of emotion was a weakness, and he was now vulnerable, completely defenseless without a façade. “How is it logical that it is me, of all people? How can you expect me to blindly and willingly follow you?”

The Balladeer looked like he was taking his time to form an answer. His face was carefully blank, void of any emotions and interpretations. Kazuha expected him to shrug him off, ignore him and continue their way. He even could’ve easily killed him then and there, and no one would know. He, then, could’ve found himself a mightier asset without worrying about Kazuha leaking information. But the Balladeer wasn’t a one to foresee. His actions were imponderable, even for Kazuha.

“I can fill your head with delicately tailored lies, just enough for me to win you over easily. Just enough for you to believe me until you realize the truth and betray me,” the Balladeer replied meticulously as he took a few steps closer to Kazuha. “But I won’t do as such, and be frank as I promised you already.” Kazuha took a sharp breath as the Balladeer lifted his hand and grabbed his chin, softly pulling him closer. He felt his body shaking under the Balladeer’s enigmatic gaze and touch. He heard a soft thud, realizing the kakugasa he was wearing dropped to the floor, leaving his face open for the Balladeer to read easily. The Balladeer’s sapphire eyes glanced at his ruby ones knowingly, and Kazuha’s breath caught in his throat painfully. “You know as well as I do that the excuses you made to accept my offer were nothing but lies to justify your decision. Hero syndrome, sacrificing yourself for the goodness of others, if you will. Remains of the person you had been before you went against the Shogun in order to protect your comrades, only to end up in a jail with everything you had taken from you. Your freedom, your life.” Kazuha looked at the Balladeer incredulously, his heart pounding against his chest forcefully.

“Rest assured, I will keep my end of the bargain, but would you even truly care if I didn’t?” The Balladeer asked quietly, his eyes looking at Kazuha’s intently, his cold hands burning Kazuha’s skin slowly. 

The blood rushing through his veins left icy trails after it. He wanted to object to the Balladeer’s absurd words, to acquit his dignity, but no words came out of his mouth. The Balladeer looked at him ominously. Instinctively his hand lurched forward to do something, anything to shut the Balladeer from spilling any more of his venomous words, but he was quick to grab Kazuha’s wrist and push it down with a painful grip. Kazuha breathed heavily, eyes never leaving the Balladeer’s as the man gave him an austere look. His voice dropped an octave as he kept speaking, and Kazuha held his breath with trepidation. 

“What you are, truly, is a weapon, one that could be wielded with an iron will. You can follow along and find out what my true intention is, and the reason why you are precisely the catalyst I need… or you could continue to drift aimlessly. You said it yourself, you are a man of nothing, now. That is, without me. Your old life had been taken away long before I intervened. You can wail all you want, but it is me, and only me, who can give you a reason to live. A sole purpose. You know this well, but you are unable to bring yourself to admit it, nor are you able to deny it.”

His words left his lips smoothly, as if he had been reciting a poem. His thumb brushed over Kazuha’s cheek elegantly as a tear rolled down from Kazuha’s eyes. Their gazes never parted while Kazuha kept weeping soundlessly. His composure had fallen apart eventually, but he never hung his head. His heart broke down to pieces he was no longer able to collect, but he reluctantly accepted it. He had accepted that his life was long gone, and who stood in his place was a stranger. His old life was buried without a funeral. No words were spoken to celebrate its late presence. No one knew of its demise -but the Balladeer, who dealt the final blow and buried it himself. 

But no one else. Not even Kazuha.

“Well?” the Balladeer pondered after a minute.

Kazuha took a shaky breath and waited for a few more seconds to compose himself. A desperate part of him craved for a cord to his past nevertheless, his hollow heart mourned for the losses he had scattered around.

“Hisahide,” he managed to say at last. “Niwa Hisahide.” An old family name, remained unspoken.

The moment he uttered the name, a strong wind blew around them. Kazuha looked at the Balladeer’s eyes once more, his heart thumping against his chest achingly.

It was as if he was looking at his reflection through a mirror. 

First, the ambiguous touch left his skin before the Balladeer took a few steps back sloppily. Kazuha blinked his tears away with dread and took a shaky breath between his parted lips the moment he saw through the Balladeer.

The person standing before Kazuha with his mask slipped away, his trepidation and terror displayed on his face; feeling, thinking and acting like an indistinguishable reflection of Kazuha was not the Balladeer; but the person of his old life who had bled and died and been buried by his own hands.

Your new life is going to cost you your old one.

Kazuha’s throat went dry.

Chapter Text

“I had to return to the darkness, I couldn't stand the sun.”

(Letters to Milena by Franz Kafka)

Kazuha learned a few things about the Balladeer that night.

The first one was that the Balladeer despised Raiden Shogun although the reason wasn’t quite explicit. In Kazuha’s opinion, his velitation at the Shogun possibly had a connection with the fact that he was able to manipulate electro even without yielding a vision or a delusion. He was also adept at manipulating people just as well. He was a master of disguise, and had a strong control over his various identities to the point of using them skillfully as if they were puppets. His most threatening trait was perhaps his cleverness. The way his mind worked was beyond human standards. His ability to observe and comprehend was an assault to mere mortals. The moment one has made the mistake to lower one’s guard would cause one's doom, leaving them as vulnerable and defenseless as a prey before a lethal hunter’s hands.

To think that the Balladeer was the one to make this grave mistake was ironic.

His eyes widened a fraction, his hand on Kazuha’s chin fell down ungraciously. He took two sloppy steps back, and his lips parted with perplexity. His mask fell down to the ground into pieces too hard to collect and unfurled his true self before Kazuha’s dull, tear-filled eyes.

Kazuha blinked through tears, letting them spill from the corners of his eyes to see that person’s expression clearly. He blinked again, but before his vision could become clear the Balladeer was standing before him once more with his face schooled into his previous one. 

Kazuha couldn’t help but frown slightly, too shaken from the instant change of demeanor in the other man. His heart churned inside of his ribcage because for an acute moment it wasn’t the Balladeer standing before him. No, it was someone so foreign, yet so familiar. A perfectly tailored reflection of Kazuha’s trepidation mimicked by a fairer face than his own. 

His first instinct was to reach out and touch, to make sure he wasn’t making up things. And, maybe, to give a sense of comfort and reassurance to the man that turned his insignificant life upside down that very night. An unwelcome instinct, one he wouldn’t be able to shake off quite easily, apparently. Kazuha pursed his lips and swallowed the bile rising in his throat, his hands balled into fists by his sides tightly.

“Your new name can’t be something significant to your person.” The Balladeer spoke with a sharp lilt to his tone after a beat of silence which felt like eons to Kazuha. Kazuha couldn’t help but frown thoughtfully as the Balladeer crossed his arms and tilted his head. “You can’t hold onto any string attached to your past if you don’t want to be discovered.”

“But it isn’t,” Kazuha replied after a few seconds, his eyes meeting the Balladeer’s once as he lied rather sloppily. He hurriedly dried his tear-stained cheeks with his fingers, and looked at the Balladeer with his head up. “Or is there something wrong with it?” he asked with intrigue, and a glint in his eyes reflecting his wonder.

Another thing he came to learn was that the Balladeer was ambiguous. The meaning behind his words were a mystery, the vagueness of his sentences were open to interpretations. His expressions were dull and controlled as if all of his emotions were contained in a sealed bottle hidden in his sternum, not letting his heart to beat properly and not letting him feel. 

Kazuha had never claimed that reading people was easy, only that it came easier to him than the most. The wind was always a friend, helping him understand people with whispering breeze even long before he was bestowed upon a vision. But the Balladeer, on the other hand, was an enigma. Even if they were standing in the eye of the storm, Kazuha still would be unable to comprehend him fully.

But apparently even the Balladeer was something akin to a human that he wasn’t quick enough to collect all the pieces fallen from his mask, and Kazuha was attuned enough to pick up on it. The Balladeer posed himself as a person always in control of himself, showing others only what he wanted them to see and know. The impatient lilt to his tone suggested that his control had slipped even if it was just a bit. His frown had been deeper and his fingers were wrapped around his elbows tightly since the moment he stepped away from Kazuha right after hearing the name Niwa Hisahide. However intriguing and confusing, the reason behind it was above Kazuha. 

He clenched his hands uncomfortably as the gears in his brain started to turn for the first time in what had to be weeks. His throat was dry and his breathing was ragged as he glanced at the Balladeer who was assessing him from head to toe through narrowed eyes, and wondered whether the man was aware that Kazuha was trying to put the pieces into a comprehensible answer.

“It is not a pretty common surname,” the Balladeer tutted as he shook his head. “There are Inazumans on board as well. It would do you well to make basic choices.”

“It is not unheard of either.” The Balladeer lifted an eyebrow at Kazuha’s simple answer and scoffed, surprising him by not commenting on it further.

“Fine. We don’t have the time to discuss another name anyways, so be it. But if you talk back to me ever again,” The Balladeer’s tone grew cold, the knit to his brows and the severity to his eyes open for Kazuha to see. “It will not end up pretty.” 

Kazuha felt the blood drain from his face as the Balladeer frowned at him sharply and a strong breeze blew at them. His damp cheeks from earlier tears felt cold and he pursed his lips, but didn’t react further. He clenched his hands apprehensively at the reminder of his position.

“We wouldn’t want that, right?” The Balladeer took a step closer and leaned in until they were face to face and he was looking directly at Kazuha’s eyes. Kazuha slightly tensed up and held his breath as he glanced back at the indigo orbs for a few moments before he carefully breathed out and closed his eyes, succumbing.

“…Right.”

“Good.” The Balladeer dusted off his clothes after he retreated and looked back at Kazuha. “Let’s go. We wasted enough time already.” Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line.

“...Can I ask you a question before we go?”

“What is it now?” Although his tone was exasperated and he didn’t look impressed at Kazuha’s request, maybe it was the way Kazuha’s head tilted down or the weary lilt to his tone that made the Balladeer stop at his steps and turn to face Kazuha once again. 

“How long have I been locked up in there?” Kazuha slowly lifted his head to look at the Balladeer who was now looking back at him with a quizzical expression. 

“Seven weeks.” He replied after a beat of silence, his tone uncharacteristically thoughtful for an answer as bland as that. Kazuha clenched his hands tighter, and felt the way his nails, longer than normal, dip into his flesh painfully. He parted his lips to speak but nothing came up. He frowned and shook his head anxiously before he finally looked up at the Balladeer with an almost desperate veil to his eyes.

The Balladeer looked at him with consideration as if he, too, was assessing this predicament. He observed Kazuha for a few seconds while Kazuha tried to gather his thoughts and form a sentence to say something, to demand the meaning of this but was completely at a loss for words.

“No one came to rescue you,” the Balladeer muttered at last, wording the thoughts Kazuha was too afraid to speak out loud. “Why didn’t you run away?” 

Kazuha failed to form words once again. He swallowed the rising anxiety hardly, and averted his gaze from the Balladeer. His hands clenched at his sides as he tried to regulate his thoughts. 

“It is absurd to think someone would come to my rescue when everything is in line.” he managed to mutter at last, but he refused to look back at the Balladeer as he spoke. “It is awfully early for them to take such a risk.”

“Perhaps, but it is not not sensible either.” 

He couldn’t help but frown quizzically before lifting his eyes to glance at the Balladeer. The man looked as impassive as ever, almost bored as if his words were common sense rather than revelation to Kazuha. 

“You are not aware, obviously, but still, you must have realized that there has been less pressure on you in the last few weeks. That is because the Shogunate and Sangonomiya have been holding meetings to reach a consensus, and a ceasefire has already been established.”

“What?” Kazuha croaked with trepidation. The Balladeer shrugged his shoulders.

“Raiden Shogun hadn’t had a change of heart, but it appears she’d come to care for her people to some degree. Even without these meetings reaching any conclusions, they would set you free eventually. You would still be kept under close watch and probably not have your vision returned, but still be free. The Watatsumi folk would have no problem busting you out. Even the worst of my men managed to get in and out without getting caught.”

Kazuha’s eyes widened a fraction as he looked at the Balladeer with confusion before he muttered a quiet “The worst of your men?” The Balladeer rolled his eyes.

“I sent someone beforehand to survey the area, obviously. The guards situated on your cell have a shift change twice a day, and during these changes there’s a few minutes of gap which anyone can get in and out if they are careful enough.” the Balladeer scoffed. “I am sure Sangonomiya wouldn’t have had any problems planning a jailbreak for her comrade with that strategic mind of hers, not to mention executing it perfectly.” his eyes trailed around before he looked back at Kazuha through narrowed eyes with a purse of his lips and tutted. “It makes me wonder why she hadn’t.”

“I am not worthy of the risk that would require.” Kazuha piped up quietly, his brows furrowed as he bit his lips. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow.

“Are you still babbling about the risks? You say you aren’t worth the risk they would’ve had to take, but you were ready to risk everything for their cause. You willingly ran towards the Musou no Hitotachi, for god’s sake, not knowing you would come out alive just to create a distraction for them to march forward. You ended up locked up, and spent weeks with no contact with your comrades. Even after your freedom was served on a silver platter for you, their wellbeing was your first concern.” 

Kazuha bit his lips harder, almost bleeding the soft skin with the force of his teeth. His hands were shaking at his sides, and his heart was pounding painfully against his ribs. His mind was too cloudy, and he was too confused, almost lost. He didn’t believe a word the Balladeer had said, he didn’t care for them. But… What if he was right? What if he had some wisdom hidden among his words?

He had to swallow hard to stop himself from spiraling right then and there. “It makes no difference now.” he managed to say at last. He heard the Balladeer scoff at his words, but he still refused to look at him. 

“Humans always say that they care for others more than they care for themselves, you sickening nobles.” The sand beneath the Balladeer’s feet crushed softly as he slowly walked towards Kazuha. “And they almost always lie about that. But you Kaedehara,” Kazuha was forced to meet the Balladeer’s assessing gaze against his own will by the hand on his jaw tilting his face. The Balladeer’s eyes traveled around Kazuha’s face until they settled on his eyes with an amused gleam to his. “You are no liar. You are far from that, and it makes you… Interesting. Still, I suggest you throw away that affection of yours before it becomes your doom.” 

Kazuha looked at the Balladeer with frowned eyes and blown pupils, his face stern while the other man glanced at him blankly with vague amusement. He retreated his hand from Kazuha’s jaw for the second time before he turned on his heels and started to walk.

“Let’s go.”

It took Kazuha a few seconds to make his legs cooperate before he was following along. His mind cloudy and mixed up with his heart broken and beating painfully, Kazuha was unable to console himself as he did not know what to feel.

The Balladeer’s triumphant smirk was hidden to the unseeing man.

*

After he climbed up to the ship, he didn’t introduce himself, nor was he introduced. 

There were no greetings either. His arrival alongside the Balladeer didn’t seem out of place for the small number of officers on board as they reported to the Balladeer one by one and then were back at their duties. One officer, however, was tasked to fill Kazuha in and show him where he would be staying as she quietly approached Kazuha after the Balladeer was out of sight. Kazuha couldn’t tell whether he was relieved or anxious.

“Lord Scaramouche told us that an undercover officer would be joining us before we departed. You must be high in the ranks, huh, lad?” The officer, who looked to be in her mid thirties with the square of her shoulders and a careful spring in her steps, and with the fact she called Kazuha lad, muttered with vague enthusiam as she led Kazuha around the deck towards staircases. The other officers were back at their duties, finishing up preparations most likely, but their eyes followed Kazuha as he glanced around.

“Something like that.” Kazuha muttered when he realized his chaperon tilted her head at his ignorance, forcing an answer out of him as he blinked and looked back at her. It was too early to give anything away, as it was too early for him to wrap his head around. He bit his lips inwardly.

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head shortly to collect himself as they climbed down the stairs. “Sorry, I couldn’t catch your name?” He decided to cover his nervousness with a simple question, his voice a little steadier and louder this time with his fingers wrapped around his wrist to hide their tremble.

“Oh, where are my manners!” The officer halted at her steps and turned to face Kazuha, offering her calloused hand with a small smirk. “Nina, chief technical officer of the ship. Welcome aboard.”

Kazuha unclenched his fingers slowly and reluctantly reached out to shake her hand. “Ka… Niwa, Niwa Hisahide.” Kazuha tried to offer a small smile himself at the way Nina’s eyes narrowed, even though a piece of him died at that very moment. He tried to chuckle quietly to cover up as he wept internally. “Apologies, I am still getting used to not being undercover. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Understandable, of course.” Nina’s smirk widened as she retreated her hand and they passed through a few cabins. “How long have you been undercover?”

“Three years.” Kazuha replied while following after, recollecting the story the Balladeer plotted just an hour ago.

Nina let out a low whistle. “Three? That’s a rather long time, especially for someone so young like you.” She looked at Kazuha over her shoulder with a wicked smile. “Although, can’t say I’m surprised. Leave it to Lord Scaramouche to make the most of you, I guess.”

Kazuha didn’t answer, it didn’t feel like he was expected to answer anyways. They walked for a few seconds in silence with only the distant sound of the other officers on deck and the wood creaking under their footsteps.

“So, what’s the story Niwa?” Nina asked as they stopped in front of a door, and she turned to look at Kazuha, arms folded as she leaned against the door.

“The story?” Kazuha echoed with a vague frown.

“Three years undercover, must be a really solid reason for that.” She inquired with a sly smile. Kazuha tried to come up with an answer, his lips involuntarily parting to say something and immediately closing back as there was nothing he could offer. The officer looked at him with expectant eyes, clearly interested in any kind of information Kazuha could share with her. 

His brain wasn’t wired to spill lies with his hands in his pockets about an organization he had no idea about its bureaucracy and work ethic. But he was expected to say at least something to satisfy the officer’s curiosity if he didn’t want to be found out in the very first interaction he had.

As he was internally struggling to come up with a story, the smile on the officer’s face fell, and her pale skin got even paler with the blood draining from her face, and she immediately stood up straight, looking past Kazuha. Kazuha frowned with confusion as he tried to figure out the meaning behind her sudden change of attitude.

Then he felt a breeze tingling at his skin, and he took a sharp breath at the arrival of the Balladeer.

“And a reason beyond your pay grade, officer.”

Kazuha couldn’t help but look over his shoulders to the Balladeer, who was dressed in a completely different attire than the one he greeted Kazuha with. The humble, lightly colored kimono and the snip kakugasa were gone, replaced with an elaborate piece of clothing that was mostly black with Inazuman references dotted over the fabric. He was still wearing a hat, an extremely distracting design with long veils. His demeanor was no different despite the change of costumes. His arms were folded and his chin was held up as he strode confidently over the corridor, not batting an eye at Kazuha’s observing gaze. 

Kazuha frowned slightly, his eyes following the Balladeer’s figure as he walked past him and stood between him and Nina, his hands coming to rest on his hips. Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line with consideration. The Balladeer indeed seemed different, but it wasn’t about the difference of masks. Rather, it was quite the opposite. 

The person the Balladeer stood as before the rails of the cell up high in Tenshukaku’s restraining walls was ambiguous, setting on the alarm bells in Kazuha’s mind the moment he made his appearance. He was preposterous, and held no clear motives to seek after Kazuha. He didn’t play the cards in his hands, rather it was Kazuha whom he played. His mask never slipped, never revealed anything real, and the only moment his mask dropped was so instant and blurry that it made Kazuha wonder whether it was real or not; if it was also a trick up in his sleeve to manipulate Kazuha into following him. His ambiguity was his trump card, reeking of trouble from the beginning and was intoxicating to the point of succumbing. Even the wind, Kazuha’s eternal companion, was fruitless against him.

This newly dressed man, however, was a different image. He blatantly was an expressionist. His clothes almost reflected his confines, the lines he would and would not cross. The design and the colors certainly told a story, a story many would look past unless they were familiar with the indications.

Kazuha’s eyes roamed over his form from head to toe, his brows furrowing deeply. This Balladeer, too, was a mystery in and of itself. But not like the ambiguous puzzle he presented himself as earlier that night. Not an insoluble mystery, but rather intriguingly complex.

“Are you trying to ask for top secret Fatui information, officer?”

He was ripped away from his thoughts by the Balladeer’s irate voice. He blinked a few times before his eyes traveled from the Balladeer who was looking at Nina with an unimpressed expression on his face, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently, to Nina who looked at the Balladeer for a brief second before bowing her head. Despite the Balladeer’s rather tame semblance, it was clear that his control over the underlings was recognized. His almost bored stance clearly didn’t put the officer at ease as she coughed shortly before finding her voice.

“No, sir.”

The Balladeer hummed before averting his eyes to look at Kazuha. Kazuha felt the nerves in his body tensing like a coil spring as their eyes met, and pressed his lips together in a thin line. The Balladeer narrowed his eyes.

“And you? Were you sharing some information you weren’t supposed to?”

Kazuha frowned at the meaning behind that, and reluctantly bowed his head as the Balladeer frowned at his prolonged answer and display of his “loyalty”.

“No, sir.” he echoed, clenching his fists.

“You were supposed to report to my office, Niwa.” The Balladeer folded his arms as he watched Kazuha lifting his head to look at him and visibly tensing at the name while the officer cursed under her breath. 

“I wasn’t aware of it.” Kazuha managed to reply after a beat of silence of collecting himself with a confused lilt to his tone. He pursed his lips as he followed the way the Balladeer swiveled his eyes from him to Nina.

“My apologies, Lord Scaramouche. I was about to inform him after showing him his cabin. I wasn’t aware of the time.” Nina reported stoically, but the tension on her shoulders was clear as she bowed her head farther. 

“You know I don’t tolerate sloppiness, officer Nina.”

Kazuha remained silent as Nina slowly lifted her head and looked at the Balladeer, her shoulders squared once again as she nodded curtly. “It won’t happen again, Lord Scaramouche.”

The Balladeer sighed as he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever. I don’t have the time for that right now. Dismissed, officer. Niwa, follow me.”

Kazuha watched as Nina quickly walked off and climbed up the stairs wordlessly, not once looking at Kazuha, and was no more in sight. He blinked as the Balladeer, Scaramouche, raised an eyebrow at him and started to walk, leading them to his office which was apparently in a cabin all the way in the opposite direction, far away from everyone. Kazuha took a short breath and squared his shoulders before he started to follow him.

Once they were inside of the cabin, out of sight and earshot, the Balladeer sat down on the chair behind the desk and looked up at Kazuha, who was awkwardly standing before the desk. He gulped shortly, his hands clenched at his sides as he vaguely looked around the room until he was looking at the Balladeer once more.

The Balladeer had leaned back on his chair, his legs crossed and arms folded as he observed Kazuha’s movements through narrowed eyes, and the way his hands twitched and his eyes danced around the space. There was a pregnant silence in the atmosphere, almost palpable and fragile like glass. Kazuha nipped at the flesh of his lip as he looked at the Balladeer with a frown, waiting for the tension to snap.

“You’re not afraid of me.” the Balladeer said matter-of-factly after a few seconds of tense silence. The oil lamp on the desk was reflecting through his indigo eyes like fireflies.

Kazuha couldn’t help but blink with surprise, clearly taken aback by the absurdity of the statement. But the Balladeer seemed serious, indicating that his words were nothing tricky.

“...No. I am not.” Kazuha replied slowly after he cleaned his throat. The twitch at the Balladeer’s brows was visible.

“Give it time.” he muttered with a smirk tugged at his lips and tilted his head. “Until then, try to act like it. No need to make way for a mutiny.”

Kazuha didn’t reply, but continued to keep the eye contact. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow in amusement before he scoffed and gestured his hand to the chair before the desk.

“Care to take a seat? There are still some things we haven’t covered.”

“...Yes. Such as the backstory you plotted for me. I didn’t realize it was prepared long before tonight.” Kazuha muttered as he sat down on the chair at last, and lifted his head to look at the Balladeer questioningly. The response he got was a huff of laughter and a shrug.

“There is nothing conspiratorial, and I already told you the answer earlier.” the Balladeer waved a hand as he spoke, his smug expression reflecting that he was clearly aware of the irritation starting to stir inside of Kazuha’s head. “I was aware that you wouldn’t be able to come up with a story on your own, and I simply took precautions.”

Kazuha looked at the Balladeer wordlessly for a few seconds, his hands balled into fists on his lap and teeth biting into the flesh of his lip before he sighed. There was an uneasy feeling rising like bile through his sternum, a feeling like he was being played for a sucker, and as if being manipulated by the Balladeer’s venomous voice. His hands clenched tighter as he tried to push down the suspicion rising rapidly, and nodded at last.

“Alright.” he murmured with an even tone, his head lowered as he averted the Balladeer’s gaze for a few moments to collect his thoughts. He frowned slightly before he looked at the other man once more. “What are we talking about now?”

He watched as the Balladeer unfolded his arms and started to rummage through some files mounted on the desk elegantly. There was silence then. The Balladeer didn’t look up at him while he assumingly searched for a file significant to their conversation without paying mind to Kazuha, and Kazuha just sat there and watched. He pressed his lips into a thin line when he decided to use this opportunity to observe the cabin. 

His eyes roamed over the cabin, taking in the details. The oil lamp on the desk was illuminating the files laying on its bottom, and the cabin vaguely. There was a small circle window just below the desk, letting Kazuha see only a small part of the outside world. The waves were spluttering against the window every now and then as the ship rocked, and the droplets of water shone brightly with the light from the oil lamp. 

There were three short file cabinets lined against the wooden floor next to the desk filled with books, files and parchments in every size. There were a few maps with writings and lines drawn, clearly studied on, hanging from the walls. It was hard to determine what these maps indicated with the little source of light, but if Kazuha had to guess one of them was certainly Inazuma, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the thick lines drawn over the map had anything to do with the situation he found himself wrapped up in.

Before he could observe anything further, there was a muffled jingling sound, and his head automatically tilted towards the direction where the noise came from. It was the ship coming to life, and he heard the increased sound of gentle waves crashing against the ship as it started to move against them. It was the anchor, then, Kazuha deduced. The anchor that was keeping his ties to his old life intact was now being raised to take him away forever, for good. There was no going back now. 

Kazuha swallowed harshly, his stomach churned with grief.

“Now that you are officially working for me, I will give you the details of your first quest.”

It took Kazuha a few seconds to respond. His hands clenched tightly at the fabric of his clothes before he returned to the Ballader’s glance. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow but ignored the look on Kazuha’s face as he looked down at the file open before him.

“There are other details that concern your status as of now the most, but they can’t be discussed here. So, we will continue from a different direction.”

Kazuha pursed his lips as he was reminded of the Balladeer’s vague answer earlier that night when Kazuha asked him about his true intention towards the Fatui. Although the Balladeer didn’t answer, his words seemed to answer for themselves.

“We are currently returning to Snezhnaya. But before we get there, I have a few meetings in Sumeru in a week, and you will be accompanying me in some of them. We will discuss the details once we get there. There will be more meetings in the future and some of them won’t require my attendance, so you will be attending them on my behalf, and report me the details.”

“So that your colleagues and higher-ups won’t be suspicious of your absence.” Kazuha muttered, relaying the Balladeer’s words from earlier that night. The Balladeer flashed a satisfied grin.

“Exactly.” He closed the file and pushed it aside, propped his elbows on the desk and combined his fingers. “It won’t take long, though. Give or take a few months. And after that everything will be revealed anyways.” 

Kazuha’s brows creased with confusion, but he didn’t question the Balladeer’s words even though he wanted to understand the intentions behind them. But he opted to forward a different question instead, aware that the reasons behind the Balladeer’s plan wouldn’t be revealed to him yet.

“What about my vision?”

The Balladeer held his gaze for a few seconds and then sighed before he unclasped his hands and reached for a drawer under the desk. Kazuha heard a light clanking sound, and his heart fluttered as he was once again bestowed with the sight of his vision.

“Three days.” the Balladeer said as he held the vision between his fingers, their eyes locked. “Three days you lay low and get yourself together before you mingle with the other officers, then you can have your vision back.”

Kazuha frowned, his fingers twitched with the need to reach out and grab the shining teal stone, but he managed to fight against the urge. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow while he tried to part his lips and protest, but was interrupted by the other man before he could say a single word.

“You survived seven weeks without your vision, surely you can survive three more days. There are already a lot of matters requiring my focus and energy, I don’t have the time to care for treacheries right now especially, since you haven’t had the chance to build loyalties yet.”

“Loyalties?” Kazuha croaked out before he could stop himself, swallowing thickly to wet his dry throat. His heartbeat was picking up rapidly and pumping the adrenaline he hadn’t felt for weeks through his body that he couldn’t help but let out a quiet scoff. The Balladeer narrowed his eyes.

“You have just said a few months at most. It would take for a man like me a lot more than a few months to even begin to trust a man like you.” The expression on the Balladeer’s face grew more and more stern as Kazuha spoke, but Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to silence himself. Despite everything, his heart was a bird inside a cage that longed for its freedom, and loyalty would only be the obstacle on the way towards freedom.

“I told you not to talk back to me, didn’t I? I would watch my words if I were you, Niwa.” The Balladeer watched as Kazuha got to his feet swiftly and looked at him with a carefully neutral expression. 

“Should I visit your office in three days, Lord Balladeer?”

The Balladeer looked at him with an annoyed expression at his discarding attitude. He let out a scoff and waved his hand.

“Sure, whatever. I will ignore your attitude for this once since you are a newbie and regaining consciousness in some sense. But the next time you are standing before me, you speak with respect. I am sure the crew wouldn’t mind telling you what happens to the disrespectful.” The Balladeer mused as he put the vision back on the drawer before looking at Kazuha with a faux smile. “Also it wouldn’t be the first time someone lost their vision on board, not to mention you have two.”

Kazuha narrowed his eyes as he held his gaze on the Balladeer, his hands balling into fists at his sides before he finally huffed and nodded curtly. His hand cupped at the vision inside of his sleeve as if to ground himself. The Balladeer watched him with his chin propped up on his hands and rolled his eyes as if he realized Kazuha wouldn’t answer, then waved his hand dismissively.

“You may leave now.”

Kazuha looked at the Balladeer one last time before his gaze dropped to the drawer blocked by the desk which hid his vision. He pursed his lips with annoyance before he turned his back and walked out of the cabin, the cool ocean breeze crashing against his skin immediately. He stood still for a few seconds just to relish in the swirling ocean scent around him, aware that he wouldn’t go up the deck just yet, before he sighed and started to walk towards the opposite direction until he was facing the door to, apparently, his cabin which he hadn’t had the chance to see earlier.

He slowly cracked the door open, his eyes gradually taking in the interior before he stepped in fully and closed the door after himself. It was nothing much; just a bed, a drawer, a desk and another door which assumedly led to a bathroom. 

Kazuha didn’t care for the details at that moment as the exhaustion from the night, and perhaps the last-almost-two-months were starting to catch up with him at the sight of the bed. He shambled towards the mattress, and an over consuming silent darkness took over his busy mind almost immediately.

*

The first few days on the Fatui ship made Kazuha realize that his knowledge of nautic was not much, and certainly not impressive.

After he fled from Inazuma he was warmly greeted and welcomed by the Crux, a crew from Liyue led by Captain Beidou. Not only had Beidou saved his life, she had also offered a place for Kazuha to heal and take shelter for as long as he needed to, for which Kazuha was always grateful for.

The days were lively in the Crux regardless of their often dangerous quests. The crew were a small family. Their bond was so tight that it would make Kazuha, who only knew losing family and failing to keep a hold on it, wonder whether he would manage to fit in with them or not. But despite his worries, the crew and especially Beidou had always made him feel welcome and at home regardless of the short span of time Kazuha had spent with them. And for a wandering soul such as himself, the feeling of home was a strange one he didn’t know he longed for. 

The Fatui ship, however, was anything but. 

Kazuha had managed to observe them without raising suspicion during the meals for those three days he had to wait. His limited observations suggested that the crew was always working, their shoulders were always tense and their guard was up at all times. The expression on their faces was not entirely lively like the crew of the Crux, but often gravely. The discipline was quite different than the one on the Crux. The communication between them was almost robotic, creating a military environment. As far as Kazuha was concerned, they mostly talked to each other if it was work related, and if there were orders to give. The Balladeer wasn’t around that much, almost not at all. But the officers in the crew acted as if they were being thoroughly monitored at all times, except for seemingly the oldest man among the officers who was a bit more laid-back than the others. His age must be an advantage, Kazuha thought. But regardless, it didn’t ease his worries and he wondered to himself how long he would be able to keep up with the act as he walked to the Balladeer’s office after the three-day wait.

Those three days were spent mostly asleep, almost only awake for the meal times. His body, his heart and especially his mind was too tired from keeping him functional to the point of just surviving during the seven weeks he had spent locked up in Tenshukaku. He woke up to take a bath to scrub the filth out of his body after he reddened his arms with long scratches while asleep, feeling as if there were ants crawling under his skin. But for half an hour, he ended up observing the new wounds and scars he didn’t even know were there, left mindlessly around his body before taking a spunge with shaking fingers and rubbing at the scars over and over again until they started to bleed as if freshly made. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t weep.

What made his heart skip a beat was the sight of his right hand, the skin darker and wrinkled, reflecting how the vision of his dearest friend burned down to its last breath inside of his palm months ago. Normally the skin would be covered by bandages, the reminders of the reality carefully hidden away. Kazuha didn’t remember when he had lost the bandages, and clenched his fingers at the sudden ache in his heart. With every strap of bandage he wrapped around his hand, he suppressed every emotion that wanted to burst out of his chest at the thought of the way he dishonored his friend’s noble death. As the skin disappeared under the bandages, so did the oily and strange hand squeezing his heart to suffocation.

“Niwa!”

It was justified, he thought. Life full of dead-ends he led all of whom were willing to accompany him and disappointments, he had deserved this new chapter as a punishment for all the wrongs he did. But acceptance was never easy, even for the ones with gentler souls. Confronting the dark particles stuck to your life was hard to afford.

“Hey, Niwa!”

He gasped as if he was waking up from a vehement dream and blinked as he came back to his senses, stepping out of his mind to the outer world. He found himself standing in the middle of the corridor and there was an officer a few steps away from him who was apparently calling out to him. Kazuha wasn’t even close to taking the name personally yet, regardless of it being an old family surname. 

He slowly turned to look at the man, the oldest of the crew, who he had seen during the meals, but hadn’t initiated to converse, nor did the other man. He was leaning against the handrails that led to the deck, his eyes locked on Kazuha. The way he rested his upper body against the rails suggested that he had been observing Kazuha for some time, which made it apparent that Kazuha had unconsciously stopped mid-walk, and was too lost in thoughts to realize it.

“Didn’t leave that room that much yet, eh? What are you up to now?”

Kazuha tried not to frown as he glanced back at the man. His older age than the others in the crew was apparent with the white strands dusted through his hair. His body was built well regardless of his age, the muscles on his bronzed arms were stretched as he leaned against the handrails. His demeanor felt more comfortable than the others Kazuha had seen so far, but it wasn’t because of negligence. His chin tilted up and his shoulders back, the man looked confident of himself. 

“I was on my way to give this report to Lord Scaramouche, captain.” Kazuha replied with a nod of his head as in greeting, relief rushing through his body as the man nodded his head back without a change in his attitude.

“I shan’t keep you, then. Though I want to see you after your meeting.”

“I will meet you on the deck later.” Kazuha watched as the captain nodded and pushed himself away from the handrails without uttering any more words and climbed the staircases, assumingly returning to his previous work.

His time on the Crux taught Kazuha that the captain was always the highest authority on a ship. He deduced it wouldn’t be too different on a Fatui ship either, and regardless of his supposedly higher status than the other officers he was to follow orders from the older man. 

His shoulders slumped down with a sigh escaping his lips, and he continued to walk the short distance. His abstracted attitude would spare him only a few days before he started to raise suspicion especially since he had to fit himself in amongst the crew not to raise suspicion. It was surely going to be more difficult than he initially thought. He even didn’t come to terms with the name people would be calling him the moment he stepped foot on the ship forth. 

He frowned as he stopped before the Balladeer’s door to collect himself and school his expression to a neutral one, closed his eyes and took a deep breath before knocking on the door twice and once more.

There was a muffled approval coming from the other side of the door, and Kazuha opened the door carefully and got into the office, closing the door after himself. He looked around the room that was now painted with the soft hues of the early morning sun, and at the Balladeer for the first time after three days. 

His back was facing Kazuha as he stood before the desk, holding out a parchment between his fingers. He was wearing that outrageous outfit with the veiled hat again from which Kazuha thought of them as his work attire. He looked as if he didn’t give Kazuha the permission to enter and interrupt his work as he hummed to himself while placing the parchment on the desk and taking a smaller one, walking towards the maps on the wall and pinning the parchment on an empty spot. He propped one elbow on his arm and cupped his jaw with his fingers thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the papers on the wall.

“You know, normally the officers cannot waltz into my office unannounced, and you certainly aren’t privileged to do so. I am sure you came up with an excuse to deceive others, and even better of a reason to dare to show up in the middle of my study.”

Kazuha didn’t outwardly react, but also couldn't help slightly tensing up at the way the Balladeer turned his head to look at him through narrowed eyes. He pursed his lips and shook his head before returning to the Balladeer’s gaze. He couldn’t hide his frown at the unfamiliar spark in the Balladeer’s eyes.

“You said it yourself that they wouldn’t question my actions since I am ‘higher ranked’. But still, I believe I managed to throw off the captain. He saw me coming here.” He replied after schooling his expression into a carefully blank one.

“Nothing gets past him most of the time. The crew is aware of your position, and he let you go easily.” The Balladeer shrugged as he swiveled his gaze from Kazuha to the map once again. His body language was different that day, perhaps more casual than usual. He remained silent for a few seconds while he observed the map before continuing with a nonchalant tone, and all the while Kazuha watched him. “You came for your vision.”

“I did.” Kazuha replied calmly, unable to rip his eyes away from the Balladeer. There was an unfamiliar alluring sensation that made him watch the Balladeer’s every action with great attention. Perhaps it was the newly rose sun, bestowing its warm beams to all the living beings and offering them a new angle to view the world. The Balladeer was no human, that much was clear. But the honeyed colors illuminating him created a sense of disillusion, making him look, or rather be perceived as almost like any other human. It was an unsettling perception, and Kazuha frowned slightly. There was something although not blatant but different about the man that day, and the newly flamed spark in his indigo eyes was proof enough.

“It’s not good enough of a reason for you to come like this but alright, it’s not like you were a headache or something.” The Balladeer mused quietly, but there was an urgent lilt to his tone that caught Kazuha’s attention. He watched while the Balladeer dismissively waved his hand, simultaneously distracting Kazuha from his observations, and returned to his desk to open the drawer, and threw the vision at Kazuha. Kazuha caught the shining stone with ease, his heart immediately fluttering at the sensation of his fingers brushing against the warm, teal surface of the vision and at the calm breeze running through his hair. 

“Good, you’re not carrying the other one today.” Kazuha lifted his head to find the Balladeer scanning him from head to toe, and his fingers reflectively clenched around his vision. “Don’t carry it on your clothes around others. It raises far too many questions.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Kazuha replied with a slight frown and shook his head before placing the vision on his clothes which were a different uniform of shirts and pants than the other officers. He could feel the Balladeer’s disapproving gaze burning holes on his body.

“Do I have to remind you that your attitude won’t be tolerated anymore? Your status doesn’t grant you immunity, and despite that I’ve already given you enough latitude.”

“I am well aware.” Kazuha replied slowly, and looked at the Balladeer. “My intention was to apprise you that I am also in this game, and I am quite cognisant about the risks. I will not slip anything.”

“How mindful of you.” The Balladeer rolled his eyes and folded his arms as he returned to the maps on the wall. “Dismissed.” 

Kazuha looked at him quizzically for a few more seconds before leaving the office quietly, and letting out a long breath. He shook his head to collect himself before meeting the captain. The Balladeer was a challenge, and a more complex puzzle in each interaction. The spark in his eyes, a newly obtained casualness that wasn’t there three days ago raised questions. He had obtained the electro gnosis before leaving Inazuma, and was adept at using the element without a catalyst to the point of rekindling a dead vision. Kazuha wondered whether there was a link between the Balladeer himself with his attitude, and his quest in Inazuma, and of course, with the fact that he himself had come to Kazuha’s rescue to recruit him when he had the power unknown to others and Kazuha was just a mere samurai with a legacy he failed to protect.

Kazuha quietly climbed up the stairs to the deck and let his eyes wander around. The officer from three days ago, Nina, was talking with two other officers while gesturing to a gadget in her hand, and they didn’t notice Kazuha as he made his way towards the captain.

“Back so soon?” The captain tilted his head when he realized Kazuha’s arrival, his eyes narrowing at the sight of his vision. “I didn’t realize you had a vision just then.”

“It was reckless to wear it during the Vision Hunt Decree, and I am still getting used to the idea that it is safe to carry it on my person.” Kazuha replied somewhat honestly, and looked at the immense blues. The ocean breeze was cool and soothing despite the sultry weather. There were no clouds in sight, and the sun was blinking at them from above. “It seems like it’s going to be a smooth voyage today.” He couldn’t stop himself from musing quietly.

“You used to sail?” Kazuha blinked before he looked at the captain once again, there was a small smirk on his face as he put down the rope he was holding. 

“Not for long, but yes. I can’t say I was an asset to the crew exactly, but I learned a few things.” Kazuha helplessly tried to offer a smile when the captain let out a laugh, his seemingly warm demeanor in spite of the usual atmosphere on the ship awkwardly putting him at ease, and painfully reminding him of another captain he knew, or rather used to know.

“Is that so? No worries lad, you’ve got plenty of time to sharpen your skill. The journey to Snezhnaya is always a cruel one, but also a valuable lesson.” 

Kazuha followed the man after he nudged his head as if to gesture for Kazuha to come along with him, and led them to the forecastle. The man started to speak as they passed through the boxes on deck and the officers, navigating Kazuha’s focus with his words.

“The name’s Francis. Sailing is a family legacy of ours, I’ve been doing this job since when I was this small.” Francis held his hand mid-air to emphasize he was a young boy back then. “My grandfather was a fisherman, you see. Traveled all around Fontaine, never left home. Neither did my father. I was the first one to leave the nation after joining the Fatui two decades ago now. I didn’t want to be a fisherman all my life.” 

Kazuha looked at the man thoughtfully as he took his place beside him against the post. He failed to carry the legacy his long lived clan had left for him, but he understood the feeling. The gnawing hunger from his boyhood turning into an ache for freedom, free of all expectations and disappointments was familiar.

“Was this the reason you joined the Fatui, if it is okay for me to ask?” Francis turned his head to look at him through narrowed eyes and a large smile. He lightly punched Kazuha’s shoulder in a friendly manner.

“I like you, kid. You sure know how to speak to your elders, don’t you?” Kazuha chuckled quietly, and shortly shook his head.

“I was raised by my grandparents, they cared greatly for my manners.” He replied smoothly, his words once again both the truth and the lie. He tried to shake off the uneasy feeling at his adaptability to the story the Balladeer had plotted.

“I’d say they’d done their job rather well.” Francis gestured his hand towards Kazuha. “To answer your question, it is both a yes and no. I always wanted to travel to the other nations, see everywhere the eyes can reach. But you also need the mora, right? And there happened to be a few more stomachs to feed after marriage.” Francis shrugged his shoulders. “The Fatui apparently heard of my skills, and an officer came knocking on my door one day. The pay was good, and I’d get to travel while also feeding my family. The opportunity presented itself.”

“That is very noble of you.” Kazuha offered with poorly hidden awe. 

“Yeah, well, it may come controversial to some, working for the ‘bad guys’. But the world is already as bad as it is. Why would I care if I’d seen my kids grow happy and healthy, right? Everyone’s after earning their own bread at the end of the day.”

Kazuha remained silent for a few seconds as they both watched the waves crash into the ship softly. The early noon sun was creeping up above their heads.

“I guess I have never thought about it that way.” He managed to mutter after a few seconds, his brows creasing thoughtfully.

“Yeah? I take it you weren’t so willing to join?” Francis turned on his heel to rest his back against the posts, folding his arms while also looking at Kazuha.

“Not… Quite. It was more like a life-death situation for me.” Kazuha propped an elbow on the wood and rested his head on his palm, his eyes on the horizon.

“Everyone’s got their story. Even a small crew like us, you can hear so many different stories and lives from them.” Francis tilted his jaw to point at the other officers that were still in a discussion with Nina. Kazuha hummed in agreement.

“You’re Inazuman, right? Must be a long while since you left the nation along with your duty, and you certainly don’t look like the kids from the House of the Hearth. First time going to Snezhnaya, perhaps?”

“Spot on, captain.” Kazuha flashed a small smirk as he turned his head to look at Francis, hoping to disperse the atmosphere before Francis could try to ask for more details, or before he could reveal his lack of knowledge over the things Francis mentioned. The man didn’t look all that interested after Kazuha’s response, seemingly picking up at Kazuha’s sour feelings, but Kazuha still had the urge to lift his defenses. Be it through a smile.

“Ah, it’s a beautiful nation. Gorgeous! The atmosphere is a monster, the cold is unbearable, but it has a captivating beauty regardless. The ocean is different too, icebergs small and big everywhere.” Francis gestured his hands to emphasize the size of the obstacles, his voice didn’t lack any enthusiasm. “It’s a real headache to navigate the ship, but let me tell you lad, the thrill of it is addicting. Took the family there once, they didn’t like it one bit.” Francis barked out a laugh and Kazuha felt some of the tension on his shoulder lifting. The man was reminding him too much of Beidou, and it wasn’t because they were blatantly familiar in hindsight, but through the way they treated Kazuha. He still remembered all too well the day Beidou let him join the Crux. She too took his hand and led him to an isolated corner, not questioning where he was coming from, or rather what he was running from, but just talked to him as if he had been a part of her crew for years. She offered him a chat, the option for him to open up or not completely at his hands, and put a hand on his shoulder. Gave him a safe place to heal and mourn, not once pushing him into sharing his woes if he didn’t want to. Beidou was the reason Kazuha had managed to pull himself together, return to his homeland and fight for a cause.

All of them were just the phantoms of the past now.

“I heard many stories about there through the years.” Kazuha managed to let out a chuckle before speaking, hopefully hiding his inner turmoil. “And I always wished to visit it one day, but I did not think it would be this way.”

“You must be valuable to Lord Scaramouche that he had sent back the previous ship he was supposed to return with quite a few weeks ago. It was supposed to be, with Lady Signora’s passing… They left in a hurry to deliver the news, I hear. Lord Scaramouche was expected to return with them, but he decided to stay for a few more weeks apparently. Risky call, if you ask me. Inazuma is as chaotic as it is. We were in Liyue before that, and went to Inazuma after getting the word. Real pain in the ass, getting through the borders.” 

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line, his fingers clenching at the wood. He averted his gaze from Francis to look at the waves wordlessly. That information was new, and put the whole situationship into a new perspective. Not only did the Balladeer specifically want him to join in, but he also spent almost two months in Inazuma for him? Just for him? Kazuha didn’t know about any value in himself, but there certainly was something about him that the Balladeer had to get his hands on him before- 

Before what? 

Before he was executed for his crimes by the Shogunate? Before his life was taken away by his own hands? Before the political disputes between the Shogunate and the Resistance were dealt with, and he was discharged? 

He held his breath, his fingers held onto the wood tightly.

Perhaps it was before the Resistance could come to his rescue? 

For the entire time he had spent on the ship Kazuha didn’t want to believe that he was manipulated to make the decisions he had made three nights ago, but that was the truth sitting before him. It was a Harbinger who busted him out, it was the Balladeer whose specialty was to write lies and sing them like ballads until the audience was lulled into sleep with delusions dancing in their minds. 

It was almost like he could feel the blood draining from his face, his heart changing the rhythm it was beating into a dreadful one, and his fingertips getting colder. The balmy summer breeze blowing through him wasn’t offering any comfort as it used to a moment ago. He swallowed thickly, but was unable to collect himself.

The alarm bells on his mind rang loudly. It was bad. He was on the deck, the sun was high and up, all of the officers were able to see him clearly. The captain was standing beside him, for god’s sake, and he was at the edge of hyperventilating. He wasn’t able to move, able to speak, or even look elsewhere. He was tricked and used into playing this role, and if he didn’t pull himself together in that instant, he was about to uncover himself. He had to do something, or at least say something before it was too late.

“Kid, you alright?” He gasped loudly with the firm hand on his shoulder, and slowly turned his head to look at Francis. The warm expression on his face was replaced with a serious one. His brows were knitted and lips were pursed with a concerned tilt, his head was leaned slightly. Kazuha took a shaky breath, pulling his hands away from the post and swallowing as the fingers on his shoulder tightened. He parted his lips to come up with an answer, but was at a loss for words. He balled his shaking fingers into fists at his sides and nodded his head curtly.

“Yes, yes. I am fine.” He managed to mutter under his breath, swiveling his gaze away. “I don’t know what has gotten into me.”

“Weren’t you locked up before getting here? You’ve been denied sunlight for a long while. It’s also quite hot today, probably got you all worked up.” Kazuha frowned and wanted to protest, but Francis tutted and turned his body around towards the lower deck. 

“Nah, go and cool down. Take it easy, lad, I can’t have you getting sick. there’s no doctor on board.”

Kazuha didn’t find it in himself to press more and to protest, and he certainly didn’t want to. He needed a space to just sit down and think, something he had been neglecting for the past three days to rest. But even through those three days of rest his skin itched regardless, and his dreams turned into gruesome nightmares. His mind flashed into his wounds bleeding through the spunge in the narrow bathroom in his cabin, and was replaced by a blink of his eyes with the image of his body covered in blood, his fingers tightly clenched at the handle of his blade, and other ones holding onto a dead vision shell.

He quietly uttered an apology and walked towards the stairs with slumped shoulders. On the corner of his eyes, he could see the officers sending him questioning looks, but they were soon averted by the voice of the captain. Kazuha didn’t know whether he should be grateful to the man for offering him a warm sense of comfort he hadn’t seen in months, or despise him for the commotion the little information he had given caused. 

Kazuha was aware that it wouldn’t be long before the Balladeer would hear of this, and summon him to his office. He only wished that the time he had in his hands before confronting the Balladeer would be enough to collect his thoughts, and put some pieces together.

Ideas stirred around his mind as he closed the door after himself and walked towards the bed. Images flashed in his brain too quickly for him to pick up and scrutinize. His head throbbed with ache while he curled up his body and shut his eyes close.

He didn’t believe the Balladeer when he whispered venomous nothings to him. He didn’t want to accept the life, the purpose to continue living offered by the Balladeer. He didn’t care when the Balladeer called him a weapon, a catalyst that he sought out for; didn’t deem it as worthy of a purpose to hold dearly. 

His virtues were stripped off from him long ago the Balladeer entered his insignificant life, but it was the Balladeer who promised to burn them to ashes. Kazuha was unable to comprehend the reason, unable to come up with a purpose. This, perhaps, was the most complex puzzle about the Balladeer.

His temples throbbed painfully the more he kept thinking. His fingers grew cold and were shaking as he wrapped himself with covers, refusing to let any ray of sunshine touch him. Minutes passed while he tried to confine in oblivion, and his short breaths gradually steadied, his mind calmed down accordingly.

And then everything was dark, quiet. His mind was blind. His mind was deaf.

Chapter Text

“I need a father, I need a mother, I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God but the sky is empty.”

(The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)

Who would understand opening your eyes to an entirely different reality than the one you knew before the world got dark? Who would understand not knowing who you were, where you were or what you were when the sun rose once again? Who would understand the desperate need to convince yourself to refuse the reality? 

“None of this is real. This is not real, and this is not happening. And even if it is, it is not happening to me. It is not  me who sees, who feels and thinks; it is not me who sleeps and eats. A small fraction of my soul is trapped inside of this foreign body. It acts like me and speaks like me, but its nature is foreign to me. A strange phantom has consumed my flesh, and I am not myself with its shadow cast over me.”

The sun rose high up among dark clouds with enlightenment, and to Kazuha it was as if he had woken up from a coma that lasted more than seven weeks. 

Perhaps it was longer than that since when his life started to go downhill and he tried to ignore it the best he could. One day his life was the way it used to be, and the next day everything was completely strange and unfamiliar. Kazuha couldn’t put his finger on exactly what pushed him down the cliff, and how long had he been falling until he crashed against the ground and opened his eyes with a gasp to find himself unscathed on this ship.

Maybe it was his dearest friend’s plan to save him, but also causing his own doom at the same time. Maybe it was the time he recklessly ran towards the Musou no Hitotachi with nothing but his will to carry out his late friend’s ideals. Or maybe, it was even longer before that. Maybe it was the time his father told him that he failed him as a father, and that there was no use trying to shoulder the responsibilities of a clan that was long gone. Perhaps it was the day his father died not long after that conversation, and left him with no remaining family. Or maybe it was the day his mother passed away when he was just a little boy, leaving him as a fledgling who was afraid to spread his broken wings.

Regardless of the force that pushed him down the cliff, there was no way he could climb that elevation now. There was no way he could cross the ocean and return to Inazuma, his home where he ran away from yet once again. And even if he did cross the ocean, what would he do? Where would he go? Was Inazuma actually a home when he didn't even have a roof to his head, a relative whom he could call family, or a friend that would keep him company?

He was raised a samurai, and soon became a ronin with no ties attached to his roots. He wandered the lands of Teyvat freely, and felt a burning sensation of belonging at the sight of beautiful scenery. Home soon became a feeling rather than a structure, and he carried it everywhere. He shared this feeling with his dear friend, and relished in the grandness of it that it could contain great mountains, vest celestial skies, cooling rainfalls bringing abundance, fruitful trees in the summer and a peaceful silence under the blanket of heavy snowfall in the winter. It was more than enough. It was comfortable, care-free. His ribs hadn’t hurt, his heart hadn’t ached when he thought of the past and all that he lost.

Why did it hurt to think now? He had seen far worse things, experienced fate in ways far more cruel; then why did it hurt him so much to the point of suffocation, until all he could think about was acidic drops of the past raining down on his mind and heart? The atmosphere felt cold whenever he tried to unwrap the sheets out of his body. The sun burned his skin whenever he tried to crack open the curtains. His body ached with the weight of the scattered memories of the past.

It was the night before they would arrive at Sumeru. Kazuha awakened with a shuddering gasp and his hand clenched at his shirt. His body was covered in sweat and was shaking with trepidation. His disheveled bangs stuck to his face, his chest heaved rapidly with short breaths. His eyes burned whether from the tears spilling through his lashes or the fear of closing them in case the images would appear once more. 

In his short slumber he was once again reminded of his memories he tried not to think about. There was his mother embracing him warmly before her body grew cold instantly. There was his father patting his shoulder approvingly before he turned his back and walked away. His once beloved home caught on fire and burned to a crisp while he watched motionlessly. His friend stepped out of the shadows to stand beside him like a rock Kazuha could lean into, and when Kazuha turned his gaze to the other man they were before the throne once again. A single blow, his friend breathed his last, Kazuha grabbed his vision as if his life depended on it and fled away. Ran, and ran until he was unable to breathe. There were soldiers running after him and whenever Kazuha’s eyes caught sight of any of them, they fell to their knees with their bodies slashed and covered in blood.  Kazuha’s hands shook with terror, his vision blurred and his breaths shortened. His heart was pounding against his chest as if it wanted to rip the flesh open. The cave, his hand burned down, his blade painted red, his body covered in dirt and his lungs suffocating in a pool filled with blood.

Memory was the monster.

He cupped his face with shaking fingers, nails dipping into his flesh and finger rubbing against skin stained with cold sweat. He rolled down to his side and pulled his knees towards his chest until his body was folded completely. He closed his eyes tightly and felt warm tears rolling down through his eyelids. A hiccup escaped from his lips, and another one before he could stop himself, and then one more.

Was this the life the Balladeer had offered him, being woken up from his nightmares in the middle of the night for the world to retell him the ballads behind the images until his entire body decayed, he didn’t know. What was it that he did to carry this suffering too painful for a sole human born to live only one life? What had he done that the Balladeer sought out for him, made him look at the face of the life he had left behind? What had he done that he had to endure a heavy heart and a doubtful mind while serving for the evil? 

It was easy when he was locked up, when his consciousness was also chained up somewhere else. He didn’t think, he didn’t question the consequences he had paved the way for. His imprisonment was justified in more ways than one in the name of law. His grief and sorrow dried out at some point although the memories were still fresh and inflamed. The guilt melted away, any hopes for returning disappeared. This was when the Balladeer found him.

Perhaps this was his plan from the beginning; waiting until Kazuha was nothing but a mindless body, easier to manipulate. He must’ve been well aware that giving Kazuha a solid reason to join him would be fruitless, because Kazuha still had a lot of reasons to hold onto his life beneath the surface. His friends, comrades were out there, and there was still a cause worth fighting for.

Thus, he did his magic with carefully tailored words, and presented a still flaming vision along with an achingly familiar one right before his eyes when the clock ticked the exact time. The Balladeer knew that it was the trick that would lure Kazuha in. And it was.

It wasn’t exactly about Kazuha being a weapon, or an asset to the Balladeer in hindsight. There were far mightier people scattered across Teyvat for the Balladeer to choose from, so why was it him? Was he the most convenient one, or was there really something about him that caught the Balladeer’s attention? 

Kazuha had never thought highly of himself. There might have been some feats worthy of ballads in his life, but at the end of the day, he was a simple man living a simple life. It was hard to come up with a reason as to why a strong Harbinger such as the Balladeer would want him by his side, and exert himself by waiting for almost two months before busting him out and spending a night convincing Kazuha to join his cause?

It had been two days since he spoke to the captain and a short chat revealed new information that made Kazuha unable to ignore his oblivion anymore. His slumbers in Tenshukaku hadn’t been deep and blissful, and he hadn’t had the opportunity to dream. But the time he had been on the Fatui ship had offered his mind the time to drift in the past he had left behind. The past he was still carrying within him.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, his hands cold and shaking as he covered his face with them. The nights were calm and quiet, the officers on board usually didn’t work at nights unless necessary, thus Kazuha was alone in his turmoil. He was content about it, he didn’t have to explain himself if someone were to hear or see his distress. He had managed to calm and console himself back to sleep in the last few days, but today it was different.

It felt like as if he was dying with the way his heart beat painfully, and his brain used his last minutes in existence to torture him with the memories of his disappointing life, and in all of the memories he couldn’t find a reason what the Balladeer deem him as an asset. 

He had run away right after his friend’s death, and returned a while later to fight alongside the Resistance. Before the Resistance marched towards Tenshukaku, the Balladeer obtained the electro gnosis, and witnessed the moment Kazuha faced the Shogun, and his capture right after. This was allegedly all the Balladeer knew about him, and it was nothing worthy of attention. His identity as a clan heir wasn’t enough of a reason for the Balladeer to seek out for him either since his clan had long fallen and no longer held a significant place in Inazuma’s governance. And despite his status as an heir, Kazuha’s knowledge on international politics was lacking, and his knowledge on Fatui business was non-existent. But it was evident that something somewhere in this ordeal about his addition did not add up. 

The Fatui’s primary plan was to collect the gnoses. The Balladeer was assessing his knowledge on the matter the night in Tenshukaku since the gnoses in and of itself weren’t widely known, but also no top secret either. The Fatui’s actions however, were only speculations among the folk. The snippets he heard during his travels were enough to help him put the pieces together, but it made him wonder whether this was any significant for the Balladeer’s intentions and his recruitment.

The cabin was quiet other than his ragged breaths and quiet whimpers. His eyes burned with tears, and they rolled down his cheeks as thick droplets. He didn’t cry at all since the night the Balladeer led him to the ship. He didn't cry in Tenshukaku when the wounds were the freshest. But tonight, he couldn’t stop himself. The tears kept coming despite his efforts to stop them. 

If only he didn’t choose to travel and instead shouldered his responsibilities, none of these would’ve happened. His father would’ve been proud of him. He never would’ve met his friend, his friend never would’ve had to carry his burdens with him. He wouldn’t have died for Kazuha to save his own life. 

If only he handed over his vision he would’ve never had to leave his home, and spent months running away from the Shogunate. He wouldn’t have dragged his friend after him and let him carry his burdens. He wouldn’t have had to flee from his home. He never would’ve met Beidou, never joined the Resistance and led Beidou to use her own manpower for a cause that didn’t concern her. 

The burdens he used to carry were nothing but a drop in the ocean. 

At least he had reasons, ideals, back then. Reasons and ideals that kept him going, pulled him back to his feet whenever he fell. He had his integrity and dignity, and his trust was placed in his nobility. His chin was held up regardless of the grim circumstances, because he knew that the hardships were to lead fruitful results; results that benefited his country and its people.

What was it that he had now? What was his drive, his ideal to endure this life that was offered him by the Balladeer? To offer a helping hand to his comrades, friends? A helping hand from the Balladeer who distributed the delusions that caused many to become ill and die? To his comrades who left him to rot in prison, and never came to his rescue?

Although Kazuha refuted the possibility of the Resistance turning their backs on him when the Balladeer brought it up, he couldn’t shake off the ugly suspicion that gradually consumed his judgment. He had sacrificed great things for this cause, their cause, and exchanged his alleged freedom just to keep helping them. But was this the truth, or an illusion he created to console himself?

His mind didn’t put him at ease by showing him flashes of images from his nightmares, and reminding him everything he had failed to protect. His legacy, his family, his comrades and friends, his identity… All of them were long gone now, but his heart grieved for them all as if they were just lost.

He bit his lips as he sobbed quietly, his fists clenched and his eyes focused on a spot on the wall. Was this how he was going to spend his days, nights? Was this going to be his new life, carrying the pains and losses of the past and being unable to honor them as he now served for a Harbinger? Was his reasons to join the Balladeer’s cause enough to justify his oblivion? What was his actual reason to stand there, and to endure this grief?

His heart beated painfully against ribs while his cloudy mind lifted the veil between logic and emotions. He abruptly got to his feet, and strode out of his cabin. Humid ocean breeze licked his cheeks as he walked through the deck to the Balladeer’s cabin with a pounding heart, an aching mind and clenched teeth. His eyes were gleaming with fresh tears.

No one was on deck at that hour of the night, and no one saw him standing before the Balladeer’s cabin and opening the door without asking for entry. Only the moonlit night and the balmy wind accompanied his woes before he shut the door after he entered the office and his eyes immediately found the Balladeer’s.

Displaying his emotions was a weakness from the moment he agreed upon the Balladeer’s offer, and he willingly lowered his defenses.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The Balladeer got to his feet from the chair he was sitting on. From the deep frown to his brows and the purse to his lips, it was clear that he was irritated by Kazuha’s unannounced appearance. Kazuha didn’t mind it, and took a shaky breath to regulate his breathing.

“I need to speak to you.” Kazuha replied with his voice hoarse from crying, his eyes didn’t leave the Balladeer’s.

“Do you have a death wish? I told you that your actions have consequences, and yet you keep ignoring them.” The Balladeer hissed with fury as he strode towards Kazuha, grabbed his collar in his fist and pushed him against the wall. Kazuha didn’t protest as he kept looking at the Balladeer with his lips quivering and his eyes intent, and wrapped his shaky hand around the Balladeer’s wrist.

“The first night we met, you told me the answers I was seeking were a topic for another night.” He said carefully before swallowing the lump in his throat and taking a short breath. “I need that night to be tonight.”

“Who do you think you are?” The Balladeer hissed under his breath and pushed him against the wall one more time, and this time gained a pained gasp from Kazuha. “Do you think you have any privilege? Do you think I care about what you need?”

Kazuha frowned with anguish as the Balladeer leaned in closer, his indigo eyes shining with fury. Inside of his palm where he held Kazuha from was streaks of electro bolting. His abrupt burst of anger was so consuming that it was almost palpable. The inordinate fury that sparked in the Balladeer’s eyes felt unauthentic, rushed. It was as if it wasn’t directed at Kazuha but someone else entirely; as if the Balladeer’s eyes were not seeing him, and were looking somewhere else inside of his ruby orbs. Kazuha frowned with unease and pursed his lips.

“And I do not care what you are planning to do to me for my disrespect.” He replied with his voice quiet as he retreated his hand from the Balladeer’s wrist. He averted his gaze, his fists clenched at his sides as he shut his eyes close with a frown.  “I… I cannot keep going like this. I am unable to wrap my head around this whole ordeal, and it is likely it puts both of our positions in danger.” He lifted his head and met with the Balladeer’s stern gaze. He blinked through the tears while shaking his head. “I do not ask for your empathy, the only thing I ask for is answers. I want to know what you really are planning and how it involves me. Because despite how hard I think, it is not possible for your actual plan to be as shallow as the reasons you had given me that night.”

A silence fell between them. The Balladeer’s gaze became distant as if his mind was somewhere else when his body was standing in front of Kazuha, and tightly grabbing him by his collar. Then his fist slightly eased around the cloth, but his eyes remained still. Kazuha took a heavy breath while his eyes roamed around the Balladeer’s face desperately, trying to make out an expression, and to get a glimpse of his thoughts. He closed his eyes as he sucked in another breath before speaking once again.

“I will accept any punishment. But please, give me the truth. Only the truth.”

A beat, and his eyes widened a fraction with surprise as the Balladeer retreated his hand and turned his back to walk back into his desk wordlessly. Kazuha watched with mild shock as the other man calmly, as opposed to his demeanor just then, sat down on his chair and folded his arms without looking at Kazuha. The dangerous spark igniting his eyes was completely gone then, and was replaced with that distant look swirling inside his orbs. 

Kazuha had expected him to be furious, ignorant, and deliver his punishment right that moment, but the Balladeer did neither. His earlier ire had vanished both from his expression and tongue as he sat there, completely silent. He looked as if he was too lost in thoughts to the point of ignoring the atmosphere around him. 

Maybe he let go of Kazuha to discard him and his questions, but there was no verbal indication. Kazuha clenched his fists as he slowly walked towards the desk and sat down on the chair before it. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest as he tried to swallow just before the Balladeer looked back at him with a stern expression and spoke up.

“Your recklessness is what will get us caught, not your lack of answers.” He spat under his breath and frowned. “Did anyone see you come here?”

“No.” Kazuha shook his head slowly with a frown of his own and pursed his lips. “No one was around.”

“Okay.” The Balladeer leaned back in his chair while holding Kazuha’s gaze. “Ask.”

Kazuha blinked with surprise at the Balladeer’s agreement, but decided not to question it. His eyes wandered around the room for a few seconds as he tried to collect his thoughts before he looked back at the Balladeer and swallowed before asking his first question. His hands on his thighs clenched around his clothes.

“What exactly is your plan?” 

“The same reason I already told you. To see the Shogun gone.” The Balladeer answered nonchalantly.

Kazuha narrowed his eyes at the gentle breeze caressing his skin before lowering his gaze with a thoughtful crease to his brows. “But that is not the only reason, is it?”

The Balladeer huffed indignantly. Kazuha remained silent and watched as his brows twitched. “Correct, it is not.”

“What is the other reason?” He couldn’t help but frown at the uneasy feeling churning in his stomach as the Balladeer narrowed his eyes before replying.

“To overthrone her.”

He looked at the Balladeer with trepidation; his brows creased and lips parted but no words came out. He took a deep breath and wetted his lips. “Why?”

“Because the Shogun isn’t the actual Electro Archon.” came the Balladeer’s swift reply. Kazuha’s eyes widened with surprise. The Balladeer looked completely unbothered by the incredulous information he had just shared as his eyes nonchalantly watched while Kazuha struggled to utter a word.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He managed to ask at last, his body slightly leaning over the desk with intrigue and trepidation. The Balladeer rolled his eyes and sighed.

“What I mean is that the Shogun you know and worship is not the actual Electro Archon. The actual Electro Archon, Makoto, died 500 years ago during the cataclysm, and following her demise her twin sister, Ei, instead of taking her place as she had ascended into divination, decided to create a puppet to rule Inazuma while she isolated herself in her grief.” His eyes met Kazuha’s and Kazuha was taken aback by the ire displayed in them. “So the Shogun is a fake, a vessel for the gnosis.”

Kazuha frowned and remained silent for a while as he tried to process the information that was clearly meant to be known by very few. It certainly wasn’t known among Inazuma, and Kazuha guessed even the higher ups in Inazuma were kept in the dark. This begged the question as to just how the Fatui obtained this knowledge.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and clenched his fists tighter before he finally spoke up. “And where does this put you in… exactly?” 

From the very beginning Kazuha had gotten the unsettling perception that the Balladeer resembled the Shogun in more ways than one. It wasn’t just the physical resemblance, or the power to manifest electro without the help from a vision or a delusion. The truth was sitting in front of him the whole time, and he was about to uncover it at last.

Kazuha took a sharp breath, heart beating a staccato in his chest. “ You, whoever you actually are.”

His heart sank and stomach churned as the Balladeer’s lips twitched acutely before he scoffed and unfolded his arms to lean in closer.

“I am the Balladeer, number 6 of the Fatui Harbingers. The Balladeer grants me my status, Scaramouche is the name I was given to signify my position in the Fatui.” Scaramouche looked at Kazuha with dim narrowed eyes, but the lilt of his tone suggested that he found glee at the trepidation he caused to Kazuha by his reveal. “I was the first successful creation of the Electro Archon Raiden Ei 500 years ago to rule Inazuma.”

“Why are you not, then?” Kazuha opted to ask after a moment of silence instead of reacting outwards, making Scaramouche scowl with his lack of astonishment. He wetted his lips before continuing, his eyebrows creased with a frown. “If you were created before the Shogun and was a successful one at that, why are you not ruling Inazuma now? Why did the Electro Archon go to such lengths to create another vessel when she already had you?”

“A gnosis is an archon’s heart, and grants them their divinity. When Ei,” The name was spat between Scaramouche’s lips with disgust, his eyes focused on a spot on the wall with a frown casted upon them. He wasn’t looking back at Kazuha as he folded his arms. “Put the gnosis on my chest, she deemed me too human to become something divine. My abundance of humanity and scarceness of power weren’t to her liking, and she discarded me.” 

Kazuha knitted his eyebrows quizzically. He could see Scaramouche’s fingers wrapped around his arm tightening and his frown deepening. “I was placed into a domain to sleep for eternity like an unused doll. Useless, tossed aside, unwanted. No one would think of me, care about me since I didn’t exist anymore. But fate had it, I awakened. Traveled all around Inazuma until I joined the Fatui.” His eyes turned to Kazuha with that, the determination was clear in his gaze. “And now I have the power, it is time I take my rightful place as the Electro Archon. And I will.”

“I understand your reasoning.” Kazuha spoke quietly after a few seconds of silence, feeling uneasy at the cruelty of the story and the empathy he felt towards Scaramouche. He pressed his lips into a thin line tightly, his hands clenched around the cloth of his pants. He knew it well, how it felt not meeting a parent’s expectations and the ruthless whispers echoing in your mind, reminding how much of a failure you were. He looked at Scaramouche’s eyes with a carefully blank expression, his tears completely dried up now. He clenched his fists before taking a short deep breath, shaking his head to throw off those thoughts. “But this doesn’t explain how that requires my presence.”

“The answer isn’t as complicated as you clearly make it out to be, and is an already given one.” Scaramouche turned to look at him and crossed his legs. “There are certain tasks I need someone to complete to achieve this goal. And for that I need someone I can rely on for their skills, for them to be a weapon in my arsenal. You intrigued me with what you did in Tenshukaku, and I deemed you worthy of the job. Simple as that.”

Kazuha frowned. He highly doubted it was indeed as simple as that. He averted his gaze away from Scaramouche and bit into his lower lip as another conclusion took a form in his mind and he didn’t stop himself from uttering it.

“You are planning to go against the Fatui.” He muttered matter-of-factly as he looked up at Scaramouche once more, his frown still in place as his mind raced with thoughts, every thought placing a piece on the puzzle that was yet unsolved. “If not, then why would you look for someone outside the Fatui to do these tasks? It has been eight weeks since I was first imprisoned, eight weeks since you saw me in Tenshukaku. The captain mentioned that you sent the original ship you were supposed to return with seven weeks ago, and you said it yourself that you saw me after you obtained the gnosis. Then, why wait for that long?” Kazuha inquired, his voice gaining fervor with each word. He unclenched his fists and sat straighter in his chair, his eyes not leaving Scaramouche. He didn’t stop when Scaramouche narrowed his eyes admonishingly. 

“Someone with your expertise would not need almost two months surveilling an area just to break out someone as insignificant as me from jail. The crew clearly does not know the nature of this delay, meaning that you have given them different instructions; as well as you have given false reports to your higher-ups. This job you have recruited me starts in Sumeru when you are allegedly returning to Snezhnaya. You are planning to claim the Electro Archon’s throne, and you have the gnosis in your possession. But you are not going to give it away, will you? Instead you will use it without the Fatui knowing. You have already cut ties with them, but they yet to know.”

It was silent then other than Kazuha’s short breaths as they looked into each other wordlessly. Kazuha was assessing Scaramouche’s expression, trying to understand what the man was thinking behind his repellent exterior. 

“If you have figured it all out already, there is no reason for you to waste my time with such cheeky disclosure.” Scaramouche pinched the bridge of his nose, his tone blatantly irritated. But Kazuha knew that Scaramouche wasn’t planning on doing something to him at the dead of night when no one could witness his demise. When he opened his eyes to glare at Kazuha, Kazuha could see the dim orbs regaining their earlier spark. He frowned and shook his head shortly.

“You don’t understand.” He muttered as he scooped closer to the desk, his expression serious and his heart pounding. “The Fatui must know your origins, and your purpose. Why would you join them if not?”

Scaramouche frowned deeper. “What the hell do you mean?”

“They know that you won’t return the gnosis.” Kazuha said incredulously, the crease to his brows deepening as he tried to come up with a reason why Scaramouche would not be aware of it. “They must want you to obtain the gnosis for yourself, for some reason. Why would they send you to Inazuma, if that is not what they actually want?” 

Kazuha, with his heart pounding against his ribs, watched Scaramouche’s eyes widen a slight fraction, his frown loosen and his lips pursed before he abruptly got to his feet and pushed the desk. The chair he was sitting on stumbled to the floor with a loud noise, and a few files on the desk scattered around. The papers lit up with the jolts of electro seeping through Scaramouche’s fingers grabbing the desk, and the fire melted into the sparkling indigo of his eyes. Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line and frowned as he looked at Scaramouche, and clenched his shaking fingers into fists.

“Damned archons...” Scaramouche muttered through gritted teeth, stepping away from the desk to pace around the room. The papers on the desk burned to ashes, and the room shook with the force of the power seeping through him. Kazuha frowned as stood up before he could stop himself and tried to approach him. Scaramouche slapped at his arm when Kazuha tried to touch his shoulder, and Kazuha winced with pain at the familiar burning sensation on his skin.

“Get out.” Scaramouche snapped. 

“But-”

“Get out!” He yelled as he turned to look at Kazuha, the palpable ire of his back in its place once again. “You think you are so clever, and have everything figured out? Well, you are wrong. You are just a mere mortal, a human doomed to perish, and you don’t know a single thing outside of your humanity. You have no idea of the power and knowledge I possess, so how dare you suggest I am being used? I have spent years, centuries to get to the point where I am standing today; I have outlived your father, and his forefathers, outlived your whole bloodline, and I will not hesitate to shed that blood until there is not a single ounce of it left in your body. Do you understand me?” Scaramouche stepped closer to Kazuha, his eyes narrowed with anger. Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to look away, too captivated by the fury in Scaramouche’s eyes. “Now, get out.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded shortly as he took a step back towards the door. He turned his back as he walked at the door, and could hear Scaramouche pacing in front of the desk. He reached for the door handle and stopped, looking over his shoulder to Scaramouche and bit his lip hesitantly before clearing his throat.

“I understand your cause, now.” He muttered quietly, his hand on the handle tightened and he frowned. “I was raised to help correct injustices if I were to see any, and I believe what the Electro Archon did to you was unjust. Although I do not approve or agree with your worldviews…” He trailed off before he took a deep breath and lifted his head to look at Scaramouche. “I will help bring justice, and it is enough of a reason for me. You have my word.” 

Scaramouche looked at him with an incredulous expression, his brows knitted and lips slightly parted. He clicked his tongue with annoyance and rolled his eyes as he turned his back to Kazuha. Kazuha looked at him for one last time before opening the door and stepping into the balmy night. 

Instead of returning to his cabin, he climbed up the stairs to the upper deck and took a few deep breaths to calm himself before perching on a wooden box and averting his eyes to the clear, celestial sky. It wasn’t until hours later when the sun started to rise through the horizon and he walked back to the confines of the wooden walls with a racing mind.

*

Next morning, the ship anchored at a small isolated island near the shores of Sumeru. Kazuha was already in the deck, helping the crew with a heavy mind when Scaramouche emerged from his office and everyone got into a single line at the sight of him. Kazuha followed along, frowning slightly at Scaramouche’s familiar attire from the night they met.

“The waverider you requested is ready, my Lord.” Francis announced as he gestured to the small boat lowered to the land from the deck. “Everything is taken care of, and it is quite a short journey. Should be smooth sailing to Port Ormos. But I suggest taking some of the crew with you, sir, along with Niwa, not to raise suspicion.”

“That won’t be necessary, captain, but your concern is noted.” Scaramouche drawled almost bored, and his eyes skimmed through the crew until they landed on Kazuha. “Go and get changed. We can’t be recognized.” 

Kazuha could feel the eyes on him as he nodded shortly and went to his cabin swiftly. The captain had instructed him about the details before Scaramouche arrived, and he wondered how much of it was true. But he obligingly changed into the clothes he wore after he left Tenshukaku, and tied his hair into a low ponytail. After a few seconds of consideration he also took his blade and placed it on to the strap of his kimono before leaving the cabin. 

When he returned, Scaramouche had already taken his place on the waverider. Kazuha glanced at him before looking at the others and nodding in farewell. 

“Take care, kid.” Francis patted him on the shoulder and helped him get down off the ship and to the waverider. Kazuha smiled in thanks before he hopped on to the boat and dusted off his clothes. A few officers, one of them was Nina, also got down off the ship to push the small boat to the sea. It was a slightly smaller boat, and it didn’t take long before it was sailing through the waves. Scaramouche was leaning against the wooden surface and his eyes were on the horizon while Kazuha looked around the waverider, tinkering with the navigators. He was familiar with the type, it was the same one that he saw around Inazuma, and he knew they were certainly popular in Sumeru as well.

He looked around the small cabin before his eyes found Scaramouche, still silently looking at the horizon with a thoughtful expression. His lips thinned before he turned to face Scaramouche completely, and broke the silence.

“I apologize for the commotion I caused last night.” he said before he could stop himself. He lowered his eyes when Scaramouche’s glare turned to him. “I will not apologize for the questions I asked, but the rest was uncalled for. I just… If my suspicions are correct and your own path is indeed drawn by others, I don’t think it is fair,” he lifted his head to look at Scaramouche. “To you.”  

Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as if he was assessing him, and he clicked his tongue before he folded his arms. “So? What are you going to tell me now? That you pity me, that you will justify this injustice like a damned hero?” he spat as he took a step closer to Kazuha, but Kazuha didn’t faze. He calmly shook his head.

“No. Just like I said last night, I can only help you bring justice. It is not up to me to lead the way towards it.”

It was unsettling to watch the way Scaramouche’s expression turned into an inquiring one. The crease to his brows melted away and a small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“You do realize that, whether Fatui is involved or not, I will be the next Electro Archon once the Shogun is gone.” His eyebrows twitched slightly. “You weren’t so open to the idea of joining me just a week ago, and I don’t think you are so open to it now either, although you say just the opposite.” His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head. “What is it that you really think?”

“I am aware, yes.” Kazuha replied carefully, his hand screwed into a fist at his side. “I don’t think you would be a fair ruler, nor would you be a mighty archon.” Kazuha took a sharp breath before stepping a little bolder with his chin up and his shoulders squared. “But the idea behind your creation was divinity, and you were denied of it. I might not believe your own ideals, but what I believe is that you deserve the right to take your shot at it.”

“How noble of you.” Scaramouche scoffed and rolled his eyes. Kazuha could see that Scaramouche wanted to refute his words and discard them, but he was the one sought out for Kazuha. He couldn’t protest his words.

Kazuha didn’t mind the invectives, and it wasn’t long before Scaramouche pushed them aside as well. His expression turned thoughtful before he waved a hand dismissively and looked back at Kazuha.

“Your theory got me thinking last night.” he drawled, leaning back against the wooden surface once again. Kazuha followed his eyes as they skimmed through the horizon once more. The silhouette of Port Ormos was hovering above the waves. “And I gotta say, you do have a decent point.”

Kazuha frowned quizzically and Scaramouche shrugged. “I was the one who volunteered for the task, but it didn’t make sense for my request to be actually accepted. I didn’t think much of it as my mind was on the gnosis.” Kazuha blinked at the way Scaramouche’s eyes sparkled for a split second. It was gone as fast as it was there. A smirk tugged at his lips before he looked at Kazuha. “They think they are fooling me now. In return, I fool them instead.”

“What?” Kazuha scowled.

“The original plan was for me to flee right after I set foot on Sumeru.” He pushed himself off the wooden surface and walked towards the control panel, pulling and pushing at the buttons until the waverider was sailing through the waves much faster than its original speed. Kazuha watched with his heart pounding against his ribs. “So, I, we will return to Snezhnaya instead. Hide in plain sight, learn their plans and all the strings they pulled.”

“I don’t understand.” Kazuha muttered as he walked towards Scaramouche. “The first night you told me just that. I would attend meetings on your behalf so that the other harbingers would not be suspectful if you were absent.”

“We were on the ship, surrounded by the Fatui officers.” Scaramouche exasperated as he turned to face Kazuha. From the corner of his eye Port Ormos was creeping closer and closer. “You were doing such a great job connecting the dots last night, and yet,” Scaramouche sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned against the control panel before lifting his head to look at Kazuha, clearly unimpressed. “Your sudden arrival needed a reason, a reason that required more expertise than of a normal officer’s. I couldn't just tell that it was a fake one when someone could’ve easily eavesdropped.”

Kazuha didn’t say anything while Scaramouche tinkered with controls and suddenly, the waverider was slowing down and the bustle and hustle of Port Ormos was making itself present over the sound of waves.

“Don’t ask anything and just follow my lead.” Scaramouche told him as the waverider stopped against a narrow pier and he dusted his clothes off before stepping out of the boat. Kazuha couldn’t do anything but swallow and oblige.

*

“Somebody from the Akademiya will come to escort us.” Scaramouche muttered under his breath as they walked through the crowd on the port, people loading and unloading as they yelled to one another. Kazuha watched and observed the scene with mild interest, his attention on Scaramouche’s instructions.

“The Akademiya? Isn’t it an institute? ” he asked quietly and looked at Scaramouche from the corner of his eyes. Scaramouche was, too, observing the place and the crowd with narrowed eyes. 

“And also the government, basically.” he replied as his eyes skimmed through the people dressed in similar clothes with a green object at their ears and carrying weapons. They were probably guards, Kazuha thought to himself as he followed Scaramouche’s gaze before quietly voicing it.

“Most likely.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “No matter. We don’t possess a threat for them to intervene to. We are just scholars from Inazuma.”

Kazuha’s frown deepened, but he didn’t say anything and followed Scaramouche as he walked towards a man, also with a green object at his ear, standing under a tree’s shadow with his eyes directed at them. An uneasy feeling churned inside of him, and he clenched his hands into fists.

“My lord.” The man greeted Scaramouche with a bow of his head, his hand placed on his chest. “You are right on time, as always. Welcome to Sumeru.”

“Cut the greetings.” Scaramouche snapped. “Is everything in place?”

The man quickly nodded his head. “Of course. The only thing remaining is your presence.” Kazuha couldn't help but tense slightly as the man slowly turned to look at him with a somewhat hesitant expression on his face. “Although, we were expecting you to come alone?”

“There’s been a change of plans. This guy, Niwa, will be accompanying me today, and in the future as well.” Scaramouche gestured a hand towards Kazuha who tried not to flinch at the name and cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” Kazuha bowed his head for a short moment, watching the man’s eyes widen a fraction.

“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Niwa, I am Hamadi.” The man replied belatedly, and offered his hand. Kazuha nodded shortly and shook his hand. Hamadi looked around before handing Scaramouche an envelope, a mildly panicked expression on his face.

“These are the documents that grant your stay in Sumeru. Although, as you can understand, Mr. Niwa doesn’t have any. This can cause a problem, especially since the General Mahamatra is here today.”

“General Mahamatra?” Scaramouche lifted an eyebrow before frowning sharply. “You idiot! Why haven’t you done anything?” He snapped and Hamadi squirmed.

“I did! I- I tried to. I tried to learn why he was here, and whether it was somehow connected to your arrival. I thought if I knew the reason I could intervene better. But everyone is rather tightlipped.” He slowly shook his head. “I believe whatever he is after is quite important for him to avert his attention to somewhere else. I will act as a chaperon for Mr. Niwa. I am sure I can make up something about a problem with his documents if we are asked to present any.”

Kazuha followed the exchange with confusion, not knowing the importance of the General Mahamatra. He kept his silence throughout the entire dialogue which ended when Scaramouche snapped, his eyes narrowed.

“You better do. I won’t hesitate to cause a scene.”

Hamadi quickly nodded his head before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Follow me, please.”

With Hamadi a step ahead of them, they started to walk through the crowd of people, slowly making their way out of the port. Every person Kazuha’s eyes landed on, most of whom carried the green object, seemed to be too busy on their own affairs not to even bat an eye on them, a guide from the Akademiya and two foreigners. It was not an unlikely scenario then, Kazuha decided, and followed quietly.

It wasn’t long after when they were almost out in the wilderness that Hamadi cursed under his breath and Kazuha saw a man approaching them. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Scaramouche frowning and his lips pursing. He turned his gaze back at the man now standing in front of them with his arms folded and his shoulders squared, the green object visible from his hood.

“General Mahamatra,” Hamadi greeted with a quick bow to his head. Kazuha noted that although Hamadi was nervous about the prospect of running into General Mahamatra before, he had seemingly shed those concerns. His voice didn’t waver or his hands didn’t shake as they did when he was addressing Scaramouche. Likely it was Scaramouche’s reaction rather than General Mahamatra himself that made him tense up.

“Mr. Hamadi. I wasn’t expecting to see you around today.” Kazuha’s lips thinned as General Mahamatra’s eyes roamed from Hamadi to him and Scaramouche, and narrowed. “I see you have guests from overseas.”

“Well, yes.” Hamadi replied swiftly as he took a step to his side to gesture a hand towards Kazuha and Scaramouche with a carefully blank expression on his face. “These are two of my colleagues from Inazuma. They have just arrived here.”

“General Mahamatra, Hamadi says? Nice to meet you. I am Kunikuzushi, I heard so much about you.” Scaramouche stepped forward with a smile on his face and offered a hand. Kazuha fought down a frown, still horrified at the way it was astonishingly easy for Scaramouche to slip into a different personality. But he wasn’t slow so as not to miss the slight twitch to his lips after the name came out of his mouth. 

General Mahamatra took a second to eye Scaramouche from head to toe before unfolding his arms and briefly shaking his hand. “Likewise. The name is Cyno.”

When their hands parted, Cyno’s eyes turned to Kazuha. Kazuha followed Scaramouche’s lead and offered his hand as well before it became suspicious.

“Niwa Hisahide. It is an honor to meet you, General Mahamatra.” he offered smoothly, momentarily pursing his lips at the way he didn’t wince at the name.

“What brings you to Sumeru, gentlemen?” Cyno asked after shaking hands with Kazuha as well. “Research?”

“Y…”

“Yes,” Scaramouche replied before Hamadi could speak for them. He glared at him for a moment before looking back at Cyno again. “Niwa and I are running a joint study and have been visiting nations to study different variants.” 

“How ambitious of you,” Cyno commented as he folded his arms once again, and Kazuha guessed the question before it was asked out loud. “It must’ve been a long time, since your borders have been closed.”

“Yeah, around a few years. Although we haven’t been able to visit Inazuma for this very reason.” Cyno lifted an eyebrow at Scaramouche’s answer, the breeze tickling Kazuha’s skin whispering to him of Cyno’s cynical thoughts about Scaramouche’s story. Kazuha casted a look at Scaramouche, amazed at the way he was confidently holding his composure intact.

“Is that so? You gave the impression that your research had started in Inazuma.”

“Sadly, I had to leave Inazuma when I was a little child and haven’t been there since. I was hoping with this research I would have the opportunity to visit my home again, but the borders got closed not so after.”

“How sad indeed.” Cyno muttered under his breath before glancing at Hamadi who had been quietly listening to the dialogue for the entire time, to Kazuha, as if expecting him to unravel the truth. “It must be fate that made your roads cross, then, Mr. Niwa?”

Kazuha managed to offer a small smile instead of a frown, but he couldn’t swallow the bile rising in his throat when he heard the word fate . “Perhaps we can call it that, sir. I certainly didn’t expect to meet another scholar from my hometown in Liyue who also had spent years away from it. It was truly a story to be told, meeting with Mr. Kunikuzushi.”

From the corner of his eyes he saw Scaramouche casually placing a hand on his hips, seemingly uncaring for the lie he made Kazuha make up to match his own story as if he had heard it numerous times. He ignored it and looked back at Cyno with a polite smile. “We wish to go to Inazuma in the near future to conclude our research.”

“I wish you the best of luck.” Cyno nodded his head shortly, but before Kazuha could take a relieved breath, his eyes landed on his blade. “Most scholars around here are rarely armed. Is there a reason that requires you to carry a blade on your person?”

While Cyno looked at them with narrowed eyes, Kazuha saw Scaramouche about to jump in for a reply. But before he could do so, Kazuha took the lead, surprising them both.

“It is irrelevant to our research.” He replied swiftly, his eyes meeting Scaramouche who looked at him with clear warning in his eyes. Kazuha ignored and offered a smile at Cyno. “We learned that the scholars we are to meet at the Akademiya have been working on a study about Inazuman sword arts. This is a gift for them, from us.”

He could feel Scaramouche’s gaze burning holes on him, but he didn’t turn his gaze from Cyno. He didn’t look persuaded, and Kazuha could feel the breeze running through his hair that whispered Cyno’s suspicions of them. But, he seemingly decided to ignore his suspicions for the time being as he simply nodded his head.

“I presume noble scholars such as yourselves have the proper documentations to enter the nation, yes?”

“Of course,” Scaramouche replied before handing over the envelope Hamadi gave him earlier. “However, there has been a mix-up with Niwa’s documents from what we understand since we didn’t receive them.”

“Oh, yes.” Hamadi nodded quickly while Cyno opened the envelope. “Mr. Niwa’s address was recorded wrong in the akasha system, we only realized it after Mr. Niwa and Mr. Kunikuzushi reached out to us after Mr. Kunikuzushi received his documents. We couldn’t send another one since it is forbidden. Thus, I was sent to act as Mr. Niwa’s chaperon and guide these gentlemen through their research here.”

Cyno handed the envelope back to Scaramouche after reading it and folded his arms, his narrowed eyes skimming through them thoughtfully before he looked at Hamadi.

“Is there a reason why I wasn’t informed about it, and why can’t I find it on the akasha system?”

Hamadi frowned slightly and touched the green object at his ear. He shortly shook his head. “I am certain the situation was explained to one of the matras present that day, although I don’t know who explained to whom. As for the akasha system, I am as lost as you are.”

Kazuha watched as Cyno looked at Hamadi for a few seconds before shaking his head and sighing. “I will be sure to track this matter down once I am back at the Akademiya. Until that time, you are responsible for Mr. Niwa's actions in Sumeru since he failed to submit his documents.” His eyes turned to Kazuha, then to Scaramouche before he finally nodded and unfolded his arms. “You are free to go, gentlemen. Enjoy your stay in Sumeru.”

“Thank you, General Mahamatra.” Scaramouche nodded his head in farewell, and turned to walk away after Hamadi. Kazuha looked at Cyno to bid a farewell of his own before following them.

“I am sorry for the inconvenience I have caused to you, General Mahamatra.” He bowed his head apologetically. “We thank you for your permission, you have my promise that we won’t abuse it.”

“We shall see it that way, then.” Cyno looked at Hamadi and Scaramouche one last time before nodding at Kazuha in farewell, and continued with his way. Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line as he took a moment to suck in a sharp breath, and followed after the other men.

And his new journey began, without knowing what actually was waiting for him at the other end.

Chapter Text

“No greater desire exists than a wounded person’s need for another wound.”

(Guilty by Georges Bataille)

Kazuha rose with the sun and found himself following their guide just under Sumeru City to the rendezvous point.

They spent the entirety of the previous day walking within the nation, crossing through the rainforest and wilderness until they reached the city after nightfall. Apparently, Hamadi took precautions since when they arrived in the city, the streets were isolated, and there were rooms waiting for them in a luxurious hotel. 

Kazuha didn’t comment on it, nor did he say anything up until that point unless there was a remark directed at him. He expressed his gratitude to Hamadi for his hospitality before they parted ways for the night, and watched the man walk away after bidding farewell. Scaramouche squinted at him before making his way to the room he was given wordlessly, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He was used to wandering long distances and to the hardships that came with it. He found the whole process healing and enlightening. Normally he would enjoy the journey, take in the sights his eyes never landed on before and paint them on a corner of his memory. He would let go of the ropes restraining his creativity, and poems would slip from his lips without a second thought, but it didn’t happen this time. 

Although he had never visited Sumeru before, the lengths his mind traveled were limited. The squeeze in his heart wasn’t directed towards the beautiful flowers and wealthy springs, but the uncertainty of their destination. He wanted to let out a laugh at this uncalled thought. Never once in his life the destination crossed his mind, but now it was all he could think about.

He barely batted an eye at his surroundings, couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the nature that thrived around him. Mind preoccupied and heart heavy, he simply followed their guide with silence. 

He spent the night barely sleeping. His body was tired and his mind heavy, but sleep came hard. He spent a few hours leaning against the posts covering the window and watching the night sky, a balmy summer breeze licking his face; just like the night Scaramouche approached him. When he woke up for the rest of the journey, it had been barely a few hours since he had fallen asleep. 

“It’s a short walk to the workshop, compared to yesterday,” Hamadi had told them after he greeted Kazuha, and then Scaramouche, who arrived a few minutes later with a carefully blank expression on his face. “We are supposed to meet with the others in an hour. Everyone is expecting your arrival, my Lord.”

“Is he also there?” Scaramouche asked as they passed through the newly awaking streets and made their way towards the outskirts of the city. Kazuha averted his gaze to Hamadi with the question, slightly intrigued by the flustered expression on Hamadi’s face.

“I am not sure, I must apologize.” Hamadi visibly swallowed when Scaramouche’s eyes found him, and quickly shook his head. “But we are expecting his arrival today, so do not worry, my Lord. Everything is going smoothly.”

“Who is he?” Kazuha asked with his voice quiet after a beat of silence spent Scaramouche squinting at Hamadi. Both of the men turned their gazes to him.

“If he bestowed us upon his arrival, you will soon meet him,” Scaramouche spat under his breath with an irritated frown on his face. “That madman of a doctor might be fooling us all for all I know.”

“Even if he does not arrive today, I can assure you that precautions have been taken,” Hamadi hesitantly cut in, and took a small relieved breath when there was no protest from Scaramouche. “Everything is taken care of.”

“I will be the judge of that.” Scaramouche glanced at Hamadi before speeding up his steps. 

They walked in an uncomfortable silence through the wilderness. Kazuha half expected Scaramouche to be snappy, perhaps jittery; but the man seemed to be in a complete stance of stillness. There was a small frown on his face, and his glance was always towards. He remained silent for the most of the walk, and never once batted an eye at the others. Kazuha, however found this unsettling and strange, opted to not put much mind into it and let his eyes wander around the shallowing foliage with mild interest, his heart beating nervously despite himself.

“You must have received the designs of the workshop and the vessel, my Lord.” Hamadi piped up after a few minutes of silence as they passed through a narrow river. “Is everything to your satisfaction?”

“No,” Scaramouche replied nonchalantly, not bothering to look at the man as all the blood drained from his face. Although curious, Kazuha said nothing as he glanced at them. 

“I will deliver my criticism regardless, but I suppose it will have to do. The time is getting closer.” 

“I am sure any adjustments can be done,” Hamadi hurried to say before his eyes landed on an isolated clearing hidden behind overgrown trees. He cleared his throat. “This is the place, gentlemen. Please, after you.”

“No, you go first.” Scaramouche stopped in his tracks and crossed his arms, his eyes on Hamadi. “You possibly can’t expect me to blindly set foot there.”

Kazuha frowned as he too halted at his steps and glanced at Hamadi before looking at Scaramouche and speaking up, “I do not think Mr. Hamadi has any sinister agenda.”

Scaramouche didn’t answer, still refusing to look at him, as his eyes seized Hamadi. “Get on with it.”

Hamadi shared a quick look with Kazuha before nodding with bewilderment. “Of course. Then, please, follow me. It is a bit tricky to navigate.” 

First Kazuha and then Scaramouche followed Hamadi through the entrance, the lively harmonies of the wilderness becoming mute in the background. Kazuha couldn’t help but gape with awe at the sight before his eyes. A whole factory right in the middle of the wilderness and just under the city, yet stray from the eyes. The entrance had led them to a gate secured with various systems situated inside the hill that they made their way down. However, impressive with its stealth, the factory looked like it was still an undertaking. The gate was framed with rocks and bunches, water leaking through the spaces. 

“This way.” 

Subconsciously, Kazuha turned his gaze towards Scaramouche, who was also assessing his surroundings. He looked like his mind was—had been—preoccupied with obscure thoughts. Although Kazuha believed that the man was aware of his eyes on him, he once again refused to meet his eyes. Kazuha found this demeanor rather odd, unauthentic. It was blatant that their talk on the way to Port Ormos the previous day suggested some sort of one-sided allegiance. But perhaps it was the presence of an outsider that suggested this silence. Kazuha couldn’t help but frown thoughtfully as he walked to keep up.

They were greeted with two Fatui soldiers guarding the factory after they passed through the gate, and they seemed to be chatting with each other. With the sound of their footsteps the soldiers turned to their way, and even though their faces were covered with masks, Kazuha could tell the way they gaped with bewilderment at Scaramouche.

“Lord Balladeer!” one of them cried as he immediately knelt down with his head lowered. 

“What an honour to welcome you!” the other one followed suit, his voice cracking.

“Cut the crap,” Scaramouche spat with a clearly bored tone as he walked between the men, not caring if his feet landed on one of their hands or not. “Is that doctor here?”

“Lord Dottore arrived an hour ago,” the first man to talk muttered with a grunt, his voice showing half of the earlier enthusiasm. So he is also a harbinger, Kazuha thought to himself. “He is waiting for you at the main area with the sages from the Akademiya.”

“An hour ago? How great.” Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed at Hamidi before he started to walk towards the corridor, which seemed to be the only way forward. “Get back to work.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldiers replied as they swiftly got to their feet. Hamidi sighed as he hurried after Scaramouche. Kazuha followed him close, aware of the soldiers eyeing him skeptically.

The rest of the journey was mostly uneventful with not much interruption from soldiers dotted then and there. There was a collective silence that consumed their atmosphere, with casual annoyed remarks and irritated sighs from Scaramouche. Hamidi had been right when he said it was hard to navigate as they climbed down and up stairs, getting into elevators that led them to the middle of nothingness. And when they reached the main area, Kazuha couldn’t help but let out a short gasp.

It turned out to be an enormously large and lengthy hall, with its ceiling stretching above them as if it was a man-made sky. There was a balcony-like platform placed midair and was viewing the top half of the hall with all of its glory. The chatter from the small group standing on the platform was echoing against the long walls, and although distracted by the grandness of the factory, Kazuha felt the tension Scaramouche possessed as he passed Kazuha by with a little bit more hurry than necessary to his long strides.

“Dottore,” Scaramouche spat, the grit to his teeth almost audible. Kazuha turned his attention back to Scaramouche as he heard the name he had been hearing non-stop, and followed Scaramouche’s sight until it landed on a tall man with a mask covering half of his face. The man in question cut his conversation with the older-looking man next to him before looking back at Scaramouche with an amused curl to his lips.

“Ah, Balladeer. It is a pleasure to see you, as always.”

“What, couldn’t find another test subject?” Scaramouche shot back, crossing his arms as he looked at the man through narrowed eyes. 

“Hm? Is that jealousy that I sense in your tone?” The man with the mask, Dottore, walked slowly towards Scaramouche and stood before him before cupping Scaramouche’s jaw with his gloved fingers, and tilting his head up. Kazuha couldn’t help but scowl with discomfort. The action, although would have looked gentle, mostly felt like a forced check-up with Dottore tilting Scaramouche’s head from left to right and humming to himself all the while. “You seem to be in good shape. Vacation must have served you well.”

“Vacation?” Scaramouche snapped, his brows knitted together as he grabbed Dottore’s wrist and yanked it away. “I waited for your message for weeks with Jester nagging at me with non-stop letters, asking for the Gnosis to be returned. But sure, let’s call it a vacation.”

“Well, have you?” Dottore asked calmly, looking unfazed at Scaramouche’s words. 

“Of course the fuck not,” Scaramouche spat as he clenched his hands into fists, his eyes narrowing at Dottore quizzically. “You of all people should’ve known by now that I won’t back down from this.”

“And I do,” Dottore drawled as he took a step back to scan Scaramouche from head to toe with his hands interlocked against his back, an almost sinister curl to his lips. “You surely understand that I would have to do rearrangements if you did not have the Gnosis in your possession.”

“Ugh, so it is you.” Scaramouche rolled his eyes after a beat of silence before crossing his arms. “The actual Doctor, and not one of your pathetic segments. What? Not trust them enough to handle a meeting?”

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line as Dottore let out an off-putting laugh, the perturbing energy he gave off expanding with each passing second. Others, himself included, did nothing but stayed rooted to their places without interrupting the exchange.

“Pathetic, you say? Oh, I must assure you they are still the most useful to me.” Dottore placed a hand to his chin, his head tilting to the side in consideration. “You are aware that I still have my workload apart from you, no? I am simply obliging what is asked of me.” 

Kazuha felt his blood run cold as the man’s eyes, although covered by his mask entirely, turned to look at him and his lips curled minutely as he unpalmed his hand in Kazuha’s direction. “Now that I have satisfied your unnecessary curiosity, care to tell me who this gentleman is?”

Kazuha looked at Scaramouche whose eyes landed on him for the first time that day, his irritation towards Dottore written all over his face as well as the message for Kazuha, signaling him not to say anything.

“That’s Niwa,” Scaramouche replied casually, his tone exasperated. “My second in command. He also will be attending these meetings.”

“Is that so? I never knew you had a right-hand man, Scaramouche. You do surprise me sometimes.” Dottore hummed amusedly as his eyes swiveled from Kazuha to Scaramouche after a few seconds to the point of the eye contact becoming much more unsettling. Kazuha released the breath he had been holding the moment Dottore looked back at Scaramouche. 

“My business is none of yours.” 

“Well, then we shall waste no more valuable time.” Dottore ignored Scaramouche’s attitude as he walked towards the older-looking man and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Azar, the Grand Sage of the Akademiya.”

Kazuha eyed the man with consideration. His shoulders raised boldly and his chin up with his face neutral, and as the name suggested he seemed to be a man of higher status compared to the other few people around him and Hamidi.

The man, Azar, offered his hand in greeting with a nod of his head. “Lord Balladeer, it is an honour to officially meet you.”

“Of course,” Scaramouche muttered with a scoff, not deigning to shake the hand offered to him. Azar didn’t seem off-put by the lack of gesture as he nonchalantly retreated his hand and walked towards the other men after Dottore pulled his hand away from his shoulder.

“You will be the most satisfied after hearing about our process so far,” Azar announced as he stood in front of the three men and gestured a hand towards them. “The trustworthy sages that I have selected along with a few scholars that are mostly kept in the dark about the whole process have come up with a plan that will work perfectly.”

Kazuha glanced at Hamidi as he stepped in to take his place next to the men, apparently being one of these sages. 

“I know that much,” Scaramouche pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Tell me the plan.”

“Well,” Azar looked at Kazuha momentarily before continuing boldly, “you must understand my hesitation since we have never heard of Mr. Niwa thus far, and the plan I am to share is top secret.”

“How is it so hard to understand that he is my second in command? I thought you Akademiya twerps were smart.” Scaramouche snapped with a deep scowl at Azar, stepping forward. “Should I spell it for you, or perhaps in another language?”

“Not necessary,” Azar replied after clearing his throat and accepted a scroll from one of the sages. “I will take your word on Mr. Niwa’s behalf.”

Azar waited until Scaramouche nodded shortly, and cleared his throat once more as he  unrolled the scroll. “The plan is to take action when the Sabzeruz Festival starts next month. Although in confinement and has not many followers, we heard the word that there will still be festivities to celebrate the Dendro Archon’s birth,” Azar scoffed as his eyes roamed around the scroll before looking back at Scaramouche. “You see the Akasha terminal, this device,” he pointed at the green ornament next to his ear; “is a device that lets all of the people in Sumeru to reach any kind of information whenever and wherever they wish to through the Akasha system. It is also very handy when delivering announcements from the Akademiya—”

“Who cares? Get to the point,” Scaramouche drawled, his face showing his impatience. 

“Very well. Since this terminal is mandatory for everyone to wear at all times, it carries a transaction between the individual and the terminal; and that transaction lets people have dreamless slumbers while gathering Jnana energy, simply put, knowledge from their slumbering states.”

Kazuha frowned at this information, his hand clenching into a fist around his belt. Was that even legal, or ethical to begin with? 

His eyes wandered to Scaramouche’s side profile. He, too, had a crease to his eyebrows, his fingers clasping around his elbows. Although he looked more intrigued than petrified.

Dottore, however, looked mildly entertained by their reactions. His lips were curled into a small smirk that reminded Kazuha of Scaramouche’s earlier words about the man, or rather the madman.

“And this is somehow related, because…?” Scaramouche prompted, unfolding his arms to place his hands on his hips. Azar, for once, smirked and tilted his chin up; not shrinking under Scaramouche’s gaze.

“He who never dreams does not realize he is dreaming, even if he actually is;” he muttered as he adjusted his monocle. “This is how we will gather the Jnana energy required to start your transformation process, leading people to the dreamscape through the Akasha terminal. A collective chain-slumber, a samsara if you will. A month from now, during the Sabzeruz Festival.”

Kazuha couldn’t help but gape at the man with his lips agape, his hand at his belt tightening. His mind rushed with thoughts and questions. Scaramouche’s transformation, transformation to what exactly? Although he feared to admit it, it was all clear from the context. They arrived here with the Gnosis , and Scaramouche himself said that he now had the means to become a god, an actual god. This could only mean that the Akademiya was planning to help make it happen. What about the Dendro Archon, then? Azar said that the Dendro Archon was in confinement, was it also their doing? Was the Akademiya going to help create the new Electro Archon to replace the Dendro Archon? Even the mere thought of it was so blasphemous, undignifying, and venomous that Kazuha had to swallow the bile rising through his esophagus. It didn’t change the fact that he was in the middle of this now with nowhere else to turn. 

He swallowed thickly, his forehead heating up with a sudden headache. He could see Scaramouche’s frown easing into a satisfied smirk from the corner of his eyes. His cold hands shook, he balled them into fists as he took a deep breath. He saw Scaramouche looking at Azar with a considering hum before parting his lips to speak up.

“Then that means the whole nation sleeps: The entirety of the population, not only the people in the festival, as not to disturb the process, no?” 

All eyes around the group turned to Kazuha who spoke up for the first time during the whole meeting. Kazuha let out a short inhale, easing his fists until they hung from his sides freely. There were a few seconds of silence as Azar looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face, chin still up, the sages and Hamidi with wide eyes. Although his expression was covered by his outrageous mask, Dottore seemed pleased at Kazuha’s remark, quiet huffs of manic laughter spilled from his lips as he gathered his hands to his back. Lastly, his eyes met Scaramouche’s eyes, indigo sparkling dangerously as it always did and narrowed questioningly, before he rolled them with an amused scoff and lifted an eyebrow at Azar.

“Your man knows his science, Lord Balladeer.” Azar appraised as he looked back at Scaramouche before nodding at Kazuha. “And yes, precisely. The whole nation will be in deep slumber, and they all will experience their daily lives in a dreamscape. The experiments are still undergoing as to how to keep the entire nation in a deep slumber until we gather enough Jnana energy, but I can assure you the tests will soon bear fruit.”

“What then?” Scaramouche asked, and Kazuha followed his eyes until they landed on Dottore. The man let out a small sigh as he walked towards the end of the platform and looked down.

“See for yourself.” 

Scaramouche scowled as he too walked towards the end of the stairs, and Kazuha couldn’t find it himself to just stop and watch when Scaramouche let out an uncharacteristically loud gasp. He swiftly strode next to him, frowning at the utterly bewildered expression on Scaramouche’s face: something he had never seen before, with Scaramouche’s eyes wide and lips parted. 

Then he, too, saw it.

“What…” 

“Fuck,” Scaramouche whispered before he took a step forward to see the tremendous machine sitting in the middle of the hall. Kazuha felt his throat go dry before he belatedly pressed his lips shut and scanned the machine in examination with wild eyes.

It seemed to be the bottom half of what likely was a full body. Its pointy legs stretched through the base of the hall with a large attachment on top of them, probably waiting for the upper half to be settled.

Just the mere sight of it was nauseating. He didn’t think when Scaramouche had revealed the fact that he was created as a vessel, and he seemed to despise it, that he would agree upon becoming another vessel to achieve godhood. He had the Gnosis that his body was already designed to house. Kazuha couldn’t fathom the reason for the creation of something so unorthodox.

Though, at the same time, he couldn’t refute the unsettling sensation on his chest and mind that made him doubt his own virtues, either. His eyes landed on Scaramouche once again, seeing the way he was grasping at his chest with unmasked bewilderment, how uncharacteristic of him that Kazuha found himself blinking. It was indeed despicable that humans dirtied their hands with otherworldly affairs; but the thought that a discarded god, a child abandoned without a thought, would claim his rightful divinity centuries after…

He shakily took a step back, bringing a hand to his forehead to push his bangs away from his eyes. His other hand was grabbing the handle of his blade in his fist like a lifeline. His mind was spinning with heavy whispers, some of his own and some of not, demanding him with questions he didn’t have the answers to satisfy. He forced himself to look away from the machine, and with a blink of an eye, the muted chatter around him became clear once more.

“How the hell did you manage to build it without anyone noticing?” Scaramouche demanded at Dottore, his tone failing at neutrality.

Dottore chuckled behind his mask, and gestured a hand towards Azar. “This factory is built right under the Akademiya, thanks to Mr. Azar’s collaboration. The logistics were handled smoothly, and my colleagues at the Akademiya have done a praiseworthy job building the vessel.”

“We had sent you the plans a few months ago, my Lord.” Hamidi, who had been silent since he had led Kazuha and Scaramouche there, piped up helpfully, although was ignored completely.

“I didn’t expect it to be that big! Shit,” Scaramouche exclaimed as he took another look at it, tilting his hat up, and cursed under his breath. 

“Is it going to be ready by the time the festival starts?” he asked after taking a few seconds to collect himself, and adjusted his hat. Kazuha stood behind him, pointedly not looking down.

“If all goes well, it will be ready in the following weeks before the festival starts, although there still may be room for improvement.” Azar cleared his throat before replying, looking quite satisfied with himself. “In the end, it will be the greatest creation mankind has ever dared to make, surpassing that of Khaenri’ahn engineering. The most suitable for an all-knowing god.”

Kazuha watched with terror as the sages wore matching grins as they nodded at Azar’s words. He pressed his lips into a thin line together, ignoring the way Dottore glanced at him all the while.

“What of Buer?” Scaramouche asked after a few seconds, one hand on hip, making Kazuha turn his attention to the conversation with the mention of the unfamiliar name. “She’s in confinement, so you say. How can we be sure that she won’t try to escape and abolish the plan?”

Azar dared to scoff at Scaramouche’s question, earning a deep scowl from the harbinger, but no other words. He started to slowly walk towards the end of the platform, and pointed at the dome.

“Her confinement is heavily guarded by the front, and otherwise can only be accessed through the Akademiya via my permit. Any move out of the order is instantly processed to the Akasha system, and if that fails, any uncalled motion from her confinements is immediately reported to me. You have nothing to fear, Lord Balladeer. The plan will go as smooth as silk.”

Scaramouche frowned at the man for a few more seconds before nodding his head with satisfaction. “That’s one less problem, then.”

“Leave the problems to the Akademiya, and let us continue our discussions privately, Scaramouche,” Dottore spoke up as he made his way towards Scaramouche, and placed a hand on his back as if to push him forward. “I ought to see how you have been functioning since your last check-up.”

“Stop with the creeps, fucker.” Scaramouche snapped as he rolled his shoulder to get rid of Dottore’s hand, but didn’t protest at the offer. Dottore, unfazed, walked towards the passage they had come from, and halted to wait for Scaramouche, who had also stopped in his tracks to suddenly turn and look at Kazuha.

“Don’t follow, stay here,” he warned, eyes intent. Kazuha felt the urge to ignore the words and follow along, but he settled on nodding uneasily.

He watched as the pair disappeared from his sight, and his ears filled with the chatter rising from the group. He averted his gaze from the passage to the hall standing in all of its glory. It was devoid of the summer heat from the outside world, and it seemed an eerie chill was ever-present. The lengthy walls were designed beautifully, making Kazuha wonder just how long this plan had been on the table. It was as if the Akademiya had been waiting for an entity to appear out of thin air to claim godhood over them, and reside inside the mindfully built factory.

His nails dug into his palm, causing crescent shapes to appear on his pale skin. As he surveyed the hall in more detail, he pointedly ignored the enormous machine still casually sitting on the floor, waiting for its lacking half. He swallowed thickly.

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Niwa?” 

Kazuha was snapped out of his thoughts by Hamidi appearing beside him, a hand placed on his shoulder as he looked at Kazuha with a small frown. Kazuha forced himself to offer a tight smile.

“Yes, I am fine. No need for concern.” He couldn’t help as his eyes consciously fell to the machine once again. “I did not expect to see anything of this kind, you understand. I am just a little bewildered.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Hamidi nodded dutifully, using his free hand to gesture at the machine. “The greatness of mankind’s mind always leaves me breathless as well. It was bitter work to build a vessel of this grandeur for a god to reside in, but I know that at the end of it everything will be worth it. The mere thought of it exhilarates me.” Hamidi exhaled with a hardly restrained grin.

Kazuha glanced at him as he swallowed down the dread rising through his sternum like bile, the hand on his shoulder feeling much heavier than it normally was. He cleared his throat, fearing that if he were to talk like that just then, his voice would sound like a mere meek. 

“Lord Scaramouche is to control this, then? With the power granted by the gnosis?” he asked after a few seconds of silence with dread churning in his stomach.

“Exactly.” Hamidi nodded once again, finally removing his hand from Kazuha’s shoulder as he walked towards the edge of the platform and pointed at the non-existing upper half of the vessel. “We will place the torso over there, with arms and everything. And the head will be where Lord Scaramouche will stand. He will be connected to the body via wires that will see the flow of force through the gnosis done, until he no longer needs them to control the vessel. They will eventually become one, the creation of a god will be completed. That is, with time of course.”

Kazuha had to take a deep breath to stop his mind from spinning, his nails dipped into his skin starting to hurt to the point of bleeding as he turned Hamidi’s words over in his mind. He was roughly aware of the petrified look on his face, his noblemen training of body language from his youth becoming a distant memory. Not only Hamidi, but also the other men in the room were suddenly interested in his seemingly unexpected silence with their glances swiveled to him, their interest transforming into suspicion each passing second. 

“I rather thought Lord Scaramouche would entrust his second-in-command with the plans of his rebirth as a god.” 

Kazuha was snapped out of his reverie by the unfamiliar voice coming from one of the other sages. He fought the urge to grab his blade’s handle as he squared his shoulders and turned to face the man with a skeptical look on his face.

“Forgive my lack of professionalism,” he managed to speak up at last as he unclenched his fists, dried droplets of blood hidden inside his palms. “I have been fulfilling my duty as undercover for the last few years, and it has been a few weeks since I have joined back on the field. Lord Scaramouche was unable to explicitly speak of his plans until we arrived here because of the other officers on board.” He placed a hand on his chest as he bowed his head. “I sincerely apologize for any unnecessary confusion.”

“No apology needed,” Azar assured as he walked towards Kazuha and stood before him. “Since you will be part of our conversations from now on, I shall fill you in with the details while my team takes care of some technical necessities. Follow me.”

And Kazuha did. They left the platform, and walked through the passage Scaramouche and Dottore used beforehand. Kazuha couldn’t help but look at the way the pair disappeared while Azar placed a hand on his back as to guide him through the labyrinth. As they roamed through the endless corridors, Azar regaled him all about the process of building the factory in the middle of Sumeru city, boasting about the Akademiya’s handiwork all the while. Azar humored himself as he kept talking about the intellect behind the engineering of the god vessel, but not once mentioning the reason behind its origin of creation.

Kazuha couldn’t wrap his around the reason why the Akademiya would want to cooperate with the Fatui to create an Inazuman god for Sumeru when they supposedly already had an archon. Although he could create a few scenarios in his mind, his knowledge over this transaction was, without a doubt, limited and manipulated. The Grand Sage wasn’t the person that was to answer his questions; thus, he remained silent throughout the tour, only nodding and commenting politely when he was expected to.

A while after they returned to the platform, Scaramouche and Dottore made their reappearance. Kazuha watched as the pair walked towards the Grand Sage, their backs turned to him, and spent a few minutes discussing. Although Kazuha couldn’t see his face, he was vaguely aware of the slight discomfort Scaramouche opted to hide. It was subtle, but the stiffness of his posture and his tensely squared shoulders suggested that he was meticulously hiding what exactly he was feeling. 

Kazuha waited patiently with a carefully neutral expression on his face until Scaramouche turned around on his heels and gave Kazuha a pointed look as he started to walk towards the passage. Kazuha blinked before realizing that everyone on the platform was looking at Scaramouche, or rather, at them. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Niwa.” Hamidi stood before him with his hand offered. Kazuha took it and shook it slowly, his thoughts regarding the man complicated. “We will be in touch soon.”

“I look forward to our cooperation,” Kazuha replied with a tight smile, retreating his cold hand.

His eyes skimmed through the men, ignoring the Doctor’s unsettling gaze, however hidden by the mask, fixated on him before he bowed his head in farewell, and fell into step beside Scaramouche. They walked in silence as they passed through the corridors, the chattering from the hall becoming distant and muffled each passing second. It seemed a guide wasn’t needed for their return as they easily walked past the familiar staircases and passages. All the while not even a single word was spoken. 

Kazuha looked at Scaramouche from the corner of his eyes, noticing the way he chewed on his lips with clear irritation, his already pale skin paler than usual. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, but the slight shiver was still visible. His clothes were not as quite impeccable as they were before, with his collar loose and rather wrinkled. 

“Quit with the staring.” 

Kazuha looked up at Scaramouche’s eyes, pressing his lips into a thin line at the way Scaramouche glanced at him through a deep frown, his words snappy.

“I apologize,” he murmured without looking away. “I just noticed that you seem a bit distressed since you have returned.”

“So what?” Scaramouche clicked his tongue as they climbed down a staircase. “Keep your unnecessary curiosity to yourself, Niwa.”

“Right,” Kazuha muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, as he followed along. 

They passed by the earlier soldiers waiting by the entrance, and left the factory after Scaramouche cut their enthusiastic farewell short. The outside world was gloomy with dark clouds covering the skies, nothing like the earlier brightness, the weather humid with awaiting rainfall. Kazuha chewed on his lip thoughtfully at the unpredictability of the foreign nation. Normally, the wind would tickle his skin and tell him how that day would go. It was a welcomed assistance during his travels and when he was out at sea. The lack of assistance, however unfamiliar, wasn’t as foreign as it normally would be. Perhaps it was one of the abrupt changes in his life since the day he met Scaramouche, Kazuha thought.

They walked in silence for a long while, the destination was apparently the port. Traces of human settlements had gone fewer as the time passed, and the broad forest and wilderness framed their eyesight. The silence between them was coupled with the chirps of beasts and rustling of the leaves. 

Eventually rain started to pour down, muffling Scaramouche’s infuriated curses. Kazuha followed him as he strode towards what looked like an abandoned hut, and let out a relieved sigh as he squeezed the water from his clothes. Scaramouche didn’t seem fazed, but mostly bothered by the abrupt obstacle as he leaned against the wall and watched outside with his arms folded over his chest. Kazuha distantly wondered whether he was secretly tired or not. His earlier discomfort seemed to have diminished, his hands no longer shaky and his skin its normal color. 

Kazuha didn’t flinch, nor did he react, when Scaramouche turned to narrow his eyes at him. He lowered his foot that was pressed against the wall and placed his hands on his hips as if indicating Kazuha to spell out whatever was going over his mind just then.

“When you said yesterday that you— we would go to Snezhnaya to disclose Fatui's plan, it made me wonder…” Kazuha trailed off, his gaze turning down. 

“How would I eliminate the crew out of the plan if I stayed here?” Scaramouche finished it off with a scoff. He lifted his brows as he leaned against the wall again, and met Kazuha’s gaze. “Answer me this, then. How did you eliminate those Shogunate officers when they came looking for you?”

Kazuha felt his throat tighten. Scaramouche apparently knew more about his past than he let on. He pursed his lips before shaking his head hesitantly. “They are hardly the same thing.”

“Are they?” Scaramouche huffed. “The blood, whether it is me or you that shed it, is still blood all the same.” 

“What now, then?” Kazuha folded his arms. “I thought you were to overthrow the Shogun, not the Dendro Archon.”

“Buer is barely an archon, if you can call her one.” Scaramouche shrugged, inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “She’s been distant for centuries, and has no power over her subjects . The Akademiya was sick of it, and I took the opportunity when it rose. The time will come that I will become the Electro Archon. But Inazuma’s not a suitable place to execute this plan now.”

“Why not?” Kazuha muttered. “Inazuma is already in chaos, would it not be easier to claim authority?” 

Scaramouche raised his eyebrows amusedly with a smirk before clicking his tongue. “Yes, it would. But a possible failure is not a risk I can take at this point.”

Kazuha lowered his gaze thoughtfully and pressed his lips into a thin line. “That means Sumeru is just a laboratory for you to experiment safely.”

“Exactly.” 

Kazuha didn’t say anything in return, just kept looking at a point on the ground with a frown on his face. The continuous sound of pouring rain raving outside was making his heart pound in his chest, and his mind unfocused. He distantly wondered why it didn't thunder, although the downpour was raging mercilessly.

“You don’t seem completely opposed to the idea.” 

He was snapped out of his trance by Scaramouche’s voice. The man was looking at him with half raised brows, his lips curled thoughtfully, blatantly assessing him. Kazuha glanced at him for a few seconds before shrugging shortly.

“Would it matter if I was?”

“Obviously not.” Scaramouche pushed himself off the wall and stood before the open door to look at the dark clouds. His earlier amusement was replaced with a carefully blank expression. “But you don’t seem petrified either. I would expect a noble to piss all over himself pathetically just by the idea of it. But you,” Indigo eyes met his eyes once again, and Kazuha couldn’t help but straighten his spine. “Not only have you seen everything with your own eyes, you don’t even look disturbed.”

Kazuha ignored the insult and pondered over his words. His tone, just as his face, was void of any certain emotion. Since the time Kazuha met Scaramouche, he’d come to learn that the man played with his emotions masterfully as if he was an actor. They were artificial and detailed without any fervor behind them, unless it was fury. His fury, fury that was scorching under his skin, waiting for a moment of time to explode and consume everything in its wake with its sincerity. But during times like this when he looked like a porcelain doll with no display of feeling, Kazuha believed it was the time when he was feeling the most to the point of needing to contain them. He just couldn’t comprehend the reason behind that moment.

“I am,” he replied honestly, breaking eye contact to look outside. “It is pure madness and evil on a whole different level. I would never think something like this could even be possible. Humans using other humans to create a god… It feels like just knowing a possibility such as this exists makes me complicit.” He cut his words, and took a deep inhale. “I was already complicit the moment I agreed to take your hand, although I was unaware of what I was complicit with. Knowing is just as wretched as not knowing, perhaps this is why I cannot bring myself to reflect it.” He turned his eyes back to Scaramouche who was silently listening to him with an unreadable expression on his face. Kazuha blinked, a sudden shiver running down his spine, before looking out once again, and clenched his hands into fists. “I don’t think it is up to us humans to meddle into divinity. Their enthusiasm was despicable. Just listening to them made my blood run cold. But…” he trailed off, falling into silence. 

He exhaled as he thoughtfully bit into his bottom lip before tilting his head. “My mind was blown away at the sight of the vessel, not because I was afraid of it or I was disgusted at the people that built it, but because of something else entirely. I believe it was something about you, and you claiming godhood, that I found rather awe striking.”

Scaramouche stared at him for a few seconds, his neutral façade breaking into a scowl. Kazuha let him stare, didn’t move an inch, nor did he talk more. The rain started to diminish significantly as the silence between them stretched until Scaramouche let out a huff, and walked out.

“You’re not making sense.” He looked at Kazuha over his shoulder as they started to continue their way under the soft rain. “Everything you say contradicts your previous words.”

“To err is human,” Kazuha mused as he fell into step beside him, drying the remaining rain droplets on his face with his hand and looking at his hand thoughtfully, but not entirely seeing it. “Everything new I learn shapes the way I think. Although I think the birth of a god lies on the hands of humans is sinister, the idea of you justifying your birth-right is invigorating.”

Scaramouche just sighed with irritation and shook his head, but didn’t say anything in return.

*

By the time they arrived at Port Ormos, it was a few hours after midnight. Unlike the previous day, the port was mostly isolated, other than a few boats at docks with people loading and unloading. There seemed to be less security as well, and Kazuha let out a quiet sigh of relief as he grabbed the handle of his blade reassuringly.

They walked in silence, the sky clear from its earlier gloom and a whole moon residing above them. The waverider they used was at the end of the port, securely attached to the wooden pier. Although he was used to walking long distances without a break, after spending the entire day on foot, the exhaustion was catching up with him. He wondered whether Scaramouche shared the same sentiment.

“For fuck’s sake,” he looked at Scaramouche at the corner of his eyes, seeing the man stopping and looking at something. There was a man standing a few meters away from the waverider they had used with what looked like a notebook in his hands. Scaramouche sighed with annoyance and massaged his temples.

“Probably someone on the night shift trying to find himself an excuse to pass the time, and realized we didn’t go through the proper channels.” He rolled his eyes as he started to walk again resolutely. “I will talk to him, and you say nothing.”

Kazuha stayed behind when they approached the man, and watched Scaramouche greet the man with a small, sickeningly fake, smile on his face. The man looked at him with a scowl before they exchanged a few words. Kazuha watched the exchange with mild interest, marveling at the way the man’s expression turned into something abashed in the matter of a few minutes. The man opened his notebook and started to frantically search for something before scribbling something down with a pen, and tilting his head with a new question. 

Kazuha let his eyes wander around, taking in the sight of the vast sea under the celestial night sky, a portrait that never failed to take his breath away, to the slow harbor until his eyes landed on someone.

A little girl with long white hair in contrast with the dark night was walking down the port with a carefree smile on her face, her eyes dancing around the sky, the sea, and the port until she, too, saw Kazuha.

Kazuha couldn’t help but frown when the little girl halted at her steps to fully face Kazuha and stare at him with an ominous expression on her face, and before he could stop himself, he was walking. He approached slowly not to scare the kid, but she seemed entirely content with it as he stopped before her and knelt down.

“Hello, young miss,” he greeted with a smile, his voice gentle. “It is an odd hour for you to be around. Are you perhaps lost?”

“Not really, but thank you for asking,” the little girl replied with a sweet smile, and tilted her head to the side. “But you certainly seem to be lost.”

Kazuha’s eyes widened a fraction before he let out a forced chuckle. He wondered if she was even slightly aware how true that was on a different level. 

“I am not a local, so maybe I am lost after all.” He offered her a reassuring smile, and just as he was about to ask her about her parents, the little girl spoke again. Her green eyes felt as if she was able to see through Kazuha and read his soul like an open book, better than anyone, better than even Kazuha himself.

“You will figure it out and find your path.” She placed a hand on his hand that was resting on his knee, and nodded with a smile. “Give yourself time, and everything will unwrap before your eyes.”

Kazuha gaped at the little girl with his lips parted and a quizzical expression on his face before he shook his head and forced himself to smile, however unauthentic.

“You have a wise way with words, miss,” he muttered softly. “I will hold onto your wisdom.”

“Niwa!” Kazuha lifted his head to see Scaramouche tilting his hand towards the waverider, seemingly sending the man off already. “We’re leaving.”

“Are your parents around? I can escort you to them before I leave.” Kazuha hurried to offer as he looked down at the little girl again, but she shook her head once more.

“I’ll be fine, thank you. But before you leave, know that kindness isn’t something that can easily be tainted, regardless of how dire the situation is. Evil, on the contrary, can be diminished gradually with the kindness you are willing to offer.” She retreated his hand with her smile still in place, and waved at him. “Have a smooth journey, Mr. Niwa.”

Kazuha looked at her with a thoughtful frown before blinking it away and nodding with a tight smile, his heart pounding painfully. “I will remember that, thank you little miss.”

“It is Nahida.” 

“Nahida,” Kazuha echoed, his smile enlarging. “Thank you. Please return safely.”

With one last wave he turned on his heels and strode towards Scaramouche who was waiting by the waverider with his arms folded and a deep scowl on his face. 

“We don’t have time for your good deeds, Niwa. Get in,” he muttered, and waited until Kazuha hopped on the small boat. Kazuha made his way towards the controls with his mind heavy, and missed the way Scaramouche met the girl’s gaze and squinted at her skeptically.

“Start the engine.”

It was only after they undocked and the waverider started to pierce through the waves that Kazuha had the chance to look at the port to see the little girl, Nahida, one last time and offer a parting smile.

But she was nowhere to be seen.

Chapter Text

“There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.”

(Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn)

“You are going to catch a cold, Kazuha.”

He froze at his spot, his grip on the handle loosening as he blinked rapidly. He hadn’t heard the footsteps approaching up until then, his mind too preoccupied with his work. However, he managed to collect himself just enough to dare look at the man who now stood a few steps behind him.

“Why are you training this late?”

His shoulders slumped, his gaze lowering with an urge to hide his pout and embarrassment. The snow beneath his feet crunched as he restlessly shifted.

“I’m sorry, grandfather…” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. As if it was his grandfather’s interference that made his body catch up with the cold breeze swirling around him, he suddenly started to shiver head to toe. He highly doubted the reason was the cold. “I couldn’t sleep.”

His grandfather hummed gently, then a warm and reassuring weight settled on his shoulder as his grandfather’s hand lightly squeezed it. “What do you say we head inside and get you warmed up, and you tell me what is keeping you awake?”

“Can I… Can we— not?” As if it was possible, his voice got even quieter, his shaking hand tightening around the handle of his wooden blade. “I rather not talk about it, actually, if that’s okay…”

“Of course, my boy.” His grandfather gently pushed his back towards the house. “Then I think you can continue your training inside, no? Your father would not like seeing you get sick.”

“I suppose…” Kazuha muttered under his breath before pressing his lips together and chewing on his bottom lip while his grandfather led him inside.

It wasn’t quite late at night, but it was certainly past his bedtime. His father wouldn’t like him mindlessly roaming around the house when he should’ve been sleeping, but he found sleep rather hard that night. His hand on his wooden blade’s handle was tight, seeking comfort from it, as he and his grandfather stepped inside. 

He visibly flinched at the sight of his father standing in the middle of the room with his arms folded, a thoughtful expression on his face. He bit on his lip harder to stop it from quivering, guilt rising through his sternum like smoke.

“Kazuha?” he heard his father say with a tint of surprise, and the thoughtful expression on his face disappeared before a scowl took its place. “Why are you not sleeping?”

He took a shaky breath, his grip on the handle becoming tighter. As he parted his shaking lips to answer, it was his grandfather that did instead.

“I believe he was feeling rather excited for his outing with the Kamisato siblings tomorrow, and we took a stroll.”

Kazuha could see the skepticism in his father’s eyes, rightfully so, but he apparently opted to go along with his father’s story that he let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head.

“You won’t be able to make it in time if you don’t go to sleep.” His eyes dropped to Kazuha’s wooden blade, then lifted to his eyes. “And you were training?”

“I’m sorry, father!” he blurted out, dipping his head. “I— I just wanted to…” He stopped himself, not knowing what to say. He didn’t like lying, even to get away from his father’s scoldings. But he also didn’t want to prove his grandfather wrong with the truth. Why he lied to save Kazuha from a scolding, Kazuha didn’t know. The disappointing scolding wasn’t anything unusual in his life these days, and he didn’t like the way his grandfather deemed it something to save Kazuha from.

He swallowed down before shaking his head. “I just wanted to share the things I learned this week with Lord Ayato and Lady Ayaka. We had agreed to each do a demonstration, but I was afraid I wasn’t competent enough yet.”

“Is that so?” His father thoughtfully patted his chin, his voice still skeptical to Kazuha’s ears. Kazuha couldn’t find the courage to lift his head to meet his father’s eyes, and felt himself getting smaller under the weight of his grandfather’s hand on his shoulder. He wondered with panic whether his father saw through his lie, and what he would think of him now. He wrapped his free hand around the handle as well, as if his already tight grip on it wouldn’t be sufficient to draw comfort from. He, then, heard his father let out yet another sigh and take a few steps towards them.

“Then we should get you tired enough to sleep, no? Come on, show me what you were training.”

“Really?” He lifted his head and muttered, blinking his eyes with disbelief. 

His father rubbed at his temples with an exasperated sigh.

“Yes. But just for half an hour, alright?”

Kazuha nodded his head vehemently and walked towards the middle of the room. His grandfather chuckled before declaring he shall retire for the night and leaving the father and son alone. 

“On your stance,” his father said and watched him as Kazuha did so. With a nod of his head, Kazuha took a deep breath and loosened his grip on the handle, then took a step forward, bucking his knees and swaying his blade. Another step forward, slashing his blade midair. Another step, then he sat down on his knee with his blade tilted up. One last step before his feet left the ground, and he let the blade hang from his palm by his waist as if he was putting it up in its sheath. He landed on his feet rather wobbly, and it was his father’s firm grasp on his arm that had saved him from a fall.

“Steady,” his father muttered as he pulled him to his feet. Kazuha dipped his head, unable to meet his father’s eyes as he let him take the blade from his hand.

“You are inflexible with your posture, that is why your arms do not move the way you expect them to.” His father met his gaze regardless as he lectured, simultaneously gesturing at his back and waist to emphasize his point. “Your footwork lacks strength, that is why you fail to land on your feet without losing your balance,” he continued as he demonstrated the proper steps slowly, his feet stomping on the ground.

“But most importantly,” Kazuha lifted his head from his father’s movements to look at his eyes at the different lilt to his voice. His father had a slight scowl on his face, not mad per se, but dignified. “The way you sway your sword is aggressive, and doesn't match with your movements. It is ferocious compared to your body.” 

Kazuha took the blade with a frown of his own, not entirely understanding the lecture. His father must’ve been aware of his confusion that as he sat down on the futon, he drew a sigh that signaled another lecture. He patted on the space next to him, and Kazuha obliged without a word. 

“An Isshin blade is not a weapon to slay,” he said after a servant came in with a tray that had two servings of tea, probably after his grandfather’s request, and left after both his father and he took their cups. His father closed his eyes and brought the cup close to his nose to smell in the aroma of the liquid before taking a sip. Kazuha observed before he followed his father’s steps and took a deep inhale. The sweet steam tickled at his nostrils and he took a sip with a small frown.

“It is an art, and an expression of your experiences in life,” his father continued while watching him calmly sipping his tea. Kazuha looked back at him considerately. His father huffed out a laugh before wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“When forging an Isshin blade, the moment you lay your hands on the steel, it shall become an extension of your mind and will. Your will cannot ever be tainted with a will that is malicious.”

“Is that why great-grandfather took over the leadership?” Kazuha mused quietly.

“Yes. Never forget your history, Kazuha. It is the greatest teacher a man may ever have.” 

Kazuha remained silent, forgoing his tea. He was aware of his father’s gaze on him, but he ignored it as well. He wanted to ask his father if he could ever forge an Isshin blade himself, and understand the meaning behind this forgotten craft. But he knew of his father’s reluctance to have a discussion on the matter, his grandfather even more. 

He wondered secretly whether the art that forged his clan’s history would cease to exist with him, or if it already did. 

He shook his head subtly, and put down his cup to continue training.

*

“You’re gonna catch a cold, kid.”

Kazuha was snapped out of his thoughts at the weight on his shoulders, belatedly realizing that it was a thick coat. He blinked, turning his gaze away from the fog over the horizon to Francis. He hadn’t realized his limbs were freezing until then.

“Oh. Thank you, captain.”

Francis waved his hand nonchalantly as he leaned against the post, his front facing Kazuha. 

“We are getting closer to Snezhnaya. The weather is merciless, you better protect yourself.” He tilted his chin, eyes narrowing. “What’s up with you? You’ve been real silent since Sumeru. Not that you look like a talkative one.”

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line as he turned his gaze to the horizon again. Indeed, he had mostly kept to himself since they boarded after leaving Sumeru. The details of the plan Scaramouche had dragged him into filled his thoughts, and the venom that was spreading from the hand that yanked his wrist forward. Although it felt like he wouldn't be able to physically stomach this agreement, he had been fine. 

He went along with his now normal days, rising with the sun and helping out the crew during the day, even attending the meals alongside them and participating in conversations to some degree. He hadn’t been summoned by Scaramouche either, which helped him have some time to himself to process and recover, and to work on his fake exterior. 

But, in reality, what disturbed his mind the most was the little girl at the Port Ormos and her words.

“ Kindness isn’t something that can easily be tainted regardless of how dire the situation is. Evil, on the contrary, can be diminished gradually with the kindness you are willing to offer.”

It was fascinating that a girl so little like her, Nahida, could articulate such strong words; words that left Kazuha unable to utter a syllable. But however enlightening, Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to fully believe them. 

He was raised kindly, and to be kind. His late mother always whispered sweetly into his ears about how kind of a young man he was becoming when she tucked him to sleep. He always followed the path his parents had drawn for him to become a righteous person, and perhaps for one day to be a just ruler. He did his best to maintain that version of himself even when fate had turned its back to him. It was when he had accepted the hand Scaramouche offered him that he thought for the first time the kindness he worked so hard to protect had shattered.  

But was this really it? Did he become evil immediately? Was he evil now? He was working for, or rather, with the evil; did that make him evil completely? Was Scaramouche entirely evil to begin with? He didn’t know.

“I guess adjusting is taking its toll on me.” Kazuha offered a small smile, his expression solemn. Although his words were the truth, they still tasted bitter like a lie on his tongue. 

“Happens to the best of us.” Francis shrugged with his easy-going grin. “It’s only been a few weeks since you returned, you’ll get used to being on the field.”

“Have you ever worked on the field, captain? I mean, apart from being a captain, that is.” 

“Not really, I was always on the ship. This is what I know the best, after all.” Francis replied with a shrug, and turned his face to the other officers and pointed at one of them. “Tetsurou is the multitasker here, though. From what I know, he first spent a year in Natlan, then got transferred to Fontaine for five years, working under the previous harbinger before Lord Arlecchino took her place. He then returned to Inazuma before joining us. I know you’re a bit on the shy side, but he’s a cool guy once you approach him. He probably can answer all your questions.” Francis looked back at him once again, a knowing glint to his eyes that made Kazuha take a step back instinctively. “Unless there is something else that you actually need to get out of your chest.”

“...” Kazuha sighed a little exasperatedly, and shook his head. “I cannot escape from you captain, can I?” 

Francis barked out a laugh. “Not a chance, lad. Why don’t you go and help others, keep yourself busy, then we chat over a few drinks after dinner, huh? You and I.”

Kazuha returned with a small smile, though his face was solemn. “Whatever the captain says.”

*

Kazuha, as asserted of him, did not approach Tetsurou other than helping him out when he was flitting about around the deck. A few mere insignificant words were exchanged between them during the rest of the afternoon, and the man seemed to be pleased by the limited interaction. He looked to be beyond his 30s with white dusted over his black hair every now and there, and the stern curl to his lips never once eased off ever since Kazuha had first seen him the night he set foot on the ship. Although Kazuha never tried to approach him, nor did he think about approaching him until Francis offered it, he couldn’t help but realize the slightly tense atmosphere looming around the man.

It was not only Tetsurou either. The entire crew seemed to be in a slightly downcast mood. The interactions between them seemed to have diminished remarkably compared to the previous weeks, however work related. The meals, although Kazuha still only opted to accompany them once in a while, were devoid of the usual awkward banter between colleagues. It felt like as the weather became colder, the exteriors of the people on deck solidified like ice.

And that was what he said first after greeting Francis rather remotely. 

“Lord Scaramouche gets antsy as we get closer to Snezhnaya,” Francis mused with a small frown on his face. “He hasn’t shown up since Sumeru, which is unlike him. They are just nervous, is all.”

“Are you?” Kazuha asked quietly, arms sprawled over the post as usual before he looked up at Francis, curious despite himself.

“Not really. He and I go way back with Lord Scaramouche. I am the one that has worked under him the longest, and he gets quiet sometimes.” Francis tilted his head up to look at the night sky. “Although, it’s been happening more frequently recently. He must have some stuff bothering him.”

Kazuha remained silent as he chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully, feeling somewhat assured at the fact that Francis was not going to ask about his reticence over the matter. He wasn’t entirely surprised when Francis changed the topic and directed at him, either.

“But what about you?” Francis raised an eyebrow at him as he leaned down to take a bottle from the box that was residing by his feet. Kazuha watched silently, impressed, as the man uncorked the bottle easily with his teeth. “We don’t go way back, so you gotta tell me what is bothering you.”

Kazuha swiveled his gaze away from him and to the clear skies. He was in desperate need to have a companion that he could talk about his burdens with, but to talk about them freely would certainly sign his death warrant. It was tempting, he mused longingly, but the thought of dragging an innocent man after him would swallow his eternal slumber with inferno.

He swallowed thickly, his nails digging into the wood and his shoulders shrinking under the heavy coat within the cold night breeze. The balmy summer nights from only mere weeks ago were scraps of distant memories. Although the lonesome nights at Tenshukaku and heavy nights upon Sumeru seas had long since passed him, his mind seemed to be lingering behind. 

“Liquid courage?” 

Kazuha snapped his head at Francis with a blink, and looked down at the bottle offered to him. He swallowed down once again, with panic this time, and shook his head vehemently. He could feel sweat prickling at his temples.

“Ah— No, thank you captain. You are too kind.”

“You don’t drink?” Francis frowned at him quizzically, although he retreated the bottle regardless. “You’re not underage, are you?”

“Pardon?” Kazuha blinked in surprise before shaking his head with a surprised huff, finding it amusing despite his worries. “No, no. I certainly am not, I assure you. I just can’t hold my liquor very well.”

“Really?” Francis raised his eyebrows, looking more surprised at his inability to hold his liquor than the possibility of him being underage. “I thought you used to sail, kid.”

“I did, for a short time.” he murmured with a small smile, his gaze lowering at the waves solemnly. He was grateful to Francis for granting him enough of a small ounce of comfort for him to open up, even if it was just a little. He listened to the lulling waves for a few seconds, then whispered hesitantly. “Captain, have you ever thought about how your life would be if you chose a different path?”

Francis eyed him with clear confusion before humming thoughtfully. “Of course I have, doesn’t everyone, though? But it was a long time ago, back when I first started to serve. I guess I haven’t thought about it in a very long time, now that you mention it.”

“What made you think about it?” Kazuha asked quietly, blinking his eyes at the cold breeze licking his cheeks before looking at Francis.

“Well, mostly my wife. I didn’t like to be away from her for too long, you see.” Francis took a long sip from the bottle and cleaned his lips with a swipe of his hand. He narrowed his eyes at Kazuha. “But that’s not the reason you’re looking for now, kid, is it?”

“Ah,” Kazuha breathed out, feeling a little guilty and invasive. He shook his head slowly, forcing himself not to look away. “No, not really.”

Francis sighed as he turned on his heels and leaned against the post, his arms stretching and hanging from the edges of the wood with the bottle in hand. Kazuha couldn’t help but let his eyes roam around the man’s arms and his body, noting the thinner clothes he had on, contrary to the thick coat Kazuha was basically smothered by. His familiarity with the weather was blatant, but Kazuha still found it interesting.

“My reason behind joining the Fatui was out of financial concerns, that you already know. I cared little about their work, my priority was to support my family. It was either the Fatui, or we would starve.” He turned his eyes to Kazuha, his gaze knowing. “What makes you think about it?”

Kazuha pursed his lips as his eyes landed on the liquor bottle, blinking at the sudden temptation to grab it and chug it down without care. He pushed the urge down with a deep breath, and folded his arms over the post. 

“I believe that my prior intentions may be very well corrupted now,” he whispered, his hands clenching into fists. “I tried to make the right decisions given the circumstances, and tried to protect the people I loved. I wanted to atone for the mistakes I made in the past. But now I am afraid that they matter very little to me and that I have grown selfish. My friends, the people I have considered family… Everything I did was for them.” 

Was it?

“But they haven’t crossed my mind for so long that I am starting to question my capability of being good and right. It wasn’t as hard before, whatever fate had planned for me, I was able to choose the path that felt right, to make a choice that felt right. But now, all I can think of is how I only care about—” He took a deep breath, eyes widening with terror as he stopped himself and blinked, his cold fingers digging into his sweating palms. He bit into his bottom lip to stop it from quivering, blinking rapidly to rid the stinging at his eyes, whether from the cold or the unshed tears, he couldn’t tell anymore. Crying, even the mere thought of it brought him great embarrassment at that moment. Was even such a privilege bestowed upon him? Shedding tears and grieving for the life he willingly left behind?

“I… I am just feeling confused.” He managed to mutter, his voice quiet.

Although his worries were sincere, and he somehow held his guilt close to his heart, he didn’t appreciate feeling this way. His guilt was not enough to atone for his actions. The feeling of invisible shackles around his wrists restricted his actions, making him a puppet that was designed to obey and abide. But who was it that cuffed them, Scaramouche or him? 

Blaming Scaramouche was easy. Declaring him evil, a temptation responsible for all of Kazuha’s decisions since the moment he had stepped into Kazuha’s life was alluring. After all, it was Scaramouche that came to Kazuha’s rescue despite not knowing him personally. It was Scaramouche that returned his vision, alongside that of his friend. He returned to Kazuha his blade as well, confident that Kazuha lacked both the courage and the fervor to stab him in the back even when he had the chance to. He was the one who promised to personally fund the Resistance, something Kazuha never inquired upon any further. He also, although sickening and blasphemous, gave Kazuha a reason to, maybe not live for, but look forward to; just as he said he would. A reason immersed in evil, but also righteous all the same. 

He took a deep breath when a hand, heavy and reassuring, landed on his shoulder and gave it a gentle tug. When he dared to look up, Francis gave his shoulder a light squeeze.

“Life goes on, kid, whether you keep up with it or not. Your priorities were different then, as they are now. Your life is also different, you are different. You view things differently, and that’s not a bad thing. It means that you’ve grown and have more experience now; and you perceive what is right or wrong more maturely now. That is hardly anything corrupted. You can’t use that as an anchor that keeps you from moving forward.”

Kazuha pressed his lips together to stop them from quivering, biting into his flesh harshly, the stinging at his eyes becoming unbearable as tears fought to spill from his eyelashes. He quickly turned his eyes away from Francis’ gaze, and ungracefully wiped away the tears that rolled down his cold cheeks. His hands were shaking as his fingers took their place on the wooden post once again, the cold wind swirling around them feeling nothing like the warm breeze he was used to.

“Actually, captain,” he muttered, voice small, before turning to face Francis once more, pointedly not looking at his eyes. “I don’t mind a few sips. It is getting colder.”

“There we go,” Francis declared delightedly before handing him the bottle, thankfully not commenting on Kazuha’s glinting eyes. He took the bottle with a quiet thank you , and gulped down a few mouthfuls with his eyes tightly shut. He shivered at the bitter taste, not appreciating the way the liquor burned through his esophagus, and spluttered despite himself as he took one last gulp and coughed. He placed a hand on his chest as he continued to cough, mindlessly handing the bottle back over to Francis who was patting at his back rather harshly and rubbing circles.

“Easy, kid,” Francis muttered as he took the bottle back without ceasing patting his back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kazuha managed to murmur between coughs, doubled over, before he swallowed and shook his head. “I didn’t think it would be that heavy.” 

“This one’s rather aged.” Francis sighed as he kept patting his back and frowned at him once he managed to straighten up. “You really can’t hold your liquor, eh? I’m afraid you can’t find much to your tastes on a ship.”

“It is fine, captain, I don’t usually crave it. But, thank you.” Kazuha muttered before clearing his throat and lightly patting his fist against his chest, feeling his blood warming up and his head spinning slightly. He refused to meet Francis’ eyes. “I should probably head to my room, if you don’t need my assistance, that is.”

“No need. But before you go,” Kazuha stopped himself as he was about to mutter a farewell, and warily lifted his gaze to look at Francis. He had a confused, almost curious crease to his eyebrows before he nonchalantly shook his head to the sides. “Lord Scaramouche told me to inform you that he plans to test your skills, as he put it. He wants you to wait for him the day after tomorrow at midnight sharp, over there.” Kazuha followed Francis’ gaze where he was pointing at the emptied middle of the deck. 

“Test my skills?” Kazuha pondered with a murmur. Francis shrugged.

“Said it was important that he does so before we arrive.” 

Kazuha frowned thoughtfully. They hadn’t spoken, let alone seen each other, since they had returned from Sumeru. Kazuha had been rather entangled with smothering thoughts that he couldn’t find it in himself to actively seek out more of them by trying to have a chat with Scaramouche, no matter how many questions he needed answered. Although he was aware that Scaramouche would not hide his plans from him anymore, seeing that Kazuha was now complicit, he still couldn’t bring himself to ask. Scaramouche didn’t summon him, either. Perhaps he, too, was taking his time to think it over, and Kazuha wondered briefly if this test was a part of his contemplation process.

“I see.” he spoke up at last, screwing his eyes shut momentarily at the unpleasant feeling of his mind spinning after nodding at Francis. “Thank you for informing me, captain. I will make sure to show up.”

“Go and rest, kid, I can see you getting tipsy.” Francis huffed out a laugh and patted his shoulder. “I’ll see you early in the morning, up and about.”

“Of course.” Kazuha nodded as he mindlessly rubbed at his temple with a sour expression on his face. He let out a sigh before dipping his head in farewell. “Have a good night, captain.”

*

Meals were shorter and quieter affairs than the rather lively gatherings they had once been until they had pierced through uncharted waters. It was as if the temperatures dropped and the chitter chatter around the deck diminished with it. Although the crew would gather for a few bottles of drinks after dinner, faces would be stern with sharp lines drawn over skin. 

The day Scaramouche summoned Kazuha to the deck was no different, if not more obvious. Kazuha was leaning against the boxes, watching but not entirely seeing the others take long gulps from their bottles under the lamp illuminating their small area. Nina, Tetsurou, and two others Kazuha hadn’t made quite the acquaintance with were sitting in a crooked circle, occasionally sharing a few remarks before falling into silence once again. Although, the captain, almost always a part of the circle, was visibly absent that night. Kazuha believed he knew the reason why, and from the energy oozing from the circle, so did they.

“You sure you don’t wanna drink, Niwa?” Nina asked after a few glances at his way, and offered him a bottle. Kazuha, as if snapped out of a reverie, blinked before politely shaking his head.

“Thanks for the offer, but I am sure.” 

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug before chugging the bottle down and unaffectedly getting to her feet right after. Kazuha watched with his eyes wide. The others, although still opted to sit down, followed Nina’s lead and started to collect the empty bottles to push them to the side.

“Lord Scaramouche’s been acting different, y’know.” Nina said matter-of-factly and folded her arms.

Kazuha lifted his gaze with a questioning scowl. “How do you mean?”

Nina shrugged. “He wouldn’t isolate himself, or, wouldn’t let us pass a day without an earful.” Her gaze roamed around the sky before returning to him. “But that changed when you came aboard. He seems to be more…” she drawled, narrowing her eyes and waving her hand as if trying to turn the wheels in her head. “Pensive, since then.”

Kazuha mindlessly stretched his neck, unsure what to feel about it. “Perhaps he has matters that demand more focus.”

“Perhaps,” Nina agreed easily, her lips pursed tightly before her eyes narrowed at Kazuha with intrigue. “One cannot help but wonder, though.”

Kazuha, clueless as to what to say, blinked a few times before parting his lips to mutter something that would dispel the doubt Nina clearly had towards him. But before he could say so much as a word, Scaramouche gracefully glided towards the group with Francis following him. Kazuha pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders at the sight of him just as the others immediately leapt and snapped to attention. He was distantly relieved at Scaramouche’s arrival for saving him from coming up with a certainly vague and dubious explanation he would have to share with Nina.

“Officers,” Scaramouche drawled, his tone uncharacteristically stagnant. He looked around the group, and Kazuha instinctively clenched his hands into fists when the indigo orbs landed on him with a small smirk. 

“Lord Scaramouche,” the officers, along with Kazuha, who had to get used to the customs, greeted back with a bow of their heads. Bowing to him wasn’t as unbearable as he initially thought it would be. But that didn’t dispose of the fear of a time that may come, and Kazuha would willingly embrace this position. 

“The captain must’ve already told you your objectives.” he said before folding his arms and turning his gaze to Kazuha again. 

“Yes,” Kazuha replied obligingly after a beat of silence, unable to hide his scowl at the slight exhilaration in Scaramouche’s tone that was probably very well hidden to the others around them but Kazuha. His confusion must’ve been so amusing to Scaramouche that his smirk widened before he swiveled his gaze to Francis.

“Go ahead, then, captain.” 

Kazuha’s scowl deepened as Francis let out a heavy sigh, clearly having his own doubts about Scaramouche’s theatrics. Scaramouche didn’t look offended by it as he handed Francis a piece of black cloth and tilted his head towards Kazuha. Francis let out yet another sigh, but indulged in as he approached Kazuha and lifted up the cloth. Kazuha’s eyes widened.

“Don’t move,” Francis muttered under his breath as he gently wrapped the cloth around his forehead, and looked at his eyes. “And don’t panic. It’s gonna be alright, though sorry in advance. I tried to stop him.” 

Kazuha felt his heart palpitating, his steady breaths escaping from his lungs by quick huffs as Francis pulled the cloth down and blinded his sight. He blinked his eyes rapidly under the cloth, tilting his head from side to side. He felt the cold night breeze gently swirl around him as Francis shuffled to his side.

“I’m gonna take your blade for now, kid.” 

“No,” He quickly grabbed the handle of his sword that was hanging from his belt.

“Stop acting like it’s torture,” Kazuha snapped his head at the direction of Scaramouche’s voice that was followed by a scoff. “You’re gonna get it back.” 

He pursed his lips, his grip around the handle tightening before he let out a defeated breath and eased his grip, letting Francis take it. He heard Francis walk away, the rhythmic thump on the wooden floor filling his ears as he kept blinking before his eyes gave up trying to see his surroundings through the cloth. He focused on the voices and sounds around him, and tried to make out where Francis took his blade. The footsteps stopped after a few seconds, and there was no clinking sound that suggested the blade was placed somewhere solid. It must be handed over to someone, then, he deduced. And to think it was Francis that handed the blade over, it was most likely Scaramouche himself that was holding his blade for safekeeping. It was rather unpleasant, and Kazuha was certain that it was an intentional way to try riling him up. 

Kazuha heard Francis approach once again, his footsteps heavier on the ground than the other’s. He felt Francis’ hands grab his shoulders before he was slowly pushing him forward. He didn’t fight back and simply obliged as Francis led him to what must have been the center of the deck judging by the gentler breeze licking his cheeks. They were soon joined by a cacophony of footsteps, some heavy, some loopy, as the others also joined them in the center. Kazuha flinched when Francis retracted his hands and slowly walked away.

“Firstly, some ground rules,” Scaramouche called out, making Kazuha snap his head in his direction. “You can’t use your vision, and you can’t remove the blindfold.” 

Kazuha frowned under the cloth. Scaramouche continued.

“You can’t get injured, I don’t want to see a droplet of blood or a wound. You can't fight back.”

“What exactly are we trying to accomplish here?” Kazuha couldn’t help but chime in, turning to face the way Scaramouche’s voice was coming from. He heard a scoff and a soft thump followed by steel clinking against wood softly. When Scaramouche replied, his voice was a bit more distant.

“Must I reveal everything? Testing your agility and speed, obviously. Everyone will attack you simultaneously, and you will dodge whatever they throw at you. That is the only ground you are allowed to use your vision in means of navigation.”

“… Alright.” Kazuha replied defiantly with a small shake of his head, unable to bring himself to feel bewildered at the command. He lifted his fingers to touch the cloth covering his eyes. “I honestly don’t understand how this is related, though.”

“To test the limits of your harmony with your environment,” Scaramouche replied matter-of-factly, his tone making Kazuha imagine him rolling his eyes. “Enough of this. Ready?”

“I believe you will not take no for an answer,” Kazuha muttered with a sigh as he reached to take off his coat. He let out a shaky exhale at the cold breeze tickling his neck and shivered. He heard someone approach him as he stood there with the coat in his arms, and let them take it from his hold with a quiet thank you.

He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to the sides. He could hear the others approaching him, hesitancy clear in their steps. He took a deep breath and let it out before nodding in Scaramouche’s direction.

Scaramouche must have given them a quiet signal, because at first, there was no movement around him. He frowned in concentration, feeling uneasily calm compared to mere minutes ago when Francis first led him there. He clenched his fingers and took another deep breath before everything became loud.

A figure rushed behind him. Instinctively, he took a small step to his side and forward, dodging a punch. Another one, without giving him barely any time to prepare himself, was thrown at his back which he avoided by shuffling to his other side. He let out a shaky breath. His hands shook with exhilaration.

He flinched with a quiet huff when he bent over to duck a jab after a strong breeze blew towards him, and a hand shot past his face by lightly brushing against his cheek right after.

The breeze swirling around him became harsher like a hasty whisper against his ear. Kazuha instantly obliged its guidance by kneeling down on one knee just when a fist escaped him before another one approached from the opposite side. By swiftly leaping to his feet and whirling around, Kazuha managed to evade it as well. 

He soon became aware that not everyone was charging at him simultaneously, but rather the source of the commotion around him was mostly to distract and confuse. It mattered too little, he thought rather smugly despite himself. If anything, this strategy was playing in his favor. The wind blowing through the assailants felt warmer, hot like the midday sun in the middle of the blizzard drawing near; a much bigger presence in Kazuha’s senses.

As if the wind itself, Kazuha smoothly dodged a rather nasty kick aiming at his thighs with a skip. A punch rushed at him by someone he had approached a little closely, and he escaped it by swiftly sitting down on one knee. He huffed breathlessly. It felt like a disorganized dance routine with different partners taking the lead, shuffling him forward and dipping him down. He wasn’t running or forcing his body to the point of draining his energy, but his heart pounded against his ribs as if he indeed ran at full force. 

Perhaps it was because of the fact that he hadn’t exactly been able to put his muscles to work since being locked up in Tenshukaku. It was a long time wasted, especially for someone such as him, who spent a notable portion of his life perfecting his martial techniques before abandoning everything to wander the lands of his homeland. He had forgotten the peace that had come with exhaustion, bestowing upon him a respite from his woes and worries.

He tilted his head with a concentrated frown, the wind rashly blowing at him from his sides. He could pick up the uneven footsteps approaching him through the loud shouts and heavy strides. His breaths quickened in response to the smothering flock gradually surrounding him. He bent down to dodge a punch, then skipped backward on his feet back to avoid a hand lunging for his wrist. 

The others around him surrounded him as walls, not letting him get away. With the way the wind blew through the spaces between figures around him and according to the image of the deck in his mind, he found himself roughly able to navigate his way through the assailants. He turned on his heels, avoiding an elbow jab and a kick by an eyelash before he started to make his way towards a corner of the group.

The others, seemingly realizing his intentions, continued their assaults as they followed him. He bent down and back, took steps to the right and left, and doubled over and turned on his heels while gliding like a breeze through the walls surrounding him. He had now become the one leading the dance. 

At some point, his hair eased from his ponytail, letting wind roam around the locks and guide him mischievously. A hand reached out to try and grab his now-free hair, a finger brushing against his ear. Nothing came in contact with him apart from heavy breaths and grunts as he continued to lead the group until they reached the spot that was illuminated in his mind, and there was nobody standing before him any longer.

Apart from one.

Kazuha reached out to untie the cloth covering his eyes with unlaboured breaths accompanying his rapid heartbeats. He blinked with a slight frown as his vision returned to him, and took a steadying breath before finally tilting his head to meet the eyes that undoubtedly watched his entire struggle like a hawk. The moment their eyes met, all the other voices around him became mute, and Kazuha couldn’t help his face from easing into a small smirk.

“Did I pass your test, sir?” He asked between uneven breaths, the phantom of his smirk only visible to Scaramouche.

Although his interest was clear in his eyes, Scaramouche scoffed at him from his spot at the top of a few large cargo boxes. Kazuha watched him gesturing at one of the officers that stood behind him before meeting his gaze once again.

“You held your guard well, Niwa, I’ve gotta hand it to you,” he drawled sarcastically,  holding Kazuha’s blade midair before flinging it at him. Kazuha instinctively reached out  to grab the blade by its handle, then looked back at Scaramouche, who made his way down the cargo boxes and stood in front of him. 

Francis reappeared with a blade of his own before handing it to Scaramouche. He took it wordlessly and waved his free hand in dismissal. Kazuha shot an incredulous glance at the blade incredulously before lifting his eyes up to Scaramouche, but he was too busy examining the blade in his hands to notice the gaze directed upon him. His fingers gently swept along the flat surface with a distant, unseeing look in his eyes that made him look as if he was reminiscing about something that was long gone. Kazuha took a few seconds to take in the expression on Scaramouche’s face before lowering his gaze to also observe the fine steel. 

It didn’t look anything extraordinary, but the scratches around the handle indicated a long time spent perfecting swordsmanship. Perhaps even longer than a lifetime. The pattern on the blade’s surface was clearly welded with care and effort, and Kazuha unconsciously followed Scaramouche’s fingers as they gently swept over them mindlessly, and wondered whether it was Scaramouche himself that welded them with his elegant fingers.

He couldn’t help feeling like an intruder as he looked at Scaramouche once again, the expression written on his face attracting a far greater amount of Kazuha’s interest than the blade. He was about to look away to give him a moment of privacy when Scaramouche looked up, his expression erased in a matter of moments as if it hadn’t existed before, and flashed him a smirk. “Now I shall see just how long you can hold up against me.”

There was a quiet gasp from one of the officers behind them, indicating the unorthodoxy of the challenge. Although he had already figured out Scaramouche’s intentions when Francis handed the blade over to him, Kazuha’s eyes widened nevertheless. 

There was a moment of solitude between them, as if only the two of them existed in that moment. The whispering chatter of the group behind them became muffled and ignored as they looked into each other’s eyes. Kazuha could feel the white locks of his hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead and the cold breeze blowing against his face; but it didn’t put out the fire beginning to burn within him at the mere thought of fighting against the man standing before him. The man that took the last remnants of his very being, only giving them back after sculpting them into a new shape that was so foreign and yet so personal, a new life under the façade of survival.

Kazuha held his breath as Scaramouche drew his blade and pointed it at Kazuha with an ambiguous smirk on his lips. “The time you spent unarmed mustn't have put you out of condition, no?”

Kazuha felt the need to take another second to discern the cold exhilaration that was swirling in Scaramouche’s eyes like the fog hidden within a vision’s shell, trying to figure out whether he was actually commanding for a fight or not. Although Kazuha was undoubtedly aware of Scaramouche’s prowess, he hadn’t actually seen the man in combat. The fine blade looked right at home in his hand, however. 

“I might be a little rusty,” Kazuha  replied at last, his voice strained with skepticism. 

“You can use your vision if it’ll help you last longer.” Scaramouche shrugged nonchalantly, bouncing the blade by its handle.

Kazuha wondered what drove Scaramouche to wish to have a duel with him in the middle of the night, in the presence of such intentive spectators. Was he planning to humiliate Kazuha in their eyes, or to secure Kazuha’s place as his second-in-command before they arrive in Snezhnaya? Or perhaps he was planning to kill him in cold blood in front of everyone to make a lesson out of him.

Nevertheless, a shiver ran down Kazuha’s spine with a purge of thrill accompanying the descent rather than fear. It had been a long time since he felt the exhilarating rush of combat, after all, the last time being his encounter with the Shogun. He could almost feel the bolt rushing through him at the memory, still able to feel the way every hair stood on end in the face of his impending death. He wondered how Scaramouche, originally the successor of the Electro Archon, would fight compared to his replacement. 

He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it before squaring his shoulders and steadying himself. He adjusted his grip on the sword’s handle, his palm sweaty despite the icy ocean air. He took a few small steps back to create an ideal distance between himself and Scaramouche, who watched him expectedly, before shortly nodding his head and replying.

“I will do my best to be a worthy opponent.” 

Scaramouche smirked, and without wasting a moment, lunged forward in the blink of an eye.

The sudden proximity left Kazuha with hardly enough time to parry. He pushed his sword to sweep Scaramouche’s out of the way before attempting his own attack. Scaramouche deflected him smoothly, his defense so strong that it forced Kazuha to take a step back.

He had nearly readied a retaliatory slash when Scaramouche swept his blade once again, interrupting him smugly. Kazuha didn’t flinch at the way his blade crashed against Scaramouche’s right in front of his face, the diminished distance between them making it harder to draw his sword for another attack.

He took a larger step back this time and gripped the handle with both hands. When Scaramouche went for another lunge, Kazuha was ready to hold his ground. His feet stood solidly on the wooden floor, and he held his blade with precise control. He shuffled to his left when Scaramouche lunged forward once again, barely giving him time to recover from his previous attack, while sweeping his blade against Scaramouche’s. The deft strike freed the blade from Scaramouche’s grip with a piercing clink, only for him to swiftly reclaim it with his off hand. Kazuha huffed out an awed breath at Scaramouche’s quick as lightning reflexes; a haughty skill leaving him still able to deflect Kazuha’s blade effortlessly.

Kazuha noted as they sparred that Scaramouche was quite aggressive and powerful in his attacks with his blinding speed a trustful companion. He was quick to react and deflect, reshaping his defense into offense within a moment’s notice. This gave Kazuha barely any chance to attack, as most of his attempts had failed to even land. Although he had predicted that would be the case, he had thought Scaramouche as an opponent would be more reckless. He believed Scaramouche to be someone too confident in his own abilities to the point of arrogance to consider the consequences of lowering his guard. But the Scaramouche before him, despite his aggression, was both observant and precise in his attacks, and left almost no openings. He was dexterous at using both of his hands, indicating that he had spent quite a lot of time perfecting his skill. Although some of his actions were blatantly rash and mocking, the coordination of his movements had clearly been engraved into his consciousness.

“I somehow thought you would be tougher than you look,” Scaramouche taunted before sloping his blade down at Kazuha once again, smirking deliriously at the concentrated frown on Kazuha’s face while he parried the blow. Kazuha let out a grunt when Scaramouche’s free hand grabbed  his shoulder and kicked up at his heel, making him lose his balance and stumble back. His chest heaved with rapid breaths as he shuffled on his feet and held his blade up, disengaging Scaramouche’s slash. Scaramouche showed no interest at Kazuha’s quick reflexes, preserving that manic look in his bright eyes as he ran forward to slash his sword one after another. Warm blood dripped through to a fresh cut on Kazuha’s arm.

“Are you just gonna keep defending yourself? Did no one teach you how to play dirty?” Scaramouche yelled through his attacks while leading them to the edge of the deck through his movements. Kazuha minutely glanced at the dark and unforgiving waves that shook the ship like a crib. Scaramouche took his chance when Kazuha broke eye contact, jabbing at his side. Kazuha groaned, but still took a step to his right to get away from the edge. 

He tried to take a deep breath to calm his nerves, but a respite even just for a moment turned out to be impossible against  Scaramouche’s continuous, unrelenting attacks. He was one sole man, but somehow he made Kazuha feel like he was fighting a dozen men all at once. It was draining as much as it was exhilarating. Compared to the Shogun and her cold, unfeeling swordsmanship, Scaramouche burned like the sun itself, his fury so alive and all-consuming. He embraced the sword in his hand like another limb, and if Kazuha could reach out and touch at the steel, he was certain that he would feel Scaramouche’s supposedly lacking heart beating a passionate pulse. For a divine entity, the way he moved with the blade in hand was so human, his apparent desire to make Kazuha fight for breath was so personal, and the way he navigated the sword was so familiar that Kazuha found himself distracted and subsequently pushed against a mast.

“You are pathetic,” Scaramouche spat under his breath with so much venom that for a moment, Kazuha thought every misfortune in Scaramouche’s life was caused by his existence.

Kazuha had a moment to catch his breath as Scaramouche kept trying to wrench his sword out of his grip with so much force that Kazuha’s back almost became complete with the mast from not dropping his defense. His Vision on his back shone as he focused on the already harsh wind blowing at them, its glow illuminating the side of his face. Scaramouche let out a quiet scoff while the winds gathered around Kazuha, as if approving of Kazuha’s own version of playing dirty. Vague maple leaves swirled around him as the wind shaped into a whirlwind, forcing Scaramouche to retract his sword against the force of the anemo gale.

Kazuha took a deep breath when the whirlwind around him disappeared and adjusted his grip on the handle. Scaramouche stood a few metres away from him, wearing a provoking smirk as he watched Kazuha adjust his stance, inviting him to attack. Kazuha took another breath before running forward and bucking his knee as he swayed the sword. Scaramouche, not even caring to hold his blade in front of him up until Kazuha was within his perimeter, dodged it with a small step to Kazuha’s other side.

Kazuha blinked with confusion before discarding the thought and took another step toward Scaramouche, slashing his blade midair. Scaramouche, as if expecting him to do just that, drew his sword beneath Kazuha’s while he slashed it, forcing Kazuha to take a step forward.

Kazuha shook his head in denial, his blood running cold. He frowned as he took a step back, with Scaramouche following along and doing the same. His frown deepened before he took a small breath, and lunged forward with his blade in a wide and fast sweep. Scaramouche didn’t even need to look from where the blade’s attack came from to parry it with ease, his fluid movements making it look like he had Kazuha’s fighting style memorized.

Kazuha’s mind spun. He was bleeding through some cuts, the wind was getting harsher and colder, the waves were shaking the ship harder, and Scaramouche was still deflecting all of his attacks. Kazuha made sure to avoid using the same attack pattern one after another, but Scaramouche averted them with ease and familiarity. It would have been impossible for him to have secretly followed Kazuha enough to familiarize himself with his fighting style, and watching his duel, if that could even be called a duel, with the Shogun was far from sufficient to fully learn his fighting style.

The fighting style, the Isshin art that he spent his youth practising, the Isshin art that was founded by his ancestors, passed down through centuries of generations, a legacy that his grandfather failed to carry on, his father struggled to rescue, and Kazuha abandoned to its demise. 

The Isshin art that hadn’t been taught outside of the family for generations, and yet…

Scaramouche was undoubtedly a successor of it.

Kazuha felt his breath catch, his eyes widening with trepidation when Scaramouche, apparently reaching his goal, wrapped Kazuha’s blade with his own before swinging them to the side and throwing Kazuha’s to the wooden floor the moment Kazuha’s grip loosened. Kazuha didn’t even try to hold back the grunt that escaped his throat when Scaramouche darted to his side and kicked at the back of his knee. He watched as Kazuha fell to his knees before mercilessly kicking him in his abdomen, and then pointed the tip of his blade against Kazuha’s throat.

Kazuha let out another grunt, feeling Scaramouche’s heel digging into his flesh and the steel tip touching his throat. He looked up at Scaramouche with terror, seeing no sign of his previously delirious expression. There was no scowl, no smirk, no grin. Nothing. His almost always shiny eyes had lost their gleam, and his lips were only a faint line on his pale face. Kazuha was taken aback by this unsettling and foreign view. Scaramouche looked unbothered by his dismay.

“I won,” he declared quietly before retracting his blade in one swift motion and turning his back to walk away. “What use are you to me when you suck this badly?”

Kazuha blinked incredulously, his eyes wide and pupils blown. His ears rang with the lingering thrill of combat, and his chest heaved with rapid breaths to a painful degree . He could feel the vibrations resonating from Scaramouche’s receding steps being replaced by much heavier thumps on the wooden floor. 

He gaped at Francis when his face entered his periphery with a concerned and appalled look on his eyes. He wordlessly knelt down at his side and grabbed his arm gently to observe the cuts, some still bleeding. Kazuha felt like a lifeless body as he let Francis examine his wounds. There was no other sound around them, no indicator of any more spectators. He guessed that at some point during the heated fight, Francis must have sent them off. That meant, apart from Francis, that no one would see him if he marched into Scaramouche’s office to seek answers.

Adrenaline still rushed through his body as he swiftly got to his feet. He ignored Francis calling out to him, yelling at him to stay put while he sprinted towards the cabins. Anyone could’ve heard him running like a maniac or demanding answers from Scaramouche, but he didn’t care at the moment. Scaramouche could just kill him right then and there for his disorderly conduct, but he didn’t care about that either. He  hurried toward Scaramouche when he saw him just outside of his office, and grabbed his wrist to pull him back. Scaramouche still had that uncanny impassive expression, making Kazuha’s frustration grow further with each passing second.

“How?” he demanded, his hand gripping Scaramouche’s wrist. “How do you know? How can you know?”

That gained him a reaction from Scaramouche, however it was as faux as ever. The man raised a mocking eyebrow at him and scoffed, trying to yank his wrist away, but failing. 

“You forget I’m from Inazuma as well, Niwa.”

“I did not.” Kazuha replied, trying hard to contain his nearly bursting emotions; a concept so foreign to him. He tightened his grip around Scaramouche’s wrist when he tried to yank it away once again, distantly relishing in the way his mocking expression turned into a scowl. “I meant it as in who taught you. It certainly is not her .”

“What does it matter?!” Scaramouche hissed as he managed to free his wrist at last. His pale skin was tainted with red from Kazuha’s grip. “What do you expect me to say?”

“If not her, then it’s certainly someone from my lineage. Revealing this was clearly your intention with this plan. It might not matter to you, but it does to me. It is my history, and it is my right to pursue it.” Kazuha’s voice trembled with fervor. Scaramouche looked to be on the edge of exploding.

“I don’t give a shit of what you think is your right or not, and I won’t tolerate you whining like a fucking child.”

Kazuha shook his head incredulously and reached out with panic to grab Scaramouche’s wrist once again when the man turned to open the door to his office.

“Stop running away every time I try to get an answer from you! I thought after everything you would be more honest with me, but I guess even you of all people could lack the courage to speak out a word that is the not a lie—”

The words died on Kazuha’s lips with a deafening sound and stinging pain in his  cheek. The force of the slap had jerked his head to the side. He froze in place, no words came out and no muscles moved. His mind became numb, the fight remaining in him left his body all at once. He blinked rapidly, his eyes directed at the floor, but not seeing it. He breathed slowly before wetting his lips as he turned to face Scaramouche once again.

“Why?” he muttered, his voice much quieter. Scaramouche didn’t look apologetic when he lifted his gaze, but he wasn’t smug either. His arms were folded with the blade hanging from his hand and his face was empty apart from his lips being pressed into a thin line. Kazuha shook his head defiantly. “Why would you reveal this to me if you don’t intend to give answers?”

Scaramouche searched his face for a few seconds before turning on his heels and opening the door to his office. Kazuha’s heart dropped as he watched him step into the room, the door closing behind him. However, the door stopped midway, indicating that Scaramouche expected him to go inside as well.

He chewed on his lip before taking a deep breath and walking inside, closing the door behind him. Scaramouche carelessly threw the blade aside, walking like a puppet with its threads cut until he stopped in front of the small, round window. Dark waves immersed the window completely, and there was nothing to see. Yet, Scaramouche continued to stare at it, not caring about the darkness. He seemed to be as exhausted as Kazuha himself felt at the moment. Kazuha walked to the desk with his eyes on Scaramouche’s back, and swiveled his attention to light the oil lamp. Although it was a small lamp, it illuminated the room enthusiastically with the darkness so intense around it.

He watched the fire dance within the glass for a few seconds before looking at Scaramouche once again. This time, Scaramouche had turned around and looked at him as well. His gaze was intense, yet his face was plain. The contrasting nature of it was like looking at oneself in the mirror and seeing someone else entirely, yet it seemed so natural for Scaramouche. 

“Well?” Kazuha prompted after a moment of silence.

“What do you expect me to say?” Scaramouche asked once more, his voice cold and cutting. Kazuha’s earlier frustration started to build up once again, though this time it felt numb and weary.

“The Isshin art has and always been taught by my lineage. It cannot be the Shogun that taught you its ways, which means it has to be someone from my clan.”

“And?” Scaramouche drawled. Kazuha clenched his fists and took a few steps to stand in front of him.

“And I want to know who that was.”

“What difference will it make?” Scaramouche snapped. “It was a long time ago, you surely don’t expect me to remember someone who’s long dead.”

“Long time ago, alright.” Kazuha echoed with a frown, his voice almost wobbly. “But even you would remember someone you had spent days, weeks, perhaps months with practising to perfect your skill.”

Scaramouche let out a huff that soon turned into a laugh. “If you really believe I would care so much for a person to remember them after living so long, you are sorely mistaken.”

“You do remember the Isshin art, though. Even after so long, you still remember it as if it came naturally to you.” 

Scaramouche frowned at the way his voice dropped. Kazuha’s shoulders slumped, suddenly feeling deflated. A thoughtful and painful scowl settled on his face as if it intended to never lift. He placed a hand on his forehead to rub at it, failing to notice the dried blood stained across it. He took a step back to turn away from Scaramouche’s searching gaze, vaguely seeing an unauthentic hint of trepidation on his face.

No matter how he pushed, perhaps he would never learn who it was that taught Scaramouche the Isshin art. There was no knowledge of anyone teaching an outsider that he knew of, and even if he did, Scaramouche was right to say that person had been dead for a long time now, and that their identity didn’t really matter.

However, he also remembered the way Scaramouche’s entire mask had crumbled to dust, even if only for a mere moment, when Kazuha gave himself a new name. Niwa Hisahide. It was likely that it was a Niwa, his great-grandfather’s original lineage, that taught Scaramouche the Isshin art, then. Kazuha already knew that Scaramouche was lying about not remembering, but the exact proximity between Scaramouche and his teacher was unknown to Kazuha.

A Niwa teaching Scaramouche the Isshin art also indicated another thing that made Kazuha open his eyes and turn to look at Scaramouche again, who once again had schooled his expression into impassiveness to veil the pensive look on his eyes. But to Kazuha, it was as if there was nothing covering it.

He swallowed thickly and muttered.

“You know how to forge an Isshin blade.”

Scaramouche remained silent for a few seconds before letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I do.”

“Teach me,” The words escaped from Kazuha’s lips before he could stop them, before he could take a moment to think about them. Scaramouche blinked with poorly hidden bewilderment at his eagerness, his way of contradicting himself. Kazuha’s heart felt like it was about to burst through his ribcage like a bird freeing itself. “Please, teach me, and I shall never speak of it again.”

Scaramouche looked at him as if he had grown a second head, eyes widened and mouth agape. Kazuha didn’t avert his gaze, the remaining fight in him had already left his body, and he wondered whether Scaramouche felt tired of his unyielding fight as well. Scaramouche wetted his lips as if he was about to speak only to press them into a thin line. He assessed Kazuha from head to toe, his fingers around his elbow tightening before he loosened his arms and let out a frustrated grunt.

“Fine. But only if I have the time.”

“Make the time,” Kazuha followed up, abruptly closing his mouth upon hearing his own tone and words. He wasn’t used to making snappy remarks, but every second he spent arguing with Scaramouche was driving him to forget more of his manners. He felt embarrassed under Scaramouche’s angry gaze, and averted his gaze to think of a way to revert his words. He sighed after a beat of silence and shook his head with defeat.

“I shouldn’t have worded it that way, I apologize. You certainly will not be able to teach me after you reclaim your godhood, is what I was trying to say.” 

“And you certainly don’t fucking expect me to teach you while we are still in the middle of nowhere.” Scaramouche, clearly losing his patience, spat before walking towards him and grabbing his arm to drag him toward the door. Kazuha hissed when Scaramouche’s grasp tore at one of his open wounds and made blood start dripping once more. Scaramouche frowned at his pained expression and looked down at his arm. He immediately pulled away his hand as if he had touched fire and took a step back. Kazuha couldn’t hide his relieved breath, and looked up at Scaramouche.  Scaramouche looked almost petrified while staring at his arm, making Kazuha frown with surprise. He certainly hadn’t hesitated to slash an open cut on Kazuha’s arm earlier, so the almost anxious look in his eyes seemed out of place.

Yet, Kazuha felt his own expression softening, making him remember the little girl from Sumeru and her parting words. A reassurance was just about to spill from his lips when Scaramouche seemingly snapped out of his trance and shook his head vehemently.

“Leave,” he spat with enough of his earlier venom that Kazuha instinctively took a step back. His heart pounded with a distant wish to calm Scaramouche’s fury, and his lips parted to mutter a few soothing words.

As if expecting him to do just that, Scaramouche yelled one more time before he could do so, his voice stern with finality. “Leave, and do not make me regret my decision.”

Kazuha pressed his lips and clenched his fists as he looked at Scaramouche' bright eyes for a few seconds before lowering his eyes and nodding. He left the office without another word, giving Scaramouche the solitude he clearly desired.

The solitude Kazuha feared to be accompanied by.

Chapter Text

“Grieving, grieving, constantly grieving.

I mourn what could have been, what was, what will not be, what I can’t save.”

(Grief, Mira0124)

*

“Do you think I have betrayed you? Betrayed myself, everything I’ve stood for? My very soul?”

He blinked with confusion at the sudden question. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” said the person with a soft voice. “You never told me what you felt until the last time. Call it a gut feeling, or a baseless concern. But there is a whisper in my ear that tells me your heart is bitter at the memory of us.”

“This again,” he sighed, unable to bring himself to feel mixed about it. “Why are you bringing this up, anyways? It’s been too long since you left. Just as you’ve already forgotten about us, I’ve forgotten about it as well.”

“Who claims that I have?” challenged the person with a knowing smile on their confident face. “Does that mean you also haven’t forgotten about us?” 

He didn’t reply, but didn’t need to. The person chimed in once again. “Have you ever heard that story before?—”

“The one with the puppet soldier, you were gonna say? Yes, I am familiar. But what does it have to do with this conversation now?”

The person huffed a quiet laugh as if they could see through his mind, and apparently, his heart. 

“You believe the heart only remembers until it stops beating. But I like to think that the idea of companionship exceeds lifetimes, and even the lifetime of something as significant as a heart.”

“Are you suggesting that the hearts you speak of can be reborn? That’s not possible.”

“Perhaps,” mused the person. “Perhaps not. But you will be there to find the answer for me, for us, won’t you,” said the gentle swordsman with a red streak to his long, brown locks. “Kabukimono?”

*

Kazuha breathed out a shuddering huff and watched it mix with the cold air. Before lifting his eyes to the sky covered with thick, gray clouds; he let himself a moment to close his eyes and calm his mind. The snowy mountains on the horizon kept growing closer no matter how much he tried not to think about it.

His first impression on Snezhnaya was that it was beyond his imagination. The cold was nothing like anyone could have ever prepared him for, the high mountains surrounding the nation unforgiving. The once vast and wild ocean was now a biting sea with numerous icebergs in perimeter. It was a worrying sight, but Francis proved himself to be a deft captain and glided the ship through the icebergs almost effortlessly. The crew seemed to be unaffected by the way the ship moved within the cold waves, but Kazuha. Although he had spent a notable time in Captain Beidou’s ship after fleeing from Inazuma, it apparently wasn’t enough for him to prepare himself for such whiplash. 

He gulped down the bile rising through his throat and closed his eyes as he folded towards the cargo box he was standing in front of. The center of the ship was more stable than the edges, but it wasn’t enough to pacify the sickness threatening to swallow him whole. He wondered distantly how he managed to spar against Scaramouche on the same ground he was standing on just a few nights ago. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that made him lose his focus on his well-being then, or perhaps it was the impending doom of anchoring to Snezhnaya that made him break out cold sweats now.

He had accepted his fate the moment his eyes landed on the giant machine that was built to house a god in Sumeru, but stepping even closer to reality was still hard to stomach. The hurried movement and loud chatter around the deck that signaled arrival made his skin crawl. He forced himself to open his eyes and take a deep breath before he looked around. The solemn atmosphere among the crew had only grown each passing day, and it remained to be present. It was blatant in the way they trotted around the deck and yelled at each other orders. They had given Kazuha orders as well, which he complied wordlessly, distantly grateful for the distraction.

The snowy mountains under the, apparently, ever-lasting afternoon sky grew ever closer, and now he could make out the settlements dotted around their foothills. A grand port greeted them as the ship swiftly made its way towards a pier. Kazuha heard the anchor pierce through the waves, and bit into his bottom lip to stop himself letting out a gasp. Everything went quiet at once apart from hasty footsteps on the wooden floor. He heard Francis asking him to go and inform Scaramouche. He nodded unevenly and took a few steps back from the cargo boxes. 

The commotion followed him until he climbed down the stairs and leaned against the wooden wall. He blinked rapidly before letting out a long sigh and rubbing at his temples with his gloved hand. He squinted at the glove before dropping his gaze to observe his new attire, a Fatui officer uniform different from the ones he had seen before. It must have been redesigned for Sneznhaya’s harsher climate, he presumed, but it didn’t help with the attire feeling like a second skin above his own. It felt strange, foreign, overwhelming. 

He clenched his fingers defiantly and sighed once again. It wasn’t a time to lock himself inside of his mind as the reality he feared to embrace was now a step away from him. He pushed himself off the wall and took a deep breath before walking towards Scaramouche’s office. He knocked on the door, and slowly opened it after the muffled approval from the other side.

Scaramouche didn’t look up at him. He seemed to be busy reading a file in his hand while leaning against the desk. There was a large satchel filled with files and scrolls alike placed on the chair before the desk. Next to the satchel was a thick, long coat hanging from the chair. He appeared to be packed up and ready to go. But there was a small frown on his face that suggested the opposite.

“We have arrived.” Kazuha announced after clearing his throat.

“I’m aware.” Scaramouche muttered listlessly while turning a page. 

Kazuha mindlessly scratched a scar on his cheek he had gained from sparring with Scaramouche a few nights ago, and let his eyes wander around the office. Everything seemed to be in their original places, but the maps on the wall were removed. The stack of files that usually resided on the table was also gone, most likely stashed in the satchel along with the maps. His mind traveled to the memories of the first time he stood in this office, the day he met Scaramouche for the first time. The day Scaramouche snatched away his control over his life and drew a new path for Kazuha to follow. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of paper being stashed rather harshly. Scaramouche pursed the rims of the satchel and tied them tightly before throwing it at Kazuha. Kazuha took a step forward and caught it while blinking confusedly at the gesture. 

“Look after it with your life,” Scaramouche muttered before putting the coat on. His hands moved down to adjust the coat and button up. “There is classified information on these files, and it is Fatui’s territory now. I can’t risk them falling into the wrong hands.” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes on him. “Be careful or I will have your head.”

“No need for concern,” Kazuha placated with a nod of his head, slinging the satchel over his shoulder. “I will make sure no one gets their hands on it.”

“We shall see,” Scaramouche glanced at him for a moment before making his way towards the door. “You will stay by my side until we reach the palace. Keep your mouth shut, we will talk about details when we are in the clear.”

“Okay.” Kazuha closed the door and followed after him. Scaramouche led the way towards the deck with hurried steps. 

“The port is for Fatui business only, and the palace isn’t far from here.” Scaramouche continued as they climbed up the stairs and the cold winter breeze greeted them with a strong blow. Kazuha blinked against the force of it, Scaramouche seemed unaffected. “Keeping a low profile is impossible, but still, don’t even try to do something stupid.” 

Scaramouche stopped at his tracks and turned on his heels to face Kazuha. He pointed at the blade hanging from Kazuha’s belt. “You won’t get rid of it, will you? Then wear a coat or something, you can’t be seen as a threat.” He then lifted his gaze to Kazuha’s face with a deep frown. “Where is your mask?”

Kazuha pursed his lips, but took the mask that he put in his pocket anyway. He placed it on the bridge of his nose and adjusted its place to prevent it from falling. He blinked a few times, the dark shades creating an obstacle for his vision. It was hard to come up with a reason why wearing such a mask would be an effective choice, but he didn’t comment on it.

Scaramouche folded his arms and took a step back to observe him from head to toe, and Kazuha uneasily clenched his hands at the attention. The commotion on the deck seemed to have been diminished, but there was still movement around them. The cold wind was rocking the ship gently, but Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to focus on them when Scaramouche had his eyes on him.

Kazuha couldn’t help himself from observing Scaramouche as well, grateful at the mask for hiding his wandering eyes from sight. The coat had covered his figure entirely, although Kazuha believed he had never seen Scaramouche feeling cold before. Even the night he tested Kazuha he was still clad with his usual attire. The coat must be a formality, he thought. Regardless, he looked comfortable in his skin unlike Kazuha.

“You look ridiculous.” Scaramouche decided with a tut after a few seconds and swiftly turned away, striding. “But it’ll have to do for now, I guess.”

His hurried movements managed to make Kazuha’s tense expression ease into a small smile as Kazuha also shared the sentiment. He could almost feel a chuckle bubbling within his throat at the absurdity of finding a reason to laugh about in the midst of everything. He wasn’t wise enough to consider the duality of his life, it seemed. 

He wetted his lips in hopes to erase his smile, and adjusted the satchel before following Scaramouche. “I will try not to,” he answered when he caught up. Scaramouche shot him an unimpressed gaze.

He went to grab the coat he had left around the cargo boxes earlier and put it on before making his way down the step ladder leaning against the ship. He hopped off to the pier and took a few steps back for Scaramouche to descend from the ship. Although he had thought about offering a hand to help, he retracted his hand to adjust his coat to hide the blade fully. Scaramouche proceeded to Francis’ side while Kazuha lifted his gaze and blinked at the sight before him.

The image of the port that had been growing bigger and becoming clearer on the horizon now extended in all of its glory before his eyes. It was certainly more isolated than Port Ormos, but since it was used only for the Fatui, it was sensible. However isolated, the people on the harbour were all soldiers on a patrol. The ones in close perimeter rushed to Scaramouche’s side and bowed their heads at once with a unified vehement greeting. Snowy roofs of a few houses scattered around peeked through the wall surrounding the port, also belonging to the Fatui most likely, Kazuha thought. 

The wall almost completely covered the port with a handful of soldiers waiting by both edges. They looked nothing like the soldiers on the crew, nor like the ones Kazuha had seen in the past. They carried heavier weapons, seemingly technologically advanced ones. Although their faces were entirely hidden by masks, Kazuha could still feel the lingering glances on their way. The unsettling feeling of being watched reminded him of the Doctor, and he felt his blood run cold.

He slowly turned on his heels and swiveled his gaze to the ship. Tetsurou was transferring the last cargo boxes to the pier, and turquoise waves were sporadically crashing against the ship, causing droplets of water to scatter. During the voyage, they had occasionally gotten near the shore, and mountains, islands, sometimes distant cities accompanied the horizon. But now, no matter how long Kazuha stared at the horizon, only the vast ocean appeared before him. 

He bit his lips as he turned his gaze to the edges of the port again. The soldiers strolled around the long, steel gates that covered the edges. The other patrolling soldiers had apparently taken notice of Scaramouche’s arrival that they were hurrying to bow before him as well. Some of them rushed to help Tetsurou after Scaramouche irritatedly dismissed them after a short exchange, and didn’t even spare a glance at Kazuha as they passed him by. Kazuha looked over his shoulder and through the shades of the mask, and swallowed.

He clenched his fists with a deep breath. There was no way back, not anymore.

His eyes met Scaramouche’s. There was a faint scowl on his pale face; his arms were folded and his weight was shifted on one leg. Kazuha got the impression that Scaramouche had been watching him for a while, waiting for him to return the gesture. He slowly let out the breath he had been holding and eased his fists when Scaramouche looked away and spinned his finger midair.

“Let’s go.” 

Kazuha made his way towards him with tense steps. Francis nodded at Scaramouche in farewell just as Scaramouche started to walk away. Instead of following him, Kazuha halted at his steps when he reached Francis, and looked at the man. He had the relaxed expression of finishing a job well, not exactly his usual easygoing grin, but close enough. It didn’t lack warmth when he lowered his eyes to Kazuha and immediately flashed him a smile. Kazuha’s heart broke despite himself, his fists clenched instinctively.

“Take care, eh, kid? I’ll see you soon.”

Kazuha gave him a wobbly smile. The wind swirling around them was growing harsher, and he could hear the waves rapidly splashing. His eyes burned with tears he couldn’t shed. Francis probably didn’t think that he would never see Kazuha ever again. Kazuha was grateful for this ambiguous farewell however it made hope blossom in his heart, a feeling he was about to lose forever. Maybe they would never see each other again, maybe their paths would cross the next morning. Either way, Kazuha was grateful for the place Francis had made for himself in Kazuha’s memory regardless of the short time they had spent. It wasn’t the first time Kazuha had to let go of someone, and it wasn’t going to be the last. The only thing he could do in the face of fate was embracing the memory he had been bestowed upon, and continue moving forward.

Life never stopped moving; not when he lost his parents, not when he lost his friend, not when he was prisoned. It wasn’t going to stop now, either, however both cruel and blessed it was.

“I will,” he muttered under a shuddering breath and nodded. “Thank you for granting me a spot in your crew, captain, and especially landing me your ear whenever I needed. I will forever be grateful.”

“You make this old man’s cold heart shatter, Niwa, kid.” Francis let out a laugh that made Kazuha’s smile widen, and clapped his shoulder warmly. His expression calmed down into a small but genuine smile, and Kazuha had to blink rapidly to rid the tears away. “And you will always have that place in my crew, lad. Just let me know if you need a ride, yeah?” 

Kazuha huffed out a quiet laugh when Francis smirked at him, and nodded. 

“Of course, captain. Who else would I go to?” 

Francis patted his shoulder once again, clearly satisfied with the answer, before pulling his hand away and jerking his head at Scaramuche’s direction. “Off you go, then. Don’t slack off.”

Kazuha nodded his head one last time before hurrying to Scaramouche. 

*

The dusting snow was gradually turning into a full blizzard. Thick snowflakes swirled around relentlessly. Kazuha could hear his boots crushing the snow under his feet rhythmically despite the blizzard, and it gave him some sort of a distraction of focusing on the journey rather than thinking about the destination. Although his insides crawled with worry, the palace was still an inquiring matter.

He adjusted the mask when it fell to his nose after a rather strong breeze blew, and lifted his head to look around. They had been walking for a while, and the port was already so distant. There were a few small houses dotted there and there, probably built to reside soldiers working in the port. White vapor oozed through their chimneys and danced around the snowflakes, making them look almost homely. Kazuha distantly wondered if Francis’ family lived in one of these houses, and what their life would be like.

He didn’t have a home to return for so long, and he probably would never have again. The freedom the vast and endless wanders had offered him became his home the moment he left the confinements of walls surrounding him. He had missed his home and the remnants of his late family, the feeling would never go away, but he never looked back. He was confident and content in his decision. But despite it all, he found himself longing for a warm house filled with loved ones at that moment.

“You are oddly silent.”

Kazuha blinked under the mask as if shedding a reverie, and looked at Scaramouche who halted at his steps ahead of him with an empty look on his face. Kazuha knew better than to believe his impassive attitude.

“Did you wish for me to talk?” he asked cautiously, fastening to catch up.

“What? No!” Scaramouche snapped, his empty face twisting into a light scowl almost instantly. Kazuha let himself a small, amused smile after Scaramouche looked away. “Just an observation.”

“I don’t usually think of myself as a talkative person,” Kazuha muttered as they started to walk once again, and looked at Scaramouche’s side profile. “But, I must admit that I have a lot in my mind. Perhaps this is why I am more silent than usual.”

Scaramouche didn’t reply, and he didn’t return Kazuha’s gaze either. He was the one being oddly silent, and they were both aware of it. Why Scaramouche needed to point out the silence between them, Kazuha had a few guesses he didn’t need to point out.

Francis had said Scaramouche didn’t enjoy Snezhnaya, that he grew antsy whenever he would return to the nation. This displeasure must’ve also grown with the awareness of the Fatui scheming behind his back and using him like a puppet. He had a little time left to figure out Fatui's plan until he would need to flee to Sumeru, hence Kazuha could understand his distressed mind needing a distraction. It wasn’t quite different from what Kazuha himself was feeling after all.

He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully as he looked around before letting out a soft sigh. 

“I am anxious, as well.” he muttered honestly and looked at Scaramouche once more. Scaramouche glared at him with a questioning frown, clearly demanding him to elaborate. Kazuha let out a small, poignant huff. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it. Although you are returning to a familiar place, we are both walking towards an unknown atmosphere.” he halted at his steps, making Scaramouche look at him over his shoulder. He wished to remove the mask hiding his eyes to let Scaramouche see his sincerity despite the barriers between them. 

“It’s not abnormal of you to feel conflicted. However immortal, you are—”

“I’m not a human,” Scaramouche spat, shutting Kazuha. Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line while Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him before continuing at his treks. “It’s not your place to make baseless assumptions. And don’t try to empathize with me, you’re not making any sense.” he snapped, frank as ever.

“I understand that.” Kazuha sighed and shook his head before joining him. He could see Scaramouche deliberately not looking at him from the corner of his eyes.“Perhaps this is a flaw in my personality... I've always been captivated by grand aspirations.”

“What the fuck does that supposed to mean?” Scaramouche muttered exasperatedly with a roll of his eyes.

Kazuha pushed his fringe that fell to his eyes and shrugged. “Your wish to rival the divine light of the Shogun touched something inside of me, just as the sight of those who fought to repeal the Vision Hunt Decree did…” He lowered his gaze with his lips pursed, almost seeing the flashes of the dying Vision hitting the marble of Tenshukaku’s stairs before his eyes. Instinctively, he clenched his gloved hand as if tightening his grip on the handle of his blade, seeking comfort and consolation. “This is, perhaps, the reason I am able to continue I guess. Despite the means, you still have a justified cause worth fighting for. I am simply obliging the path it drew, but this doesn’t mean that I’m not concerned.”

“This is the first time you mentioned your friends since that night,” Scaramouche shot him an assessing glance. “Do you resent them for leaving you behind?”

“I don’t know,” Kazuha muttered honestly, blinking rapidly at his own sincerity. He lifted his head to see Scaramouche looking at him through narrowed eyes, as if Kazuha was a mystery he was trying to figure out. He found himself staring back, having the same sentiment towards the other man, however feeling confused at the inquiry. “I haven’t quite thought about them that way. It was my own actions and choices that kept my mind busy rather than theirs.”

Scaramouche let out a quiet hum before looking ahead, seemingly uninterested at Kazuha’s words. Kazuha frowned curiously as he took a few steps towards him to diminish the distance between them.

“Why?” he pondered. Scaramouche shrugged nonchalantly.

“You are different from other humans I’ve met so far; so naive, more naive than the most,” he mused as he adjusted his hat when snow started to return to dusting. “You have been abandoned and betrayed by your friends, but you still don’t think of them differently. Your judgement’s clouded by your inability to see the bad in others. Most people, normal, logical people,” he corrected himself with a glance at Kazuha’s way. “...think differently. It’s a survival mechanism that you lack.”

“Maybe. Emotions are, just as logic is, a strong drive within us humans.” Kazuha mused with an amused smile despite himself and shrugged. “My actions may seem illogical and reckless to you, or even gullible. But I do believe that nothing, and certainly no one, is entirely black or white; or entirely good or bad. It was actually you that made me start to question this conundrum, and I’ve come to believe that it is not entirely a survival mechanism as you suggest.”

He shrugged with a smile at the way Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him inquiringly. “It was the head of Yashiro Commission that was supposed to help me flee Inazuma if I didn’t rush to Tenshukaku after I heard the news of my friend challenging a duel before the throne,” he mused quietly, his voice dropping with sorrow. “In normal circumstances, he is expected to hand me over to the Shogunate. But he opted to risk his position and well-being to help out a friend.” 

Kazuha turned to look at Scaramouche, finding him looking at him with that same searching glint in his eyes. He pressed his lips into a thin line before easing into a soft, reminiscing smile. “And he is very much alive.”

“Your friend,” Scaramouche said after a beat of silence, his eyes dropping to Kazuha’s shoulder where his Vision was hidden beneath the coat. Kazuha felt himself tense up under the gaze. “How did you manage to rekindle his Vision? Normally, it’s not a possible feat, and yet, you seem to pull out miracles.”

Kazuha sighed softly at Scaramouche’s mocking words, he had never been able to come up with the answers after all. Yet, he didn’t fight back the small smile at the warmth of his late friend’s memory. “I don’t know, honestly. I never could figure it out myself.” He glanced at Scaramouche. “But maybe you have the answers.”

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him with consideration before giving in with an impatient grunt. “Describe it to me, then.”

“It was as if I was able to hear him, his ideals. He was whispering to me.” Kazuha mused, forgoing to point out the reason he was there before the throne to begin with was Scaramouche and his orchestrations. It had been months already since he sprinted towards the deadly slash of the Musou no Hitotachi, and felt the dizzying power rush through his body. The time he spent locked away was a mention of the past now, as well. Kazuha despised how Scaramouche dragged innocent people to achieve a goal that wasn’t even his own, playing with Kazuha and his comrades like chess pieces to move them where and when he needed them. 

It was all in the past now, and Kazuha couldn’t bring himself to feel bitter about it. Not when he himself had decided to follow Scaramouche, and not when Scaramouche agreed to fund the Resistance in return for Kazuha joining him. Just like he said, nothing and no one was entirely black or white, nor was it entirely good or bad.

He frowned slightly and shook his head. “I believe the remnants of his soul through the Ley Lines were still attached to his Vision, if such a thing is possible, that is. His will was so strong that it surpassed the limits of probability.” He lifted his head to watch, but not entirely see, the way grey clouds lazily roamed around the sky, small snowflakes landing on his face and hair occasionally. He took a deep breath. “He believed it was flawed for humans to be under the gaze of gods through Visions, and that it was both a curse and a blessing. And after the Vision Hunt Decree, he wished for the Shogun’s authority to be challenged.” He combed his fringe with his finger to the side, his gaze dropping gradually. “Kind of like you, now that I think about it…”

There fell a soft silence between them, murmur of the world absorbed by the thick snow beneath feet. He reached out to his chest, placing his hand on the pocket under the thick coat that hid the Masterless Vision just above his heart, and squeezed it through the fabric. 

“I held a contest in Liyue a while after his death, the winner was to claim his Vision.” he said after a few seconds, lifting his eyes to look ahead where the tips of elaborate domes began to surface through the horizon. They were getting closer to the palace, it seemed. His stomach churned. “I couldn’t rekindle it when I tried, so I thought maybe someone else, someone stronger would be able to rekindle it. It was fruitless in the end.”

Kazuha recalled the night Scaramouche appeared in Tenshukaku, and how he was able to casually rekindle the Masterless Vision. It was probably the power of the Gnosis, he mused inwardly, and tilted his head to look at Scaramouche. He was also eyeing the tips of the domes that were gradually surfacing through the snowy lands, and the scowl on his face suggested that he was in deep thought. 

“Normally, it’s not possible to use two Visions at once, even with a Delusion. Not even the harbingers or archons should be able to do it, let alone a mere mortal like you,” Scaramouche said after a few seconds and looked at Kazuha with a thoughtful frown. “You are so infuriating, are you aware of that?”

Kazuha couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle despite the worry that was gnawing at his stomach. “I am aware that I occasionally trouble you. Although you yourself have personally made it so, are you aware of that?”

“Shut your cocky mouth,” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him with a haughty huff, the bells hanging from his hat tingling with the force of him turning his head. Kazuha wetted his lips to prevent another chuckle from escaping, and let out a sigh.

“I have a few theories, but probably that fucker Dottore is the only one who can actually come up with a legitimate answer,” Scaramouche continued after a few minutes of walking in silence as the snow crunched under their steps and the palace started to make itself appear. “But that would ruin your cover, so that’s a nonstarter.” 

“What are you planning to do once you meet them?” Kazuha chimed in, adjusting the mask once again.

“Play the loyal harbinger, what else?” Scaramouche scoffed. “They aren’t planning to see me, that works for me. And you must be alert for anyone that is trying to gather information about me. Look trustworthy, make them approach you but not let them suspect you. Feed them false information, ruin their plans.”

“Simply put, you are asking me to manipulate anyone that tries to sneak out on you.” Kazuha glanced at Scaramouche with an unimpressed curl to his lips. Scaramouche arched his eyebrows and smirked.

“Looks like you’ve learned a few things after all.”

“Mostly against my will, but I believe I have.” Kazuha sighed. Scaramouche hummed and ignored the comment as he carried on.

“That reminds me, you need to attend a meeting in the Akademiya in two days.” 

“Two days? It’s impossible for me to go to Sumeru in two days.” Kazuha questioned with a light frown on his face. “Wouldn’t it be more efficient for me to just stay in Sumeru?”

“No faith in my abilities at all,” Scaramouche clicked his tongue arrogantly. “You do realize that you originally weren’t supposed to be with me in Sumeru to begin with, no? It was risky to leave you there all by yourself with no contact. Not to mention you’ve done nothing to gain my trust on that matter,” he flashed Kazuha a sided gaze, and Kazuha was surprised at the foreign urge to roll his eyes at him. Scaramouche was bringing out parts within him that he wasn’t aware they even existed.

“What do you plan on doing, then?” he humored, ignoring the palace that now stood in the distance in all of its glory.

“Teleporting,” Scaramouche shrugged. 

“Teleporting?” Kazuha lifted his brows, echoing him. Scaramouche looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

“There are some ancient teleport waypoints dotted over Teyvat. Although, they aren’t used by the common folk since they require energy from the Ley Lines to operate. I will use magic to make them work.”

Kazuha blinked in surprise. Before he could do so much to part his lips to say something, however, the sudden shift in Scaramouche’s expression made him stop himself. Indigo eyes narrowed and pale lips pursed, Scaramouche let out an exaggerated groan and stopped. Kazuha followed him and stopped at his steps as well, his hand clenching into a fist by his hips as he tilted his head and gaped at the glamorous building residing before their eyes with awe.

“We’ll talk details later,” Scaramouche muttered. Kazuha could hear him gritting his teeth. “First, though, let’s just get this over with.”

*

By the time they reached the Zapolyarny Palace, previously dusting snow had picked up once again. The enormous building stood proudly in the center of the grand and frozen garden that was swarmed with dozens of Fatui soldiers carrying heavy weapons and surrounded by tall, granite pillars. Scaramouche didn’t let Kazuha linger and observe the deft architecture of the palace as he strolled towards the gate with a nonchalant resoluteness, making every soldier file up and bow their heads in his wake. Kazuha clenched his fists and kept his head up, and entered the palace after Scaramouche.

The dim hall was softly illuminated by lamps on the tall, dark colored walls. Although Kazuha couldn’t see very clearly because of the mask, he could still vaguely make out the elaborate carvings on the walls and the roof that reminded him he was in fact inside of a palace. The feeling was only encouraged by the sight of elegant statues made out of ice in every corner of the hall, probably resembling the Cryo Archon. A shiver ran through his spine.

Their footsteps echoed crisply on the fine marble as Scaramouche led them through the staircases that climbed to the upper floor. From where the staircases parted to the left and right hung a large portrait of an unearthly woman sitting on a light blue chair with her hands on her lap with a tall man standing behind her. The woman’s grey eyes looked stern and cold as ice, but also delicate and breathtaking as snowflakes at the same time. There was a small curl to her pink lips that would be considered as an impassive pout. Although her face was turned towards the onlookers before the painting, her body was framing the small table where a silver chess board was placed  with the pieces carelessly scattered around the board.

The man behind her, however looked as mighty as the woman, seemed to follow her like a shadow. His figure was partly covered by the chair and the table; offering the woman the spotlight, but also staying behind to guard her back. Almost half of his face was hidden by an almost black mask with blue motifs on it, and his naked eye was narrowed by a resolute frown. One of his hands was dutifully placed on top of the light blue chair while the other rested on a long silver cane. However he stood tall and self-assured, the woman sitting on the chair had an influential aura that surpassed his.

“That’s the Cryo Archon.”

Kazuha blinked out of the trance he had seemingly delved upon, wordlessly standing and looking at the painting. He turned his eyes to Scaramouche who had his hands on his pockets and his bored eyes on the painting from where he stood on the staircase on the right. “And the man is Pierro, the director of the Fatui.”

“Oh,” Kazuha breathed as he turned his face towards the painting again. “It certainly does show it.”

“I never liked this painting,” Scaramouche drawled. “It’s rather pathetic to try and scare people by a mere painting when you’re already a god. Laughable.”

“I imagine it must be a formality.” Kazuha mused, his eyes roaming around the Cryo Archon’s pale face, wondering what she was thinking when she was painted. “Who is the other man?”

“That’s Pierro, first of the harbingers.” Scaramouche folded his arms just when Kazuha turned to look at him, but his eyes were planted on Pierro’s painting. “He was the one that recruited me. I believe he’ll question me later himself, too.” he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Come on.”

Kazuha followed him to the upper floor where they were greeted by yet another dark hall. Although a crystal chandelier was hanging from the ceiling, it didn’t do much to illuminate the whole place given the hall’s width. There were two other paintings on the side walls, both displaying portraits of the Cryo Archon.

Kazuha didn’t let his eyes linger this time and followed Scaramouche through the large silver door that opened up to a cold corridor. Unlike before, the corridor didn’t house any lighting. There was a large window at the end of the long path that almost covered half of the wall and let the early evening sun’s beams that delved through the grey clouds enter, which didn’t entirely do anything to lighten the interior. 

Kazuha remembered reading about the six months long periods of day and night in the poles when he was a little boy yearning to see the foreign lands but was unable to, thus soaked every information he could find like a sponge. If it was under normal circumstances where Kazuha wandered of his own accord, he would be delighted in the face of prolonged days indicating that he would have more time to explore. But yet, regardless of the absurdity of his presence in Snezhnaya, he found himself distantly hoping to have the chance to roam around.

“I will be visiting the Tsaritsa,” 

Kazuha was snapped out of his thoughts by Scaramouche’s quiet voice that barely echoed through the thick walls. He hurried his steps to catch up with him and they fell into a swift trek. Scaramouche didn’t look at him. 

“While I am busy you will remain in my office and under no circumstances you can leave unless I tell you so, understand?” he flashed Kazuha a scowl shadowed by warning. 

“Understood,” Kazuha nodded shortly, meeting his eyes. “And I will be looking out for anyone suspicious, yes?” 

Scaramouche scoffed, but a small grin remained on his lips. “Right. You’re adapting.”

“I must,” Kazuha mused, lifting a hand to scratch his eyes. “Although, I would adapt quicker if it weren’t for this mask,”

“Take it off, then. I doubt there’s any soldiers right now,” Scaramouche shrugged, turning to the corridor on the right. “Two days from today is the funeral, though. All the harbingers will be here, and they’ll probably start arriving later today. Be on your guard.”

Kazuha reached out to remove the mask and blinked. He exhaled with relief and rubbed at his eyes, placing the mask in his pocket neatly, feeling the blade by his hips through the thick cloth of the coat. “The funeral for the harbinger that passed out in Inazuma?” he prompted softly. Scaramouche hummed, his eyes narrowing with a scowl.

“Yeah, the one the Shogun slain.” Scaramouche spat, his lips pursing. “No doubt I’ll be held accountable as if it was my fault,” he scoffed as he stopped by a door that opened to a large and spacious room, his office. 

“How are you planning to explain it, then?” Kazuha asked as he entered after Scaramouche did and closed the door behind himself. Scaramouche ungracefully took off the coat he was wearing and tossed it to a chair by the tall wall before moving to the table in front of the broad and elaborate window. 

“I guess she will send someone to summon me any moment now.” he muttered mostly to himself as he opened and closed drawers one by one and let out a smug scoff. The drawer closed with a soft thump. “I have a few ideas, though. And besides, she will want to deduce my plan as much as I want to deduce hers. Whatever I say, she won’t act on something that’ll cause me to stay longer than needed. She wants me to use the gnosis for whatever reason that she needs it for, and we won’t leave until we learn the reason why.”

Kazuha’s eyes followed Scaramouche as he went to rummage through the bookshelf next to the side door that presumably opened to another room within the office. There was a small grin on his face that made Kazuha blink his eyes with admiration for his confidence despite himself.

“Did she make someone sneak into your office?” Kazuha asked. Scaramouche hummed in response.

“Doesn’t have to be her, could be Pierro too, but yes. Someone was definitely here, and they didn’t do a good job to cover up their tracks.” he scoffed as he pulled a book for inspection.

“They weren’t expecting you,” Kazuha completed for him as he approached the bookshelf as well, his shoulders tensing. 

“Likely,” Scaramouche agreed, and flashed him a sideways glance. “Give me the satchel.”

Kazuha swiftly removed his coat and handed the satchel securely hanging from his shoulder over. Scaramouche took it wordlessly before moving towards the door that indeed opened to another room that seemed to be designed as a bedroom, and was out of Kazuha’s peripheral. Kazuha let his eyes roam around the office to the crystal window that let the crisp beams of winter sun and felt a discreet huff of breeze tickling his ear. He instinctively grabbed the handle of his blade as he tilted his head to the door, quiet thumps approaching from the other side. 

“Someone’s here,” he announced. He heard Scaramouche scoffing before returning.

“As prompt as ever,” Scaramouche muttered with a roll of his eyes, the footsteps kept approaching. Scaramouche looked at Kazuha over his shoulder. “Stay here. I can’t waste my time looking for you. If you get lost, you’re on your own.”

Kazuha was once again surprised by the urge to roll his eyes the same way Scaramouche always did, but he opted to let out a sigh instead and nodded. “Understood.” 

Scaramouche lifted his brows in a way that suggested he was able to read Kazuha’s thoughts; however Kazuha kept them away from display. Before any other words could be exchanged between them, the door was knocked.

*

It was an officer he had never seen before, not that he cared enough to get acquainted with the lower-ranks. He folded his arms and tilted his head to observe the young man bowing before him, seemingly not shaking like a leaf as most officers do at the sight of him.

“Lord Scaramouche, her Excellency is expecting your presence in her chambers to welcome you, sir.” the officer declared with a deep voice, bowing his head even further, his hand firmly placed on his chest. “She has sent me to accompany you.”

“Has she?” Scaramouche drawled, tapping a finger against his jaw. He was aware of the gaze lingering on him, observing his every move, trying to read and decipher them. And tuning in for every word he uttered, trying to decode a greater meaning that didn’t exist.

He turned his gaze to meet those big ruby eyes colored with a small frown and narrowed his eyes in return. “I shan’t make her wait then, no?”

The officer before him rose when he looked at him once again and nodded his head firmly. “Please follow me, Lord Scaramouche.”

The path to Tsaritsa’s chambers was as unnecessarily long and complicated as ever. The cold and unwelcoming corridors designed to reflect Tsaritsa’s might as a ruler were impressive when he first arrived at the palace centuries ago, but it’d been so long since they became plain boring. The walls were covered in serious portraits of her and the harbingers, which was nothing other than laughable, with nothing but ugly furniture so expensive that a single chair would feed an entire family for an unseeable time and boring ice sculptures to accompany them. Scaramouche always questioned the Cryo Archon’s taste in interior design, it was unorthodox for a god to be so tied to materiality of the mortal world in his opinion. A palace so big it covered a territory almost as large as an island was just a display of wealth, a tour de force to the Cryo Archon’s adversaries.

 He huffed with boredom, the corridors seemed to stretch as he walked. His eyes were growing heavy with the dim illumination that did nothing to illuminate. “Is her Excellency still in the summer mood?” he questioned with a pungent lilt to his voice. The officer halted at his steps to turn and look at him.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, my Lord.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes as he walked past him and lazily pointed at the unlit lamps on the walls. “Why aren’t they lit? It’s almost six months of night.”

“Ah,” the officer piped up with his deep voice resonating, rushing to keep up. “Her Excellency wanted the lamps near the windows unlit. She says it is appropriate to show the palace is grieving for late Lady Signora.”

“How thoughtful of her,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

The palace grew colder even more to the point of the icy breeze inside the walls to bite into his skin. His body was adapted to external conditions, but every time he approached the Cryo Archon’s chamber he found himself on the edge of shivering like a human made of blood and flesh. It was the Tsaritsa’s way of belittling her guests, demanding them to be on their guards regardless of their nature, whether an immortal or a human. Being used to it by then didn’t make the feeling less annoying as he grit his teeth and rubbed his hand on his arm after the officer left him alone with a bow of his head.

“How irritating,” he muttered under his breath and let out an infuriated sigh before he stopped before the large and tall crystal door that opened to the chambers of the Cryo Archon. He clenched his fists and squared his shoulders before pushing the doors open and entering the extravagant hall.

Tsaritsa’s chambers always evoked him of a winter wonderland. The ostentatious walls were, different from the other parts of the palace, snow white. Intricate ornaments and statues made of both ice and silver were placed around the hall in a showy manner. Portraits of Tsaritsa herself and the first Cryo Archon, previous Winter Tsar, were hung on both sides of the room. Large ice blue windows were hidden from eyes by long and dull silver curtains draped them apart from the thin elongated ones residing alongside the throne. Vague sun beams fell upon the large cool gray carpet that stretched to the podium where the throne was placed with the Tsaritsa sitting on it with a hazy look on her face, completing the picture just right.

Scaramouche straightened his spine when Tsaritsa’s cold eyes landed on him and slowly walked towards the throne, the crystal doors closing behind him with a shuddering echo. He knelt down on his knees and bowed down his head, his hands clenching into tight fists at the embarrassing position. He closed his eyes in the hopes to calm his spiking nerves.

“Your Excellency,” he resonated with his fist firmly placed on his chest.

“Scaramouche,” Tsaritsa’s voice echoed softly. “Welcome, child. I have been expecting you. Rise.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a bearer of good news,” Scaramouche announced, directly to the topic, as he rose to his feet. Tsaritsa’s eyes roamed around his face, as if she could see through him without an ounce of effort. Her cold face was resting on her palm, her legs crossed, whereas Scaramouche stood rigid before her throne. He fought down a frown as the Cryo Archon hummed in consideration.

“So I have been told,” she affirmed, her voice silky. Scaramouche watched as she raised her free hand with a distant look on her eyes, and he winced when a butterfly flew right through his shoulder to Tsaritsa’s outstretched hand. The crimson butterfly gently perched itself on the Cryo Archon’s porcelain fingers, fluttering its wings slowly. 

“Oh, the butterfly of the Hellfire, the only remainder of our fallen comrade,” Scaramouche had to fight the urge to gulp when grey orbs glanced at him and the icy breeze almost swallowed him whole. “Anything to say for your failure, Scaramouche?”

Scaramouche let himself wear a frown, but didn’t go as much to cross his arms or scoff. 

“Failure?” he spat. “I may have failed to obtain the Electro Gnosis, but the plan wasn’t my failure. I spent months to improve the Delusion transaction and to reinforce the Vision Hunt Decree. Delusions are now everywhere in Inazuma, the Resistance has collapsed by it. The Tatarigami is in the open to harness. The fact that Signora went for the Gnosis when I was supposed to obtain it and died for it is not my failure.”

“You do not sound resentful upon her passing,” Tsaritsa declared matter-of-factly, one porcelain finger lazily caressing the crimson butterfly. Scaramouche didn’t stop himself from scoffing this time.

“Why would I? It would’ve very well been me perishing there, and I’d rather kill myself before letting the Shogun do it herself.”

“That I know,” Tsaritsa sighed, letting the crimson butterfly slowly leap into the air before uncrossing her legs, turning her cold eyes to Scaramouche. “I suppose you at least have a valid reason for your late arrival.”

“I was looking for an opportunity to obtain the Gnosis, of course.” Scaramouche responded with a wave of his hand. Tsaritsa arched an eyebrow.

“Did you?”

Scaramouche let himself lower his gaze before shaking his head with an exhale. “No. Tenshukaku became even more strict to find an opportunity to strike, and Guuji Yae was nowhere to be seen. At last I deemed it best to prolong the mission until a suitable time arrives.” He crossed his arms with a sigh. “I apologize for the trouble, but the other part isn’t my fault to be responsible for.”

Tsaritsa hummed thoughtfully after a poignant silence, tapping a porcelain finger against her jaw. The cold was biting into his skin as Scaramouche tried not to grit his teeth under the heavy gaze of the Cryo Archon who seemed to be subtly enjoying his quiet torture. 

She gracefully lifted herself, her long white hair falling elegantly behind her back. Her posture was always tall and confident, but there was a cool glint in her eyes that made Scaramouche tilt his head and square his shoulders despite himself. Tsaritsa’s thin lips curled into a small, ambiguous smile as she strode towards him. Her heels mutely clicked against the thick carpet as she approached, a cold wind blowing behind her. Scaramouche clenched his fists and narrowed her eyes when she halted at her steps behind him, placing an ice cold hand on his shoulder, finely manicured nails dipping into his flesh like daggers, she whispered.

“You know it very well that I have little tolerance to failure, child.” Scaramouche’s frown deepened as the nails also dug deeper. “For now you are forgiven as your reasons are sound. But repeat it once more, I can always find a new sixth.” She tilted her head just enough to stand eye to eye with Scaramouche. Her vague smile remained no longer. “Are we clear?”

“Of course, your Excellency.” Scaramouche replied obediently with a bow of his head. The nails cutting his flesh retreated in a swift motion and Tsaritsa took a step back.

“Good,” she declared, her eyes growing hazy once more. “I hear that you returned with a companion. That is unusual of you.” She strode towards a window, opening the curtain slightly and looking out. “Tell me about him.”

“My companion?” Scaramouche muttered skeptically, scratching his wrist with a confused frown on his face. It was unusual for Tsaritsa to interrogate him about his subordinates. Infuriating. Suspicious. “He’s been working undercover in Watatsumi Island for the last three years. He helped the distribution of Delusions with the other officers, and I’ve picked him up before returning.”

“Are you planning to send him on the field?” Tsaritsa let the curtain fall from her delicate fingers and crossed her arms.

“I do,” Scaramouche replied, a distant panic appearing in his mind. He never thought Tsaritsa would be easy to deceive, and he was aware that she was testing her lying skills at that very moment. “He no longer has a use in Inazuma, and with the Sakoku Decree it’d be hard to communicate any longer anyway. He’s more useful here.”

“I trust your judgement on the matter,” Tsaritsa turned her cold gaze at him once more. “I will hold a banquet tomorrow evening for us all to enjoy before bidding farewell to Rosalyne. Bring him as well.” 

Scaramouche frowned. “Bring a subordinate to the harbingers’ table?”

“Others will be accompanied by their second-in-commands too, that I presume.” She answered, her footsteps muted by the carpet as she walked towards her throne. They were both aware that the invitation was to assess Scaramouche’s loyalties, but none voiced it. “This is the first time in so long that we have ever lost a comrade, we need to grieve properly. Don’t you agree, child?” 

Scaramouche gazed at the imploring eyes on him before placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head. “Of course, your Excellency.”

Tsaritsa hummed in acknowledgement. “Then, you are dismissed. I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Of course, your Excellency.” Scaramouche echoed as he knelt down one last time before leaving the cold chambers.

He let himself a moment of reverie once he was all alone in the long, dark corridor; rubbing his hands against his arms and clenching his fists to stop them from shaking. The cold that had swept through his flesh to his bones didn’t leave until the next day arrived.

Chapter Text

“And yet, I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.”

(A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens)

The atmosphere hanging around the grand table was cold and crisp, much like the rest of Snezhnaya and the palace.

The banquet was an immediate event Kazuha wasn’t prepared for. The luxurious and foreign food that covered the table wasn’t even near appetizing when the occupants of said table was the entire ensemble of the infamous Fatui harbingers. Some of them were accompanied by what Kazuha guessed to be their second-in-commands, just as he was apparently Scaramouche’s. However, even these second-in-commands looked as if they belonged to the table just like their commanders, and Kazuha couldn’t help but feel concerned for his discretion.

He was sitting next to Scaramouche who was as curt as always with his arms crossed and brows furrowed, occasionally nursing a glass of wine while glancing at the other harbingers. The table was eerily silent, but full of action. Other harbingers, however remained silent, were loud with their gestures. More than once Kazuha had catched them glaring or frowning at Scaramouche, seemingly uncaring for being blatant. He glanced at Scaramouche from the corner of his eyes after a seemingly young harbinger looked at him with eyes full of mirth as if he was gleefully surprised at Scaramouche’s presence at the table.

“Is this another segment of yours, Doctor?” A thick voice broke the impenetrable silence, turning the heads to its direction. A harbinger with long, wavy hair was smiling behind his glasses, his elbows propped up on the table and his hands clasped, his smile was apparently directed at the Doctor. Kazuha followed Scaramouche in looking at the Doctor sans the eye-rolling. Indeed, the Doctor looked different from the time Kazuha had seen him in the factory. His face was partially covered with a different mask, but this time his eyes were out in the open. Kazuha felt a shiver run down through his spine when the Doctor’s red pupils narrowed with a smirk.

“Keen as always, Regrator.” the Doctor, or rather a segment of the Doctor, praised by raising his glass of wine at the harbinger. “ I am unable to attend the banquet as my sole self because of unfinished business, thus I informed Her Excellency on behalf of my absence through this very useful segment.” Kazuha heard Scaramouche mocking a gag.

“Oh? Is something wrong, Balladeer?” the segment of the Doctor drawled with his red orbs intently glaring at Scaramouche. Scaramouche glared back.

“Apart from your inability to obtain the Electro gnosis, that is.” Regrator commented with his smile present. Kazuha turned his eyes to Scaramouche while the latter scoffed and tilted his head haughtily.

“And what do you know about obtaining gnoses, Pantalone? All you’re allowed to do is play with money, very unlike a harbinger.”

Regrator pursed his lips, however his smile was still firmly in place. “At least Her Excellency can count on me to do my job without letting my comrades get hurt, or rather, get killed. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh, please,” the young looking harbinger let out a scoff, crossed his legs and waved a hand at Regrator’s direction. “We all know that you would sell out any of us at any given chance if it meant more Mora for you, Regrator.”

“I only abide by Her Excellency’s wishes and commands, Tartaglia, and nothing more.” Regrator replied without a shift in his tone. The young harbinger, Tartaglia, scoffed once again. Scaramouche patted his empty glass with a fork, glaring at Kazuha. Kazuha swallowed as he grabbed the wine bottle before pouring it into the glass. Apparently, the banquet hall was off-limits for the officers while occupied by the harbingers.

Scaramouche took the glass without batting an eye at Kazuha and swung the liquid languidly. “Whatever the case, Signora wasn’t a component of my plan. Mendling with my business, and she got herself killed. Not my problem.”

“Cold,” Tartaglia commented with an arrogant huff.

“Disgraceful,” tutted a harbinger sitting beside a machine twice her size.

“The details matter not, not anymore. What matters is choosing the path to obtain the Electro gnosis at once. Following Balladeer’s failure, I suggest sending another harbinger to conclude the job.” An old, short harbinger commented with his deep voice ringing around the hall. Kazuha pressed his lips together while Scaramouche raised his eyebrows incredulously, as if forcing himself not to rise to the bait.

“Electro gnosis cannot be the only focus, there are more urgent matters at hand.” commented a tall harbinger with finality blatant in his voice.

“Such as what, Capitano?” asked the segment-Doctor with mock intrigue. 

“Seriously?” Kazuha saw Scaramouche roll his eyes from the corner of his own before placing the glass he was holding down on the table with a soft thud. Stern and curt dialogues started to roam around the table, accompanied by Scaramouche’s occasional scoffs. Kazuha didn’t pay attention to the mostly one-sided comments and mostly kept his head down; up until one bright voice rang upon the muted conversation.

“Do I know you?”

The voices around the table ceased at once and Kazuha snapped his eyes open at the young harbinger, Tartaglia, who was staring at him with a slight frown to his brows, as if he was trying to unravel some kind of mystery. Kazuha felt Scaramouche tense up beside him before turning his eyes from Tartaglia to Kazuha. 

“I don’t think so, no,” he replied after clearing his throat, sitting up straight on his chair as all of his training as a young master came rushing to him at once. “I would certainly remember meeting an esteemed colleague of my lord, but I cannot seem to recall.”

Scaramouche’s eyes widened a fraction for a small moment before easing into a frown while Tartaglia’s lips curled into a mirthy grin.

“An esteemed colleague? Why, you flatter me! Is that what you think of me, Scaramouche?”

“Oh, please,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes with a haughty huff. “As if you are worthy enough to have an ounce of presence in my mind. Niwa is just a better diplomat than you could ever dream of becoming.”

Tartaglia seemed unfazed by the assault as his gleeful eyes remained upon Kazuha. He rested his jaw against his palm with a casual motion, regarding Kazuha to converse once more.

“Oh, we haven’t met formally, that’s true. But you have a very distinct face. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before, though I think you weren’t wearing a uniform then.”

Kazuha couldn’t risk glancing at Scaramouche when Tartaglia was staring at him intently. There was a young officer sitting between Tartaglia, clad in the same uniform Kazuha had on, also staring at Kazuha before turning his eyes to Tartaglia. Before Kazuha could analyze the eyes turning to their direction any further, he felt a cold finger poking at his gloved hand, subtly urging- or rather, allowing him to speak. 

“I was operating as an undercover officer the last three years in Inazuma. Perhaps our paths have crossed one day.” 

Kazuha fought against a sigh from escaping his lips when Tartaglia narrowed his eyes in thought before shaking his head. “Perhaps, but that one day seems to be in Liyue to me, now that I think about it.” 

Kazuha frowned slightly before nodding. “A likely scenario, Lord Tartaglia.”

“What are you trying to uncover, Childe?” Scaramouche snapped, Tartaglia shrugged nonchalantly.

“I just find it intriguing.” 

Kazuha risked a short glance with Scaramouche who seemed to be irritated with the path the conversation was taking, but didn’t protest when Kazuha regarded Tartaglia once again.

“How so?”

“You must be a very capable man with lots of connections, Mr. Niwa, considering you managed to leave Inazuma while still under the Sakoku Decree. Not an easy achievement, if I do say so.”

It became apparent at that moment that Tartaglia was the one they decided to search for loopholes in Scaramouche’s arrival, not that they weren’t aware of. Scaramouche was prepared for an interrogation by the ensemble as he was also prepared for this interrogation to be run through his new second-in-command that was Kazuha, a seemingly weak knot, upon Tsaritsa’s request for his presence at the banquet. Before making their way to the dining hall Scaramouche had warned Kazuha upon his suspicions and sternly preadmonished him to be cautious with his answers.

And Kazuha was, and would be once more, as he wore a small, self-aware smile before leaning back and shrugging rather nonchalantly.

“That is my job, after all, Lord Tartaglia.”

Tartaglia raised his eyebrows in slight astonishment, clearly not expecting a cheeky response from Kazuha, while Scaramouche took his glass back and lifted it to his lips serenely. From the corner of his eye, Kazuha saw him cover a satisfied smirk with the glass before sipping at it.

“Why would I let him around me if he can’t even leave a damned nation without getting caught, no?” Scaramouche arched a brow at Tartaglia and tilted his empty glass in his direction. Tartaglia stared at him for a moment before huffing out a chuckle and shaking his head.

“You always manage to find the strange kind, Balladeer.”

Kazuha’s attention was snapped towards Scaramouche once again as the latter placed the empty glass before him. Kazuha didn’t hide his sigh this time as he poured wine once more.

“Perhaps you should stop,” he advised in a mutter, but handed the glass over regardless.

“Perhaps you should mind your own business.” Scaramouche shot back and took the glass, making Kazuha sigh once again.

“Alcohol has no effect on me.” Scaramouche drawled quietly, meeting his eyes. “You forget I’m no human.”

Kazuha instinctively wanted to argue against this senseless logic, but Scaramouche had already looked away from him, seemingly towards the door that opened to the hall. There was a crisp silence around the table, and Kazuha felt a chill against his cheeks. A shiver ran down his spine, unlike the one he felt when faced with the Musou no Hitotachi, but familiar at the same time. That conversant exhilaration of an approaching unearthly identity, the stillness of the world around him awaiting a doom. The door opened slowly and a man, Pierro, whom Kazuha only had seen in the portrait, stepped inside with his head held high while scanning the entire table. Kazuha felt an unconscious pull that straightened him into a standing position, just as the others around the table; before Pierro bowed his head and stepped aside, letting the doom inside; the Cryo Archon, Tsaritsa.

“Your Excellency,” resonated a cacophony of greetings through the table. Kazuha followed along.

“Hello, children.” Tsaritsa’s cold voice echoed in his ears, and Kazuha felt himself getting colder. “It is gladdening to see you all well.”

Pierro pulled the luxurious chair at the head of the table and held Tsaritsa’s hand to escort her to sit down. He followed by pulling the other chair next to the one Tsaritsa accompanied. It was after that the harbingers and associates sat down, although the atmosphere was completely different than before.

Spines were straight and heads were bowed. No remarks filled the silence. Scaramouche’s hands on his lap were curled into tight fists, and his face was screwed with a deep frown. Kazuha found this small aura unfitting to his loud personality. He wondered whether Scaramouche needed to defy or recognize the gods to become one himself. But now he was bowing to one, he seemed as clueless as Kazuha himself felt at the moment.

“I would like to thank you all for dropping your missions to return to the Palace. Rosalyne would have appreciated the affinity if she was here with us today; but accept my own in regards to hers.” Tsaritsa clasped her long fingers on the table in a casual motion, fitting to the empty look on her face. “These are very destitute times that we are actively facing.”

“All flags have been lowered to half, your Excellency.” reported the old harbinger before raising his head. “Our fallen comrade is being mourned by the whole nation in accordance with diplomacy.”

“Thank you for your immediate attention, Pulcinella.” Tsaritsa drawled with a nod of her head. “It is comforting to have you all here by my side. It has been far too long since we have lost a comrade. Almost more than a decade since Crucabena has died and the title passed down to you Arlecchino, my child.” 

The stern faced harbinger squared her shoulders and nodded her head in affirmation before glancing at the young officers sitting beside her. “I do hope that we shall not see another loss until my apprentice Lyney is ready to take my place.” 

The young officer named Lyney blinked in surprise before lowering his gaze. Kazuha could discern the firm lines to his lips, possibly from chewing on the tissue inside of his mouth.

Apparently, that was what was expected from the second-in-commands, Kazuha thought gloomily. In the eyes of the others on the table, Kazuha and the other officers were harbingers-in-training. He wondered discreetly whether the other harbingers were also immortal just as Scaramouche was, and what would take an immortal harbinger to breathe their last to bestow their position upon someone else. 

“Quite so,” Tsaritsa drawled in response.

“How are we planning to settle the dispute with the Shogun? This is quite the diplomatic scandal.” Capitano resonated with might before the conversation could disperse.

“Her Excellency has it covered already.” replied Pierro. The obedient man had been silent during the whole exchange, quietly sipping at his wine next to the Tsaritsa. With his reply, all eyes had turned to him at once, including Kazuha’s. It was a matter of his own intrigue also, just as it was Scaramouche’s. Indeed, Scaramouche had also fully turned to stare at Pierro with folded arms and a tilted jaw. Pierro didn’t return to the glances in his way, languidly rocking the glass between his fingers. “We were just discussing this matter before joining you. Rest assured, Rosalyne’s blood will be avenged.”

“What of the Electro gnosis?” Capitano followed up. Kazuha watched Scaramouche’s hand on his elbow tightening.

“However Shogun’s reasons are justified in terms of Inazuma’s domesticated laws, she will also expect us to bargain upon Rosalyne’s execution for the gnosis.” Pierro replied before closing his eyes and inhaling at the wine glass. Kazuha looked at Scaramouche. He looked as impassive as ever, but Kazuha could decipher what he was thinking, as they were both thinking it. It wasn’t a subtle strategy as there was no need to be thoroughly stealthy. However, it still must be infuriating for Scaramouche to be perceived like a plaything by both the Tsaritsa and her Fatui, to be underestimated.

“There will come a day when we will discuss this conundrum, but for now let us bask in the company and commemorate our fallen comrade.” Tsaritsa announced in her ghostly voice. She raised her glass, soon followed by the others, and the atmosphere filled with the sound of curt conversations and clinkings of silverware. 

* 

The palace was full of activity with the arrival of the harbingers. Early evening sunbeams illuminated the restless frozen land throughout the entire day, and it appeared that the staff situated in the palace was accustomed to this unending routine. Perhaps it was also because of the approaching funeral, in Kazuha’s opinion, but nevertheless, thumping footsteps and hurried conversations were easy to catch even in the confinements of Scaramouche’s office.

Kazuha was used to accommodating in unfamiliar places and sleeping in different circumstances, but even the thick and dark curtains that veiled the sunbeams and the soft and comfortable mattress wasn’t enough to lull him into a slumber. Perhaps it was because he was too used to the subpar options, or maybe it was the fact that the palace he was inside belonged to the Cryo Archon. Regardless of the reason, the time he spent falling in and out of consciousness in the bedroom of Scaramouche’s office was occasionally disrupted by almost tangible memories flashing in his mind, both in the shape of biting dreams and bitter reminiscences until he gave up on sleeping and dragged himself to the bathroom for a bath to clear the fog in his mind.

When he emerged from the bath with a somewhat sharper vision and clean clothes, he opted to join Scaramouche in his office. No matter how ironic or tragic the sentiment was, Scaramouche was the only familiar face in this foreign land. And Kazuha was human, after all. No matter how much time he spent familiarizing himself with unfamiliarity, he glided to the office like a moth to flame.

Scaramouche, apparently agreeing on the irony, frowned at him through the thick book in his hands. Quickly scanning Kazuha from head to toe, he didn’t deign with pleasantries. “You look like shit.”

Kazuha huffed a quiet chuckle, unable to bring himself to be upset about the comment and finding it funny despite himself. “That I am,” he agreed as he plopped himself on the chair in front of the table. “When will we be leaving?”

“Already eager to leave this damned place, are we?” Scaramouche arched his thin brows before turning his eyes to the clock on the wall. “Two hours, more or less.”

Kazuha hummed while Scaramouche took a note on the parchment laying on the desk, neat handwriting in a foreign language alongside what seemed to be alchemical symbols. He looked swarmed in the book, and however Kazuha didn’t want to disrupt his work, it was Scaramouche himself that broke the silence. “You did well during the banquet.”

Kazuha blinked with surprise, he didn’t expect an evaluation much less a praise. Scaramouche looked up at him, his indigo orbs impassive as ever but also rather amused. Kazuha couldn’t tear his eyes away from his face, feeling his chest tightening at the sight of rare easiness Scaramouche displayed.

“I was ready to kick you out the moment you made a mistake, but you handled the pressure. And better than I expected. They’re probably aware by now that you aren’t a weak link and won’t spill.”  He plopped his elbow on the desk and placed his jaw on his fist. “You better keep this up in Sumeru.”

“Oh…” Kazuha lowered his gaze to his hands, his heart squeezing with a distant memory of a younger him asking desperately to help his father, to make him proud, to be of any use. His fingers clenched slightly and he swallowed. “I am glad to be of help.”

He could feel Scaramouche’s narrowed gaze on him, analyzing every twitching muscle, every harmony accompanying his words; his eyes intent and intimate as if he was peeling Kazuha’s layers like pieces of clothes until he was naked like a newborn, open and vulnerable. At last, Kazuha managed to clear his throat at the unsettling feeling in his chest and returned Scaramouche’s gaze. 

He still had his elbow propped on the table and face resting on fist. For once, he didn’t have one of his obnoxious hats and his tilted face was out in the open. His silky locks gently covered the figure of his face, complementing his features deftly. Kazuha found himself moving from staring to observing as the seconds passed, appreciating the little details he hadn’t had the chance to realize before. It was clear that Scaramouche was indeed a puppet, he thought, because only a meticulous craftsmanship could birth a creation that was him.

Scaramouche was unfazed by the blatant observation, nonchalantly turning his focus to his book and notes once again with a blink of his eyes. This seemed to snap Kazuha out of the reverie he had stepped in, as well. He blinked to bat the haze away and cleared his throat, his mind shifting its focus on something else.

“I have never seen you sleeping,” he chimed in. Although Scaramouche didn’t look at him, Kazuha knew that he was listening. He glanced at the pen Scaramouche was twirling between his fingers. “Nor have I ever seen you eat or drink something. The banquet was the first.”

“...Your point being?” Scaramouche drawled while turning a page.

“It seems that you don’t require consumption or rest for survival. I find it intriguing, is all.”

 “I don’t,” Scaramouche affirmed. “There is no point in indulging myself with something I don’t seek. Occasions such as the banquet are purely diplomatic.”

“Something you don’t seek?” Kazuha mused. “One would think that living among humans would make you accustomed to the culture, you know, get you familiarized.”

“Why the sudden questioning?” Scaramouche snapped at last, closing the thick book with a thump. Kazuha gently shook his head.

“Not a questioning, I am simply interested in you.” He blinked at the honest words that fell from his lips ungracefully. Scaramouche was surprised as well, his eyes were wide with bemusement. Kazuha cleared his throat awkwardly and rushed to fill the silence. “And the tea set in the bedroom made me wonder.”

“You really are the strange kind.” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him and folded his arms, but he was visibly relieved. “Is this your way of trying to convince me of being a human? If so, I am quite unimpressed.”

“Not at all.” Kazuha replied with a small smile. “However I still support this sentiment, my original opinion was to offer a pot of tea if it was something you were fond of.” Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

“Fond of?” He groaned. “You’re giving me a headache. If it’ll shut you up, go ahead already.”

And Kazuha did, returning with a tray in his hands not long after. Scaramouche had returned to his study once more with a different book this time, seemingly focused on his notes that he didn’t realize Kazuha had returned until Kazuha placed the tray on the coffee table between the chairs.

“What are you reading about?” he asked after placing one of the teacups on the table and taking the other one himself, not fighting down his curiosity.

“Visions.” Scaramouche replied shortly, not deigning to look at Kazuha as he kept taking notes on the parchment.

Kazuha slowly sipped at his tea, letting the warmth spread through his body and humming thoughtfully. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. Although Scaramouche’s usual façade included a frown, the current crease between his brows was a different look. The other books and parchments spread over the table, at the very least the ones Kazuha could understand, showed similarities with Scaramouche’s questions upon Kazuha’s experiences with Visions. His free hand instinctively reached out to pat the Masterless Vision hidden behind his shirt before dropping it and raising the cup to his lips with a frown of his own.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Scaramouche muttered hotly before pushing the book with an infuriated grunt. Kazuha reached out and grabbed the pen that rolled over the table and placed it inside the book before gently closing it. 

“Perhaps you should take a break,” Kazuha advised after a minute of silence that was only filled with Scaramouche angrily muttering to himself while rubbing at his temples. The latter slowly lifted his gaze at him, and Kazuha gestured at the cup in his hands with a tilt of his head. “I am guessing you couldn’t find an explanation for me rekindling the Masterless Vision. A break to collect your thoughts might help.”

“You are unbelievable,” Scaramouche murmured with a roll of his eyes, but surprisingly enough, he put his notes down and took the tea cup. “How can you be so ignorant of something like this?” 

“I am not,” Kazuha replied calmly. “But it doesn’t require my immediate attention either.”

Scaramouche sized him up for a few seconds while gracefully sipping at the cup. He wrenched his hand from the fine porcelain and waved his index finger at him. “As soon as you return from Sumeru and the palace is clear, we will experiment with Delusions.”

“...What?” Kazuha asked after a beat of silence, unbelieving and almost dropping the cup in his hands. Scaramouche arched a brow at him.

“We can’t possibly use the actual dead Vision right under the Fatui. Delusions are easier to manipulate and a suitable substitute in this case.”

“I don’t want to use a Delusion.” Kazuha replied after a few seconds of silence, squaring his shoulders at the look on Scaramouche’s face that gradually hardened.

“What the hell do you mean you don’t want to use a Delusion? Are you looking for an easy way to blow your cover?”

“Of course I am not,” Kazuha shot back, momentarily unable to hold himself. Scaramouche’s scowl deepened, the teacup clicked loudly as he placed it on the table.

“If you are a Fatuus, you use a Delusion. Simple as that.” Kazuha slowly wetted his lips in an attempt to collect himself.

“You can’t expect me to blindly accept it after seeing what it has done to my friends.” 

A mocking grin split in Scaramouche’s mouth, and he tipped his head back in a short laughter. Kazuha’s hands tightened around the saucer.

“Your friends? Are you seriously still blabbering about your treacherous friends? I thought you were becoming rather clever but apparently I was wrong.” he spat, sobering up and leaning over the table. “You have a power that no one has ever witnessed before, are you fucking aware of that? You have a weapon that’s unheard of under your arsenal, and you tell me that you won’t use it? Because, what, it harmed your traitor friends?”

Kazuha straightened his spine and placed down the cup before accidentally breaking it. He put his hands on his lap and inhaled to calm his nerves before involuntarily igniting a fire. 

“Whether or not they betrayed me is fruitless to discuss. But I won’t use a monstrosity that hurt countless people just to obtain a power that is unnecessary.”

“You are here under my command,” Scaramouche said admonishingly, his voice quiet and slow. “Your sole presence here relies on you executing my orders. If I tell you that you will use a Delusion, then you will use a Delusion. What you want or not to do, is mine to decide. Got it?”

Kazuha watched as Scaramouche sat back down on his chair and took the cup back, taking a small sip from it. “Your tea tastes like shit,” he spat pettily. 

“I didn’t claim myself to be a good brewer.” Kazuha muttered as he took his cup back and inhaled the steam. Indeed, the tea was subpar at best but it wasn’t a concern at the moment.

“How hard is it to brew a pot of tea, for god’s sake?” Scaramouche commented with a scowl on his face as he lifted the saucer to observe the details drawn on the fine ceramic. He dropped the saucer on top of the books nonchalantly, the ceramic plate spun on the leather cover before halting to a stop, and he turned his gaze on Kazuha. “Though, I shouldn’t be surprised. You noble types are ridiculously incompetent.” 

Kazuha lifted his gaze thoughtfully, ignoring Scaramouche’s baiting comments. And regardless of his words, Scaramouche was still casually sipping at his tea. Kazuha placed his half full cup on the desk before leaning back. It was hard to ignore that he wanted to be rude in return, which was a foreign concept to him. Scaramouche, from the very beginning, made it clear that he would be someone that would bring Kazuha’s worst out of him, and Kazuha was aware that he was relying on it. Although perhaps it would be immensely easy to give in, Kazuha was determined to raise the opposite effect in return.

“I guess so.” he muttered calmly, mentally noting to bring up the Delusion discussion at a more appropriate time. “Although one would expect you to be clueless to the process, as you are a diplomat.” he continued, lifting the cup to his lips. Scaramouche lifted his brows and scoffed.

“You forget I’ve lived for centuries, Niwa.”

“I do not,” Kazuha shook his head. “I am very well aware of your lifespan, and although I’m not privy as to how it was spent thus far, I can only conclude that it was around the same time you learned the Isshin art when you were introduced to the process.”

Scaramouche huffed indignantly. “And what makes you think that?”

“You just called me Niwa,” Kazuha replied matter-of-factly. Scaramouche didn’t look away, as if demanding him to elaborate. “You haven’t regarded me with that name throughout the conversation up until now. It means that two are correlated in your mind, and it further proves that it was a Niwa that taught you the Isshin art.”

An unreadable expression appeared on Scaramouche’s face, but it was familiar all the same. A distant look formed on his indigo orbs, his thin lips twitched into a stern line. He batted his eyes away from Kazuha thoughtfully, and placed the teacup on the desk before rising from his chair.

Kazuha followed him with his eyes until he disappeared into the bedroom. Before Kazuha could follow him he emerged with the satchel he had Kazuha carry the previous day.

“Go get prepared,” Scaramouche spoke up, completely forgoing the conversation at hand. “We must get going soon.”

Kazuha glanced at the clock on the wall, seeing they still had more than an hour to leave the palace but he obliged regardless. With a sigh he stood up to collect the tea set and nodded at Scaramouche who still had that unreadable look on his face while arranging his notes. 

He was still unwilling to speak of it, it seemed. Kazuha wondered whether it was because of the art itself or the master that taught Scaramouche, but it was gradually becoming clear that it was because of the master. Considering how Scaramouche reacted to the name Niwa Hisahide , how he attacked Kazuha to belittle his Isshin swordsmanship by using the same school of art in his movements. 

Scaramouche was an empty frame with scattered unmatched puzzle pieces all over it, some pieces made sense together and some didn’t. The exhilarating feeling of desperately wanting to collect as many pieces as it took for the frame to fill with an image that made sense was just as senseless to Kazuha, but he realized that he actually didn’t mind it.

*

Although the early evening sun still hung in the sky, Kazuha couldn’t help but feel colder. He hugged at the coat he was wearing, slightly shivering under the thick fabric. He distantly wished to have the mask he was wearing the first day as it mostly protected his eyes from the blizzard, simultaneously finding his wish ironic. He believed himself to be a mostly content person with everything he had to his name and his -previous- life. But now that all he knew was wrenched off of him, he found himself perhaps longing for more, an almost instinctual desire to want, something he was unfamiliar with.

“You will give these to the Doctor.” Scaramouche ordered as he thrusted a thick file he fished out from the satchel earlier into Kazuha’s hands. He seemed, once again, unaffected by the blizzard around them but still opted to wear a coat himself. Kazuha took the file with a nod of his head. 

“Do not let anyone else see it,” Scaramouche warned before handing him a sealed letter. Kazuha took it wordlessly.

“One of those Akademiya twerps will escort you from the teleport point to the meeting, and you should be able to use the same teleport waypoint in the next day or so, the leylines won’t hold much longer than that.” Scaramouche instructed as they halted by the teleport waypoint, its ruby stones glowed under the thick snow.

“What if someone else uses it?” Kazuha couldn’t help but question. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“They won’t. Not unless my magic is familiar with them and the leylines accept their transportation through it.” he replied before turning around to scan their surroundings. “Is there anyone around us?” he asked Kazuha without looking at him.

Kazuha followed him in scanning his peripheral. The wind crashing against the thick snowflakes was hasty, but not alarming. Regardless of the cold, the wind still tickled his skin with its warm familiarity and soothed his nerves. He shook his head while adjusting his grip on the file. “No one.” he reported.

Scaramouche nodded after a few seconds and turned on his heels, facing Kazuha. “Give me your hand.”

Kazuha blinked once, then twice before stretching his free hand. Scaramouche took it wordlessly on his own. His normally cold skin felt warm in the middle of the blizzard, and it took Kazuha a few seconds to realize that it was because of Scaramouche’s magic. He watched in awe as Scaramouche chanted words under his breath in a language that was unheard of and his indigo orbs glowed with a spark that was foreign to sight. Scaramouche’s eyes were focused on their joined hands and his thin lips moved in a hurried pattern. Kazuha found himself staring at him again; at his focused expression, at his silky hair that vaguely veiled his eyes, at his long eyelashes that shadowed his cheekbones. The hand around his tightened and he felt his palm tickle and his fingers twitch. He gradually lowered his gaze to their joined hands as well, and felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight.

There was a light that was peeking through Scaramouche’s fingertips to Kazuha’s skin. His warm magic danced in the small gap between their hands until Kazuha felt it running through his veins, engulfing his entire body. His body heated up, he felt his heartbeat pick up, the howling wind quietened down. He felt himself inching closer to the source of it when the hand disappeared and sucked in a sharp breath at the loss of it. He blinked as everything returned to him at once, finding Scaramouche sizing him up.

“The effects won’t last.” Scaramouche assured. “You’re obviously inexperienced in magic so it’s normal to feel overwhelmed. They should disappear gradually over the next hour.”

“Okay,” Kazuha muttered after finding the strength to answer. Scaramouche nodded.

“All you have to do is press your hand on it,” he instructed with a gesture at the now blue teleport waypoint. “Leylines will take care of the rest.”

“And when I will be returning?” Kazuha questioned, but walked closer to the ancient machine regardless. 

“Same method. Imagining your destination also helps,” he said and Kazuha glanced at his surroundings one more time. Scaramouche let him, while watching him with his arms folded. 

“Alright,” Kazuha muttered, mostly to himself, before looking at Scaramouche. “I shall go on, then.”

Scaramouche watched him place his hand firmly on the warm surface of the waypoint and rapidly blink at the way magic flowed through the machine engulfing his body. Kazuha could feel the warm magic encouraged from the power of leylines tickle and bite at his skin until everything became bright to the point of not seeing clearly. He felt his stomach churn, and a loud grunt hung on his lips when he was suddenly pulled inward, as if he was being stashed into a small box. Everything turned into a bright flash of whiteness around his vision and he felt the connection between his consciousness and body cut in an instant. There was no sound, no view around him. It was as if his soul was floating on space. Before returning to the physical world he saw, or rather was shown swift and brief flashes of what felt to be relaying memories of someone else before the images disappeared and he found himself looking at a grand tree which was unlike any other flora he had seen before; and heard a gentle but a broken whisper echo in his mind.

“World… Forget me.”

A desperate gasp left his lips to the dark night sky of the rainforest in Sumeru followed by a pained groan as he fell to his knees.

“Mr. Niwa! Are you alright?” called out a familiar name right before a hand grabbed his arm. However familiar, Kazuha pulled away from the touch and instinctively grabbed his forehead. The familiar presence, to Kazuha’s gratefulness, let him recover while he blinked his eyes open and rubbed at the sudden throbbing ache on his forehead, a dooming headache it appeared, and collected the file that he dropped to the lawn with shaking hands.

“I am now, Mr. Hamadi,” Kazuha replied at last after getting to his feet and slowly dusting off his clothes. “Thank you.”

“Are you quite certain?” the man questioned, his eyes scanned Kazuha’s form. “You should take off your coat before getting ill.”

“Agreed,” Kazuha muttered as he slowly stripped his coat, sighing with relief at the gentle breeze against his clothed skin. His blood was buzzing and hands were still shaking from the whiplash of teleporting from a blizzard to the balmy rainforest.

“Teleportation is always a headache, especially if it’s your first time.” Hamadi said conversationally while handing Kazuha a water pouch. Kazuha took it with a grateful smile. “It doesn’t get better with time, but you get used to it eventually.”

“It seems so,” he nodded and returned the water pouch. “There is a first for everything.”

“Quite,” Hamadi agreed with a pat to his shoulder to assess him and nodded. “Shall we get going, if you are feeling better? If not, I suggest we take a rest in a more suitable place. I came across an abandoned camp on my way here, and it’s not far away. I can take us.”

“I am alright, no need for a delay,” Kazuha replied, in all honesty a little bit bewildered. He didn’t expect Hamadi, apparently a higher-up government official in Sumeru, who was working to create a god to replace their deity to show him genuine kindness. He was momentarily reminded of his conversation with Scaramouche upon good and bad, and his own comment on the matter. Perhaps Hamadi was a good man participating in a malicious act, or maybe he was a bad man with occasional good graces. Kazuha wasn’t the person to come to a conclusion upon the other man, not when he didn’t even know where he himself fell on the spectrum.

“But thank you for your consideration.” he offered a small smile that seemed to put Hamadi at ease.

“Well, then, follow me.” 

“This is a different part of the forest, yes?” Kazuha asked after a few minutes of walking in silence. “We headed to the west the last time, now we are headed to the east.”

“Correct. This teleport waypoint isn’t the closest one to our location, but the most suitable one considering the current situation at hand. The last few weeks have been rather troublesome.” Hamadi sighed with a shake of his head. Unable to help but feel curious, Kazuha lifted his brows.

“You must have been busy,” he commented, encouraging him to continue. He felt a sudden hunch in his gut, a hunch that told him whatever the reason the Akademiya was in was an important detail in the grand scheme of everything. The wind that caressed his hair gently, drastically different from how it had been in Snezhnaya, was whispering him to drink in every word Hamadi would let out.

“You could say that,” Hamadi sighed once again, but waved his hand as if he had sobered up in an instant. “But do not let me bore you with this already boring stuff.”

“I don’t mind, we have a long way to go anyway,” Kazuha chimed in with a shrug, acting nonchalant. He adjusted his hold on the file and the coat hanging from his arm while trying to choose his next words. Although his hands stopped shaking, he could feel anxiety building up. “But you do seem to be in need of sharing your concerns. It would seem tactless of me not to lend an ear when you are in need of it.”

“Nonsense!” Hamadi shook his head quickly, making Kazuha blink with confusion. “You aren’t tactless at all, Mr. Niwa. It is just that the situation has gotten so out of control that it is hard to even relay it.” 

Hamadi halted at his steps with a thoughtful look on his face and rubbed at his jaw. Kazuha stopped as well to watch him seemingly going over the scenarios in his mind.

“Perhaps this very act of relaying could help me connect the dots, or perhaps an objective mind… Yes, I think I’d rather take on that offer of yours, actually, Mr. Niwa.”

“Of course,” Kazuha smiled at the man before both went on to continue their way. “I am all ears.”

“Where to begin?” Hamadi muttered mostly to himself. He turned his gaze to Kazuha. “Are you by any chance familiar with knowledge capsules?”

“I don’t think so, no.” 

Hamadi hummed at Kazuha’s answer before shaking his head. “Well, to put it simply they are ornament looking objects created to hold and transfer canned knowledge, which is— well, just as the name suggests, canned information that you can use to comprehend any kind of knowledge you desire in an instant.”

“That sure is… elaborate,” Kazuha commented with a frown. Hamadi nodded.

“Indeed. It was developed mostly to defy the Akademiya teachings and the archive in the akasha system. Ah, which reminds me,” Hamadi handed him a small, green object after fishing it out of his pocket. “You know the akasha terminal, right? The last time we weren’t able to provide one since we weren’t informed of your arrival, but it is strictly necessary to wear it at all times within Sumeru borders. It is quite useful to obtain any information you seek by merely thinking about it.”

“...I see,” Kazuha muttered and took the earpiece. “Thank you. How do I activate it, though?”

“Just place it in your ear,” Hamadi gestured at his own one in demonstration. “and say ‘may the Mighty God bless us with their voice of wisdom.’.”

“May the Mighty God bless us with their voice of wisdom…” Kazuha repeated after placing the earpiece, and at once a sort of screen appeared in front of his vision, looking rather technological. It seemed like a control panel, showing Hamadi’s name and occupation when Kazuha looked at him. The man gave him a grin.

“Impressive, no? It was given to mankind by the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, the former Dendro Archon. When you wear an activated akasha terminal, you can use one of those knowledge capsules with no problem. However, since it can be abused, the Akademiya had forbidden its production and transaction.”

Kazuha narrowed his eyes. That didn’t sound entirely honest, but he suspected Hamadi wouldn’t tell him the actual reason behind it. 

“I assume the problem is about those capsules?” Hamadi nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“And you would assume correctly, apart from it being about a capsule, rather than multiple ones. A divine knowledge capsule, to be precise.”

“A divine knowledge capsule?” Kazuha echoed. Hamadi nodded once more.

“Yes. It seems that a capsule allegedly containing godly wisdom has been manufactured. Although its origins are as much a mystery to us as it is to the common folk, we had planned to use it to contribute to the plan. However… It went missing.”

“Oh,” Kazuha breathed, feeling a little bit of trepidation crawling under his skin.

“You must remember General Mahamatra, Cyno, the guy that interrogated your documents in Port Ormos.” Kazuha nodded. “He’s the head of matras, they oversee disciplinary actions in the Akademiya. He was in Port Ormos that day to seek out the divine knowledge capsule after we had a tip that the eremites were after it. They are desert people, never got along with the government, and they have their own agenda to resurrect their own entity, King Deshret, that ruled over Sumeru with the former Dendro Archon and their other godly companion Nabu Malikata centuries ago. It’s been quite a headache to run after every tip, every clue we’ve heard; and all ended up being fruitless. The capsule is still lost, and the agitation between the city people and the desert folk has peaked. That is why I had to choose another route, to steer clear from any eremites.”

“I see now.” Kazuha muttered thoughtfully. That was a lot more information than he thought he would gather from the sage in front of him. He wasn’t sure how that would prove useful as nothing seemed at odds with the plan of turning Scaramouche into a god, he still made sure to remember the details. He snapped his head in Hamadi's direction. “Will the missing capsule be a problem for the plan?”

“Not necessarily,” Hamadi shook his head in rejection. “Although it would’ve certainly enhanced the process. Some of the other sages are more privy to the matter than I am, they might have better explanations if you still want to learn more.”

“I will keep that in mind—” he stopped himself mid-sentence, stopping at once and swiveling his gaze to the surrounding flora, his free hand grabbing the handle of his blade. There was nothing in sight, but the tugging feeling in his mind told otherwise.

“What happened?” Hamadi asked with a suppressed panic in his voice. Kazuha frowned.

“I believe we are not alone,”

“That you are not,” said an unfamiliar voice. Kazuha narrowed his gaze at the clearing between long and thick trees when a tall man appeared from the darkness. “Though I’m not looking for a fight at this hour.”

“Al Haitham?” Hamadi said with bemusement. Kazuha flashed a glance at him, he was also frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“I can ask the same to you." The man named Al Haitham stopped in front of them and folded his arms with a nonchalant motion. “You don’t expect to run into a sage at this hour especially in these areas.”

“Classic Al Haitham, prying into matters that don't require your curiosity,” Hamadi spat followed by a haughty scoff. Kazuha swiveled his gaze from Al Haitham to Hamadi, his grab on the handle loosened. “If I must, I was accompanying a colleague on a late night stroll.”

“A colleague, you say?” Al Haitham narrowed his eyes at Kazuha, scanning him from head to toe. “I can’t seem to find this colleague of yours in the akasha system, though. Care to tell me the reason?”

“What?” Hamadi spluttered, losing his cool momentarily before blinking and collecting himself. Kazuha watched him touch his akasha terminal and look at Kazuha, his eyes wide and frantic as if urging him to ‘play along’. Kazuha frowned deeper, but gave him a discrete nod.

“You’re right, for once,” Hamadi muttered after a few seconds, giving Al Hatitham a disregarding look. “There seems to be an update delay in the system. I will report that to the Mahamata.” 

Al Haitham didn’t answer, just kept staring at Hamadi until Kazuha felt the need to step in and cleared his throat. Both glances turned to focus on him instead, and he nodded at Al Haitham. “Allow me to introduce myself, then. I am Niwa Hisahide, a scholar from Inazuma.”

“Al Haitham, the scribe of the Akademiya.” he nodded at Kazuha, forgoing to shake the hand that was offered to him. Kazuha took no offense as he went on to talk.

“Mr. Hamadi kindly offered me to take a walk with him, knowing I have trouble sleeping these days. We simply lost track of time while chatting and found ourselves here.”

“Is that so?” Al Haitham drawled, seemingly genuine in his interest. At least to some degree. Kazuha never claimed himself to be a good liar, but thought the story was good enough to satisfy the man’s questions. It seemed to do the opposite, Kazuha could tell that Al Haitham now had more questions, but kept them to himself. Whether these questions were out of distrust or he had prior knowledge upon Kazuha’s arrival was unknown to him, yet at this moment he knew that the scribe would become a constant figure in the plan.

“And you?” Hamadi chimed in, arms folded in a posture that suggested he was uncomfortable in talking with the other man but curious nevertheless. “What have you been doing at this hour?”

“I was searching up some ruins for a thesis,” Al Haitham shrugged as if it should’ve been obvious. “It’s hard to idly wander around during the day because of the eremite activity.”

“Consider it handled,” Hamadi replied. “Soon there will be very little remaining.”

Kazuha frowned as he watched Al Haitham’s eyes narrow with suspicion, his fingers loosely placed on his lips. “Oh? Are you saying that the whole divine knowledge capsule fuss has been settled down?”

“It will be, in the near future.” Hamadi huffed with a smirk. “Your lack of faith in the Akademiya is concerning, Al Haitham.”

“I believe it’s called perception, Hamadi. One would expect an objective sentiment from a sage who studies aetilogy.” 

Al Haitham’s nonchalant response seemed to irritate Hamadi, but before he could reply, Al Haitham turned around. “Not that I care. I’ll leave you to your stroll now. And don’t worry about the akasha system, I will inform the Mahamata in your stead as I have to return to finish up some paperwork, anyway.” 

“What—”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.”

The scribe and Hamadi apparently weren’t on good terms, for what reasons Kazuha didn’t know. But from what he knew and understood that the scribe’s unexpected interest would cause them trouble. The infuriated expression on Hamadi’s face was enough to affirm his theory.

“That scum,” he spat under his breath and ran his hand through his hair messily. “Always breathing on our neck, meddling in business where he’s not concerned with,” he paced around the lawn, muttering to himself before sighing at last.

“Anyway. I will deal with this later, we should get going. We will reconvene in the morning, so at the very least you can rest a while before that, Mr. Niwa.”

“I don’t mind, but thank you.” Kazuha replied, not being entirely sure as to what else to say. His stoic tone seemed to soothe Hamadi’s nerves as he nodded gratefully, and they went back on their way.

Kazuha could feel the eyes scanning his every move as they left and could hear the whispers of the gentle breeze, telling him that this Al Haitham would soon make an appearance once again.

*

Scaramouche stared at the mirror.

He loathed this part of being a harbinger. Missions, meetings, banquets and all the dirty stuff diplomacy brought have never been a major problem. But funerals were a different aspect. To pretend to be mourning, to be dejected, when in reality he couldn’t care less. Under normal circumstances.

But although he loathed even admitting it to himself, the Fair Lady’s funeral was not under normal circumstances. Her idiotic mission in Inazuma had cost her life, which wasn’t unusual in their line of work, but what made this funeral not under normal circumstances, for Scaramouche, was the conversations she had forcefully implemented on him during their time in Inazuma.

“I’m merely lighting a fire in this chaotic nation, but you… Being tossed out like trash must make you want to destroy it completely.”

“Do you remember the last time you were here? That was a lot of swordsmiths you killed. I’m sure the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden are still suffering the consequences now.”

He clicked his tongue in annoyance before screwing the tap tightly. He had warned her about her arrogance, didn’t he? He had told her to hold her tongue and think before acting, before speaking. Emotions were unwarranted before the throne of the Raiden Shogun, he knew it better than anyone. If that witch didn’t deign his warnings worthy, then it was her own fault at getting herself killed.

The logic didn’t help him feel less agitated. Whatever for did they have to throw a funeral, anyway? There was no corpse, no ashes, no belongings to honor. Just a crimson butterfly he still doubted flew all the way from Inazuma to Snezhnaya. But the Fair Lady was a witch, had been a witch in her lives, leave it to her to find a way to send a damned butterfly across the globe.

He swiped a hand across his wet face with irritation before grabbing the comb in front of the mirror, might as well make himself presentable, he mused. But as he combed his hair, the Fair Lady’s voice kept echoing in his mind, gradually becoming louder until he threw the comb to the floor with a grunt and panted with anger.

He didn’t know of the other descendants of the Raiden Gokaden, but the one he knew seemed to be doing fairly well, considering the circumstances. Not that it would matter in the near future. Yet Scaramouche couldn’t help but wonder, would Kaedehara (Niwa) act the same way he did now if he knew the past? Neither did it matter, but it would take a fool to look over Kaedehara’s (Niwa’s) tame and tactful behaviour around him, and Scaramouche was no fool. However sometimes he thought this descendant of the Raiden Gokaden had unknowingly set out to make him suffer the consequences, and not the other way around. 

Whatever. He was a coward the last time, but this time he would finish what he started and failed to accomplish.

He shook his head slowly, letting indigo locks fall down to his eyes and left the bathroom. He loathed to arrive early, but he couldn’t be late either. He was already the black sheep among the harbingers and if he wanted information, he had to act as unexpected of him. Surely the other harbingers expected him not to show up, the word of him sending away his second-in-command for a mission unknown had already spread like fire among the palace staff. Let them lower their defenses, he thought inwardly as he shrugged into his coat and left the office. 

The long and boring corridors were still dim, the lamps unlit. The early evening sun was gradually lowering on the horizon each passing day, but apparently it wasn't enough for Tsaritsa to realize illumination had nothing to do with grief. If anything, she should’ve lit a magnificent fire to show respect to the passing and to display her ire, he scoffed to himself. 

As he made his way towards the funeral hall a few floors down underground, the lamps on the walls started to light up. Scaramouche rolled his eyes. At the very least there were no ridiculous portraits on the walls in these floors that burned his eyes. The door to the hall however was in a clear contrast with the plain dark walls, as it was grand both in height and width, with elaborate silver ornaments adorning the thick, dark wood beneath. Without talking himself out of it, Scaramouche took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

He was immediately greeted by a puff of cold breeze. Quiet chatters of indelicate conversation accompanied the atmosphere as it always did. It had been a few decades since the fatui had lost a harbinger, and despite seeing a few of them in the past centuries of working for the Cryo Archon, Scaramouche still despised the ritual. Fake grieving, mocking companionship, annoying promises to the future… However irritating, he found it all fitting to the ridiculous nature of death itself all the same. 

He pushed himself to walk towards the coffin placed on the far edge of the ecclesiastic hall where most of the harbingers lingered by. Arlecchino and Capitano stared at him wordlessly, clear in their distrust. Pantalone and damned segment-Dottore were chatting and occasionally laughing in such a manner that gained an eyeroll from Tartaglia who was sitting at the pew chairs and quickly turned to languidly wave at Scaramouche with arched brows right after. Scaramouche ignored him completely and moved towards where Sandrone and Pulcinella were standing in front of the casket with mutually unimpressed expressions on their faces.

“What is she doing?” Scaramouche asked as a greeting, tilting his head at Columbina who was half laying on the coffin, almost in an embrace.

“I believe she is singing,” Pulcinella replied after glancing at Columbina. “Probably a lullaby.”

“Weirdo,” Scaramouche muttered before folding his arms. 

“At the very least she is sincere in her grief,” Sandrone said curtly before snapping. “Unlike you, Scaramouche.” Scaramouche huffed.

“You have no idea how laughable it is that you are talking about sincerity, Sandrone. I thought you were programmed to only care about your stupid research.”

Sandrone raised her eyebrows arrogantly and scoffed. “Laughable indeed that you mention being programmed. What? Dottore didn’t give you that much attention lately? Is it why you have been so antsy since you’ve gotten here? I am sure that segment will be delighted to take his place.”

Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “Your inferiority complex is all around the place. What, research going terribly? I wouldn’t be surprised with all the garbage you scattered around Teyvat.”

“You are as impertinent as ever,” Sandrone spat with her brows arched haughtily. “No wonder you returned empty-handed.”

“I would gladly take your word for it if you even deigned to set foot outside,” Scaramouche waved a hand nonchalantly. “It’s honestly a waste that Her Excellency is letting you keep your title, even that Childe would make a better seventh than you.”

“Which is none of your business but hers,” Sandrone huffed an arrogant chuckle. “It is however very intriguing that you are unabashedly here after spending two months with no contact, no gnosis and no self-awareness. One can’t help but wonder what was the reason behind not communicating?”

Scaramouche lifted his brows, parroting her. Being below him, that disgusting woman was crossing the line. “Which is also none of your business but Her Excellency’s, Marionette. Are you malfunctioning?”

“Answer the question, Scaramouche.”

The cold voice made Scaramouche let out an irritated grunt and shut his eyes. Damned Pierro, always with his dramatic appearances and his apt ability to catch anyone off-guard.

“Hello to you too, Jester.” he turned on his heels, ignoring the small and satisfied smirk on Sandrone’s lips. Pierro shot him an unimpressed glare.

“I wish to hear your clever explanation to this as well, you were full of them yesterday,” Pierro looked down at him with his unmasked eye, his face as expressionless as ever. Scaramouche narrowed his eyes before folding his arms and scoffing nonchalantly.

“Your wits lack the usual performance today, old man. I thought Her Excellency has already shared my report with her most trusted knight.” 

Pierro kept glaring at him. Scaramouche returned the eye contact, waiting for the man to lose his cool. It never worked over the past centuries working alongside him, and it didn’t work then either. He let out a frustrated sigh before rolling his eyes.

“I waited for a chance to capture the gnosis, of course, and with the Sakoku Decree it was quite tricky to send a message so I decided not to risk it. Quite obvious, if you ask me.”

“It seems your wait ended up being fruitless.” Pierro commented, his voice a low baritone. Scaramouche frowned while the man kept observing him before swiftly making his way toward the coffin. “It matters little right now. It is not the reason we have gathered here today, and it shall not take precedence.” 

“Sure,” he folded his arms and muttered as he watched him walk. The other harbingers gradually started to follow him to the coffin, in quiet obedience. 

Tsaritsa usually never opted to show her face in funerals, and apparently this one wasn’t different. Pierro stood in front of  the casket, placing a hand on Columbina’s shoulder before kneeling down to whisper in her ear. Scaramouche watched Columbina flashing Pierro an eerie smile before accepting the hand Pierro offered to help her stand up. He rolled his eyes when Pulcinella coughed with indication and followed him to the coffin. 

He stood in front of the pillar behind Arlecchino who kept staring at him with a different kind of dislike, and almost assessing him and his worth. Scaramouche narrowed his eyes in return, challenging her to break her silence. But she evidently ignored him, turning her gaze to the intricate designed coffin and dipping her head in respect. Scaramouche rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything and looked away, leaning back against the cold concrete and crossing his arms. 

The quicker he was done with this whole circus, the better.

“We are gathered here today to remember our dear comrade,” Pulcinella declared from where he stood in front of the coffin. “In honor of her sacrifice, all works should halt for half a day as the nation mourns her passing.”

Scaramouche scoffed quietly, unable to help himself. How thoughtful.

“Merely half a day?” Pantalone chuckled. “People say the Northland Bank’s true currencies are blood and tears… But Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable.” How sincere.

Arlecchino visibly tensed up, she squared her shoulders and from what Scaramouche could see in her side profile, frowned at Pulcinella. “Rosalyne died in a foreign land,” she spat coldly, scanning the entire ensemble through narrowed eyes. “But you heartless businessmen and dignitaries always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland, you couldn’t hope to understand. So, why don’t you keep your mouths shut? We don’t want to make the children cry.”

“Hey, come on now,” Tartaglia chimed in, unfolding his arms as he glared at Arlecchino. “Even I don’t think it is the right time or the place for a fight.”

“Do you, now?” Scaramouche muttered under his breath mockingly, his voice barely a whisper. 

He scrunched his nose at the sound of Sandrone’s ugly voice, he was about to start deluding himself she wasn’t in his near peripheral. “Utterly risible!”

Standing next to her and her giant, ridiculous robot was Capitano, who placed a hand on his jaw that was hidden under his mask. “Though her manners tarnished her honor, Lohefalter’s sacrifice is a great pity.”

Ever-righteous Captain, always direct and measured in his words. Scaramouche wanted to gag. 

“Her loss shall not hinder our process. Although…” Capitano’s masked face turned to his direction, and Scaramouche could feel the distrustful stare under his mask. He narrowed his eyes. “You are awfully quiet, Scaramouche.”

“Is there something that requires me to talk?” he replied with an arch of his brow. 

“I was under the impression that you at the very least would have a few words to spare about your last comrade, since she had died in a mission cooperating with you.”

Scaramouche scoffed. “So? Are you trying to accuse me of something, Captain? You and I both know that I wasn’t the one behind the plan.” Capitano’s gaze under his mask was intent, and Scaramouche felt it burning holes on his face. Arlecchino was also looking at him now, but her gaze held a different color. It wasn’t entirely accusing, as if she thought him incompetent to actually shoulder command. However irritating, Scaramouche frowned at the inquiry she displayed before sighing nonchalantly and gesturing a hand in the casket’s direction. “And for what it’s worth, I’ve never given unnecessary, meaningless speeches in the past, and this will be no exception.”

“Perhaps we shall start, Jester.” Segment-Dottore chimed in, cutting the conversation before it could spiral. Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him before pushing himself from the concrete pillar and taking his place next to Arlecchino.

“It’s time to end tonight’s foolish theatrics. Right now, you have no captive audience.”

Pierro, reappearing from the other door opening to the left wing of the palace, slowly stepped towards his spot by the coffin, his heels clicking and echoing within the sudden quietude. He nodded resolutely, stretching his gloved hand towards the casket.

“Let every worthy sacrifice be carved in ice,” a cold breeze accompanied Pierro’s deep voice, and snowflakes started to swirl around. Scaramouche dipped his head with a frown on his face, just as the other harbingers did. 

“And with this nation endure for all time…” A loud cracking noise echoed following a flick of Pierro’s hand, snowflakes started to form a shape and hardened into ice around the coffin. “In the name of Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, we will seize the authority from gods…”

Scaramouche scowled, dipping his head further and clenching his fists. 

“Absolute peace… Such as the gift from the Tsaritsa, such is Her Majesty’s benevolence…” Pierro clasped his fist, thick and wide icicles started to emerge from the ground, swallowing the entire hall until the walls and the ceiling were covered in entirely ice. A shiver ran down through Scaramouche’s spine. 

“Now you rest in this coffin, encased in layer upon layer of ice,” he opened his palm as the damned butterfly appeared out of thin air and gracefully flew and landed on the coffin. “But Rosalyne, I promise you,” Pierro muttered vehemently. “Your final resting place will be the entirety of the Old World …” 

The butterfly fluttered for one last time before its crimson wings started to burn from the edges until there was nothing left but ashes spread across the coffin.

“Rest in peace.” Pierro concluded, dipping his head.

*

When they reached the city, the sun was about to creep upon the horizon. Hamadi took Kazuha directly to the Akademiya and to an empty office, assuring him that no one would wander around these parts of the building and he was free to rest until Hamadi would come to pick him up.

Despite not having slept well for the last few days, Kazuha was unable to even think about going to sleep. Even though he appreciated Hamadi’s companionship, he wasn’t, as Scaramouche put it, foolish enough to blindly trust the sages. Making him use an akasha terminal when they had already revealed the usage of it to harvest dreams, and then advising him to sleep was clearly suspicious. It could very well be a test to evaluate his trust and loyalty.

He didn’t enjoy feeling skeptical. Fortunately enough, there were a few books on the shelves that would do perfectly well to soothe his buzzing mind. And at the very least, he could use some more information about Sumeru.

He turned on the lamp on the desk, scanning the books briefly. The names didn’t seem to be revealing the contents much, and he decided to just grab a random one and skim through the pages. 

The first few books were mostly about biology and astrology, not necessarily his priority. Although he doubted the sages would house books that advocated against their policy there was no harm in searching, he thought, as he pulled another thick book and blew out a breath to clear the thin layer of dust upon the cover.

“The Folio of Foliage,” he read out loud before opening it and turning a few pages.

By the way it was written, Kazuha presumed it to be a biography. 

“...I don't dare presume to mention her true name, let alone overstep my bounds as an earthly being to judge her divinity. I, Sunitha Cosamvi, a servant of shallow intellect, have merely recorded the stories heard from the sages who followed her in the past and nowhere else. These words are as true and evident as my own existence.”

Evidently, this book wasn’t appropriate to start with as the context was lost to Kazuha, but from what he understood it was clear that the author was relaying the Dendro Archon’s life, or rather, a portion of her life. But there was one interesting aspect about the passage that Kazuha made sure to pull a paper and pen from the desk to note it for later ponderings, and it was the mention of the sages following the Dendro Archon in the past.

He closed the book after scanning it a few more minutes, and continued to check the other books. Most of them were on different topics with brief mentions upon history, and Kazuha sat down on the soft chair with a sigh, combing his hair with his fingers.

When his fingers brushed against the akasha terminal, he decided to use a different method and thought back to Hamadi's instructions upon its usage. He placed his fingers on the object and let his mind wander before settling on just thinking Dendro Archon.

Suddenly an abundant amount of images and texts flashed before his eyes and he could do nothing but blink frantically until a brief passage was displayed for his mind to consume.

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata created Sumeru's rainforest and bestowed wisdom upon the people of Sumeru through the Akademiya. Despite her departure long ago, her name is still praised in the stories told in every household in Sumeru. On the other hand, Lesser Lord Kusanali, who was taken to safety by the sages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana following the former's fall, has been more of a symbol — one that signifies that the protection of divinity never ceased to exist on this land. However, the people in Sumeru deduced that they should no longer expect merciful wisdom to descend from on high as before, recognizing the Lesser Lord Kusalani’s inferiority in comparison to her predecessor. 

Kazuha blinked and rubbed at his eyes before the images disappeared from his vision. He remembered Hamadi talking about the former Dendro Archon, but he didn’t realize the rejection towards the current Dendro Archon included the people of Sumeru as well. He wondered whether this information was the objective truth, and pondered if “inferiority” to the former archon was enough of a reason to create another god to replace the current one. 

Greater Lord Rukkhadevata protected Sumeru from time immemorial. It was her devoted followers that established the Sumeru Akademiya to govern the people of Sumeru by progressing the wisdom she bestowed upon humanity. Her invention, the Akasha System, is both her legacy and the life-blood of Sumeru information circulation. It is the Akasha and the Lesser Lord Kusanali herself apart from the devotees of the wisdom that is left to carry on her teachings. Currently with the Lesser Lord Kusanali being inadequate to rule, the Akademiya has taken over full authority upon governing the nation and overseeing the teachings. 

Rather indirect, he mused as he took a note of this as well. He was aware that the sages didn’t approve of Lesser Lord Kusanali’s leadership, but he was under the impression that it was a propaganda rather than the collective idea. It appeared that this plan for creating a god wasn’t a new development. 

There was more information upon Greater Lord Rukkhadevata than there was for Lesser Lord Kusanali, upon how she died, why she died with a lot of input from her personality to her creations. For Kusanali, the information was much more limited. It started with her birth right after Rukkhadevata’s demise, continuing with her limited expeditions upon ruling as a deity most of which ended up being unsuccessful and with the sages deeming it suitable for her safety and well-being to halt her activities.

It was strange, feeling sad and empathetic towards an all-knowing god, for a mortal. Kazuha was not a religious person, and he was actively working alongside Scaramouche in his journey to achieve divinity, but even to him those feelings were almost blasphemous. 

He stared out of the window thoughtfully, his eyelashes fluttering against the bright sun beams. It had been a while since he last saw the sunrise. He never put his mind into the sun rising and setting as a miracle, but after spending even a few days with no change in the sky, he came to appreciate it greatly.

Sumeru was a beautiful nation, he sighed with contentment, moving to stand in front of the window. Lush and wealthy forests, dynamic springs and soothing lakes forming breathtaking views before the eyes of every being walking on. A fresh inhale of rest for a wanderer, warm and tranquil. Early morning sun’s beams splattered across it all, the stillness of the hours let Kazuha paint every detail into memory, responsibilities and worries momentarily forgotten.

A hesitant knock on the door snapped him back to the present moment after a few minutes of pure reverie. Apparently, his attunement to his surroundings was also forgotten in the meantime of appreciating nature. He sighed, begrudgingly wrenching his gaze away from the scenery to the door. Hamadi had returned already, it seemed. “Come in,” he called just enough to be heard from the other side of the door and let himself a deep breath before the door slowly swung open.

His eyes widened with bewilderment at the sight of the person standing in front of him. It wasn’t Hamadi, or one of the other sages. It was the little girl he saw before leaving Sumeru the last time with that same omniscient smile on her face.

“Miss Nahida?” he managed to say at last, shredding his surprise in favor of striding towards the door and kneeling down before the girl. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I was strolling the corridors as I usually do, then I felt a familiar presence oozing off from here,” she chirped with a sweet voice. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no, not at all,” Kazuha hurried to say, continuing to blink at the girl. He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. “Isn’t this a little early for a stroll?” he asked, unsure of how to put it delicately. A little kid walking around the government building at this hour of the day, completely alone. He reached out to close the door and led her into the couch. Nahida hopped on to it and waited for Kazuha to place a chair in a comfortable distance from her and sit down.

“I always find the first hours of the day quite nice and productive. And I especially enjoy carelessly wandering around the Akademiya when it’s mostly vacant.”

“You have such an admirable vocabulary for your age, Miss Nahida.” Kazuha commented gently. Nahida’s smile widened, Kazuha felt himself smiling back as well. She was probably an orphan under the care of the Akademiya, and she was probably accompanied by someone when they met in Port Ormos. Although it was a patchy conclusion, it seemed like the most logical explanation at that point.

“Please, just call me Nahida.” she said. “What brings you back to Sumeru so soon?”

Kazuha loathed to lie to the sweet child staring at him with wide and curious eyes. He didn’t want to erase the knowing smile on her face.

“I have a meeting with a few scholars about a project we are working on. I arrived a few hours ago, and they are kind enough to let me have some rest before we meet up. I couldn’t sleep so I was passing time by doing some research on my own.”

“How exciting!” she nodded cheerfully, her already big eyes widening with enthusiasm. “It must be quite elaborate if you are still thinking about it rather than taking a rest.”

“It definitely is elaborate,” Kazuha chuckled, still amazed by her manner of speaking. “But I was searching for information about another topic. I thought it was a good chance for me to figure out the akasha terminal, but honestly, I don’t think I got it yet.”

“It can be weird at first,” Nahida muttered thoughtfully, her eyes roaming around the room for a few seconds before she nodded. “Why don’t I help you? I spend all my time here, I am sure I can help you with both the akasha and your research.”

“This is very generous and kind of you Nahida,” Kazuha replied sincerely, noting the way her lips curled when he dropped the formality. But it didn’t change the fact that he still felt bemused and concerned for her. “But perhaps we should look for your guardians first? It’s too early for you to roam around on your own.”

“You have a very kind heart,” Nahida appraised gently. Her smile widened, taking the shape of an omniscient one, the one that made Kazuha certain there was something extraordinary about her. “Though I know how I might look to you, I’m not a child. You don’t have to worry about me, there are more important things you need to focus on right now.”

“I don’t like to let it go, Nahida, but I guess I will have to take your word for it,” Kazuha said after a beat of silence, feeling as if he had awakened from a hazy dream. Maybe she wasn’t a human, he guessed, noticing the anatomy of her ears. Maybe she was indeed older than she looked. He still didn’t feel comfortable letting it go, but he also didn’t feel comfortable pushing her boundaries. 

He sighed at the sweet expression on Nahida’s face and smiled in return, although a bit exasperated. “Alright, then, let me be your eager student. Can you please tell me about the current Dendro Archon?”

“Lesser Lord Kusanali?” Nahida echoed. “What exactly did you want to know?” 

“Why is she the ‘lesser lord’, I guess.” Kazuha hummed in thought. “There is not much information about her on the akasha, all I managed to gather is about her being deemed unavailable to rule and being confined by the sages. Which led me to doubt the scholars I work with would be cooperative about my questions about her.”

“That makes her the lesser lord,” Nahida said matter-of-factly. “You are right about the sages, they don’t like questions about Kusanali. The lack of information in the akasha could be a strategy to erase her from people’s memory.”

“Oh,” Kazuha breathed, blinking with surprise. It would make sense, with Scaramouche and the panic the missing divine knowledge capsule created. Just as he suspected, this god replacement project seemed to be an on-going project longer than he thought it was. He frowned thoughtfully. “And do you think it is succeeding?”

“To a certain level,” Nahida muttered with her finger on her jaw, a gesture that indeed made her seem more mature than she looked. “She still has her followers, but this strategy is probably leading them to keep their faith to themselves. Ever since Greater Lord Rukkhadevata passed away, the Akademiya had frowned upon theistic activities for other deities.”

“What about the Sabzeruz Festival?” Kazuha asked.

“Oh, you know that?” Nahida perked up, her eyes lightening up. “I didn’t realize you were that informed about Sumeru customs!”

“I heard that it was approaching, and that it was for Lesser Lord Kusanali, is all,” Kazuha elaborated, feeling embarrassed for lying. But Nahida wasn’t put off by his tone, and even nodded affirmingly at him.

“Correct. Although it hasn’t been held for a long time, its purpose is to celebrate Kusanali’s birth. But I suppose the Akademiya is also not fond of it, as Kusanali’s birth is also Rukkhadevata’s death.”

Kazuha frowned, looking out at the window but not entirely seeing the view. Did the Akademiya wanted to recreate Rukkhadevata by the means of birthing a new god? If so, why not collaborate with the existing Dendro Archon to enhance her previous vision? Did the Akademiya loathe Kusanali so much as to want to publicly belittle her by throwing away her authority?

“Can you tell me more about it?” He asked at last, not trusting the information on the akasha to be completely truthful. Nahida didn’t hide that she was watching him through her big, knowing eyes. She just nodded and copied him in carrying her gaze out.

“The Dendro Archon is responsible for protecting the Irminsul Tree. It is the repository of the entire world, made out of ley lines, that are memories and information of all of ours. It is said that the Dendro Archon’s consciousness is linked to it, and because of that many scholars in the Akademiya meditate to connect to the tree, to reach divine knowledge.”

Kazuha leaned in his seat, his frown deepening.

“500 years ago when the cataclysm occurred, Greater Lord Rukkhadevata stayed in Sumeru to purge the forbidden knowledge that was the curse of the cataclysm out of Irminsul, and the process had cost her life. Before she died, to finish purging the forbidden knowledge completely, she created Lesser Lord Kusanali from the tree’s branches.”

Just like how Raiden Ei created Scaramouche, Kazuha remembered.

“After the dust settled, the sages went to look for Greater Lord Rukkhadevata, but instead of the god they worshipped and followed, they found a little girl with the mind of a human child that was Lesser Lord Kusanali.”

“And that led the sages into thinking she was lesser of a god…” Kazuha muttered, staring at Nahida but not being entirely certain. Nahida looked back at him and nodded.

“Yes. Because of that, the sages put her in the Sanctuary of Surasthana where she would be away from the public eye and her people, somewhere she can’t intervene in their work.”

“And where is that, exactly?” Kazuha asked with intrigue. Nahida smiled at him.

“The highest floor of the Akademiya.”

Kazuha blinked at her. “You mean, here?” Nahida nodded.

“Yes. Archons are expected to be among their people, after all. Although, currently it’s not the case for the Dendro Archon.”

“Is there a way for her to leave the sanctuary?” Kazuha asked, his heartbeat picking up. Nahida’s smile widened before she hopped off from the sofa and winked at him with her hand on the door handle.

“Perhaps you will have the chance to ask her yourself.”

Before Kazuha could react, she swiftly left the office and closed the door after herself. Kazuha blinked and immediately got to his feet and rushed towards the door, swinging it open desperately, only to find himself face to face with his previous companion, Hamadi.

“Mr. Niwa!” Hamadi greeted, confused. He took a step back and frowned at him. “I’m here to pick you up. Are you alright?”

“I am,” Kazuha managed to say, panic running through his blood. Did he not see Nahida? He cleared his throat, his heartbeat picking up. “I thought you might come, I was about to wait for you by the corridor.”

“Of course, you must be bored here. Perhaps I can give you a tour of the Akademiya some time?”

“I appreciate the offer, thank you.” Kazuha muttered with a small smile, his hand on the handle tight, he closed the door, not caring about the coat or the books. “Shall we?”

Hamadi gave him a wary look but nodded nonetheless. “Of course. Follow me, there is a shortcut.”

He followed the sage to the right side of the long corridor, looking back through his shoulder every few steps.

But there was no sight of Nahida. She had vanished as unexpectedly as she appeared.

*

He stared down at the coffin, alone at last. It had been some time since the other left one by one, as if giving him space for something. Scaramouche doubted it was out of courtesy, he knew what was the reason behind this action. He was aware that every unusual decision would cost him an interrogation. He casually swiped his finger on the coffin’s surface, collecting the ash on his fingertip.

“Pierro,” he greeted nonchalantly.

“Scaramouche,” Pierro said, stopping beside him. “It is reassuring to see you well, considering the circumstances.”

“So it is,” Scaramouche narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. He turned on his heels to look at him. “Condolences are in order, I suppose. She was a valuable comrade to you.”

Pierro gave him an even look. His cold exterior was momentarily replaced with an exhausted glint to his eyes, one that made him look like the old knight who had seen far too much. Not that Scaramouche cared at all, but it was still an interesting experience to see it with his own eyes. He never saw Pierro that much in the past, almost all of their interactions were about work and missions. He wasn’t one to small talk, always straight to the point. Scaramouche appreciated it, usually, but in that moment he would appreciate it more if he, at the very least, attempted a casual talk about the Fair Lady if it meant that Scaramouche could gather some intel. 

“Indeed. A good comrade and a friend,” Pierro nodded, casting his eyes down at the casket. “Her absence will be blatant.”

“...Sure,” Scaramouche muttered, staring at him.

Pierro kept his eyes on the casket for a few more seconds before swiveling his gaze back at him in an instant, his face schooled into his usual façade. “I wished to talk to you alone.”

“I’ve guessed as much,” he replied, leaning against the coffin with little care. “Her Excellency is not satisfied with my rapport, then?”

“It is me that is not satisfied rather than her,” Pierro corrected with a slight frown presumably directed at Scaramouche’s clear act of disrespect, but he ignored it. “You are well aware that your failure to obtain the electro gnosis will undoubtedly hinder our progress. The only reason Her Excellency shows tolerance is because of the success of delusion transactions, and nothing else.”

“I am aware, yes,” Scaramouche replied, eyes narrowing. “Her Excellency has made it quite clear. So what is this, Pierro? A warning? A threat?”

“Not at all,” Pierro replied calmly. “Rather a reminder. If you fail at a mission, it is up to you to clean the mess.”

“What do you think I spent two months in that damned nation doing, didn’t I already tell you just then?” Scaramouche challenged. “Because I was not only cleaning my ‘own mess’, but also hers.”

“The mess includes the unfinished business as well, Scaramouche.” Pierro emphasized, his deep voice cutting through the icy cold. “The Shogun had killed a high-ranking diplomat in her territory by her own hands. This act, however justified in Inazuman culture, still needs to be held accountable according to international law. I mentioned it during the banquet, if you remember.”

“So, what? Do you want me to tootle off to the Shogun’s palace, to wave my finger at her disapprovingly? Say what you did was illegal, little sister, to her face?” Scaramouche felt his body warming up in the midst of the freezing atmosphere, each passing second he grew more irritated. “What the fuck, Pierro?!”

“I believe it is a fitting punishment,” Pierro replied without missing a beat, his voice ever so calm. Scaramouche stared at him through a deep frown, lips agape with bewilderment. Pierro ignored his stare while looking at something far behind him, it was clear that his attention had shifted into something else. 

“We shall discuss the details later, I have other matters to attend to,” he said flatly as a way of a farewell, and walked out of the hall without looking at Scaramouche once more.

*

The nausea upon seeing the machine to house the future god of Sumeru was just as foreign and familiar as the first time. It was almost completed now, with its halves placed into one. What once sat in the middle of the enormous factory now stood on its legs with all of its glory, its arms placed on the platform and its shoulders and head blocking the view.

Kazuha half listened to the entire meeting, too focused on Lesser Lord Kusanali and Nahida, and the giant and inhumane machine that stood before him. From what he was able to gather, the machine was almost complete, only lacking the gnosis to power it and Scaramouche. When the entire process was complete, the machine was going to turn into a full functioning deity, able to produce and bestow wisdom, able to fight and protect. 

“A god that will be borne witness to infinite love, hatred, partings, grudges, and maddening anger — thus will he watch over mortals.” said one of the sages at some point. Kazuha doubted it, knowing well how Scaramouche perceived humanity and mortality. He also questioned the Akademiya’s stance on the matter, knowing how they preferred to watch over gods than to let them watch over humans.

“The Dendro gnosis will complete the process all-together,” said another sage. “It will enhance the Prodigal’s abilities and tie its consciousness to Irminsul, thus letting it access both the earthly and unearthly knowledge completely and connect with humans.”

Kazuha felt his gut churn with discomfort and something akin to ire, something so foreign to him, at the way the sages kept referring to their future god as it, as if this it was something insignificant, some kind of a tool rather than an archon in their eyes.

He could see the Grand Sage eyeing him suspiciously as he was not discreet at all in that regard, but ignored it. He wanted them to know how unnatural everything about this was. Unnatural and blasphemous, defying and locking away the god of wisdom to harvest limited human knowledge without consent to create another god.

“Harvesting both from Lord Scaramouche’s consciousness and the Electro gnosis will grant the Prodigal to enter its next phase of ascension.”

Kazuha could feel his hands shiver, his breath fastening at the enthusiastic chatter upon the creation process. The Grand Sage kept staring at him, noting his every reaction.

“How is Scaramouche, Mr. Niwa?”

His blood ran cold and muscles tensed at the voice of the Doctor. He turned to look at the harbinger, the actual one and not one of his segments. His sharp grin was in place, eyes hidden beneath the mask.

“He is alright,” he replied after a beat of silence. “A little annoyed at being back in Sneznahaya.”

“That I can guess,” the Doctor drawled while reaching out to his pocket to pull out a small glass vial with a blue liquid in it. “Make sure to pass it along to him, will you? And tell him to think about our last conversation.”

“... I will,” Kazuha muttered and grabbed the vial after hesitating for a moment and  placed the glass in his pocket. His fingers brushed against the envelope and the folded file he had stashed in his large pocket that he had forgotten about. “He wanted me to deliver these.” he muttered while discreetly handing the papers over. The Doctor took them with a short nod.

“I shall see him soon enough, but a premonition is appreciated nonetheless.” 

Kazuha left the factory not long after, hoping to run into Nahida before he had to leave. But the sun was already setting down on the horizon and he was on borrowed time as the teleport waypoint would hold only for a few more hours.

He walked through the thick rainforest with a heavy mind, replaying the entire day in his head while simultaneously starting to feel dizzy. His shirt was damp with cold sweat and his breaths were shallow as he trekked through the path Hamadi accompanied him the previous night. He thought about the man they had come across, the scribe of the Akademiya that the sages apparently distrusted. He thought about the divine knowledge capsule and how he was unable to learn about Lesser Lord Kusanali in the akasha. He wiped the sweat that formed on his forehead with his hand and thought about the little girl Nahida who was much more knowledgeable and mature than a kid her age. He thrust his hand into his pocket and grabbed the vial the Doctor had given him, along with the small folded paper filled with scribbles from his research and discussions with Nahida and everything he deemed important throughout the day. He placed a finger on the akasha terminal, feeling the elemental energy oozing off of it in waves before uttering in his mind, Nahida.

He had realized it later during the meeting when the akasha had shown him the profiles of each individual he looked at, including the Doctor, but it hadn’t reacted the same way to Nahida. Nothing happened this time, either. Nothing appeared on the screen before his eyes, no images, no texts. Only an uncomfortable static sound rang through his ears that he wanted to reach out and yank the terminal from where it was attached to his ear. But before he could do so, he saw the blue teleport waypoint he was standing before flicker momentarily, the blue turning into red for a split second and into blue again. He rushed towards it and placed his empty hand on the warm stone, closing his eyes as the familiar feeling of Scaramouche’s magic surged through his body and he gasped.

When he opened his eyes once more, he was laying down on the cold and snowy valley where he had teleported from the previous day. The balmy and hot breeze was abruptly replaced by the icy blizzard, in a sharp contrast of the lingering warm magic on his skin. 

With a hand on the now red waypoint, Kazuha struggled to pull himself to a standing position, realizing that he had forgotten his coat in the office in a rush to catch up with Nahida. He sucked in a sharp breath when he felt a sudden twisting feeling in his gut and doubled over, wrapping his arm around his torso. His head was spinning, the cold sweat on his skin gradually turning into an icy embrace. With his entire body shaking, the remaining foreign and familiar magic within him fighting against the unpleasant confinements that was Kazuha’s body, he forced himself to take a deep breath and blowing it out, flashes of teal leaves starting to swirl around him, creating an Anemo shield between him and the harsh atmosphere.

He let his foggy senses lead him all the way to the palace and to Scaramouche’s office. His temples were throbbing with headache, gut twisting with the uncontrolled magic, body shivering and in pain from abrupt changes.

He didn’t realize the patrolling officers in the garden, didn’t see the lit lamps on the walls. The palace was colder than it was before, but it was a distant sensation independent from his consciousness. His eyes were heavy, his heartbeats were slow. He dragged himself towards the source of the twitching magic inside of his veins through dim and long corridors until he felt a sense of calmness wash through him, and he stopped.

He reached to the handle, opening the door and stumbling into the familiar room gracelessly. The vial and the papers scattered across the floor and he grabbed at his abdomen with a grunt.

“What the hell?” he heard a familiar voice snap, and he blinked at the approaching figure through glassy eyes. The figure stood in front of him with a deep frown on his face. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded.

Kazuha blinked once again, trying to swallow through his dry throat. His hands were shaking, his legs were about to give up. He kept blinking, but the view instead of becoming clear grew blurrier. He tried to part his lips to say something, grabbing the figure’s shirt to steady himself. But when he took a step forward his eyes rolled to his head, and he collapsed to the ground.

Everything went dark. 

Chapter Text

“In the water, the future mirrors the past.”

*

Before he gained his vision, he felt a familiar warmth buzzing in his veins. It spurred him into life, and he gasped for air as if he had been drowning.

When he opened his eyes, the sky around him was a dark purple. Thunders struck then and there, the sound of it triggered an immediate instinct to flee, but he was unable to. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He could only see through a shallow fog, as if it wasn’t him that was seeing but someone else. 

He felt a cold touch gingerly settle on his arm, and he snapped his attention to the owner of the hand. 

He didn’t think the Electro Archon would ever look distressed.

Her thin brows were creased in a grieving scowl, her indigo orbs were dim of their spark. She hesitantly reached out to touch him, but thought against it at the last second, looking away. Her hand clasped in a tight fist over her chest and she looked pained, as if the sight of him was enough to scratch at her skin until it bled.

“Set him free?” called out a voice, followed by slow footsteps. “It’s hardly wise, Ei.”

“You surely can’t expect me to kill him, Miko.”

The other person, Guuji Yae, stopped at her steps next to the Electro Archon and looked down at him while humming with consideration.

“Why not?” she asked at last, sounding genuinely curios before looking back at the Electro Archon. “You know he will pose danger in the future.”

“We can’t know that for certain,” the Electro Archon murmured resolutely followed by a defeated sigh. She squared her shoulders before managing to look at him again. “I won’t put more misery on him when he’d already been born to carry enough.”

“You know, it’s not about the misery you don’t want to cast upon him, but you.”

He heard the Electro Archon murmuring, searching for a rebut before his vision darkened and he opened his eyes to a clear sky seeping through the wooden ceiling and floating maple leaves. Panicked footsteps on the wooden floor echoed in his ears and thrummed in his flesh. A panicked man entered his peripheral.

“See, I told you!” said the man to the other man that rushed to his side while panting. 

“A puppet?” he said between uneven breaths. He shook his head dubiously. “What’s he doing here?”

“We can’t ask him right now, can we? He’s unconscious! We should take him to the village.”

“Hold it now, Katsuragi. We should first talk to the others before bringing him. You see that, right? That gold ornament?”

“What of it?” asked Katsuragi with an impatient sigh.

“That means he belongs to the Shogun,” said the man quietly and shook his head. “We need to talk to Niwa.”

Before he could react, he was once again engulfed in darkness and woken up somewhere else. Somewhere scorching and balmy.

“You shouldn’t worry about it too much, there’s no right answer to that or certain necessities, really,” the man in front of him said with a grunt and wiped his forehead with his arm. He put down the hammer in his hand and looked at him through his shoulder, his flushed face matching the red streak on his brown locks. He offered a gentle smile. “You’re human as far as I’m concerned.”

The familiar warmth in his own body started to diminish until the man disappeared from his vision and he fell into a bottomless chasm.

*

A cold touch settled on his feverish skin.

His body was quietly groaning with exhaustion, and his blood rushed hot. The cold touch was a firm grounding force, welcome with its soothing gentleness, forcing him to minutely stir under its effect. Before he could relish in the comfort of it, the touch was gone as fast as it had been there. He distantly heard droplets crashing against the surface of water, followed by a muted squeezing sound, before a cool and wet weight covered his forehead. It was more dynamic than the effect of the cold touch that he felt the heavy sleep gradually leave his mindscape and soon enough, he opened his eyes with a frown.

The extravagant ceiling of the bedroom in Scaramouche’s office came to view. The crystal chandelier shone with the evening sun’s beams flickering through its ornaments. Kazuha blinked away the remaining sleep from his eyes as he slowly raised his hand to touch his throbbing temples. He rubbed his warm fingers against the wet cloth on his forehead, and with that he swallowed and turned his head towards the door. Scaramouche had his back facing Kazuha as he quietly walked towards the door, and Kazuha in his haze felt his body get even warmer.

He swallowed once again, wetting his dried throat before quietly chiming in. “Why is the Akademiya helping you?”

Scaramouche halted with his hand on the handle, but didn’t appear to be bewildered by Kazuha being awake. He simply looked over his shoulder, his gaze finding Kazuha’s midway.

“Their reasons don’t matter. The Akademiya is just a tool for achieving my own goal.” Scaramouche said calmly, not opting for a debate for once while he turned to open the door. “You should rest.”

“Don’t you find it suspicious?” Kazuha continued, groaning quietly while lifting himself. The wet cloth fell to his lap. “They don’t even recognize their own god.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” Scaramouche asked suddenly, turning on his heels to fully stare at Kazuha. Kazuha shook his head, narrowing his eyes at the dizzying feeling.

“No. Although… In all honesty, I would if I believed you would hear me out. But I know that your mind is already set, and I won’t force you to a lecture.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Scaramouche said, his voice uncharacteristically calm. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Scaramouche pursed his lips and folded his arms. “How are you feeling?”

Kazuha blinked with surprise. He had figured Scaramouche had been looking after him for some time while he was asleep, but he thought the latter wouldn’t care as much after he woke up.

“I’m not sure,” he lowered his gaze with a frown, placing his palm against his warm cheek. “Dizzy, a little nauseous… How long have I been out?”

“Couple of hours. You passed out the moment you returned here. Effects of teleportation and abrupt changes in climate,” Scaramouche stated while grabbing a round bottle and a cup from the tea set on the dressing table. He gave the glass bottle to Kazuha. “Drink up.”

Kazuha wordlessly uncorked the bottle and swallowed the bitter liquid with a scowl. He closed his eyes at the sharp aftertaste. Scaramouche took the bottle with a disapproving tut.

“You are insane,” he muttered with a frown as he thrust the cup of water to his hands. Kazuha sighed contently after drinking the tea. He let Scaramouche take the cup and looked up at him quizzically. Scaramouche tutted again dubiously. 

“How can you blindly consume something someone else gives you?”

“I wouldn’t if it was someone else, but it’s you,” Kazuha replied with a short shake of his head. Scaramouche’s frown deepened as if his answer was more insane than his previous action. 

“What if I just poisoned you?” he challenged. Kazuha felt his lips curl up at the corners.

“Then, we would soon figure it out, no?” He took the wet cloth from his lap and placed it in the bowl of water on the bedside table. “But I know you didn’t. I would be of no use to you if I didn’t know.”

“Cheeky prick,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes. “Seems like the medicine is working, but I’d rather you shut up and rest.”

“I thought you would want me to pass on my rapport,” Kazuha chimed in, but listened to the ‘advice’ and settled back down on the soft pillows regardless.  

“No need.” Scaramouche waved a dismissive hand while leaning against the wall. “I found a few pieces of paper and a vial from Dottore in your pocket. It was enough explanation for me.”

“Oh,” Kazuha breathed, his gaze descending to the clothes he had on which were definitely not the pair of shirt and pants he last remembered wearing. He blinked sheepishly, suddenly feeling self-conscious and warm. “I see.” he managed to say.

Scaramouche scoffed and folded his arms. “What is it? Are you embarrassed?” 

Kazuha slowly shook his head at Scaramouche’s amused tone, but he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt creeping up through his neck to his face. “It’s not it. I believe I’m just surprised that you went to such lengths to take care of me.” He lifted his eyes to Scaramouche’s eyes. Indigo orbs stared at him just as intensely, alive and blazing with emotions in a stark contrast with his impassive facade. Unlike the dim and hesitant eyes of the Electro Archon he had seen in his dream.

His gut twisted uncomfortably, he hadn’t remembered the dream until then, and relaying it to Scaramouche was ill-advised. Those were memories, Kazuha was certain of it, memories of half a millennia that was Scaramouche’s past. He believed because of being imposed on Scaramouche’s magic through leyline powered teleportation let him see those fragments of the latter’s life. But it was obviously a very delicate and intimate matter that Kazuha didn’t think Scaramouche would consciously let him in.

“Thank you,” he went on to say, not wanting to dwell on his spinning mind any longer lest Scaramouche would notice it. “That was very kind of you.” he continued before talking himself out of it, because the medicine was indeed working. He didn’t feel as feverish as he felt during his slumber and the dizziness was gradually leaving his body.

Scaramouche stared at him through a frown, not blinking, not speaking. He unfolded his arms although Kazuha didn’t think he was aware of his actions. His thin lips settled on a pressed line and he looked away from Kazuha’s expectant  gaze.

“I can’t let you die just like that. It was nothing.”

Kazuha let out a quiet chuckle despite himself and nodded. “It’s reassuring to know that your magic is lethal.”

This seemed to relieve Scaramouche as he rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly before glaring at him exasperatedly, returning to his usual self. “Not if I meant it to be, idiot. As I told you before, it's most probably the effects of teleportation and changes in climate.”

“We will be using teleportation in the future, right? Will there be side effects then, as well?” Kazuha asked curiously. Scaramouche shook his head.

“Hardly. Once you’re exposed to them, your body will become immune to the effects.”

“What about your magic?” Will I be seeing more of your memories?

Scaramouche narrowed his eyes at him as if he was able to read what Kazuha was thinking, but seemingly laying his question to curiosity he hummed quietly.

“The side effects will cease as well. It will leave an imprint on you, however, but I don’t think it will cause any weird reactions.” he shrugged with a tone of finality in his voice and pushed himself off the wall. “Enough of this. I don’t have all day. Shut it and rest.”

“Okay,” Kazuha muttered after him as Scaramouche swiftly turned on his heels and strode over to the door. He minutely glanced at Kazuha before closing the door after himself and disappearing.

Kazuha sighed and rubbed at his temples. It was never easy and civil with Scaramouche, but he believed he was making progress. That progress being attempts at languid conversations sufficed for him. He was gradually grasping the latter’s identity even though it was hidden beneath layers of deceptive masks and façades. It was as if they were taking turns in peeling the other’s layers, because Kazuha was certain he was as much of a challenge Scaramouche wanted to solve and emerge victorious as he was a puzzle to Kazuha that Kazuha wanted to collect every single piece and listened to the story behind them all until they made sense together.

He let himself sink into the soft and thick covers and his head fall to the pillows. He wanted to rest and be engulfed by a dream that would show him more of Scaramouche’s memories considering he only remembered bits and pieces. His mind drifted to the pained expression on the Electro Archon’s face and her words echoed in his mind. The room was unusually warm and the evening lights were soft and inviting. He felt his body gradually giving in to still-present exhaustion, and the last thing he could think of was Guuji Yae’s disapproving tone as she asked “Set him free?” over and over again.

*

The next day Scaramouche had deemed him well enough to let him wander around the palace. He had practically thrown him out of the office with an impatient lilt to his voice, and when Kazuha asked him about it, he had closed the door to his face. 

Kazuha left him to it and decided to take on this opportunity to gather information and explore the palace. Scaramouche gave him his own coat with an exaggerated eye roll as he had forgotten his own one in Sumeru and most of the palace was nothing like Scaramouche’s quarters when it came to warmth. The long corridors were appropriately illuminated, making them look not as suffocating as they were before. He had come across some officers who nodded at him curtly, and one of them asked him whether he was heading to the dining area, because if he was, he was going in the wrong direction.

Kazuha thought it was a safer option to just nod and go along with it, memorizing the directions the young officer relayed to him briefly, and thanking with a kind smile before making his way upstairs. 

The dining area was looking over to the back of the palace, and it was apparently preserved for the officers residing in and around the palace. There were a handful of them scattered in groups and individually over the tables, and although they glanced at him as he walked over to grab a plate for himself, their eyes didn’t linger on.

Kazuha was grateful for it. He wanted to relish in the comfort of being insignificant, not standing out. He sat down on a table next to the large windows and cast his eyes outside, slowly taking bites at the fish and rice that laid on his plate. However the taste was so foreign on his tongue, he was gratified at the familiarity of the ingredients.

Quiet chatters and the sounds of cutlery was almost like white noise in his ears while he ate and watched the view. It was such a different picture than the one he basked in in Sumeru a couple of days ago. There was a small lake with the water’s surface entirely frozen and the frame of the lake covered by long pine trees.

Snow piled beneath the trees trucks, still and straight. It wasn’t snowing today and the sky was clear. In the midst of mostly clear skies where hues of green and pink spread in waves. Northern lights, Kazuha recalled. It was an achingly beautiful view, greens and pinks melting into the evening sun’s warm reflections on the cold land’s sky. He distantly thought that he would be willing to sit there and watch for hours, an ache thrummed in his heart, longing for his days as a wanderer.

“Mind if I join you?”

Kazuha blinked and looked away from the window, actively being snapped back to his environment. There was another officer standing by the table he was occupying, but he was also familiar. Kazuha remembered him from the banquet, sitting next to the young harbinger, Tartaglia, who had claimed to have known of Kazuha. He looked to be around the same age as Kazuha was, white lock with a similar red tint in his forelocks, much like Kazuha’s sans the tall black fedora with red ornaments sitting on top of his head.

“Of course not. Please, go ahead.” Kazuha shook his head and politely smiled at him. The officer took the seat opposite of him with a smile of his own, the droplet tattoo on his cheek flexing slightly, and offered his hand.

“Lyney. Pleasure to meet you.”

“K… Niwa,” Kazuha corrected in time, taking the hand and shaking it. Lyney didn’t seem to have noticed his pause as his smile widened and he settled on his chair with a little more energy than necessary. His enthusiasm was seemingly oozing out of his pores.

“You work for Lord Scaramouche, right?”

“I am,” Although, he wasn't sure whether it was working for him or with him anymore. He smiled at Lyney apologetically. “I apologize I didn’t catch who you were together with at the banquet.”

“I’m accompanying Lord Arlecchino with a few more officers from Fontaine. Father went out for a meeting and I’m left to my own devices in the time being,” Lyney shrugged. “I decided to linger around here but can’t say I have missed the food.”

“Father?” Kazuha echoed. Lyney suddenly looked sheepish.

“Sorry! I forgot that you aren’t from the House of the Hearth, the orphanage Lord Arlecchino is in charge of back in Fontaine. We, the children of the Hearth, call her Father.” 

“Oh, I see now.” Kazuha mused, lifting his palm in a placating manner. “Her Lordship continues sounding like a very interesting person the more I hear about her.” 

Lyney huffed a chuckle, waving his hand briefly. “She definitely is, but isn’t everybody here? From what I’ve heard, Lord Scaramouche is quite the character himself.” Lyney challenged with a smirk and leaned down on the table as if he was giving him a secret. 

Kazuha wanted to laugh at that, but he settled on smiling pleasantly and shaking his head. “I assure you, he is more than that.”

Lyney arched his eyebrows with a mirthy grin before his eyes focused on someone seemingly on a close perimeter that he simply lifted his arm and beckoned at the person. Before Kazuha could turn around, there was another officer clad different from him and Lyney standing by their table, impassive gaze directed at Lyney. Lyney simply smiled at him charmfully and tilted his head towards Kazuha.

“Coffee or tea, Niwa, my friend?”

Kazuha blinked at him with surprise. “Um, tea?”

“Wonderful! Could you bring us two cups of tea, Mykola?”

The officer named Mykola simply bowed his head and disappeared into the kitchens. Kazuha watched after him with a confused glare. 

“He knows me, don’t worry.” Lyney waved his hand dismissively. “He’s a nice guy but a tough nut to crack.”

“That is the norm around here, I believe.” Kazuha mused, Lyney nodded approvingly.

“It’s your first time here, is it not? Oh— Thank you, Mykola.”

“Of course, Master Lyney.” The officer named Mykola placed the pair of tea cups on the table and nodded at Lyney before nodding at Kazuha also and disappearing once again as swiftly as he appeared. Kazuha blinked at the empty spot the officer covered a moment ago, and decided to return to the conversation at hand.

“Yes, it is.” he nodded before sipping at the cup. The bitter fragrance of the tea was a soothing wave splashing against his nerves. He inhaled at the steam before opening  his eyes and looking back at Lyney with a small smile. “Is it that obvious from my behaviour?”

Lyney chuckled at the question, placing his cup down on the saucer. “Not quite. But you see, Niwa, my friend, not many officers spend their leisure time staring out at the auroras with blatant awe on their face.”

However Kazuha found Lyney’s out-of-nowhere camaraderie worthy of suspicion, he believed in himself to play along. Scaramouche had warned him the moment they set foot, didn’t he? It was expected of him to not cause alarm and go along with the inquiries directed at him.

“It is true, yes. I was mostly situated in Liyue and Inazuma.”

“Yes, I remember your conversation with Master Childe during the banquet. It must be quite the change coming here.” Lyney said casually, leaning against his back neatly and placing the saucer on his knee. Kazuha nodded in agreement.

“You could say that. Being from Inazuma myself, it’s rather exhilarating to adapt into this new atmosphere, both the culture and the climate.” He lifted his cup towards Lyney. “But Fontaine is also quite different, is it not?”

“True, true,” Lyney nodded, tilting his head with a thoughtful hum. “But after being here many times I believe I’ve grown used to it. I still dread it, obviously,” he whispered the last part with his palm pinned against his cheek. He then dropped it with a nonchalant shrug. “But we are all human, of course. Adapting is what we do best, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Kazuha agreed easily. “I think I should ask your advice on getting used to Snezhnaya as a fellow colleague.” he offered with a small, innocent smile on his lips, clasping his hands on his lap. Lyney bowed his head with an exaggerated spin to his gloved hand.

“It would be my pleasure.” He straightened his neck and offered his hand once more. “Let me be your guide and show you all around.”

Kazuha simply smiled and nodded, grabbing his hand and shaking it.

*

After finishing a few cups of tea in a good-mannered chat, they left the hall when Lyney offered to show him the parts of the palace where mostly the officers occupied and used. While wandering around the long corridors, libraries, and training halls; one officer rushed after them to collect Lyney, telling him Lord Arlecchino was expecting him in her office. Lyney left with the officer after a panicked apology and a promise for a future meeting. 

It was obviously an elaborate trap. Bringing him to the crowded part of the palace and leaving for his commander, it was likely that someone -perhaps Lyney, perhaps someone else entirely- was expecting him to wait for a while and follow after him, listen in on his conversation with Arlecchino in case Scaramouche was mentioned even once. 

However Scaramouche had told him to play on their plan in a situation like this and defy him in favor of information, it was far too risky with so many officers and soldiers clearly eyeing him.

Thus, Kazuha returned to the dining hall for a cup of coffee this time, and swiftly returned to Scaramouche’s office. He was let in after a knock on the door, and he sat down on his usual chair in front of the table after placing the cup away from the files Scaramouche was working on.

“What is this?” Scaramouche asked with a scrunched nose.

“Coffee,” Kazuha answered with a glance at the window behind Scaramouche and then at the closed wooden door. Scaramouche frowned at him quizzically. Kazuha looked back at him with innuendo clear in his eyes, and said, “I was having tea with Lord Arlecchino’s companion Mr. Lyney, and it would be rude of me not to bring anything to you, my Lord.”

Scaramouche threw his head back with a quiet but an irritated sigh, realisation dawning at him. He closed the file and threw it aside for good measure, placing his fingers on his temples with a scowl written all over his face. “Is that it?” he asked before opening his eyes and looking up at Kazuha through his brows. Kazuha pursed his lips.

“You didn’t like the tea the other day, but if you still prefer it over coffee, I’m sure I can find a few different brews when Mr. Lyney takes me to the city center.”

“What the fuck?” Scaramouche whispered hotly under his breath, Kazuha pursed his lips and shook his head, Scaramouche drew a long breath. “See it to it, then.” Scaramouche muttered at last with an irritated groan. He lifted his hand from where it was placed in his palms and frowned at Kazuha knowingly. “And especially see if there are any  teas from Liyue.”

“As you wish,” Kazuha muttered obligingly, plopping his elbow on the arm rest and placing his head on his palm, he returned his gaze to the door. A few minutes passed by in silence with occasional shuffling of papers and the crisp sound of the porcelain cup being placed down until his nerves settled down, and he sighed with relief.

“Arlecchino and Childe, huh?” Scaramouche muttered under his breath and mocked gagging. “What a headache.”

“Do you think it’s only them two?” Kazuha asked, turning on the chair to fully face Scaramouche. His head was once again resting on his palms almost boringly.

“Could be. The others are all overseeing ongoing Fatui business. Childe and Arlecchino are free right now, and they’re opposite forces. I guess Pierro is planning Childe to annoy me with his absolute lack of wits until I kill him with my bare hands and be held accountable; or he is using Arlecchino to sneak into my intelligence network by any means necessary even if it means killing me in the process.” He groaned against his hands with his scowl deepening. “How fucking sanctimonious of him. He’s punishing me by sending me to Inazuma to bargain for the damned gnosis and while you’re here alone, he’ll be playing his pawns to force intel out of you.”

“He is sending you to Inazuma again?” Kazuha asked with a frown. Scaramouche swiveled his gaze back at him and folded his arms.

“What did I just say? That damned old man wants me to go to Inazuma and accuse the Shogun of breaking international law.” he spat with a sour expression on his face as if he had eaten something unpleasant. Kazuha lowered his gaze with a thoughtful frown.

“He is just pushing you to run away so their plan can continue accordingly,” 

“Do you think I’m not aware?” Scaramouche snapped at him, letting his hands fall on the papers, and releasing an exaggeratedly long breath. “Archons, you’ll give away everything the moment I leave you alone.”

“How about I go to Inazuma?” Kazuha asked thoughtfully, ignoring Scaramouche’s words. “Like an expedition of sorts? You can say that you sent me away to arrange a meeting with the Shogun on an independent territory from Inazuma and Snezhnaya both?”

“That’s a stupid plan, I’m not sending you to Inazuma.” Scaramouche shook his head dubiously.

“I won’t actually be on a mission,” Kazuha said once again. “It will disorganize Pierro’s plan and you will have advantage—”

“Are you out of your mind?!” Scaramouche whispered with a deep scowl, banging his hand on the wooden desk. “You are a wanted criminal! There is no way in hell they won’t have your head the moment you set foot. Not to mention I have less than a month, I’m on borrowed time!”

“I will teleport,” Kazuha said matter-of-factly. Scaramouche glared at him with wide, furious eyes. “I will let some Fatui soldiers see me and report to their superiors. You will be ruining their plan and they will need time to commence with a new one. That is when you will be able to gather intel, and we will keep going without going astray from our plan.”

Scaramouche stared at him with lips agape before he slowly shook his head. “You are insane.”

“I believe it is a very sound plan,” Kazuha muttered, seemingly pushing Scaramouche into another fit.

“Sound?! You can’t be serious— That’s absurd! Why are you even so eager to return to Inazuma?! Didn’t you run away the moment you had the chance?”

“I want to be the dream’s host.” Kazuha announced after a beat of silence, this time catching the latter off guard. Scaramouche stared at him with a deep frown on his face until he no longer could contain his nerves and got to his feet.

“What?!” he demanded hotly.

“You don’t trust them, and neither do I for that account,” Kazuha explained calmly, not letting his eyes leave Scaramouche. “And certainly, you won’t trust the host they will pick. I think it will give you a sense of reassurance being able to contact the host if anything goes wrong, or perhaps just the fact of having the host someone from your side.”

Scaramouche glared at him wordlessly for a few seconds as if he grew a second head until he finally said, “Are you seriously bargaining with me?”

“I am,” Kazuha replied with a shrug. “What do you say?”

“The samsara won’t work if the host is aware they are dreaming, idiot.” Scaramouche said slowly as if he thought Kazuha incapable of comprehending such basic logic before he spat the last word. 

“I am sure the Akademiya is more than capable of fixing that issue.” Kazuha said matter-of-factly, not feeling offended. “After all, they will do anything you ask of them.”

“Shut your cheeky mouth,” Scaramouche sat on his chair and looked away, folding his arms and placing his fingers on his lips with a thoughtful frown. “You’re giving me a headache.” 

“I’m sorry for causing you inconvenience, I truly am,” Kazuha said honestly, pulling the chair until he was face to face with Scaramouche completely. “But I think it is the only way to actually learn something from them. It will take much time for the other officers to trust me enough to let me in on their lords' plans if they themselves know them for that matter. But if it’s you getting in on the good graces of the harbingers, it will take far less time to gather some actually useful information. Because it is as you said, we are on borrowed time here.”

The frown on Scaramouche’s face eased in favor of an impassive scowl, indicating that he was indeed considering Kazuha’s words this time. Kazuha didn’t look away from his intense gaze, hoping to encourage him to come to terms with the offer. It took Scaramouche almost a minute before he sighed through his nose quietly.

“Fine, be it that way. But,” he leaned in on the table, pointing his finger at Kazuha and tapping it against his chest painfully. “You better know that I will come and shred your flesh into pieces with my bare hands if you try to do something funny.” He grabbed Kazuha’s jaw and lifted his head until he could see nothing but Scaramouche’s bright and sparkling eyes. “Any action we hadn’t agreed on, and I shall personally see you getting the fitting punishment. It is my magic in your blood, and the ocean won’t keep me from using it.”

“You have my word.” Kazuha muttered, fighting down the urge to swallow. He wetted his lips. “I will earn you the time you need and I won’t cause any more trouble for you.”

“Good,” Scaramouche spat the word venomously and pulled away, letting Kazuha release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He could feel the phantom of Scaramouche’s palm on his cheeks. He blinked at the hazy feeling. 

“Tomorrow morning.” Scaramouche said after a few seconds of silence. “Do your preparations. I will teleport you to one of the statues of the seven, they contain the magic of leylines further than the waypoints. You will have three days and nothing more. And when you get back, you will start working with Delusions.” He stopped before the book shelf and looked at Kazuha sternly, his words slow and intent. “Are we clear?”

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Of course.”

*

He knew Scaramouche originally planned to send him somewhere else, but by the method he himself gave Kazuha the previous time Kazuha landed on the statue of the seven in Watatsumi Island by focusing his energy into recalling the island. There weren't any extreme effects of teleporting this time, and he released a sigh of relief when he found himself, although on his knees once more, safe and sound.

It seemed to be early afternoon judging by the angle of the shadows, and the early fall air had greeted him with a gentle breeze. He slowly got to his feet and looked around, a sudden pang of nostalgia hit him hard on his chest and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands wavered at his sides, so he clasped them firmly on his chest and looked at the ocean with a lump on his throat. The feeling of returning home, the place he fought so hard to run away from settled heavily on his shoulders and he took a shuddering breath. Gentle waves crashed against the shore like a warm greeting, but he could still feel the blizzard from Snezhnaya like a cold whisper behind his neck.

Removing his jacket and tying it around his waist and turned to look at the statue. There sat the finely carved marble, the image of the Electro Archon. Although he didn’t know whether it was the actual Electro Archon or her puppet at first glance, he was abruptly reminded of a dream that played in his fever-driven mind a few days ago. He remembered Raiden Ei looking down at him, or rather at Scaramouche who was presumably an infant if he could’ve been called one at that time, with a pained expression on her face. 

This was her vision of setting him free, he mused skeptically while he kept staring at the statue tensely. He knew divine lives worked in a way he was unable to comprehend, but even then he believed it was cruel of her to discard him completely just because he didn’t meet up her expectations.

The Shogun seemed to reflect the actual Electro Archon’s ideas. She, too, discarded her own people’s lives, their dreams and ambitions when she thought them unfit for her own vision and ideals, after all. Apart from their history, Kazuha could understand why Scaramouche was also resentful towards the Shogun. Overthrowing her, overthrowing them both would be interpreted as Scaramouche reclaiming his own birth.

Kazuha, then, suddenly thought back to his father, something he hadn’t lingered on for far too long. He spent his childhood watching his father help his grandfather try to prevent their clan from falling. Although he knew from a young age that he didn’t belong in the smothering nature of the clan work, he still waited for the day the porch would be passed down on him and he could finally help his father carry the burden. Show him that he wasn’t alone and Kazuha would do anything to make him proud.

The memories of feeling like a disappointment because he failed at his role as a son tasted bitter on his tongue. He knew in hindsight that his father didn’t think of him as such, just that he didn’t have the time nor the compassion to soothe his worries and pat him on the shoulder. He wondered whether it was also the case for the Electro Archon or not and thought perhaps the gap between being a human and a divine being wasn’t as wide as he originally believed it was.

He sighed and adjusted the satchel that was slipping from his shoulder and turned away from the statue. Despite everything, he still had wounds that were yet to be scarred from the Vision Hunt Decree. It was nauseating to stand before the statue longer.

He already had his day planned, and he didn’t want to linger around somewhere he could be easily spotted. He remembered from the weeks he had spent in Tenshukaku, some guards were talking about his ancestral house being emptied. He decided against imagining the sort of view he would be greeted with, yet his curiosity won in the end. He wanted to see if it was emptied entirely or was there anything worth keeping as a keepsake. Apart from his blade, he didn’t have anything left that tied him to his roots.

Originally, he wanted to see his friends from the Resistance before heading for his home. But now that he was in Watatsumi, he could see from afar the village and the shrine and both were dazzling with activity. And although he knew he would be welcome with open arms, he was still a runaway fugitive. There might be Shogunate soldiers patrolling around the area if there was a gathering of sorts, it was sensible if he didn’t show up now.

With one last look at the village, he turned on his heels and walked away.

*

His ancestral home wasn’t so far away from Watatsumi Island as far as Kazuha was concerned. As his family originally consisted of swordsmiths and teaching the art until his great-grandfather decided to change things, the Kaedehara Clan almost never left the desolate parts of Yashiori Island, near the mining sites of Kannazuka. The crystal marrow that sprouted in Kannazuka was the blood of Inazuman arts of forging weaponry. Kazuha was planning to collect some to bring them to Snezhnaya. Although Scaramouche was still secretive about who had taught him to forge an Isshin blade, Kazuha agreed with him that the master, who was long gone, did not matter at the end of the day. The disciple was here, which would make him Kazuha’s master now, and it was more than enough. He wanted to learn to forge an Isshin blade more than he wanted to know who Scaramouche's teacher was, he believed. 

From Watatsumi Island to his ancestral home, it was roughly a trek and rowing a small abandoned boat till sunset. By the time the sun was nowhere to be seen on the horizon and the sky was gradually darkening, Kazuha stood before the gates of his home, his muscles sore and exhausted, his mind heavy.

It was that strange feeling all over his nerves once again, now that he stood before his home. It had been home, that was a valid sentiment, but when he was the only one occupying the empty residence, it had shred its qualifications of a home and became a simple house which he grew up within. It had never been a flurry of activity, he never had his friends come over apart from the other heirs to other clans, his father never raised his voice at him, his mother never lingered around. But it was his home at the end of the day. The place he fought ferociously to run away from.

He placed his hand on the wooden door to the gardens and pushed it open with little effort. As he expected, the gardens once abundant and neatly tended were now nothing but dry bushes and rotten fruits. A cat was lying down on the dirt without a care in the world, sleeping soundly. A smile tugged at his lips at the sight of it despite the delicate feeling on his chest, and he quietly slid down on his knees so as not to wake up the cat and picked up a half-rotten lavender melon from the floor. A small worm slithered around a clean spot lazily, occasionally dipping into the fruit’s flesh. It seemed the birds and beetles visiting the garden took a liking to the few fruits the trees had to offer, and the animals made a house out of it. His smile widened as he put down the fruit gently and stretched his hand forward to sheepishly rub his bandaged finger against the cat’s soft ears. Although the house was nothing but a vacant building now, it was comforting to know that it still performed its duty to house any and every being that stepped through its door.

The cat yawned lazily and rolled on its back, not bothered by the gentle caresses against its soft fur. Kazuha huffed a laugh and put down the satchel, fishing out the food he had picked up from the dining hall and wrapped thoroughly. Slowly he peeled the wrapper and revealed a large portion of a chicken dish with vegetables and rice. With a sniff at the plate, he deemed it still edible and sat down against the garden wall with a sigh of relief. The cat, also seemingly deeming the dish edible, perked up and rubbed against his side with a loud purr. Kazuha smiled at him widely, cutting the chicken into small pieces while patting the cat with his free hand.

“Here you go,” he muttered gently and placed the chicken pieces on the wrapper, pouring a little water onto a carved stone. The cat meowed loudly at the sight of the food and walked away from him to stuff its mouth into the food. Kazuha joined it with a warm feeling on his chest, unlike the lingering residue of Scaramouche’s magic on his veins, but similar slightly. The cat accompanied him through the meal while he occasionally patted it and looked up at the darkening sky. Eventually, the cat beat him to finish the food but still lingered by his side until he, too, finished the meal and put the plastic cutlery and the trash on his satchel and got to his feet. The cat stared at him before returning to its original position, laying down and dozing off immediately. Kazuha glanced at it lovingly one last time before turning his attention to the house and taking a deep breath. His feet almost instinctively led him to the entrance by the back yard as they did for all those years. The front yard where he had his meal was for visitors, and the family usually used the back yard. It was where Kazuha played as a little kid, where he stargazed during the nights sleep wouldn't come easy, and where he learned to use a sword and practiced its technique. He could almost hear his father’s chastising voice echoing around him as if he was once again young and out of bed past his bed time, and his grandfather reassuring his father that it was under his supervision. He could almost imagine a smaller, younger version of himself bare feet on the soft grass with a wooden blade clasped tightly within his fist waltzing around the yard, not entirely knowing what he was doing.

It was all empty and quiet now.

It was him who had let go of the servants after his father died and there remained no point in shouldering the burden of a falling clan. It was him that closed the door after himself and ran when no other option remained. He was certain of his decision then and he was certain of his decision now. Yet, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of bitter nostalgia as he turned around and made his way toward the broken sliding door.

Not only the house was emptied, but also seemingly scavenged thoroughly. Kazuha didn’t mind, he had never been a materialist person. His ties and attachments extended to the people he held dearly, most of whom were long gone, and the vast beauties of the outside world. He didn’t mind the Tenshukaku emptying the house. He was content that whatever was left was taken by individuals rather than government  officials and hoped that they landed on houses of people that were in need. If anything, he should’ve emptied the house himself in the first place if he wasn’t busy running for his life.

Still, it was odd seeing his home completely… Empty. Moonlight peeked through the broken windows and illuminated the dark rooms with little enthusiasm. There wasn’t much to see, anyway. Apart from the lack of furniture, the house was much the same as the last time he was there. His eyes roamed around the empty walls and the wooden floors. Casually strolling around the rooms, Kazuha had stopped at his treks when he found a lone dry bonsai tree placed in front of a window in what once was his great-grandfather’s room and was kept intact even after his death.

Intrigue winning over, he grabbed the small plant by its pot and brought it closer to the moonlight, marveling at the history the plant must have witnessed. Outliving his father and grandparents, the plant was as much part of the clan as Kazuha was. 

He smiled despite himself. Although he tried to have no attachments to the past, it was still a warm welcome from that past regardless. 

He sighed through his nose and went ahead to return the bonsai tree to its original place when he felt a protrusion at the side of the pot and frowned slightly. Placing down the plant, he leaned down to inspect the protrusion. Before he could do much, the excess clay gave up under his fingertips and broke away from the pot, revealing a hidden piece of paper.

Bewildered, Kazuha leaned down to grab the paper that fell to the floor, and frowned at the sight of the blank page. He looked at the other side, greeted with the still empty paper. Perhaps it has to be illuminated, he mused as he lifted it towards the moonlight. The ink, if there was any, wasn’t the kind fit for the moonlight it seemed. He was about to try a small fire when he remembered a type of ink that was used long before he was born around those parts. He rubbed at the paper between his fingers thoughtfully, it was certainly thicker than a normal piece of paper.

However skeptical, he removed the satchel from his shoulder and grabbed the water bag inside of it. Still by the window under the moonlight, he put the paper on the window sill and poured a little water on his palm. He sprinkled a few droplets on to the middle section, and his eyes widened with bewilderment when pieces of ink started to appear.

With his heart at his mouth, he slowly wetted the entire paper without pouring so much water at one go, afraid that the material would give away. His orbs frantically searched the half-finished sentences while wetting the paper gradually, and he released a deep breath when he was left with an entire letter.

His heart rate picked up and his breaths were bated. Even before reading its contents, Kazuha knew that the letter would illuminate so many mysteries from his past he had to leave unanswered. 

Taking the letter with a petrifying exhilaration running through his body, he took a deep breath and started to read it.

“To whoever reads this letter:

I, Kaedehara Yoshinori, have been held to a certain secret throughout my entire life. I don't have much longer in this world, and after much consideration, I've finally decided to disclose the matter.

All those years ago, when I was pursuing the swordsmiths alongside Commissioner Kamisato of the Yashiro Commission, I was not injured by one of the fleeing smiths.Rather, it was night, and after the clues led us down to shore, I waited for the culprits to show themselves. However, there were no swordsmiths in sight, only a single eccentric stranger. This stranger claimed to be the one behind the failed forgings and said that he had been patiently waiting for us. He then threatened to destroy the Raiden Gokaden.

That person was of able body, and in a blink of an eye, myself and the accompanying samurai had been defeated. Commissioner Kamisato was severely wounded, and I barely escaped death myself. My hat had fortunately blunted a blow to my head.The unusual stranger could've easily claimed my life at that moment. But, after noticing my appearance, he stopped his attacks, and sternly asked if I had any connection with the name "Niwa." I answered that it was my father's surname and after my father disappeared, I was adopted by the Kaedehara family.

Upon hearing my answer, the stranger paused. After a long silence, he suddenly said: "Tell her this. My name is Kunikuzushi." He then turned and left…

The forging did not go well due to this stranger's tampering with Her Excellency's blueprint. Lord Kamisato knew the significance of this event, but he remained silent, fearing that careless talk might drag others into what might be considered a treasonous crime. Despite his serious wounds, he insisted that we were wounded by the fleeing personnel, and advised me to remain silent. I, being eternally grateful to him for his consideration, and understanding that the situation is not ideal, decided to bury this in my heart.

As the leader of the Keadehara Clan, I am deeply ashamed to witness the decline of the Isshin Art. But, as a father, it is my priority to ensure the safety of my children and grandchildren. If you, the one reading this letter, are a descendant of our house, do not blindly pursue past foes, or be shackled by the deeds and duties of yesteryear, lest you lose yourself.

Yours, Kaedehara Yoshinori”

By the time he had read the letter more than a few times, Kazuha had his back against the concrete under the window sill, his eyes widened under a slight scowl and his heart beating painfully. He knew his great-grandfather later became a Kaedehara, and that he had ties with the Niwa lineage. It was the reason why he had chosen the name Niwa Hisahide when Scaramouche demanded him to do so, with his brain still fuzzled from Tenshukaku and his heart exhausted with a heavy yearning for familiarity. But he hadn’t known the full extent of how wide this mixed family legacy stretched, until now. He doubted even his father and grandfather were in the know. He remembered his grandfather’s enthusiasm over helping his father with clan work and his father’s exasperation toward the matter. Although Kazuha was certain both of them had tried to revive the Isshin Art, they most probably have failed to do so. Not his grandfather perhaps, but his father didn’t expect him to hold onto clan work in his adult life, giving up on hope from the beginning. He didn’t expect him to accomplish the impossible and revive the late art either, hence Kazuha’s schooling on his clan duties were mostly focused on the sword art rather than foreign it himself.

He put down the letter on his lap and tipped his head back until it touched the warm concrete. He stared at the empty wall across the room as if it had held the answers to the new questions forming in his mind.

“Kunikuzushi…” he whispered under his breath, tasting the eerily familiar name on his tongue. The wind creeping into the house from the broken door tickled at his neck and he swallowed down. A foe from the past, apparently could reappear in the future. A mighty fighter, and a clever mastermind to tamper with even the Shogun’s own blueprints. Kunikuzushi…

“General Mahamatra, Hamadi says? Nice to meet you. I am Kunikuzushi, I heard so much about you.” Scaramouche stepped forward with a smile on his face and offered a hand.

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line, his hand on the paper tightened slightly.

It was never a coincidence Scaramouche had stepped into his life, was it? He had his agenda long before Kazuha was born, and saving him from prison was just a step to complete his plan, whatever it was. Although Scaramouche had claimed to have forgotten about the Niwa that taught him the Isshin Art, this letter claimed differently. To go as far as to murder and injure dozens of bladesmiths, and only sparing his great-grandfather’s life because he recognized his appearance, deduced that he was actually a Niwa…

It most likely was the red dye the clan members dyed their hair with to show their allegiances. He thought back to Scaramouche’s memories that came to him in flashes during his sleep, and the gentle looking swordsmith with a red-streak in his fringe. He wondered the reason for Scaramouche’s thirst for revenge, as it was the only sensible conclusion from the letter, and in which ways it shaped him into the Scaramouche Kazuha knew today.

He sighed and closed his eyes, his brows creased with worry. He was satisfied with having to find the answers he had been searching for in his youth, however bitter at the woes and misfortunes they had brought. He initially wished to live on with the life his great-grandfather hoped his descendants would, closing this case and leaving it in the past. On the other hand, knowing that the enemy from all those years ago, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, was still plotting to cause trouble for the people around him, as the wind had whispered to him just then and as Kazuha knew himself…

He released a deep breath once again. His hand on the paper tightened once more.

Then, he would not turn a blind eye. Even if it cost him his life.

*

He spent most of the night on the worn floor of the Kaedehara clan, using his coat as a pillow and staring at the ceiling of his great-grandfather’s old room. The letter beside him had dried into its previous appearance once more, and he securely placed it inside of his shirt, not knowing what to do with it but not wanting to leave it at the open for the wrong people to claim it either. When sleep didn’t come easy just like his childhood days, he got to his feet and left the house to moonglazing in the back yard.

He wasn’t sure if letting Scaramouche know of his discovery upon their shared past was a wise idea. If Scaramouche had been a predictable person, Kazuha would expect his end to be delivered by Scaramouche’s hands. But, he wasn’t certain now. He wasn’t afraid of an early death, nor was he concerned for Scaramouche’s venomous promises of torture being truthful. What he was certain of was the fact that even if he told Scaramouche about the letter, he would not share his part of the story, perhaps never would. 

Hence, by the time the sun was up and he was ready to leave the house, Kazuha decided to keep the letter and its contents closer to his chest, let them remain hidden until the right time had arrived for them to spill ungracefully. 

He had found some old kimonos that were dotted with maple leaves, just like his own old pair he had thrown away while fleeing with Scaramouche, and he was unable to resist the urge to grab them and put them inside the satchel. Perhaps a day would arrive in the future that he would no longer need to hide his own identity, he hoped. A day Scaramouche would call him by his own name, a day where he would feel welcome in his homeland.

He made his way towards the few mining spots near his ancestral home to collect some crystal marrow, not sure how to turn them into jade steel, he trusted Scaramouche to know of the method and collected just enough to forge a single blade. 

The area was desolate, he didn’t see a single person on his way to the shore. Only animals and the beetles greeted him as he passed by them among the shallow trees. The times he spent exploring the forested area near his house felt like eons away. He wasn’t able to reminisce about the past on his way the previous day due to his exhaustion, but now he was up and about under the morning sun, he almost felt like an intruder. As if stepping on a sacred threshold he wasn’t supposed to pass through. As if he was placing himself in the middle of the long gone past, going against his philosophy of carrying the past burdens on his person and not dragging himself into their pit.

He wondered distantly, almost unaware, what Scaramouche must be thinking towards Inazuma and how being in Inazuma must have affected him. Because as he said the very first night he stepped into Kazuha’s life, he had outlived his father, and his father’s forefathers, Kazuha’s entire bloodline. The land Scaramouche intrinsically resembled, the land that reflected Scaramouche’s life and ideals, but was never bestowed upon him, and never feeling at peace whenever he was dragged back there. Like being stuck inside a circle. Running away and returning, moving on and being reminded.

As he glanced at the village by the far end of Watatsumi Island from where he stood by the statue, he couldn’t help but understand his inner turmoil.

The same gathering from the previous day was still happening. He could see Gorou, his old friend, his comrade, moving among the people, no doubt running to their aid and catching up conversations. By the shoreline was Lady sangonomiya, his old commander, someone who he could easily rely on with his trust, watching over her people and humoring the children around her by seemingly creating hydro figures mid-air. They seemed peaceful, content, and not in dire need to fight or flight. Not like how he left them all those months ago.

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line and grabbed at his shirt by his chest. The view before his eyes was where he belonged, next to his comrades fighting for the future of his homeland. These forests, lakes and mountains were what he grew up admiring. The food and the people he had his ties attached were what surrounded him throughout his life. The familiarity of Inazuma was the relief cold water brought, but also reminded him how drowning in it once felt and could have been once again.

A quiet sigh left his nostrils and he closed his eyes shut as if in pain before turning around; turning his back to what once was his home once again. Turning away to run away from it once more. He must’ve helped Scaramouche earn enough time by then, there was no point in lingering any longer.

“Not so fast, Kazuha.”

He froze in his place, snapping his eyes open but seeing no one. Sakura petals he didn’t notice appearing swirled around him lazily and he felt the presence of a mighty individual lingering around him. It was unlike him not to notice the changes in the close environment, hence that could only mean one thing as far as he was aware. 

He quickly turned around once again, his heart beating a fast staccato. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped the moment his eyes landed on the other person. He blinked, petrified, and tried to gulp down the dryness blocking his throat.

“G… Guuji Yae?” he croaked out, his hand firmly clasped at his shirt.

Guuji Yae scanned him from head to toe with her fingers placed on her jaw and a grin on her lips. She dropped her hand in favor of folding her arms, and her grin widened a fraction. Kazuha squared his shoulders.

“Good heavens, what an unexpected surprise to see you.” She took a few small steps towards him, like a hunter cornering its prey. Kazuha tried his best to look impassive, but it was getting harder each step she took. “You’re certainly swift on your feet, aren’t you? They looked for you everywhere but to no avail. And yet,” Guuji Yae stopped at her step and pointed her index finger at him. “Here you are.”

“Guuji Yae, let me explain—”

“Hush, dear,” she flicked her finger nonchalantly and turned her back to him, her eyes roaming around the cluster of people afar. “I have no desire to hand you over to the police even though you have disappeared suddenly with no trace. The Tenshukaku business means very little to me.”

“Oh,” Kazuha breathed out at the unexpected sentiment, blinking with confusion and clueless as to what to say. Guuji Yae didn’t seem to be lying to him in order to fish information out of him, or at the very least there was no panicked flushes of wind blowing against his skin. “I apologize for the inconvenience.” he opted to say at last. Guuji Yae looked over her shoulder at him and winked.

“It wasn’t a time-consuming search anyway, considering peace talks came soon after and your case had been put aside for the time being." She shrugged before fully facing him. “You needn’t worry. I’m simply a… Third-party-observer, let’s say.”

“I see,” he murmured, feeling small and little under her gaze. He let himself an exhale through his nose and shook his head. “I am sorry, regardless. And of course, you have my gratitude.”

Guuji Yae hummed listlessly and swiveled her gaze to his eyes. Her lips quirked in an amused manner, as if she could read his thoughts and see through his exterior by merely looking at his face. And perhaps she could, because; “So you’re with Scaramouche now, huh?”.

Kazuha’s eyes widened as if in command, his lips opening to say something and rebut, but failing and closing, positively shredding his entire coat of discretion. Guuji Yae delightedly laughed at him and waved her hand in front of her mouth.

“You sure are an interesting one, Kazuha. But you have a practical and clever head on your shoulders. I bet Scaramouche is also quite impressed by this.”

“How do you know?” Kazuha rushed to ask, feeling his body getting warmer and jumpy. Guuji Yae shrugged once more.

“The wind told me, of course, how else? You may not hear him the way I do, but he certainly is nosy.” She looked at him knowingly, her index finger tapping against her chin. “But I’d rather get answers from you directly.”

“I was under the impression that you had it all figured out.” Kazuha muttered with his eyes wide. Guuji Yae huffed a laugh.

“Not at all. The wind whispered to me a few gossips then and there, that’s all. I’m not usually one to listen to its cheap gossips. But this, however…” she clicked her tongue and half circled around him. “You can say I’m more than intrigued.”

Kazuha stared at her in return. He didn’t care for his own reputation among his friends or the people of Inazuma but considering Guuji Yae was the Electro Archon’s familiar… He wasn’t sure of his capabilities to guard Scaramouche’s secrecy and safety. 

“Does Tenshukaku also involve the Shogun?” he asked cautiously. Guuji Yae arched a brow with clear intrigue.

“You mean whether she will know of this conversation or not? Considering the only chance I got to talk to her in person in five centuries was because of you, I highly doubt that.”

Kazuha blinked with surprise, holding his breath in shock. “What do you mean?” he managed to utter. Guuji Yae sighed exaggeratedly. 

“I believe Scaramouche had already told you about his connection with the Electro Archon, yes? Not the Shogun but Raiden Ei.” She flexed her fingers and observed her finely polished nails nonchalantly, as if she knew he was long aware of Scaramouche’s past, as if she was personally there when Scaramouche told him begrudgingly. “Well, then you must also know that she had isolated herself in her consciousness to mourn and grieve her late sister for that aforementioned period. She wouldn’t see anyone. Not me, not the Shogun, not Scaramouche.” She flashed her eyes at Kazuha while putting a bit more emphasis on the last name. Kazuha frowned with unease, Guuji Yae simply nodded. “If it wasn’t for you taking on the Musou no Hitotachi and forcing Shogun to retreat herself to Ei’s consciousness and creating an opening, I might never have had a chance of seeing her after all this time. I believe it’s only valid to thank you. Without the chance you created, the ceasefire would’ve arrived later, maybe never.”

Kazuha pressed his lips in a thin line and chewed on his flesh with his gaze on the earth. He could feel Guuji Yae’s ominous eyes, boring holes on his skin, calculating and evaluating. He suddenly remembered his dream from a few days ago when he saw Scaramouche’s memories and her words echoed in his mind. He didn’t even know whether those memories indeed happened or they were an illusion of sorts, but he could still practically feel Guuji Yae’s cold gaze and curt words.

 “You know he will pose danger in the future.”

Did she think the same way towards Kazuha now? Was she here to fish information out of him about Scaramouche, disposing of him now and going for Scaramouche later? But however, in the midst of his mania where he believed this possibility was negative to come true, he could only focus on one thing.

“You said Raiden Ei refused to see Scaramouche.” he muttered and gulped before lifting his head and looking back at Guuji Yae. “He had briefly mentioned something alike but did not elaborate.”

“And you want to know the story.” Guuji Yae concluded for him. Kazuha nodded his head after a beat of silence.

“... Yes. And I will answer your questions in return.”

Guuji Yae lifted her brows at him and tilted her head in consideration. “Not very chivalric of you, I must say, Kazuha.”

“I might not have much time to learn the whole story from him,” Kazuha muttered with a heavy feeling on his chest. He grabbed at his shirt absentmindedly. “But I want to know, and I want to understand.” 

Guuji Yae narrowed her eyes at him until she finally shrugged, possibly having her mind made from the beginning. “Very well. I believe you ought to know, anyway.”

She walked towards the cliff’s edge, her eyes roaming around the people of Watatsumi and the scenery. “You know of Ei, and you know of her freeing him, I suppose? She wanted to create the perfect puppet to rule her nation for eternity while she stepped down and grieved for her sister. Scaramouche was a byproduct in this process. When she placed the gnosis on his chest, possibly from seeing the late Electro Archon’s memories, he started to cry in his sleep. Ei, in her distress, deemed him too human to shoulder a divine statue, sealed his powers and placed him on a private domain to sleep forever. But,”

“He woke up.” Kazuha chimed in quietly, She nodded her head without looking at him.

“Yes. A miscalculation on our part. I told her to dispose of him rather than such a… fragile solution. But she, in her divine gaze, thought it to be too cruel. And in the end, he woke up revengeful for his creator.”

Kazuha lowered his gaze, gentle breeze caressing against his skin as if comforting him. He doubted the truth within those words, but listened to them regardless as Guuji Yae continued.

“He was found by the people of Tatarasuna after he woke up, and brought to their village. There, he learned to live and act like a human, engrossed by their hospitality and fraternity. He learned the art of bladeforging, especially the art of Isshin, and practiced it with the village people. It was quite a long time ago, during the time of the Tatarasuna incident that led the place to be deserted. He sought an audience with Ei for her help. But before the message could reach Ei, the Shogun had discarded him. That’s when he came to me.”

Guuji Yae’s expression shifted slightly in favor of a subtle troubled one. Her thin brows creased in a vague frown, her lips flexed in a tight line. “He wasn’t thrilled about it, certainly. The idea of seeking help from me and Ei must’ve sent him into a spiral and I can’t blame him for it. Although I agreed to help him out, it was far too late. He returned to the village before my reinforcements arrived and tried to fix it by himself. It would’ve cost him his life if it weren’t for him being immortal. And although he actually managed to stabilize the threat, some of the people have already left the village without a word or died.

“After being left alone once more, he wandered Inazuma as an ordinary human male with his own consciousness, creating ties with people and seeing these ties cut by the cruelty of mortality, feeling betrayed and abandoned. It was the perfect time and opportunity for the Fatui to swoop him into their ranks the moment they took interest in him.”

“I suppose this is where the Scaramouche now was made.” Kazuha muttered quietly, Guuji Yae nodded.

“Indeed. Some eccentric geniuses in the ranks of Fatui made adjustments in his body; not only unsealing his power, but very likely rendering him even more formidable than his original specifications.”

It was Dottore then, Kazuha thought grimly. 

“I don’t know the details of his life and place in the Fatui apart from how he came to become The Balladeer, I believe it is for you to find out, but he returned to Inazuma almost a hundred years ago to, what I believe, seek revenge.”

Kazuah lifted his eyes with a frown, finding Guuji Yae staring at him in return. It was the time “Kunikuzushi” had come to Inazuma, then.

“Seek revenge from the lineage of the swordsmiths that betrayed and abandoned him.” Guuji Yae said slowly, her words full of innuendo. “The descendents of the Tatarasuna people that dispersed around Inazuma after the incidents, and the successors of those forging schools.”

His frown deepened with disarray before his mind rushed like tidal waves.

He was right, then. The thirst for revenge was written in his fate the moment he woke up all alone, a residue of his mother’s grief and his sister’s wrath that he dragged after him throughout his life. The pieces settled on their places and he was greeted with a full picture without any doubt lingering upon it like a thick fog. For the first time since Scaramouche stepped into his life, everything made sense. It wasn’t as clear yesterday as it was now. Perhaps a veil was drawn before his eyes because of exhaustion or heavy feelings of being back at home. But now his suspicions were confirmed by Guuji Yae herself, the person that witnessed Scaramouche’s birth, it was nothing but the truth.

“The letter I found,” he muttered with his palm on his forehead. “About one Kunikuzushi killing tens of swordsmiths in one slash, sparing my great-greatfather’s life because he recognized him, his original lineage, not a Kaedehara but a Niwa,” the words left his lips like a mantra of mania, recalling the letter. His mind completing the story that was left unsaid a century ago, only picked up a few months back once again. “And after a hundred years he returned to Inazuma for the gnosis before he saw the last descendant of that family, me, and he wanted to close the chapter of his human life before—”

“Before he tries to reach godhood.” Guuji Yae finished for him. Kazuha snapped his eyes at her, bewildered and full of adrenaline. Guuji Yae stared at him for a few seconds before saying, “It was I who gave the gnosis to him, after all.”

“What?” Kazuha asked, ungraceful. “Why?”

“Ei no longer had any need for the gnosis. He wanted it, I wanted him and his mess gone. An even transaction.”

“But, I don’t understand, how…”

“Gnosis is not the requirement for godhood, Kazuha. Ei is not less of an archon because I gave up the gnosis in her stead. She had been without the gnosis quite long before she isolated herself. Gnosis only represents Celestia's ties with the world through the eyes of the archons. I am sure you and Scaramouche both will understand it soon enough. But in the meantime, let him play his god games.”

“How are you so certain of this?” Kazuha asked desperately. “Regardless of the outcome, he will cause harm to innocent people and to himself. He wants the Shogun’s throne, Lady Guuji. This whole thing will absolutely affect Inazuma.”

“And yet, you care about him.”

Kazuha stopped at his tracks, frozen and dumbfounded. The fight in him left his body in one swift motion, leaving him feel as if he was punched in the gut. He stared at Guuji Yae’s knowing eyes. It wasn’t a question or a guess. Her straight-forward tone was as if she was stating a fact. His eyelashes fluttered from how swiftly he blinked his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

“He’s a complicated person with a complicated past,” Kazuha said weakly, because regardless of everything, it was the truth. His heart was beating painfully, his chest aching. Guuji Yae hummed for a moment.

“He is. But even after learning that he will go for your head in the future as he did for your ancestors, your arguments were for his safety’s sake. Not yours.”

Kazuha pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

“I don’t fault him for his wish for revenge. He was abandoned and it was the Fatui that came to collect him, transferring him into who he is today. I understand his needs, and now I understand the ferocity behind his eyes every time he looks at me. If going for my head will bring him closure and healing, I will let him.” He lifted his head proudly, his eyes intent at Guuji Yae. “But I will not let him harm others or himself in the process, just like how his mother hurt him for an eternity and let the Fatui take advantage of his broken state. I will not let him become a god that turns his back to his people in need. Even if it costs my life, I won’t turn a blind eye.”

Guuji Yae stared at him wordlessly for a few seconds before her lips curled up in the corners, a vague smile blooming on her face.

“Then I believe he is in good hands, and I can put my head into rest.” Her smile widened at the confused expression on Kazuha’s face before she tilted her at the view of the village. “The Watatsumi people seem to be doing well on their own, don’t you think? Although the peace talks are yet to be completed, I still wouldn’t expect them to be thriving. You must know Miss Hina, right?” she looked at him over her shoulder, her smile replaced by a small smirk. Kazuha still didn’t understand. “Well, she tells me that they have a secret funder, and apparently that funder has been sending food and medicine for the town folk for the past almost two months. Doctors from Liyue come and go as well, apparently. Especially for the children with almost enough toys for all the children in Inazuma.” 

She turned on her heels, her narrowed gaze accusing but her smile still in place. “For almost two months. One could only think it has something to do with you, hm?” 

“I believe it is a sensible conclusion,” he replied with his voice still wavering from his burst and nodded. His heart was beating painfully fast against his chest, and he could feel his body warm up with contentment and also with something akin to felicity that made him want to smile until his cheeks hurt, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Scaramouche actually kept his promise, and even did more than he said he would do. 

Only he could make Kazuha question his own values while breaking his heart into a million pieces and making them whole again, Kazuha thought, so maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. It was the same person that suffered a pain of many lifetimes brought by the swordsmiths, and yet agreed to help Kazuha learn his legacy. The legacy he seemingly had sworn to destroy. 

A complicated man with a complicated past indeed. 

Kazuha wished to make sense of it all.

“You seem certain of yourself and your decisions,” Guuji Yae muttered knowingly. Kazuha turned his gaze to the gathered people once more.

“I wasn’t, for a long time,” he admitted quietly. A gentle breeze was blowing against them, wiping away his worries and doubts like a wave. “But I believe I am now. It was fated for me to come here and to see you in order to look at him from another perspective. I want more than anything for him to tell his story without leaving anything behind with his own words, with no influences and pressure. But I don’t think I will ever get the chance, though. So… You have my gratitude, Lady Guuji. However your words also lack objectivity, I understand him better now, thanks to you.”

Guuji Yae didn’t seem offended by his comment, only thoughtful. “How tragic,” she muttered, with a seldom tone in her words. Kazuha didn’t need to look at her to understand the hidden meaning behind her words.

“Perhaps it is,” he agreed. “But I don’t view it that way. Perhaps more than anyone, I have an innate tendency to be easily inspired by strong desires.” he muttered, echoing his own words from the past. He looked at Guuji Yae before inhaling deeply and standing before the statue. He lifted his gaze at the Electro Archon’s statue, looking at it wordlessly, before he said. “And I believe the one who understands this tendency better than anyone is you, Lady Guuji.”

The expression on Guuji Yae’s pale face was thoughtful, but she seemed to understand him perfectly just as he claimed. She nodded her head shortly, as if wishing him a merciful doom, a doom she herself knew so well, and turned on her heels wordlessly.

The last thing he saw before he touched the statue was Guuji Yae’s drifting form, and the vast ocean that framed the Watatsumi Island. A warm feeling engulfed him completely followed by a pitless darkness, and he was once again knee-deep on the snowy vales of Snezhnaya.

This time, his head was made and clear.

*

“The wanderer would never admit to this.

He would never admit that he had done this as an act of revenge against the bladesmith.

Nor would he ever mention the truth,

That he had abandoned his schemes halfway because they had suddenly become dull.

He would only say, in that tone of voice he had learned from a certain researcher:

"It was all just a little experiment into human nature.”

In Inazuma's traditional theater, there is a certain character known as "Kunikuzushi."

Such characters are often schemers and usurpers of nations.

At the end of his wanderings, he chose this name as an act of his own will.

And as for the name he had once used, even he no longer remembered it.” 

(Calabash of Awakening, Husk of Opulent Dreams)