Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a day like any other.

Razan Garden was warm and fragrant in the dappled sunlight just underneath the Divine Tree’s canopy and all was well – except for one small, trivial fact.

The Balladeer had just strolled right out of captivity and past the Sanctuary’s guards, a world-class criminal on the loose at his new god’s behest.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself, taking in the wider world once more, although not taking off his sheltering hat to feel the sunlight. Oh, far be it from him to doubt Kusanali’s judgement. He wouldn’t dare mock her. He welcomed her decision to take him in, inexplicable though it had seemed at first – but of course, she’d seen his value. She was a very wise deity indeed.

And it’d certainly put him in an interesting new situation, whereas his old involvement with the Fatui had become a little… stale, over time.

He’d exhausted his options with them, there was no denying that. It was only logical for him to move on to someone new to collaborate with, for as long as he could benefit from her. She certainly was a step up from that meddlesome, two-faced, moronic Doctor – thinking he could just discard him, hah! And she even indulged him when he craved a little amusement!

Harmless enough in nature, in this case. Go and greet the Traveler. No more, no less.

Still, he was smirking as he went. The outlander would probably jump out of his skin at the sight of his old nemesis. Yes, this ought to be amusing at the very least.

The Archon’s voice still echoed in his ears. I’ll let you have your fun. Be back soon.

She’d seemed… a little anxious, though. Why? The Traveler’s presence should be a comfort to her. Her First Sage, her valiant protector against the monster under the bed. If anything, he should be more tense than her.

He wasn’t. Certainly not.

He knew his place in the world, now. He had someone to collaborate with. And if the Traveler had a problem with that… well, he’d have to go against the Dendro Archon, the precious little god he’d almost died to protect. Hah. Wouldn’t that be a sight.

…Ah. There he was, right beside the blue-domed arbors, discussing something with his sparkly pixie companion. Right on time, the hero rushing in. Like clockwork. As always.

He stealthily moved in, circling around so he could pass them from behind, struggling not to chuckle foully to himself the whole time.

“If you ask Paimon, Aqaba should just pick a different topic,” the fairy was saying. “There must be as many essay topics as there are trees in the forest. There's no point in –”

He passed them. Paimon instantly reacted, reeling back. “– Aah!!”

The Traveler startled, reaching for his blade. “What’s wrong?!”

The Balladeer kept walking, proudly tipping up his chin, not debasing himself by looking back. That frantic intonation… ah. Still just as easily brought off-balance. Delightful.

“Hey, did you see that?” Paimon went on. “He literally just went by. Over there… it looked like, like…”

He strolled on, up the path back to the Sanctuary, leisurely taking his time, sleeves and veils wafting after him. He really shouldn’t take so much pleasure in this. He quietly berated himself, schooling his expression – he was on a mission, here. He couldn’t be giving away his amusement once back in the Sanctuary and face to face with them and the Archon, both. It’d hardly be professional coming from the Archon’s new right hand.

“The Balladeer?! No, it can’t have been, he got locked up…” he just barely caught, way back in the gardens. They still weren’t following? How did these two get anything done?

“Quick, let’s catch up and see!”

Ah. Finally.

He’d arrived back at the Sanctuary doors by now, passing the guards with barely a nod, moving back inside into the great atrium’s unchanging green light, and trying not to feel too disappointed to already lose sight of the sky. Lesser Lord Kusanali awaited him at the lotus pad, little arms folded, looking a little more tense than he was used to indeed. He inclined his head. “They’re coming.”

“I can feel them,” she murmured. “Good job.”

“Hah. If you plan to praise me for every little thing, words will soon lose their meaning.” He tried not to preen. It was unbecoming.

Just as he reached her side, the doors opened once again, and the outlander and his companion came barging in. The Balladeer rolled his eyes, folding his arms in annoyance – such a hurry. What was the big problem? They hadn’t even known the Archon for a year. So eager to get involved, so eager to get attached – the Traveler, of all people, who’d enjoyed the unique pleasure of not being attached to anything when he’d first come to Teyvat. He hadn’t owed this world a thing – but somehow, he’d insisted on caring anyway, for no apparent reason at all.

The Balladeer was still convinced it was all some misguided hero complex. He was rather glad he hadn’t spent too much time in the outlander’s head. He didn’t fancy finding out if he’d been like this on every world he’d visited.

Kusanali turned around to face the newcomers. “Traveler, Paimon, there you are,” she piped up as they approached, her voice brighter than it’d ever sounded around him. Hmph. As if he needed any reminders of the contrast between them – friends and allies, versus a former enemy turned useful tool. Well, so be it.

“Nahida, bad news!” Paimon burst out. “We just saw the Balladeer, strolling around in public! Did he escape, or…?” Her eyes finally wandered to him, and she recoiled at once. “…Aah! It’s him!”

He glanced at the duo, otherwise not moving a muscle. “Hmph,” he scoffed. “Sure enough, you’re here.” So predictable. It’d taken them a hundred and sixty-eight loops to finally predict his movements, but these two… by now, he could foretell their every breath.

“Hey, what are you doing in the Sanctuary of Surasthana?!” the fairy yelled. “Aren’t you supposed to be locked up?!”

Before he could speak, the Archon stepped in. “I know you must have a lot of questions,” she spoke up, clearly intending to deescalate. “Please, allow me to explain.” She took a breath, centering herself. “It was my idea to set the Balladeer free. We made a deal, and he’s gonna do some investigation in Irminsul for me.”

He smirked. A bit of an oversimplification, but he supposed it was necessary seeing who she was explaining this to.

“A deal?!” Paimon shrieked, predictably. “You sure you trust this guy?”

Ugh. Must he really…? Yes, he decided. He could no longer stay quiet in the face of such stupidity. “What did you expect?” he harshly bit at them. “Why do you think Sumeru would keep me around otherwise?” He glanced at them from the corner of his eye – challenging, testing. “…Or maybe killing me is all you can think about?” He raised his head, holding the Traveler’s golden gaze the whole time. “But if that’s the case, why haven’t you done it already?”

What would the outlander do now? He was always so easy to rile up. Surely it was overly generous to assume he’d learned anything at all since the Delusion factory, even after an extended stay in the Nation of Wisdom. But with Kusanali here too, and the agreement of protection he’d managed to finagle out of her… heh. This should be interesting.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the fairy sneered, visibly searching for the right words. “It was… Nahida said there’s still some mysteries in you to figure out!”

Was Paimon really going to do all the talking? The Traveler himself hadn’t said a word yet, only scowling at him, all righteous mistrust. But he was restraining himself. For now.

Maybe if he pushed the idiots just a little further. Just to see how far he could go. Just to see what would happen. It was all too good to be true otherwise. “Ah, so if it were up to you, you’d finish the job? Guess I had you all wrong,” he mocked, unable to keep a sharp nastiness from slipping into his voice, something more than simple mockery. “There I was thinking you were just getting cold feet.”

…Still nothing from the Traveler, even when he was all but daring the heroic fool to act. How annoying. Wasn’t there an inkling of agency in his body? Was he really just doing the bidding of the gods? How boring.

“Ugh… well, that escalated quickly,” Kusanali murmured sadly, still with that same nervous undertone. She turned to the Traveler and Paimon, to the Balladeer’s quiet glee. “Not a good start… Could I ask you all to please calm down?”

…That did include him. He wasn’t above admitting that.

Kusanali was displeased with him urging the Traveler to kill him, even in jest. It made sense. It hadn’t been easy to acquire him as an asset, curb his initial self-destructive urges.

He took a breath, willing himself to clear his head of his thoughts on the Traveler. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t bitter. He knew who he was and what he was worth. Better, Lesser Lord Kusanali knew it too.

“But Paimon’s worried about you, Nahida!” the fairy whimpered. “Don’t let him trick you!”

The Balladeer let out a dark chuckle. “It’s not every day you see people questioning the God of Wisdom’s judgement. Just when you think you’ve seen it all…”

Paimon instantly turned to him, pouting. “Don’t you dare try to drive a wedge between us!”

Kusanali spread her hands in reassurance. “As long as the terms are reasonable, I don’t think there’s a problem in making a deal. Even with the Balladeer.”

There. Clear enough. He knew what he was and where he stood – simple as anything. “Well… I for one have no reason to doubt you,” he affirmed her, out loud for the idiots to hear. “Considering you even struck a deal with the Doctor.” Let them throw their little tantrums at that – the logic was immaculate! Who did they think they were?

“Yes,” Kusanali nodded, turning back to the Traveler. “One in which I gained valuable information. You’ll come to understand more about that in the fullness of time.”

Hah. Placating them with little morsels of truth. They wouldn’t be able to handle what he’d lived with all this time, that was for sure.

“The Balladeer’s power was all but completely spent after your battle,” the God of Wisdom went on. “He’s no longer strong enough to be a strategic threat to us. That puts him in quite a precarious position.”

He minutely narrowed his eyes at that. ‘Us’? So, that’s how it was… well, he shouldn’t be surprised. He wasn’t. He’d long since realized a strategic ally couldn’t measure up to a friend, not even to one as logical as Kusanali. She was a child as well as a god. She was bound to cling to her golden saviour.

“Plus, he’s a former Harbinger with knowledge of many of the Fatui’s sensitive secrets. Being stuck here in Sumeru could make him a sitting duck, depending on how the Fatui plan to respond.”

“Wait a second,” Paimon interrupted. “Former? You mean, he’s not a Harbinger anymore?”

Kusanali grimaced a little, turning around to face him at last. “I take no pleasure in saying this, but… it seems as if the Doctor had no intention of welcoming back a loser, so…”

Right. He’d been over this. It didn’t sting. The last few centuries of searing agony having been completely in vain and evaporating into complete nothingness didn’t matter to him at all.

The Traveler spoke up at last, cutting to the bone without even drawing his sword after all. “…So he tossed you out like trash.”

The Balladeer sharply looked up, holding that golden gaze. “Sometimes it’s you using them, other times it’s them using you,” he educated the outlander, as if speaking to a child. “Most human relationships are this way… certainly all the stable ones are. That’s how it was between me and the Fatui, and also between each of the Harbingers.” The golden idiot should be groveling down and thanking him for the sorely needed lesson, as well as the insider information. “So long as you have some value to offer, nobody will ever abandon you,” he went on, his voice dropping into quieter, almost private musings to himself. “But… after recent events, even I have to admit that I’m not worth quite what I used to be…”

“Really?” the outlander snarked, interrupting his quiet reverie. “What a crying shame.”

The audacity! “Hmph. Well, if the Fatui are gonna re-evaluate my utility, I need to have a backup plan for myself,” he bit out. At least he had half a thought in his mind, beyond petty name-calling!

Kusanali gave him a fragile smile, stepping back in. “As we discussed, I don’t like causing harm to living beings, and you said you need protection,” she stated, spelling it out nice and easy, entirely for the outlander’s benefit. “So, why not join forces with us?”

Was it that simple? Maybe he should test it one more time, now that everyone that really mattered was here at last. “I think these two have made their objection to that idea fairly clear, don’t you?” he sneered. “And they’re your friends, so I guess you’ll be siding with them.”

“Yeah, obviously!” Paimon sneered back. “Nahida, don’t listen to him!”

The little god hadn’t looked away, to her credit; she was still holding his gaze, her eyes markedly soft. “Then let’s put that discussion to the side for now. We still have time.”

Hmph. Wise words. He tried his best not to preen, but – what? ‘We still have time’? Time to bridge their differences, presumably, whereas he’d once mockingly insisted there was always more time for her to regret letting him live after all… Don’t turn my words against me, Kusanali!

“Today can be a trial run,” she smiled, probably more than aware of his thoughts. “Where we go from here will depend on how well we manage to cooperate today.”

…Right. He was supposed to help this sorry excuse for a hero look for information on his sister. He was the only one who could, save for Kusanali herself – this was a test to see how well he could do this task on her behalf. This probably wouldn’t be the last time he’d be assisting the golden dolt. “Alright,” he assented, pointedly keeping his cool. “Then I’ll do what we agreed.” He strode off towards the heart of the atrium, to connect to Irminsul the way he’d done countless times now.

“Good,” Kusanali smiled behind him. “Go now, and keep in touch.”

Just before he phased into the innermost regions of the world where the luminous Irminsul tree lay hidden, he caught Paimon’s voice one last time: “Nahida, are you… are you serious about this?”

“Yes. I have my reasons for this decision…”

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself, even as the world faded around him, and verdant cliffs took the place of the Sanctuary’s architecture. He was very aware of those reasons. He was invaluable – unique, she’d said it herself. Tied to Irminsul in a way only Kusanali herself was otherwise. Immortal, indestructible – the Fatui might’ve exhausted his use, but Kusanali was wiser than them.

He gazed up at the great silver tree, its radiant canopy. She might put him at risk at a later point, when she had need of his strength and endurance. That was fine. In fact, he’d welcome it – welcome her being upfront with what she needed from him. He hated to be left in the dark, left guessing.

But Kusanali wouldn’t do that. She’d been open to him about everything so far. Such a childlike god, and yet so pragmatic as well… he could respect that. He respected a lot of things about her, he’d come to realize. He was almost gleeful to have a place by her side – not in the least because of how amusing it was to rub it in the Traveler’s face… he’d been far more clever about things than their average enemy after they’d defeated him, surely. Their startled surprise and sneering barbs might just make his day if they weren’t careful.

“…Wow… it looks pretty different here compared to last time,” came a faint voice from behind him. He didn’t turn, only folding his arms and waiting, slightly rolling his eyes at the pixie’s squeaky voice.

“The colours are gentler… Guess that must be because Sumeru’s at peace now.”

Footsteps approached, wary and measured. Paimon had fallen silent, too. The Balladeer chuckled to himself, not looking back. “Look at that, hot on my heels,” he observed. “You know, you didn’t have to cut your catch-up short just to keep me company.” Surely they had a lot to talk about with their friend. “Oh, but I guess you panicked when you realized that I might enter Irminsul ahead of you…”

“Nahida sent me to babysit you,” the Traveler retorted, snippy and tense.

“Shut your beak, jailbird,” Paimon joined in, jeering. “No way a prisoner gets to be so smug!”

He still didn’t dignify them with his gaze, remaining turned to Irminsul. “I understand that prisoners have to put up with harassment from the guards,” he drawled. “But right now, I’m on temporary release, so maybe you should think about backing off a little.” He glared back, making Paimon startle – and then Kusanali’s voice reached them all, resonating from the great tree, and every other bit of foliage all around them.

“Sounds like a successful rendezvous!”

Bright and cheerful as ever. Right – all was well. All this meant nothing.

“I need to be quite clear about something,” she continued. “In a few moments, you’ll be entering into the innermost region of Irminsul. It is an environment like no other, and the most important place in all of Sumeru.”

The Balladeer kept his arms folded, his eyes on the tree, a small, smug smirk on his lips. He knew all this. He’d been allowed into it ahead of anyone else, even Kusanali’s so-called friends. He held her trust, he knew the way.

“Unlike anywhere else, Irminsul’s inner region consists exclusively of torrents of information. You must put aside your differences and be extremely careful as you navigate your way through.”

He took a breath. Right. He understood what she was saying. Act professional. Hah – there’d been no need to remind him. He’d worked with those he’d disliked many times before. Pretty much exclusively, he’d say.

Surely, she was saying this for the Traveler’s benefit, not his. She was aware of his competence.

“I know there are many grievances between you, on both sides, but it is essential that you remain calm after entry,” Kusanali emphasized once more. “This is as much for your own safety as anything else.”

…Yeah, she was saying it for the Traveler’s benefit. And making the outlander feel better by making it seem like she was addressing them both. How amusing… doubly so because he was in on the joke.

“…Understood,” the Traveler reluctantly ground out.

“…Fine, let’s call a truce,” Paimon pouted. “But only until this mission’s over…”

He rolled his eyes, turning to the side to make his voice more easily heard. “Let’s cut each other a little slack, shall we? We are gonna be traveling together, after all.” He turned back, proudly facing the great tree. “Per my agreement with Lesser Lord Kusanali, I’ll be at the front. It’s my job to lead the way and get rid of any obstacles in your path.” He’d show them his competence in the face of their infantile flailing and whining. He smirked again, glancing back at the wary outlander, unable to resist another dig. “All you have to do is keep your pretty eyes open and try not to fall behind.”

“Ha!” Paimon blurted out. “You sure are confident, Paimon’ll give you that! You make it sound like you’re even more experienced at adventuring than us!”

Obviously. He’d been out and about, fighting for his life in the Abyss while the Traveler had slept his cushy centuries-long sleep, and Paimon had probably been off in some fairy dreamworld for all he knew. And certainly within Irminsul, he held the advantage. It’d be a waste of time to voice any of that now, though. He merely huffed out an amused sigh. “If there are no further objections, I suggest we get going.”

He had to make sure this wouldn’t end in disaster, though. “…Or did you need some time to… mentally prepare yourselves?” Can your fragile little minds handle venturing ahead with me, or are you gonna fly off the handle right in the middle of the heart of knowledge?

Paimon yelped in indignation. “You…!” She groaned, clearly beyond frustrated. Beside her, the Traveler glared daggers at him, but held his tongue. “Ugh! The snark on this guy! It’s unbearable!” the fairy complained.

The outlander took a step forward. “There’s no need for all the biting sarcasm,” he informed the puppet, voice even, but clearly strained.

The Balladeer sighed. This didn’t feel like the best idea – these idiots clearly weren’t equipped to go where they were headed. Still, this was what Kusanali bid him to do. He gazed up at the tree, deciding. “…We can start now.”

“Irminsul access granted,” the God of Wisdom intoned. The lights swirling around the ivory trunk shone brighter alongside her voice, swirling up into the canopy, brightening everything even further. “Initiating connection procedure…”

A bright, tiny shape materialized before him, twining tendrils of light. Paimon eyed it, tilting her head. “Is this a small sapling?”

The Balladeer gave an imperceptible scoff at its presence. How gentle. Coddling them, are you? When they’d been here together, Kusanali had taken his hand and stepped right into the heart of Irminsul directly, trusting him to adjust to the journey. Hah. Maybe she’d taken his advice to heart, and quietly given the Traveler a moment to prepare after all.

A moment was all they’d get. He strode forward without another word. Paimon sputtered behind him. “Argh, darn it! C’mon, let’s catch up with him…!”

Mercifully, her voice faded as he phased into the heart of Irminsul, but his reprieve wouldn’t last long… they were right on his heels, no doubt. Though this too was by Kusanali’s design, utilizing their paranoia around him. Very clever. Well, he wasn’t about to spell out his shifted allegiance for them again. Keep up, suckers… let’s see if you can handle what’s to come.

Chapter Text

“Wow… So this is the inside of Irminsul…”

The pixie had the decency to sound reverent in the inner workings of the world-tree, even though her voice did carry annoyingly well in the quietly glistening air.

The path curved around them. The heart of Irminsul was ahead – or so it seemed.

The Balladeer had grown familiar with this deceitful place. He’d even somewhat grown to like it – a challenging maze, but it always yielded to his will in the end, just as the Abyss had. Perhaps buried, hidden spaces like these were fated to be his home, him being buried with them, out of sight in the shadows where he belonged. Even though the bluish-silver tree ahead shone with enough light to rival the false stars of the surface sky.

It held all knowledge of that mockery of a world, Teyvat. He liked to imagine the great tree pitied that world, so tiny in its branches, flowing through its roots like so much water. They could pity the world together, this tree and him.

“It’s different than what I imagined,” the Traveler then murmured behind him. The Balladeer chuckled to himself. Did you imagine anything at all?

“Ohh… Paimon’s never seen anything like this. And it feels like a sacred place…”

Sacred? This went beyond any gods pretending to be essential to the world’s functioning. Lesser Lord Kusanali’s domain actually contained something fundamental. “Irminsul is closely intertwined with the entirety of Teyvat,” he explained calmly, unable to stop a hint of impatience from creeping into his voice. “Every bit of information flowing here means something.” It was obvious to him, but… he should cut the ignorant some slack.

He glanced back at them. “Pick your jaws up off the floor. It’s time to go.”

The fairy folded her arms, frowning at him. “Why is it that Paimon just wants to do the opposite of everything he says…”

He sighed. Children. Utter children. He was tired. But he had a job to do. “Lesser Lord Kusanali, we will now proceed to the heart of Irminsul.” No sense in indulging them any further. Let’s get this over with.

The little god’s voice resounded from all around, yet somehow still as delicate as little bells. “Can you still sense where the heart of Irminsul is?”

He softened minutely. Such worry and care. They’d been here countless times and he’d never once gotten lost. Still, this was his first time without her, and her friends depended on him. He’d appease her. “Yes. Permission to begin searching for information there?”

“Permission granted,” she replied. “Go ahead.”

More than any gloating, he decided to convey the care the God of Wisdom held for the Traveler when he addressed him and Paimon again. “Let’s go. Stay close,” he emphasized. “Don’t go running off.” If he lost them… Kusanali wasn’t a vengeful god, or he wouldn’t be here now. Still, he didn’t aim on bungling this mission. Seeing her saddened would also be… suboptimal.

“Hey, so…”

He smirked. Paimon sounded rather less sure of herself all of a sudden.

“…Say we did go running off in here, what would happen?”

He had to let out a little laugh, thinking it over for a moment.

Fear of the unknown was the most potent emotion and driving force there was. Even if he had known the nature of such a fate for certain, even if he could have described it… he didn’t think he should have even then, for the idiots’ own benefit. These inquisitive nuisances needed a strong deterrent.

“Wh- what are you smirking at?!”

Alright, he’d bite. “I was just imagining the look on your travel companion’s face if you went and got lost,” he casually remarked. “Anything’s possible in here,” he continued, just a little more serious. This was serious. “You can’t rule anything out. So if you wanna stay safe, your best option is to stick close to me.”

Could they do it? Had Lesser Lord Kusanali overestimated her esteemed friends, or could they stomach this mission as well as he could? One way to find out. Without another word, he set off, striding along the glimmering path towards the great silver-blue tree.

The Traveler hesitated just a beat longer, but then hurried after him, quickly falling into a nervous stroll behind him. The Balladeer quirked a small, private smile. There it is. Unfamiliar waters… even a former nemesis was a welcome anchor when he was the only one around.

Just as well. There was already a memory fragment materializing up ahead, ready to redirect them, turn them around in the Abyss-like space. Catch up, morons.

“These sapling things have spread out,” Paimon observed. Just then, the space around them faded, and shifted around them as the fragment dissipated. The tree was behind them now, off to the side, but the Balladeer strolled forward all the same, not waiting for the Traveler to catch up. He had his instructions, and they were exceedingly simple.

“Those are all packets of information from inside Irminsul,” he stated. “Be careful not to touch them.” …He had, on accident. He didn’t look forward to having to pick a drooling or shrieking Traveler up off the floor, lost in some long-dead schmuck’s memory.

The Traveler did not speak. The Balladeer didn’t look back, but he could feel those golden eyes boring holes in the back of his skull. Heh. This mission was endlessly amusing. There was nothing the outlander could do! This quiet, useless fury was a balm on his wounded pride, if nothing else.

Their path curved around the silver tree, and even Paimon remained silent as they made their way to another information fragment. Again they were turned around, the tree ending up in front of them now.

“It looks the same in every direction,” the fairy complained, making the Balladeer roll his eyes. Celebrated too soon. No use in responding. Best not to encourage her. Her voice was even more grating than usual in the still air.

Another sapling, another turnaround. They were closer to the tree this time, providing an illusion of progress. Would this placate them in any way? He’d been nothing but helpful so far, there really was no need for the paranoid stares… as funny as they were.

“…No wonder he mentioned about getting lost,” Paimon probably intended to stealthily murmur to the Traveler. “Huh, whaddya know, he was actually telling the truth…”

I do that quite a lot… yet people are always surprised. He huffed out an amused little laugh, immediately sparking outrage behind him. “Is he mocking me again?! What is it this time?!”

He threw back a disdainful glance. “There’s a time and a place to lie, but this definitely isn’t it,” he outright told them, strolling onward with his veils wafting behind himself. “So why don’t you relax your guard a little?” He gradually slowed his pace, sensing they wouldn’t get turned around again – they’d made it to the tree at last. “We’re here,” he intoned, a sense of finality to his words, shutting down any further foolishness.

“What a huge tree…”

He withstood the urge to roll his eyes. Hadn’t they had it within view this whole time? Granted, it was impressive from up close, its glimmering branches reaching up to the elusive firmament, all the light from the entire plane converging into it in a pearly shimmer. Well. It was probably really impressive to someone like Paimon. It’d become a regular sight to him.

Nothing from the Traveler again. Fine. “Lesser Lord Kusanali.”

“Good, you made it,” the little goddess replied, relief tinting her voice – yet also, still, a hint of tension. “Are you ready?”

No need to fret. I have this in hand. He folded his arms. “Ready when you are.”

“Then please begin.”

He obediently outstretched a hand to the great tree, tapping into the flow of information, letting it wash over his mind.

“Preparing to access cognitive currents. Establishing waypoint…”

Kusanali was anchoring him, even without being present in the same plane. In a way, she was all around, part of Irminsul – best positioned to be a guardian deity in this particular instance.

“The Balladeer’s actually doing what Nahida tells him… guess he must want to stay alive,” Paimon murmured behind him. He managed a small smirk. Were they finally getting it? Had their meager brains finally wrapped around the concept of shifting one’s allegiance alongside shifting circumstances? Oh, wonder of wonders…

The Traveler stirred behind him. He sensed the outlander being deep in thought – and not replying to Paimon. Maybe there was more awareness there than he’d given the First Sage credit for. He clearly had his own stance on the matter, and the gears were very much turning in there…

“The rest is up to you,” Kusanali quietly told him. “If you discover anything at all, make sure to share it with us.”

Finally, his true purpose here. What he’d been guided towards and carefully prepared for.

He closed his eyes, smiling – proudly. It did feel good. “Will do.”

It took a moment for the currents of Irminsul to wash over him, but in those moments, miraculously… Paimon remained quiet long enough for him to slip away. Excellent…

Descenders…

Descenders, those most rare and elusive outlanders from beyond the firmament itself. Beyond that fragile cage that mocked them all down here on Teyvat…

He knew his fair share, now, terrifyingly. He’d glimpsed a little of what lay out there, the roiling darkness, the true stars, and everything that moved between them…

…but he’d keep that to himself, at least amongst anyone not already in the know. A secret currency, of sorts. That certainly seemed to be the way the Doctor had treated such knowledge, and… well, the Balladeer had to admit the man was clever, at least. Foolish enough to abandon a puppet with a lot left to give, but… clever in other ways.

He’d certainly learned a lot from him.

Descenders. The reason for his presence here.

He followed the current back to his own first meetings with the Traveler, right there at the fallen false star glinting by the sea.

He managed to extricate himself from the dream on his own strength? How is that possible?

Hah! Just because you are powerless to do something, does not mean I am. You’re too late, anyway. I’ve finished my research…

No. That was the last thing he needed.

Him meeting the Traveler in the Delusion factory, the shortsighted idiot raging about some ‘friend’ he’d apparently killed… hah. As if he hadn’t just barely arrived there, taking over from the Fair Lady…

I’m obviously not the mastermind behind this. Aren’t you supposed to be pretty tough? What are you waiting for – go get them…

No. No. He didn’t need this. Other Descenders, not just this singular, singularly useless one…

The outlander facing off against Childe, then Signora, flashes of foaming water and roaring flame flitting by, real enough to make him flinch. The outlander, sitting on a rock by the sea, fishing something from the gentle waves – Paimon?! That’s how those two had met? Oh, that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard…

Deeper…

…O Almighty Sovereign, the Universitas Magistrorum has provided the predictions you requested: the two stars have been captured by the world’s gravity…

Under the surface, there… some faint voice… some darkened hall hidden from the light of day…

…but then…

Something else I noticed was that according to these records, the Fatui have not classified your sibling as one of the ‘Descenders’.

Descenders?

…What’s a Descender? Paimon’s never heard of it…

...Huh… Kusanali had already done her own share of research. While he’d been in his coma, presumably. She’d found time for it then, no problem…

…Something didn’t add up here.

While you were resting at Gandharva Ville, I took some time to perform an Irminsul search for information on your sister.

There it was.

But… we both came from beyond the sea of stars. There shouldn’t be any information on her in Irminsul.

…Another intriguing morsel. That did make sense, he realized with some small shock. Was this… a fool’s errand? Had Kusanali sent him on some wild goose chase…? But to what end? And why was the Traveler here as well?

Just what was going on?

The Balladeer changed course, swerving through the currents like a shark across a reef, setting off on a heading of his own. He had time. He could do a little investigating for his own purposes…

What are you hiding, Kusanali?

There. The Sanctuary – the atrium, the place he’d just left from himself. The Traveler, Paimon, and the little god.

The outlander had crouched down at Kusanali’s side, Paimon hovering at his shoulder. The God of Wisdom was… crying.

What?

The Balladeer hovered in closer, close enough to hear them clearly.

“Nahida?” the Traveler gentled, touching the Archon’s arm. “Are you alright?”

“Ah, Traveler, I-I’m all right,” Kusanali managed, her voice thick with tears. “I’m just a little confused…”

“What are you confused about?”

“We’ve just saved the world, right?” She looked up at her friend, blinking away tears, looking thoroughly confused indeed – an expression the Balladeer had never seen on her, nor imagined before. “So why… why am I crying?”

The Traveler sat back on his heels, seemingly dumbstruck, some sort of horror dawning in his eyes. “…Don’t tell me…”

“I don’t know where this feeling inside of me is coming from, but I feel very sad,” Kusanali managed to sniffle, looking up at her First Sage for some support.

“Do you still remember… what happened just now?” the Traveler spoke, seemingly from far away.

“Just now? We used the power of two Gnoses to successfully connect with the Irminsul consciousness from five hundred years ago…” Her little voice was so watery, even as her words carefully recounted the facts. The Balladeer felt like he was very far away, too. His mind raced to make sense of what he was seeing, and why he was seeing this in response to his query on Kusanali’s secrets.

“Then, we removed the remaining pollution from Irminsul…”

Tampering with Irminsul… in the presence of a being not from this world, and therefore without ties to Irminsul…

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” Paimon piped up. “Traveler, weren’t you there just now?”

The Balladeer opened his eyes. The scene spun away.

He was back at the heart of knowledge, his arm still outstretched to the silver tree.

Behind him, Paimon let out a quiet, gleeful little sound, seemingly unprompted. He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t turn back.

Then the Traveler took a sharp breath, seemingly shaken by something. The Balladeer’s eyes grew sharper still. He knew what was going on.

“Must be a riveting conversation you three are having,” he remarked, not even trying to keep the venom from his voice. It was surging through his veins by now, spilling over into every word. “Funny how all the good ones happen when I’m not involved.”

He’d thought Kusanali was better. He’d thought she’d told him everything, had been upfront about his reasons for being here, hadn’t just been lying and using him all over again.

Hah. More fool him. He should’ve known.

“Ah!” Paimon yelped, a textbook example of a guilty conscience. “Wh-what makes you think we’re talking to eachother?”

“Don’t insult me,” he snapped. “You’re having a private conversation without me. Obviously, I must be the topic of said conversation.” A gamble. Was he even important enough for that, to the deceitful little god? But there was a distinct possibility, and a surefire way to find out – these two morons were the world’s worst liars, easy to read even if he hadn’t already been familiar with their tells.

“We have every right to keep certain things confidential,” the Traveler muttered darkly, confirming his every suspicion.

“Of course you do,” he sneered back. “You can’t have your prisoner knowing too much.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. Still, nothing from Kusanali. Treacherous little thing. He’d been the world’s biggest idiot to trust her… to trust anyone at all.

…At least he’d finally wised up now. But what to do…

“So, uh,” Paimon hesitantly started, “Have you found anything yet…?”

…maybe it was best to play along a little longer. No sense in making rash moves. The least he could do was gather some more intelligence… test the God of Wisdom just a little more.

“Still looking,” he murmured, a growl lacing his voice. “Don’t get your hopes up, though,” he added, just this side of mocking. “You and your twin come from outside this world. It wouldn’t surprise me if there was nothing on either of you in Irminsul at all.” Riddle me this, Kusanali.

“…Wait, how’d you know about that?” the fairy quizzically tilted her head. “Did Nahida tell you?”

In a manner of speaking. In another, she never told me anything. “It’s not like we never met before,” he rasped instead. “And anyway, you’re world-famous. It’d be more surprising if I didn’t know a few things about you.” Please. Don’t insult me any further than you already have. The audacity is almost impressive.

“Every conversation with you is hard work,” the Traveler sighed quietly. “But your attitude is better than I thought.”

Hah. Really, now. “Right now, we have to keep the peace,” he bit out. “I’m not interested in creating more misery for myself, and making cordial conversation is… something I can manage.”

He still hadn’t really moved, still reaching out to the heart of Irminsul, still connected to it for whatever reason – too distracted by everything going through his mind, and these two yapping at him, to sever the connection. He hadn’t been actively searching… and yet, that was the moment something brushed past his mind, like a little silvery fish gliding just beneath the surface.

A familiar voice. A familiar warmth. The familiar scent of iron, and wood, and the sea.

“…Huh?” he murmured, blinking – his voice softening in surprise. “…Wait…”

A little branch manifested before him, between him and the tree. Something popping up in response to his summons, at last.

It wasn’t what he’d been looking for. Somehow, he knew that much.

“This light,” Paimon curiously inspected it past his shoulder. “It looks similar to those saplings. What could it be?”

He was curious too, despite himself. Why wouldn’t Kusanali say anything?

He’d bite. He had to.

“…Anonymous data?” Just what was this?

“Hey!” the fairy piped up as he moved in, blocking her sight. “Don’t you forget the agreement! You have to share it with us!”

“Shush,” he bit out, restless, uncharacteristically keen. “Just wait.”

The voices he heard next were enough to send his world spinning before he was even sucked into the scene contained within the sapling. They were enough to make him utterly forget the matter at hand, and suddenly feel much, much younger, and much more naive.

He’d last heard them four centuries ago, and he’d never expected to hear them again.

Chapter Text

A new memory had arisen from the heart of knowledge. Something that had immediately consumed all his attention.

Every fiber in the Balladeer’s body had fixated on the sound of the voices resonating through Irminsul now, muted and muffled though they were, distant with centuries of separation. There was no room left in his mind for anything but the sheer force of the memory, and the effect the voices had on him.

One of them… oily, cajoling, honeyed despite the depth of its gravely baritone. “…Mr. Niwa, are you certain this is worth the risk? We are talking about Tatarasuna’s furnace, after all. It may not pay to act rashly…”

The other sounded hunted. Irritable, heated, yet fearful. “There’s no one else who can enter the furnace. It has to be me.”

“Is that so…?” the honeyed voice sighed, almost disappointed. “Well, since you insist…”

The Balladeer finally reacted, gasping as if his body let his breath pass through at last, his fingers cramping where they reached for the memory that’d emerged from the depths of Irminsul. “…It’s…”

Behind him, the Traveler braced himself. Paimon curled in on herself in the air as the currents of the world tree wrapped around them – and dragged them all in. “Whoa…!”

The Balladeer found himself in an achingly familiar place.

If he’d had a heart, it would’ve been as though it’d been exposed to the elements, his chest wrenched wide open for anyone to see. It hurt, being here – within these walls, on this soft tatami flooring, the humble yet tasteful surroundings.

Inazuma.

Tatarasuna.

Niwa’s office.

He couldn’t breathe. It was anger, he told himself. Yes. That must be it. He was seething with it, fury and hatred at the man who’d betrayed him, spat in his face, mocked his then-dearest desire. The man who’d violently and viciously given him a taste of the truth of this world – hurt could come from anywhere, no one could be trusted.

Certainly no pernicious memories of being offered various kinds of tea until they’d found one he genuinely preferred, or patiently being taught to read and write and try his hand at calligraphy, or admire the man’s flower arrangements and painted scrolls. No recollections of his wonder at even this barest of spaces, this most humble of head offices – and definitely no fondness for the man who’d owned it.

The Balladeer clenched his jaw, and raised his eyes to the inevitable. Curse Irminsul. Curse this disgusting mirage. I should be free of this!

…There he was, back to haunt him after all these centuries. The chestnut-brown hair, the red streak. Hands on his hips, looking right at him with a stern, sharp expression in those warm brown eyes. That made it easier. If he’d worn that look of false affection and pride the puppet actually remembered, then…

…No. Niwa wasn’t looking at him at all.

The Balladeer turned, looking back.

There was another man in the room, grey-haired and bearded, dressed in scarlet Fontainian finery. He knew him too. Escher. The Fontainian arrival that’d revolutionized the forging process – and incompetently doomed all of Tatarasuna in the process.

“I have been in Tatarasuna for some time now,” the man smiled. “You have shown me great hospitality, as has Mikoshi Nagamasa… and indeed, everyone else.”

That voice. Those names. This place.

Through the fog of his bewilderment, there was the cutting fact of Tatarasuna welcoming Escher… like they’d once welcomed him, the hapless little puppet. Vermin. None of it had been real. He hadn’t been prepared for the truth of the world, then. Had it been real for Escher? He’d never know, now.

“Under your leadership, Tatarasuna is a warm, welcoming place,” the Fontainian went on, “like a giant village. People are gainfully employed, their lives have purpose. They are motivated.”

Niwa quirked a small smile, but he seemed wary, nonetheless. He didn’t speak. The Balladeer was glad of it. The sound of that man’s voice… it’d had a shameful effect on him the first time. He hoped he could get out of this infernal memory before Niwa would speak again.

“As I understand, the Raiden Shogun has, in recent years, eliminated much of the evil that plagued Inazuma. As for Tatarasuna, it was originally established as a means of safely disposing crystal marrow…”

…Escher really did love to hear himself talk, didn’t he? The Balladeer had almost forgotten that. The Fontainian had had difficulty truly connecting to the Inazuman populace, so when he did have the attention – or a captive audience – he’d usually made eager use of the opportunity.

“The forging industry with crystal marrow as a raw material has since flourished, giving rise to generations of swordsmiths – some world-renowned, others unknown… all passing on their legacy.” Escher spread his hands as if reciting some stage play, presenting Niwa with his own history for whatever reason. “Skills, blood, dreams… Every smith brought into this trade looks to find their purpose between steel and blade. That is why you accepted the proposal brought to you by myself and Akame.”

Wait. Was he trying to convince Niwa that the Mikage furnace had been a good idea…?

The Balladeer knew now what he’d only desperately guessed at then. It’d been Escher’s crystal marrow that’d summoned the black clouds of the Tatarigami. The man could not have known – he’d been only human, and he’d been meddling in the affairs of gods and monsters. Still, at least he’d been truthful about what he had known.

He’d been cold and detached about the heart in his device, but… in time, the Balladeer had come to be grateful even for that. That heart hadn’t meant a thing to the world, cruel and callous as it was, and it shouldn’t have meant a thing to him either. Escher had done him nothing but favours in the end, helping him see.

Helping him see what Niwa had concealed the whole time. That he’d never belong, and should never allow himself to get attached.

Just then, Niwa opened his mouth, and a shiver ran down the puppet’s back to hear the man’s voice again at last.

“Yes, well…” The young armoury officer glared in some distaste, hidden well to a foreigner’s eyes, but the Balladeer picked up on it just fine. “Were it not for you coming to Inazuma and happening to make Akame’s first acquaintance, the two of you never would have joined forces. And he would be the first to admit that there’s no way he could have revolutionized our forging process like this on his own – at least not on the same timescale.”

Words of polite praise, yet in that wary, mistrustful tone of voice. Tch. Niwa had always appeared a terrible liar. How deep the deceit had truly gone. Even now, he might’ve fallen for it, thinking the man was a gormless, easy target.

“You allowed Akame to take all the credit for a method that you jointly developed, he sold it to me, and now, every piece of ore here is smelted using the new technique.” Niwa’s voice had grown more unsteady still, as if he was working up to voicing something he’d really rather not. “…Even now, you remain one of Tatarasuna’s key consultants, working right here alongside us. I believe it is you, sir, who are truly responsible for the changes in our manufacturing and forging methods.”

…That face, that voice, that man. It was increasingly impossible to bear, no matter how desperately he attempted to endure, to see this as just another moment in time recorded within Irminsul, meaningless as all the others.

“You flatter me,” Escher simpered, smiling wider. “From the outset, I saw much that was commendable in the forging industry of Inazuma, and it has been my great honour to befriend you all.”

The Balladeer barely heard the Fontainian. He was blinking rapidly, breathing more rapidly still. The echo of this moment was getting to him.

Somehow, his golden feather was burning in the satchel on his back. Burning on his chest. The phantom feeling of wearing it openly, right there, right here in these chambers. No. No! He’d silenced that part of himself, long ago, silenced it forever! It held no power over him! Niwa nor any of these disgusting, filthy humans ever would again!

…He’d spared Niwa’s descendant, for… whatever reason. Wasn’t that enough?

He shook his head, feeling like he was drowning, or burning. Let it end. This memory had to end! This wasn’t what he was looking for! He didn’t want to see this! Kusanali, let me out!

No reply. Nothing. He couldn’t escape. It was as if he’d been locked into Irminsul, forced to watch, forced to witness.

Was the Traveler seeing this, too? At the very least, he couldn’t see the outlander, and the reverse must also be true…

“So you say, Escher,” Niwa murmured then. “But is this really the truth?”

Escher coyly cocked his head. “My good sir, what do you mean?”

“…I tried to resist thinking it was all connected because I didn’t want to speculate, and I didn’t want to believe that things could turn out this way.”

The Balladeer snapped to attention, as he might have four centuries ago.

…Something wasn’t adding up with his own recollection of things. Even through the clouds of what was very nearly panic, enveloping and fogging up his mind, he was increasingly becoming aware of that.

Something was rearing its head. Something achingly naive, something that still cared despite it all – the same meddling weakness that’d led him to spare Kaedehara Yoshinori.

But maybe it wasn’t just that. Was Niwa… accusing Escher of something? Insinuating Escher had known what his invention had been doing to Tatarasuna?

…Had he?

“What have we gained from adopting your new technology?” Niwa went on. “Ominous, black smoke, mounting production problems… worker fatigue and casualties are up, and continuing to rise at an alarming rate.”

The puppet unconsciously brought a hand to his chest. He remembered what it’d been like. Here, with no one watching, his body and mind could no longer shut it out completely.

“And recently, as you well know, someone died because of that strange filth inside the furnace.” Niwa’s tone was accusatory, but also heartbreakingly saddened and horrified – at just one human death.

The Balladeer couldn’t help but remember what it’d been like to care so much, himself.

How could Niwa have faked that?

Had he?

…No. No, he couldn’t be thinking like that. He knew what had happened. He knew what he’d seen, and heard, and experienced.

Didn’t he?

“We’ve kept the truth from spreading outside, but still, I suspect you understand it better than I do,” the armoury officer continued, as the Balladeer couldn’t do anything but mutely listen, having all but forgotten his desire to leave this memory, as if he’d never felt it at all.

“None of the people who went out to get help have come back,” Niwa bitterly stated. “Now, our mutual friend, the Kabukimono…”

The Balladeer jolted just hearing that title again, after so very long. His fingers cramped into claws on his chest.

“…is taking the golden feather to Narukami Island to seek an audience with the Shogun. This is our last hope.”

He had been. He’d tried so hard. He’d cared so much. All for those who’d never cared for him.

Why did Niwa sound like he had cared? Why? Why? Why didn’t things add up?!

“But that doesn’t faze you, does it, Escher?” the young man mercilessly went on, dealing blow after blow to the Balladeer’s reeling mind. “Nothing does… otherwise, why would you still be standing there with that smile on your face?”

The puppet slowly shifted his gaze to the other man. He’d almost forgotten he was there.

It was true. Escher was still smiling, even in the face of Niwa’s accusing fury and clear heartbreak.

Suddenly, a nameless dread suffused the puppet’s body. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see any more after all. Some blaring alarm rang out at the back of his mind, setting his whole body alight with tension, as if he could burst into flame at a moment’s notice. Something was very, very wrong.

Irminsul didn’t lie. Lesser Lord Kusanali had taken great care to show him that much.

“I’m just surprised that you finally chose to be so sincere,” Escher spoke at length, smug as ever, a laugh in his voice. “I’m sure you’ve been harbouring these suspicions for quite some time.”

Niwa glared, gritting his teeth. For a moment, the Balladeer felt as if they were both equally real, Niwa and him, in the same room at the same time, feeling the exact same way. The exact same dread he felt now filled those warm eyes, too. The connection was almost too much to bear – and yet he couldn’t look away, and he couldn’t leave. Losing that connection would be even worse.

“Mikoshi Nagamasa may have noticed that there was a common denominator among all these events,” Niwa spoke up. “Namely you, Escher. But mr. Mikoshi is more cautious than I. He does things by the book.”

Foolish. Brave. Foolish. If such suspicions arose… why would you voice them…? Why, if you were just one defenseless, unarmed human…?

The Balladeer could not look away. Was it his age-old endurance, or his great weakness that drove him to keep watching this slow, centuries-old horror?

“After all, Nagamasa is the adopted son of Mikoshi Torichiyo,” Escher agreed, amiable as ever, explaining Nagamasa’s lineage to someone who couldn’t possibly have known better. “The youkai struck down by the Shogun’s own hand. If he truly seeks to redeem his family’s honour, an abundance of caution is well-advised.”

Niwa took in a sharp breath. “You’re well-informed on the subtleties of this situation for a mechanic all the way from Fontaine,” he replied, stating the exact thing rattling around the Balladeer’s mind. “Are you sure you’re not a little overqualified?”

Why couldn’t he move? Why couldn’t he do anything?

“Why, mr. Niwa,” Escher demured. “Are you suggesting I find a job as a diplomat? Sadly, I am so very attached to my craft…”

…That tone of voice. That cadence…

…No, surely…

“Enough, Escher,” Niwa all but growled out, close to fury, close to tears. He’d raised his chin, looking the mechanic squarely in the eye, brave and righteous as ever, exactly as the puppet remembered him. As if he’d never, ever been otherwise. “I’m here because an evil force is raging inside the furnace, and someone needs to take your new device inside the high-risk zone so we can absorb it and put an end to the problem. I’m in charge here, and I’m about to take some responsibility and head inside, probably to my death.”

…Niwa had wanted to go and face that horror himself. He had, he had, he had.

A fragile mortal, filled with fear, still stepping up.

No, no, no.

“But what about you?” the young officer bit out. “What are you still doing here?”

Niwa and Escher were standing so close together.

Escher didn’t seem fazed by Niwa’s fury at all.

“Judging by the look in your eyes, you don’t seem to trust me,” the mechanic observed with an air of mild interest.

“Drop the act!” Niwa shouted in exasperation, turning away, putting distance between them. “We’re past that now. Whoever you are, it looks like your plan to destroy Tatarasuna has worked.” He sounded broken, confused, at the end of his rope.

Escher moved in towards Niwa’s unguarded back.

There was a knife strapped to his own, down low at his waist. Practical. Unassuming. Still just as sharp.

The Balladeer widened his eyes, but he still couldn’t move. His feet seemed nailed to the floor. He could do nothing but watch – nothing but witness these events that’d been set in stone centuries ago.

“I just want to know what you’re still doing here,” Niwa stated bitterly. “What’s left? Don’t you have all your answers by now?”

“Honestly,” Escher grinned, like the cat that got the cream, “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

There was a silvery flash.

Despite himself, despite everything, the Balladeer cried out and leapt into action at last, as if there was anything he could do, anything he could change. As if he hadn’t loathed Niwa with his entire being just a minute ago, as if he hadn’t done so for centuries. He hadn’t fully processed everything he’d seen and heard here – but something deeper than rational thought had taken over at what he was seeing now. Something older and truer than who he’d been all those centuries in between.

It didn’t change a thing. It never could have.

The blade sank deeply into Niwa’s back, with a sickening sound and very little resistance, rending cloth and flesh alike, scraping past his ribs.

“No!”

The Balladeer didn’t recognize his own voice – so high and reedy, like that of someone much younger. It didn’t matter. Escher was speaking over him, just like his action had overridden anything he might’ve done.

“A moment like this,” he murmured into Niwa’s ear, blade still sunken into the other man’s back, their proximity almost intimate. “Where you finish talking and I stop you from entering the furnace.”

The puppet’s eyes were wide. His cheeks were wet. He barely felt it. His entire body was on fire, blotting out all reality – even this echo of it.

Niwa choked out a groan, more shocked than pained as of yet. “Argh – you, you…”

And he slumped to the ground, right through the Balladeer’s outstretched arms, crumpling like any other corpse he’d seen in his life – or made, himself.

Escher chuckled, standing over them both. “…Heh, you’re a little smarter than I initially gave you credit for,” he smirked. “I thought I’d disguised myself exceptionally well, at least for the first few days. But to my surprise, you had your people look into my background right from the start.” A growl slipped into his voice – annoyance, bordering on outrage.

…What was he going on about now? Wasn’t this enough?

Through the ringing in his ears, the agonized screams of his psyche, the Balladeer attempted to make sense of a few very hard-to-digest facts.

He never should’ve left Tatarasuna for Narukami Island. He should’ve been here, by Niwa’s side, the one who’d never betrayed him.

He should’ve killed Escher. Someone should have. The one who’d poisoned Tatarasuna, who’d apparently had all sorts of plans for the island…

The people had never betrayed him…

Escher had lied…

…And there was still something more. More?! How much more could he endure?!

“It’s a long journey from Inazuma to Fontaine,” the mechanic drawled, striding over as Niwa struggled to sit upright, clutching his side. “But that didn’t stop them. Eventually, they managed to confirm that ‘Escher’ was an alias, and that I was not from Fontaine at all.”

The Balladeer followed the man with his eyes, his hands still unconsciously scrambling to cover Niwa’s wound, do something, anything, even if he was as intangible and meaningless as mist here in this memory. His body was acting on its own. His mind was barely faring any better.

“And yet, despite all of that, you still fail to realize my true identity, and what I seek in Tatarasuna.”

That cadence. That voice.

Escher smiled like a snake. “Did you really think you would be able to see through my plan?”

If the Balladeer had had a heart, it would’ve stopped at this exact moment.

Escher’s voice had shifted. It had shifted into something he could fully place, now. Even though it made absolutely no sense. That haughty, arrogant, all-knowing tone… it had no place here. It couldn’t be here. He… couldn’t be here.

This had to be a nightmare. All of this. Niwa bleeding out right in front of him, at the hands of… the hands of…

No. It was too absurd. It couldn’t be true.

But Irminsul didn’t lie.

Why?

Niwa groaned beside him. “…If you kill me, there’s no one who can get inside the furnace,” he managed, gasping through the pain, his voice thick with the blood that must be bubbling up his throat by now. “…So you’re really going to destroy this place… is that it?”

‘Escher’ smirked, strolling around the dying man. “Oh, but you’re quite wrong,” he remarked in that voice. “There is one other person. Hm, some may not see him as a person, but… you told him yourself.” He turned, gazing down at Niwa and the Balladeer, as if he could see them both. “‘You’re not a puppet’,” the mechanic mocked, wide-eyed with faux-innocence. “‘You’re a human… you’re just missing a heart.’”

The Balladeer trembled like a rabbit in a snare. Beside him, Niwa struggled in shocked, furious protest, but it only resulted in his injury gushing more blood. “Whoever you’re working for won’t get away with this!” he choked. “They’ll be found out! But… this makes no sense. What are you really trying to accomplish by all this?! Why go to all this trouble?!”

The mechanic gazed down at the dying man as though studying an interesting insect, patiently waiting for him to gasp out every last word. At length, he spoke again, amiable as ever. “It’s no trouble at all,” he smiled, as though comforting Niwa. “Patience is a virtue which I have in abundance. This is all part of a carefully controlled experiment.”

Calm, collected, patient. As if explaining a difficult concept to a child.

The world was spinning out from under the Balladeer. He felt like he was floating. He felt like he wasn’t even in his body anymore – and some distant part of him recognized that feeling. He’d carefully cultivated this response – in order to cope with physical pain rather than mental, but it was no wonder it was happening now.

He’d cultivated it over the years he’d spent listening to that voice, saying things exactly like that.

“If you must know,” the mechanic went on, almost absentmindedly, “I am happy to divulge my true identity. I am a Fatui Harbinger. Call me ‘the Doctor’.”

The puppet’s breath left his body as though he’d been punched in the stomach – even though his mind was completely static and unsurprised. He’d known. Perhaps he’d known from the moment ‘Escher’ had started speaking.

Someone else’s tears were freely flowing down his cheeks, dripping down his chin. He wasn’t feeling that person’s sorrow. He didn’t feel much of anything anymore. He was adrift, an impassive observer.

“The… Fatui…?” Niwa gasped, struggling with every word now – and sounding completely baffled, understanding less and less why he was dying now. “Who…? What do you want…?!”

The mechanic shrugged airily, lifting his gaze, almost dreamily. “Just to create a… minor inconvenience for your nation.”

“That’s it?!” the young officer raged, voice raspy with bubbling blood. “That’s why you… gave us your cursed technology… just to let loose the evil energy from the crystal marrow…”

‘Escher’ had never looked so pleased. “Heh… look how even the righteous soul is filled with venom when faced with its demise,” he remarked, outright fascinated as he beheld the other. He folded his arms, growing a little more serious. “My device functions precisely as you say,” he lectured, taking care to bring across a lesson, even now. The Balladeer gave an involuntary shiver, knowing that tone of voice all too well, too.

“It is the only chance you have of preventing a catastrophe and keeping the truth from the outside world.” The mechanic leaned in. “However… I did not make it with you in mind.” That horrible smirk widened. “It is easier for a person to be possessed by evil spirits when they are filled with hate,” he explained, as if it was obvious, and not complete lunacy. “So… give in to your fury…”

…Embrace the anger! Embrace it!

“…I want to see what happens when a malevolent heart is placed into an unsuspecting puppet.”

…That was what it’d been all about?

Him?

He’d drawn the evil to Tatarasuna? Fixated this malevolent eye onto his home? Onto the people who had…

Who had, after all…

“Make no mistake,” that voice went on, twisting the blade, twisting, twisting. “Even without you, that pure, innocent puppet would only end up being used by someone else instead. What other reason would a human have for befriending one who is not of our kind?”

It hadn’t been like that! It never had been…

Niwa let out a horrible choking sound, scraping across the back of the Balladeer’s own throat, bringing on a feeling very close to the nausea he’d always thought he’d been immune to. His whole body was on fire. This was too much. He’d made so many mistakes. All of this, all of it had been his fault – all of this could’ve been different –

– and then Niwa managed to speak again, faltering, wracked with coughs, hoarse with agony, but forcing out the words with nigh-heroic determination.

“If you give him… my heart… tell him that both Nagamasa… and I… see him as… one of us.”

The Balladeer listened, unblinking, no longer breathing, his entire being fixated on his friend’s dying words. After centuries of delusion, finally, they were reaching him after all.

“He has nothing to prove to anyone… because not everyone… just wants to use other people,” Niwa continued, fighting for every word. “The only ones who think like that… are people like you.”

The words lanced right through the puppet, lodging in deep, hooking on behind some core part of him, rattling it loose.

Niwa, mocking him for his desire for a heart. Driving a blade into his deepest fears, his otherness, made up for by always being as useful as he possibly could. Dismissing him at the deepest level, making it more than clear he’d never, ever been cared for at all.

Lies. All of it. He’d been wrong about all of it. For centuries. For most of his long, long life.

All because of one person.

Niwa’s hand slipped out from under him, and he definitively collapsed to the floor. A choked sob left the Balladeer at that, and he attempted to follow his friend down, somehow shield him, anything at all…

“What a beautiful way to see the world,” the other man mused then, sing-song and amused. “It almost makes me feel a little guilty. Hm, then, out of respect for you, I shall redefine myself.”

The Balladeer slowly lifted his gaze to him, that guise of the red-garbed Fontainian, Escher. The man who had redefined his whole life, with just one stroke of a blade.

The man looked down at Niwa, but also right into the puppet’s eyes as he spoke. “Think of me as a monster or a demon, if you wish,” he stated. “At least this way, your death is not a consequence of your own folly turning you into an easy target. You simply lost to something more powerful than you could ever hope to defeat.”

Fury roiled white-hot in the Balladeer’s chest as he stared up at the man, his eyes burning with tears, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt. My life. My whole life.

You took my life!

“I say, mr. Niwa, let’s see what happens. Will your puppet friend become a human? No, that will prove quite impossible.”

You took my life! You took theirs! His! They did matter! They did!

They just didn’t matter to you –

– they mattered to me.

“…Mr. Niwa?”

The man in red crouched down, right beside the Balladeer, reaching out even as the puppet hissed and gnashed his teeth. There was nothing he could do as that hand touched his friend’s back.

“…Tsk, already dead. What a pity.”

A huff of breath, annoyed, relieved. A shift in the air.

There he was. As if the Balladeer needed any more confirmation.

As if he could handle seeing that masked face right now.

Teal hair, gloved hands. The hands that’d torn apart his entire world and rebuilt it all wrong. Rebuilt him all wrong.

“Jester, I have completed the task you gave me.”

The Balladeer sucked in a sharp, shocked breath.

“Creating a gap and infiltrating Inazuma’s inner workings… heh, what fun it was.”

His own missions… their groundwork had been laid right here. Everything, everything he’d done had furthered the plans that’d stolen him from his own home.

Archons, they’d had him work with the Tatarigami itself. The cruelty of it almost seemed to take priority over efficiency.

“I’d like to introduce a puppet to you.”

His eyes snapped back to the Doctor, needing to see him speak as he went on. He wanted to remember this, and remember it well.

“If he proves useful, let’s make him our newest comrade. And if not… let’s turn him to dust.”

No surprises there. Only further confirmation.

Only further fuel for the fire consuming him alive.

He was past denying it, now. Now, all that remained was an endless scream in his mind, sorrow and fury and agony all in one, howling for all the mistakes he could never take back, all those he’d lost, and the one who’d taken them from him – the one he’d chosen to trust, instead.

The scene finally faded to black. It would have been merciful, if it hadn’t just flayed him open and left him bleeding, weeping a stream of tears and blood he couldn’t begin to fathom how to stop.

Chapter Text

The torrents of Irminsul enveloped him once more.

The first thing he felt was a pressure, a pain on his forehead, around his temples. He realized he’d grasped his own face so tightly his nails were digging into his false skin. He was breathing fast – a laugh, a sob high in his throat.

The Traveler was beside him, no doubt eyeing him with concern.

“Hey,” Paimon cautiously began. “Are you… alright?”

Did you not see?! Don’t you know anything?!

No time for that. No room in his mind for any of that. “…Dottore,” he heard himself say, his tone broken, incredulous, some manic hilarity underpinning it. He gave voice to it, letting out a crazed giggle, uncaring who might hear or what they might think. “Dottore…!” He took a sharp breath, an uncontrolled in-and-out, half laugh, half sob once again, unable to settle on either, not at all making sense of the raging storm within himself. “Good, good,” he murmured out, attempting to soothe, to get a hold of himself, to stay rational the same way he’d always been derisively urged to whenever he’d been in too much pain to think –

– urged, by him – !!

Paimon babbled something behind him, probably confused about the whole thing. The Traveler replied. Their words didn’t register. He had no time or patience for their inane mewling.

Then, Kusanali spoke. The Balladeer blinked, paying attention despite it all.

“When I touched the Doctor to confirm whether he’d eliminated all his segments, I read this memory in his mind,” she spoke through Irminsul, calm and slow. “You have to admit, it must be the truth.”

Irminsul didn’t lie.

“Maybe so,” he managed, breathless. “But it means nothing.” It didn’t. It didn’t! Reality was pain – just of a different sort than he’d always thought. He’d still been betrayed and cast aside, again and again. He’d still lost everyone he’d ever cared about. There was no point in adjusting the way he viewed the world now!

“Does it?” Kusanali insisted, driving the knife in deeper, even as he desperately attempted to evade, shield that gaping wound.

To keep himself from realizing.

What he was going through was none of anyone’s business!

“But this memory shows that Niwa didn’t betray you. He never meant for you to be the one to take the device into the furnace.” She paused, letting it sink in, making sure he had no defense against her words at all. “You know very well what that means. Even more so than I.”

A heartfelt growl left him, the rattle of a cornered, injured animal. He couldn’t speak.

He did know what that meant. It meant he had been wrong about everything most of his life. He had to rethink everything.

He’d been at the side of that murderer, furthering his plans with his own hands…

“Let’s… give him some space,” Paimon nervously stated, cautiously putting some distance between them. “He looks really mad. Paimon doesn’t want to be anywhere near him right now.”

“Okay,” the Traveler replied. “Let’s go over there…”

Just as well. Good riddance.

He did need time. Time to put his thoughts in order, regain some semblance of control, of dignity…

His hand had folded over his eyes again, his head sinking down low, only seeing the great silver-blue tree’s roots, blotting out everything else.

Something inside him was wailing. Had been wailing this whole time.

Niwa! Niwa…

He couldn’t get the images out of his head. He knew he never would. Even if his memory hadn’t been eternal and flawless – he would never forget Niwa collapsing in front of him, bleeding out, choking out those horrible, bubbling breaths.

Those words.

If you give him… my heart… tell him that both Nagamasa… and I… see him as… one of us.

His heart.

The wailing hadn’t stopped.

He was right back there again, at the furnace, his white clothing burned and torn and covered in soot – his hands trembling and cracked as they clutched that still, sad, blackened heart.

Niwa’s heart.

He’d flung it to the ground in disgust, anger and sorrow. He’d left and he’d never looked back. He hadn’t even tried to find out the truth. He’d never questioned… him.

Every thought of the Doctor was drowned out by that reedy, despairing voice, his younger self clawing at his insides. Niwa!!

Make it make sense! How could… how could this…

Shut up, he hissed to himself, grasping at straws. Stay rational. This changes nothing!

It changes everything! that other voice yelled back, choked with tears.

…Dottore.

He had to hang on to that. Dottore, Dottore. The man who’d really spat in his face all those centuries ago, not Niwa – never Niwa!

“Dottore, you brazen-faced…!” He almost choked on his own fury, struggling even on the words that left him unbidden. “Niwa didn’t run from justice… you killed him!”

Dottore, the one who’d taken everything from him, then taken him in with open arms, all too gleeful to receive him after his aimless wanderings, all too eager to make use of a lost and forlorn puppet without a purpose or a home.

Carefully parted from any purpose and his home.

His entire life had been planned out. His entire life, he’d been dancing on the Doctor’s strings – held in those loathsome hands he hadn’t been able to keep away from his friends… those hands he’d then allowed to lovingly trace his very organs, the rim of the hollow where they had once placed Niwa’s heart…

…Was there no end to the pain?! Everything he’d endured to gain power and purpose had all been so much worse than useless – it’d all been inflicted on him by the man who’d convinced him the world was rotten in the first place!

Part of him was shrieking at the horror of it all, but another instantly coiled inward, turning on himself.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid!

…It was all so obvious, now.

It really would’ve been better if Katsuragi had never found him in Shakkei Pavilion. Why couldn’t he have passed by that landslide? The Fatui might still have had their eye on Tatarasuna… but if he hadn’t been there, such an interesting, unique puppet, there would’ve been no need to experiment with malevolent hearts, to carefully set up that orchestrated ‘betrayal’, just to acquire him…

…leading to Niwa bleeding out on the floor, Nagamasa being blamed for his supposed cowardice, Katsuragi taking the blame and paying with his life, Nozomu scrambling after the Daitatara Nagamasa as it was flung into the furnace in the inspector’s sorrow…

…And had they not all believed in their god?

It’s not fair! that teary, choked voice cried out. Why had they have to face such a calamity? All because of him?

And maybe he did have a point, there.

Through the ember-filled storm tearing at his mind, the pain of his own nails digging into his skin, his too-tightly clenched jaw, he realized something with some mild, detached interest.

This was new.

He’d wished to never have existed so many times – but always for selfish reasons. To get rid of his own pain. To finally wipe the slate clean, achieve godhood and prove himself. To perhaps join his fledgeling in the flames.

He’d never wished to prevent someone else’s pain with his absence from the page.

He’d always been so childish, he realized now. This might be the first moment he was ever seeing clearly. He finally saw clearly just how foolish he’d been his whole life. This, this right here, was the first thing that actually mattered.

Now all lies had been stripped away and the gruesome truth laid bare, he was finally free. He had nothing left – not even his delusions. He was naked in the dark… or unsheathed like a blade, finally ready to be of use.

He blinked, willing himself to return to the here and now, to slowly look up at the silver-blue tree before him.

Look where we are.

Everything he’d seen, everything he’d done, everything he’d learned was clicking into place, as if by itself, without any conscious input from him. He knew he was clever. His sharp mind had only a singular purpose left to it now. He’d never been this fixated on anything in his life.

Maybe he was here for a reason. Maybe… in the same way his existence had spelled doom to his loved ones in unique ways… his current unique position could hold meaning as well.

Even if the chance were infinitesimal, could the tragedy of Tatarasuna be salvaged?

The sobbing voice inside him gradually stilled, stunned into silence by these mortifying, exhilarating new realizations.

Anyone anywhere else in this world would be able to do nothing at all, but not the Balladeer. He was uniquely positioned to attempt this one thing, here and now.

He’d seen and heard just enough. Just the right things. He was just perceptive enough to make use of them.

Why… why am I crying?

…Don’t tell me…

I don’t know where this feeling inside of me is coming from, but I feel very sad…

Do you still remember… what happened just now?

…Traveler, weren’t you there just now?

His eyes flicked to the Traveler and Paimon, their backs turned to him, no doubt deep in telepathic conversation with the Dendro Archon once more.

…Then, we removed the remaining pollution from Irminsul.

…Indeed.

Indeed they had.

Maybe. Maybe there really was a way.

He had to find out.

They were approaching him right now, he realized. He’d emerged from his contemplations just in time.

As always, Paimon was first to speak. “Hey… you all right?”

The puppet couldn’t help but smirk at this utter idiocy, folding his arms, simply beholding her with a cold light in his eyes. Paimon recoiled at once. “That’s a scary expression!”

The Balladeer lifted his eyes to the Traveler. There was some concern in that golden gaze – but not overly much. No doubt, what he’d seen had made him think a little, but they were clearly still enemies in the outlander’s eyes. Just as well. Still… “…Are you worried about me?” he mocked, drawing some sorely-needed amusement from the sheer possibility. “If we didn’t have such a history, I’d almost think that qualifies me to be your friend.”

The mere idea. Joining the outlander’s absurdly wide circle of friends… him? The detritus, the useless, actively ruinous puppet that’d never managed to get a single thing right in his entire life? Hah.

As expected, the outlander’s eyes went cold at that. “We just want to make sure this doesn’t affect the plan,” the Traveler bit out.

“It won’t,” the Balladeer assured him, even though he’d forgotten all about the mission to look for information on the Descenders for a minute, there. “I’ll keep my end of the deal.”

And so he would. He had it all figured out. He had everything he needed in hand already.

Still, there was one more thing he wanted to check, wanted to see clearly once again, just to verify his suspicions. He turned back to the heart of knowledge, reaching out for the great tree, tapping back into the currents of information.

…Kusanali, gazing up at the Traveler in the Sanctuary’s atrium, big tears running down her cheeks. Ah, Traveler, I – I’m alright. I’m just a little confused…

What are you confused about?

We’ve just saved the world, right? So why… why am I crying?

One last time, he needed to see it. Needed to see that look on the Traveler’s face, that shock, that evidence that things were not as he’d expected them.

This being not tethered to the world’s fate, having just seen fate change beneath his feet. Having seen the world, and its history, shift.

In ways even Kusanali was not immune to.

Right. He knew enough. Well – almost enough. He wasn’t sure of the most vital part – not sure enough to risk it all, just yet – but he knew enough to ask the right question, now.

“Hey… are you investigating the stuff we wanna know about?” Paimon cautiously butted in.

“That’s why we’re here,” he bit back. Not a lie. Not an answer to her question, either. “But unfortunately, there’s no information about the Descenders in Irminsul.” He could’ve searched more thoroughly. But he could say with reasonable certainty that Kusanali had lured him here under false pretenses – to get him to see that memory, with the Traveler to keep an eye on him for whatever reason.

She’d known. She hadn’t been surprised at all as they’d all emerged from it.

Why do all this? To turn him against the Fatui for good? He’d already denounced the Doctor for abandoning him – !

Did she really think she needed the Traveler after what she’d done? A lesser being might turn on her for this treachery, yes. But he… he knew what possibility he held now. He’d always made the most of his circumstances. Here, at the end of all things, that much at least was no different.

It didn’t matter what Kusanali had intended. He’d walk his own path, nonetheless. Away from her… and everything else.

“Even if you can’t find anything, that seems to confirm it: Irminsul does not keep records on the Descenders,” the little goddess was saying, without even the decency to sound ashamed about her cruel little ploy. “Anyone who comes from beyond this world is not counted as part of Teyvat.”

Paimon pouted, disappointed. “Aw, does that mean we have to leave empty-handed…?”

The Traveler was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Then he turned to the Balladeer. “…Not unexpected, but still… thank you.”

The Balladeer had to stifle a chuckle. “Don’t thank me just yet.” He hadn’t even given his nemesis his greatest gift of all yet! But, at least he could begin with the lesser of the two presents he had in store. “Hmm, you look really upset… Heh, well, since Irminsul was a dead end, I guess I can share some other info that might interest you.”

Paimon tilted her head. “Huh? About what?”

He couldn’t stop smirking, so close to the ultimate goal at last, after all. “The reason why there are records about your sister in Irminsul. It might have something to do with Khaenri’ah.” He was elated to see the outlander tensing up in response to that little morsel. “Apparently, Khaenri’ah was her first destination when she arrived in this world.” Now for the final blow – the Fatui’s finest intel, to the Traveler at least. “Plus, she only came to this world because the heavens responded to the summoning.”

The Traveler looked as puzzled as Paimon sounded. “The heavens… responded?”

“The Jester told me this himself,” the Balladeer divulged. “You can take his word on this.” The Jester was many things, but not a liar… though he was very good at omitting information, apparently. “He was a royal mage in Khaenri’ah, and lived with your sister for a while.”

“The Jester, another Fatui Harbinger,” the Traveler mused, expression thoughtful. “…Why?”

“I don’t know the details,” the Balladeer shrugged. “It’s up to you whether you want to believe me. All I can say is, I wouldn’t lie to you about this.” What’d be the point, here and now? He couldn’t care less about the Traveler’s thoughts. They held no bearing on his future. Nothing did anymore.

He looked up at the great tree, narrowing his eyes. “Did you get all that, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

“Yes,” her little voice came back, elated and proud. “Astonishing news.”

He wasn’t going to preen. Even now, he’d stamp that impulse down where it belonged. He had more important matters to occupy his remaining time. “Does this info count towards my mission? It wasn’t from Irminsul, but was it valuable?” A bargaining chip. The barest thing, it was all he needed.

“Very valuable.”

His lips curled into a thin smile.

“Good. In that case… I’ll take some time for myself now.” He folded a hand before his face, just barely glaring at the Traveler before him – and reached down deep into himself.

The world flickered, and he could feel the Dendro Archon’s presence receding, barred from reaching him.

As he’d recovered in the Sanctuary’s care, his innate Electro powers had gradually come back – but that hadn’t been the only thing. As he’d first ventured into Irminsul again by Kusanali’s side, he’d sensed he still had a connection to it, just as the little goddess had predicted. He could navigate its currents, sense his way around in a way only she could, otherwise. She’d speculated he still retained some divinity from his time housing the Gnosis, being fed forbidden knowledge and divine remains through the Doctor’s tubes.

She’d been right.

He’d always known he’d find a use for those remnants. His fate was his own. His resources were his own. He’d play the part and dance on someone else’s strings as long as it suited him, make use of his unique skillset on her behalf as long as it suited him, but – it no longer did, now.

It never would again.

So why not make use of all of it at once? He really saw no reason not to.

A bubble of pale blue energy materialized around him, the Traveler and Paimon, perfectly matching their ethereal surroundings.

Paimon recoiled. “Huh? What have you done?”

He folded his arms, smirking, even though he could feel the bubble rapidly draining his energy. “Lesser Lord Kusanali was right: my power’s all but completely spent.” He minutely grit his teeth, his voice betraying the strain he was under, despite his best efforts to mask it. “Even if I use all of the divine power left in me, I can’t sustain this shield for very long.” No point in lying, now. He had no reason to hide a thing. All consequence would be meaningless soon enough.

Time to cut to the chase. “I shared a secret with you, and now you owe me.” His words were harsh, direct. He strode in, closing the distance between him and the golden outlander, giving him no time to think. “So, in return, I’d like you to answer a question for me.”

He was almost surprised as the Traveler replied at once, hostile though his tone might be. “What do you want to know?”

Curiosity. Perhaps an even stronger driving force than fear, in some sufficiently thoughtless individuals. What luck.

He reached out. “Give me your hand.” It wasn’t a question. There must’ve been some authority to his voice, or some desperation – because the Traveler complied, Paimon looking on in worry.

The outlander’s eyes immediately widened in shock, even before the Balladeer had spoken.

Can you hear my voice inside your head? he ventured, cautious, testing, willing the Traveler not to pull back.

Are you trying to brainwash me? the outlander thought back at once.

He would’ve scoffed, if he’d had the time for levity. No, I can’t do anything like that anymore. At most, all I can do is exchange a few words with you. He prayed that’d be enough to give him what he needed.

Time to put it all on the line. He was aware he was staring, unblinking, his eyes feverishly boring into the Traveler’s as he gripped his hand like a lifeline. So tell me… in this world, is it possible… to change the past?

The Traveler went rigid, shocked beyond anything so far. The Balladeer couldn’t discern a single thought beyond that shock; a wordless flare of alarm, deep and all-encompassing.

People usually reacted that way when he found out something he wasn’t supposed to know. He knew that look. He’d seen it often enough by now.

Good. Good. Now he really had everything he needed.

He’d have what he wanted, then. What he’d always wanted. What he’d truly wanted, deep down beneath all the posturing and grandstanding, beyond the hunt for purpose and meaning and identity.

He’d have the means to set things right.

Wait, the Traveler stammered, recovering, but too late, too late. Why would you ask that…?

The Balladeer let go, the warmth of the outlander’s fingers slipping from his. “Done,” he spoke out loud, indicating the end of their little conversation – and everything else.

Paimon looked between them both. “Huh? What the… what happened? Paimon only saw you hold hands for a second…”

All he’d ever need. “Nothing,” he reassured the fairy, very aware his tone was doing anything but that. “I was just thanking him for helping me.”

The Traveler had narrowed his eyes in thought, in obvious concern, lost in contemplation of his own. Yeah. He really had touched on something forbidden. Wonderful.

Enough time wasted. Enough time spent on this worthless life, this superfluous existence. He turned, and walked away. “So long,” he idly remarked over his shoulder. “I suggest you get yourselves out of here quickly.” No reason to do any more harm… but if they were too stupid to listen, far be it from his concern.

“Where are you going?!” the fairy blared after him. “Hey, wait up! Didn’t you say not to go running off?!”

Heh, you listened well. You’re so close to the answer. Just think one step further.

“Balladeer! Stop!” the Traveler yelled, clearly having realized something more. “Paimon, we have to stop him!”

He’d reached the great silver tree. “Fast reaction time,” he observed, just as blue-white flame enveloped him, not yet burning him – merely waiting for his command. “But I don’t think we’ll be seeing eachother again.”

If he’d had a heart, it’d have been pounding in his ears. He couldn’t think.

He’d been so full of this new grand plan for but an instant, and now that instant was over. Nothing remained now. Nothing but this.

He didn’t fear what was to come. Death was no threat to him. He’d wished for it for most of his life. He’d finally achieve it now – and only humans with hearts knew horror, after all.

None of it would matter any longer.

The flames leapt up around him, and in an instant, he was gone. His physical form obliterated in a flash of pure white light, so simple, so clean. The clean slate he’d always yearned for…

He’d been weak. He’d been naïve. He hadn’t accomplished a thing during his long life, not truly. He’d made the world a worse place – but what of it?

Once upon a time, these inhuman hands had shut a great blazing furnace without caring if his fingers were burned to a crisp.

Now, these hands grasped blindly into the white fire at the tiniest possibility, twisting the truth to fulfill his wish.

“From this day forward, the names ‘Balladeer’ and ‘Kabukimono’ will cease to exist,” he commanded from within the light even as it blinded him, even as it consumed him.

“…Those who died in Tatarasuna because of me deserve another chance at life.” He couldn’t help but voice it, speak it into being. Even if nothing would ever matter again… in this single instant, he wanted that to be known.

I loved you.

“Hey, Balladeer!” Paimon whined. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

This is the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, you pest. “You know, I never did like insects,” he mused, for lack of anything better to do while his body and mind dissolved, shutting down, grinding away into atoms. “Hordes of the puny things swarming together can be a real nuisance… and I enjoy nothing more than to stamp them out like the pests they are.”

There was almost nothing left of him now. He felt weightless, as if he was flying. There was just light, now… only this clean, white light. “But if a colony of harmless ants isn’t threatening anyone, I guess they deserve to be left alone…”

There was just this, now. Just this. This one thing. Comforting. Right. “Luckily, everything can be set right.”

To ruin with this life, as worthless as flowers and feathers and the dawn dew!

In that other furnace, Niwa’s heart had protected him. With his last words, Niwa had thought of him. But surely, Niwa had much rather wanted to live, without ever knowing of his existence. Surely. Surely…

The infinitesimal fraction that was left of him blissfully closed its eyes, breathing out its last, useless, but immensely relieving sigh. “It’s time to solve this once and for all.”

And just as the fairy shrieked in confusion once again, everything shut down, finally granting him blessed silence, emptiness, nothingness. A clean slate.

He was gone, and so were all his troubles – everything he’d ever caused.

In the end, he was the master of fate after all.

Chapter Text

Nahida scrambled after the Balladeer as he flew from her grasp, as elusive as any bird, butterfly, or puff of dandelion seeds.

She’d known. She’d feared.

She’d accounted for this.

That still didn’t make it any easier to witness.

The fact he felt compelled to erase himself was just as sad as the fact that even now, he wasn’t free, wasn’t doing what he thought he was doing – although at least almost no one would know this, in the end…

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I only wanted you to see. To know the world as it truly is… some parts of it darker than you thought, but more of them lighter, much lighter…

She’d been cautious, silencing herself at multiple points throughout the Balladeer’s journey through Irminsul, careful not to disturb what was happening at the heart of knowledge. She’d watched, and she’d seen, and she’d felt his shock and agony from up so close it’d left her gasping and holding on to the lotus pad for balance, too.

He felt so very deeply. He’d been in so much pain.

…I’m so sorry. I saw no other way.

Even as it’d all washed over her, some twisted part of her had delighted in learning, in experiencing depths of emotion she’d never before reached. Those thoughts sparked anger at herself, and this, too, was fascinating. Like a plant growing from a churned battlefield enriched with blood, and yet knowing the concept of sorrow even as it flourished.

He’d been unique in all the world, understanding her in ways she’d never known before. She’d understood him in ways she’d never experienced before. She’d hoped he’d be her friend. She’d pushed him too far.

And now it was too late for everything.

She’d urged the Traveler and Paimon to leave the heart of Irminsul, guided them to safety down in Sumeru City as soon as the Balladeer’s shield had vanished and she’d been able to reach them again. Now, she was simply…

…doing something irrational.

She didn’t have to do anything. He’d erased himself, and she’d accounted for that. The Traveler would do as she knew he would. Her unknowing self would do as she knew she would.

But, still…

…There was still the faintest shred left of him, right there, connected to her through his swiftly disippating dreams. And she couldn’t just sit and do nothing in the face of that. She’d already been callous enough for a whole lifetime, today.

The beach on the cusp of dawn, the grey sand, the little sapling she’d planted. Everything was going white, devoured by pale flame, but… the sapling was still there.

She landed on the sand as the flames closed in.

She reached out to the little tree. She’d planted it, but he had let it be. That’s how she’d known there was still hope for him. That’s how she still knew, even now.

She didn’t have to do anything. Still, she knelt at the little silver sapling, gently cradling its branches as the dream, devoid of its dreamer, slowly faded around her.

She could feel herself forgetting just why she was here.

The flames reached her. The tree shivered…

…and fell apart, drifting away into countless little motes of light…

…no, not light. Countless little seeds, white and weightless…

…taken away by a gentle breeze, and out of sight.

Nahida blinked, and the scene was gone.

Hmm. Just what had she been doing just now…?

Chapter Text

It was a day like any other.

The forest was warm and fragrant in the dappled sunlight underneath Sumeru’s many canopies, and all was well.

A young man in blue strolled alongside the laden cart of his employer, a broad-shouldered fruit merchant on the way to Sumeru City’s mighty silhouette.

The merchant kept his eye on the forest path, but the youth distractedly turned this way and that with a faint smile gracing his delicate features, attempting to follow all the vibrant sounds of the jungle surrounding them on all sides. Birds, beasts, dripping water…

“You seem cheerful,” the merchant observed, his voice tinged with some concern, some curiosity, yet also some amusement. “Your clothes aren’t even dry yet. Those robes seem expensive, I wouldn’t be smiling like that if I were you.”

The young man looked down at himself, his clammy outfit. “Oh! It’s no matter,” he shook his head, still with that same gentle smile as he briefly took off his wide, gold-rimmed hat and ruffled his short hair. “The day is lovely and warm. I’ll be dry in no time at all.” Already, it was as if the storm had never happened. The clouds had blown away over the mountains, and the forest, though dripping, was basking in the sun.

He had been in a real spot of trouble, soaked through and lost in the gale as he’d attempted to follow the forest path, mud clinging to his robes and rain cascading off his hat – and not for the first time, no, far from it. He’d simply continued on as he’d always done, trying to not let his circumstances bother him. But then… he’d stumbled upon the light of kindness at last.

At last!

The merchant had spotted him from where he’d been camped out on the side of the road to sit out the storm, calling him over, taking him in and letting him shelter in his cart.

Wasn’t that amazing? He’d gone without meeting anyone for so very long, let alone anyone showing him kindness like that. He’d greeted the merchant with wide eyes and a fragile, sincere smile as the rain fell in sheets around him, hesitant to take the offer – but the merchant hadn’t wanted to hear it. “C’mere, you’ll catch your death!”

“I’ll – I’m soaking wet, I’ll dirty your –”

“Don’t worry! Get under here already!” And his arm had been grasped in a burly hand, and he’d been dragged in and wrapped in a heavy, lushly patterned Sumeran blanket and ruffled dry with such vigor his teeth had rattled with it, and he’d been offered some warm stew. “Eat up, lad, you look like you could use it.”

He couldn’t, really. He didn’t need human sustenance. But he shouldn’t go around telling this to people, so – he’d eaten. It’d been good. It’d been warm. It’d spread a comforting heat throughout his body – and in ways that went deeper than physical.

How amazing. At long last, someone willing to make room for him like this, extend a helping hand.

He’d vowed to do the same in return, as much as he could possibly provide. The promise had left him without any thought at all. “You’re… a merchant, I take it? Please, let me return the favour. I’ll be your helper for as long as you need. You don’t need to pay me anything.”

The man had beheld him curiously. “Now there’s a request. You always do this, offering your services to people you just met? And for free at that? You don’t even know my name.” More concern. It’d lanced right through the young man’s chest. “…Nor I yours, come to think of it…”

The youth had smiled, then, a little sadly. “There’s no need for that trade.”

He couldn’t make that trade. It’d be unfair to accept the man’s name with nothing to offer in return.

“Wha – why not?” the man had questioned. “You won’t tell me? What, are you… wanted, or something?”

He’d smiled even more sadly at that. “No. I assure you, the furthest thing from it.” If only he had been.

The man had seemed wary, but placated at least by the especially harmless sight of this wet, sad, fragile-seeming youth. He’d nodded, thoughtful. “…Hmm. Alright, then. How about this… I’ll take you with me on my road through the villages, then to Sumeru City, and… we’ll go from there…”

“…That sounds perfect… boss.” He could barely keep his eyes from lighting up at this prospect of a purpose, no matter how small, no matter how short-lived. “Thank you so much.”

The rain had gone as swiftly as it’d come, as if it’d never been there at all. So much like him, coming and going without leaving a single lasting trace, for the entire duration of his long, long life.

He’d never seemed to mean much to the world. In turn, the world had no real hold on him. All he knew was that he’d been unnecessary to his creator – and he’d aimlessly wandered the earth ever since, never staying, never leaving a mark. There hadn’t been much pain, but very little real happiness either.

His longing for a purpose, meaning, something to strive for – that was the only thing the wind and rain could not wipe away from his ever-spotless path.

That, and his occasional dreams of white-plumed, drifting seeds on the air, ethereal and fleeting as feathers and morning dew.

They’d plied the merchant's trade in the riverside villages for a few days, and the youth had gradually gotten to know his new employer and his ways, as well as this new land and its people.

His favourite by far had been Vimara Village.

They’d come in from the western forest, and initially he hadn’t even realized they’d entered any sort of village at all; there were no barriers, no walls, nothing to keep out the jungle. Then, however, he’d spotted the humble homes with their thatched roofs, and the living leaves and vines used in their construction, and he’d been instantly enamoured. Such harmony with the forest!

People had greeted them as they’d come in. “Ah, welcome, welcome! The caravans have been away for a while, it’s good to see you!”

Elders, children, fishermen, some outlanders in unfamiliar garb… the youth’s head had been on a swivel to take everything in – and then they’d gone down to the river, and his eyes had widened in yet more wonder.

Countless bridges crisscrossed high above the gentle water – also created on a basis of living vines, clearly guided from one side to the other over the course of generations. Humans could be so ingenious, clever and patient with their brief lifespans! They’d taken everything lovely about the forest and kept it close, clearly valuing it all greatly. He couldn’t help but agree – the Sumeran rainforest was wonderful. But this village was somehow even moreso.

For a human settlement, it was so peaceful and harmonious. Even the birdcalls in the surrounding jungle seemed gentler. The river’s current didn’t even disturb the dark blue lotuses slumbering on its surface, the sun’s glint pleasantly dimmed by the forest’s canopy overhead.

The merchant had set up shop under a humble canopy near the riverside, selling fruit while seated on a petal-strewn blanket, all at a leisurely pace – Vimara Village wasn’t big, but it was a welcome stop, also to trade for other amenities one might need on the road. The youth looked on as the man stocked up on spices, fish and vegetables, curious to find out more about each. He’d startled as some of the items were handed to him. “Here, go pack these up for me.”

“Alright!”

“There should be enough to see us both through until Sumeru City.”

Ah – so he’d been taken into account too, even though he didn’t need to partake in their roadside meals. He did his best to keep that to himself, as well as his overwhelming gratitude. He couldn’t be coming across as strange and ruining everything for himself…

He helped out selling fruit for a while, taking fresh produce out of their cart to keep his merchant friend’s inventory stocked. He did usually have to be reminded, though. “Kid! We’re out of berries!”

“Coming, coming!”

The merchant had shaken his head. “You’re young. Don’t sweat it, you’ll get the hang of it.” Despite his words, his voice had been tinged with the beginnings of annoyance – something the young wanderer picked up on right away. Oh no. He needed to be better at this, less distractible. He’d chuckled bashfully. “I hope so…”

As the day progressed and most villagers had stopped by, he’d been free to take a break and wander off for a while, chatting with the people and entertaining the curiosity of their children. Some of them were quite shy, hesitating to approach him, electing to first stare for a while – but as he gave a gentle smile and wave, they soon approached.

Staring at him as if he was something special? He truly couldn’t fathom what would be remarkable about him. He’d much rather listen to the children as they regaled him with stories of the forest and the little imaginary friends they’d apparently go off to have adventures with.

“They can fly, and they’re really good at hiding!” one of them told him, full of energy and enthusiasm. “He taught me how to be still and quiet enough to get close to butterflies… but I’m not really all that good at it yet…”

“Oh,” he’d murmured, spotting a big, bright blue one fluttering down the riverbank, “like that one?”

“Oh, oh! That’s one of the prettiest ones! Careful, careful!”

He’d followed the creature, light on his feet, padding down the boards lining the water. The insect landed on leaves and flowers along the way, being disturbed by other passers-by once or twice, but he did manage to keep following it, the giggling children in his wake – and completely fixated on that fluttery blue mirage, a smile on his face. How close would he be able to get?

In the end, it led him back to the fruit merchant’s stand, alighting on a pink Zaytun peach, leisurely opening and closing its black-tipped wings. The merchant spotted it, leaned back on the blanket, taking a break – and chuckled as he saw the youth and the children closing in. “Playing your little games, are you? I’ll stay still, don’t mind me…”

“Thanks, boss,” the wanderer smiled quietly, equally amused. He carefully approached, reaching out, and hovering a finger before the butterfly’s antennae, politely introducing himself. Behind him, the children held their breath. “Ahh, so that’s how –”

The butterfly moved over to his finger of its own accord, still lazily opening and closing its wings as he lifted it to his face, mesmerized. It’d actually worked.

Its wings are covered in scales. It’s all glittery… how beautiful.

Some nearby people had turned their eyes to him now, even forming a small, murmuring group, smiling in endearment and some admiration of this strange, gentle, beautiful young man – but he barely noticed, absorbed as he was.

As he turned to try and hand the butterfly to the frontmost boy, it flew off as soon as he moved in – but he still caught the smiles on the people’s faces as they went about their day once more.

What a lovely village, he mused with a smile as the children chased after the butterfly, away from him. He’d probably always hold a certain fondness for this place. He caught himself wishing he, too, could lead such a wonderful and simple life here, fishing and trading and chasing butterflies… no important duties, just simple belonging and companionship. Like any human.

But he’d promised the merchant to help out on the journey to the capital, and who would he be if he just broke the first promise he’d ever been able to make? It was all he had, and he’d keep it.

Even so, when it was ultimately time to leave Vimara, he looked back a few times as its tranquility faded behind him, and the rainforest closed in once more.

As they came within view of their destination, however, looking back was the last thing he wanted to do.

The Divine Tree was ahead.

He’d wandered all over and seen many things from afar, but he’d never before been to Sumeru City. He’d never before visited such a huge settlement at all, but this one… it made him forget to keep up his artificial breathing. Even moreso as they gradually crested the hills surrounding the colossal tree it was built on, and finally had a clear view of the city at its roots.

So much bigger than the riverside villages. Incomparable, really.

It was so vibrant, and so fragrant – he could swear he could pick up the scent of spices and incenses even from here, still in the countryside. Music and the buzz of countless markets and busy streets reached his ears. His eyes were wide, gleaming – he couldn’t wait to make his way over, now he finally seemed to be invited into the life of the world’s people. Finally! He could hardly believe it!

The city gates were so tall, inlaid with green stonework. Beyond them… it was as if the rainforest continued seamlessly once more, but in more subtle ways than in Vimara.

Colourful birds perched on balustrades and in trees, still calling out in their piercing voices, but now they were joined by merchants advertising their wares, musicians in the street, children running and laughing. The young man scarcely knew where to look – and he barely remembered he was supposed to be helping his merchant friend before he’d already almost lost him in the crowds. It was so much more chaotic, busy and distracting here – it was going to be hard to stick to his resolution to focus properly! “S-sorry, sorry!”

“It’s alright, lad,” the merchant chuckled. “Really, you don’t have to stick around.”

His eyes had widened. “Yes I do!”

“You said you’d accompany me here, and now you have…”

“I… I want to!” The prospect of being left behind already, aimless in the crowd… it’d be enough to turn this vibrant cityscape from sweet to very sour indeed. “Please, boss, let me help!”

“Hm – suit yourself,” the merchant shrugged, shifting over so the youth could help pull the cart. “But I will expect you to make yourself useful. Moreso than thus far, mind. Sumeru City is a fair bit bigger than Vimara!”

“Mm!” the youth nodded vigorously. “I will!”

“…Ha, you really are quite strong, aren’t you… I keep forgetting, you’re so scrawny… careful, there…” The merchant suddenly struggled as they pulled the cart up the slopes leading into the city’s heart, finding it difficult to keep up with his young helper. “Careful, careful!”

“Ah, sorry!” The youth dialed it down a bit at once. He still didn’t know his own strength – and his reaction time could also use some work, now he thought about it. “I’ll pay more attention!”

“We don’t want these fruits rolling and bruising all over the cobblestones,” the merchant warned him, side-eyeing him. “Don’t get distracted, alright? Not here!”

“A-alright!” He couldn’t let himself ruin this. He’d finally made a connection. He had to keep it at all costs.

“Right. Well, we’re headed down to the Bazaar, next. Brace the cart.” The merchant put his head down and focused, but the young man found it hard to do the same – the giant tree that held up the whole city towered straight overhead now, a mind-boggling mass of mossy roots, vines, bark and branches that seemed as far away as the clouds… and as his gaze dropped to their path, just in time, he saw it led into the roots themselves. He braced himself, as he’d been told, making sure the cart didn’t get away from them down the slope.

At the bottom, ornate doors opened, and it seemed as if he’d stepped into a whole new world altogether.

A world of drifting incense and dreamy lantern light, of music and dance, of scents beyond counting, colourful cloth and carpets, glinting metal ornaments…

He’d never seen anything so beautiful, nor been lost in it so instantly.

He was barely aware he was gaping, eyes wide, jaw slack with wonder. Before he knew it, his hat had been lifted, his hair ruffled by a big hand, jolting him back to attention. “Hey! What did I just say? Where’s your head?”

“O-on my shoulders, boss! I’m sorry!”

The merchant halted the cart, beginning to unload produce into the stall that’d been set up for them for the day. The youth hurried to help, but couldn’t prevent his gaze from wandering – there was a lamplit stage further into the Bazaar, looking like some glittering fairytale vista, flanked by overgrown roots and surrounded by a fountain pond reflecting all the lights like a sky full of stars…

People were crowding it, as if something was set to happen there soon. He truly couldn’t tear his eyes away, not even with his hands full of fruit.

The merchant shook his head, sighing a little as he took note. “Kid,” he wearily let out, “go take some time off. Get it out of your system. I’ll get the stand set up, come find me when you’ve had a good look around.”

“Really? That’d be alright?” The youth could scarcely believe his luck. “You’ll… you’ll still be there when I come back…?”

The merchant gave a dismissive gesture. “Where else would I be? We’ve got a few days’ worth of business, here. Now, get out of my sight.” But his voice was kind, even if his words were gruff. The young wanderer gave a beaming smile, indigo eyes twinkling, nodded, and almost weightlessly drifted off into the crowds, barely knowing where to look first.

Then it was made very easy to make that choice.

“Come one, come all, turn your eyes this way… let every gaze fall on the star of Zubayr Theater, the wonderful Dance of Lotuslight herself, Nilou!”

His eyes widened as the dancer in blue and gold entered the stage, opening her hands in greeting. “Greetings, everyone! I dedicate this dance to the Lady of Streaming Song herself, the Mistress of Pushpavatika – the Goddess of Flowers!”

He’d never seen a dance like this, bafflingly intricate in its glittering whirls under the lantern light, filling him with wonder and making him forget to blink altogether. No one would notice, anyway – he was shoulder to shoulder with dozens of people gazing up in the exact same wonder. For just a moment, he felt like he was part of something, one of them, moreso even than in Vimara. For just a moment, after all his wanderings, he realized… this was no longer just a wish. This truly must be what it was like to feel at home somewhere.

Maybe he could really stay here? Help out the merchant, and travel through this nation, and come back to this city time and time again, to hear this wonderful music and see these wonderful sights? Stay, and have something that would stay the same for him, in turn?

The beautiful dancer threw up an arm, and with a glint of her Vision, translucent clouds rose into the air. Rain, glittering like jewels, pattered down on the stage with a delicate rhythmic sound, leaving both the dancer and her audience completely dry, but reflecting the lamplight in a plethora of rainbows. Gasps and cheers went up all around him, even as he stopped breathing, scared to break the spell by moving even a single inch.

Rain, but not of the kind that washed everything away. Not dark and cold and dismissive, but beautiful, enhancing the light. How could he be anything but entranced?

When the dance ended, he applauded until his hands hurt, his fragile smile stretched to breaking, the void in his chest feeling fuller than it’d ever done.

Still smiling, he turned back to the markets. He really should return to help his merchant friend – how would he ensure his stay here, otherwise?

“Peaches, sunsettias, Harra fruit! …Ah, you’re back. Having fun, are you?”

He was still beaming, making his way past the merchant’s customers. “It’s so beautiful here. Thank you for taking me in, boss.”

“No problem, kiddo.” The merchant welcomed him behind the stand, but didn’t have much time to pay attention to him while customers were lining up. “Here you go, sir…”

“…Is there anything I can do?” He felt a little helpless; the merchant was so swift in helping everyone, he’d only slow him down if he attempted to join in.

“Hm… you can check these outstanding orders,” the merchant nodded at a pile of hastily scribbled papers off to the side of the stall. “We do deliveries around town, too. Gotta complete them before the day is out. Check if the prices are right and everything makes sense, yeah?”

“…Yeah!” He moved over, rifling through them and beginning his task – quickly making sense of every fruit’s price, though there were variations. “It changes based on size and quality?” he remarked, looking up at the merchant.

“Well spotted. Though they’re all of good quality, of course!” the merchant smiled, immediately addressing his customer as well.

The young wanderer nodded, but found it hard to keep focusing on the papers – the market still whirled around him in a dizzying array of scents, sights and sounds, and was a new dance starting on stage already…?

Even so, he took note of a discrepancy, turning to his employer with his eyes still on the paper. “Excuse me, boss, there seems to be a small problem with the last bill. Look, here…”

The merchant didn’t seem to be listening, eyes wide as he focused elsewhere, reaching out to grab at something. “Hey! Hey, wait…!”

“Hmm? You mean me?” he asked, confused.

“No, not you!” the merchant bit back. “That kid! Didn’t you see?! Little rascal grabbed my last two fresh sunsettias and ran off!”

Oh, no. Had he messed up yet again…? Should he go after that kid…? But then he wouldn’t be able to help out with the task given to him…

As he deliberated, the merchant sighed, turning to him. “Look. If you’re gonna help out here, you can’t keep spacing out, okay? What is it, the work’s too boring for you? Or has the big city got too many distractions?”

He internally berated himself, smiling sheepishly. “…I wasn’t paying close enough attention. Sorry, boss.” He glanced around. “I think you’re right, maybe it’s the city. It’s so exciting, it can be hard to focus.”

There was a fortunate lull in customers, allowing the merchant to turn to him once more. “You’re a strange one, kiddo,” he admitted. “You say you don’t want any money for helping out here, and then when I actually give you some work to do, you keep letting yourself get distracted…” He shook his head. “I don’t want to take advantage, so I’m happy to pay you what I’d pay anyone else, but if you keep acting like this, pretty soon I won’t be able to afford to…”

The youth vehemently shook his head in reply. “No, no, please, I mean it – you don’t need to pay me anything. I’m just to thankful you agreed to take on an outsider like me.” He had to salvage this at all costs – he couldn’t be ruining his one and only chance like this…

“…You’re welcome, I guess,” the merchant hesitated, looking at him with that familiar gaze – telling him he truly was an outsider. Strange. Not right.

He glanced to his left – more people were staring now. Even the obvious outlander tourist with the golden hair, and his inexplicable fairy companion, he realized to his dismay. With this whole bazaar all around those travelers, was he really the strangest thing in here…?

“But I got bigger things to worry about. Look – we’re all out of sunsettias. And I promised the lady down the street I’d deliver a fruit bowl this evening.”

This was his chance. “Leave it to me,” he stated at once, eager to please. “I’ll find some more. Just a moment, I’ll be right back…” He made to leave, but stopped in his tracks as the merchant spoke again. “…Stop.”

Oh, no.

“I’m gonna level with you, kiddo,” his employer let out on a sigh. “I’ve never met a worker who said they didn’t want a wage before, and at first, I got greedy. Couldn’t believe my luck… but I figured you’d start asking for something in return eventually.” He shook his head, that look in his eyes intensifying, hollowing out the youth all over again. “You don’t want money, you don’t take days off, and in your free time all I see you do is wander around, taking in the sights… Are you a… a drifter or something?”

“That’s right, I am,” he forced himself to chuckle back, willing himself to disarm the merchant. He was normal. He could be normal. He could belong! “We can talk more about that later. First, let me get those fruits you needed – sunsettias, was it? I’ll be right back.” And before the merchant could protest, he was off, making his way through the crowds and out of the Bazaar’s fragrant, darkened atmosphere.

As he reemerged back in Sumeru City, he first shielded his eyes, blinking against the sun’s bright glare. Where to turn…? Not in the city, that was for sure. If he wanted to find fresh sunsettias and procure them without money… he should look outside the city walls and hope he got lucky. This was a warm and fertile land, he just might.

He passed by homes and gardens, and the outdoor courtyard of what appeared to be a hospital. Then farmland followed, cultivating many flowers and fruits, but not the ones he was after – not that he would’ve taken them, anyway. It was wrong to steal, even a handful of fruit. These people were just trying to make a living – whereas he didn’t even have a need for food or money. No, the only thing he was after was companionship, and the faintest glimmer of something meaningful to fill his days. Something so vague and pathetic… that didn’t warrant stealing.

…Someone was following him, he realized.

He might be easily distracted, but there was nothing wrong with his senses. His eyes and ears had always been keen. He snuck a glance back, and…

…the outlander and his fairy companion, following at a distance.

The way they’d stared, before…

This went beyond mild curiosity in passing. Just what were they after…?

He shook his head. No distractions, now. He’d deal with them if and when they turned out to be a problem. They might just be headed in the same direction by coincidence. Sunsettias, first.

The city wall was up ahead – no grand gate here, merely low walls opening up into the tropical countryside. Hills and mountains rose up between the thick trees, and way up north in the foggy distance, giant disc-shaped leaves caught the light. He wondered what that place was. Maybe he’d stay here long enough to be able to find out.

Sunsettias, first!

Ah!

He was in luck – there was a sunsettia tree on a low hill not far beyond the city limits. He elatedly made his way over, even moreso as he spotted the pile of freshly fallen fruit at its base. Crouching down and appraising them, he nodded in satisfaction. “…Yeah, this’ll do.” He gathered up as many as he could carry. “This should be enough,” he mused to himself. “Umm…” He eyed the fruits again. Some leaf litter clung to them, and a few ants made their panicked way across the warmly coloured skin. He gave a soft chuckle, gently brushing the harmless insects off. “Guess I should wash them before I take them back…”

There was a footstep in the grass behind him. He glanced back. “Huh…?”

Those two again, hovering near the city wall. The outlander and his fairy companion.

They really had been following him, and with great interest at that. Just what was going on, here?

Chapter Text

He was just gathering sunsettias. He couldn’t imagine what exactly would warrant being followed all the way from the Bazaar like this… still, the wandering youth was sure there’d be a reasonable explanation for this.

He turned fully, his gaze meeting the golden-haired outlander’s.

Such wide eyes. That young man couldn’t possibly be a threat to him – the tourist seemed far more shocked than he was, himself… “You two over there,” he began, polite and reasonable, hoping to calm some of that shock. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The fairy recoiled. “Aah! He spotted us!”

He looked down on them from the sunsettia tree’s low hill. “You’ve been following me all the way from the city,” he politely observed. “I’d have to be blind not to notice.” There was no malice to his words – just reassurance, and perhaps a gentle nudge to be sneakier the next time they wanted to remain hidden. They’d been almost amusingly easy to spot.

“…You’re right, we were following you,” the other youth admitted then. There was a certain tremor to his voice, still that wariness in his eyes. This was more than a chance encounter. More than a first encounter, he’d almost say. He shifted his armful of sunsettias. “Uh… have we met before?” Surely not. He’d remember such a person. “…No, we haven’t met… But you know me?”

That look in those golden eyes. Had they followed him before…?

The outlander approached, giving an almost solemn nod. “Yes.”

“…I have no recollection,” he replied at length. How could this be? Someone so adamant to make a connection, entirely slipping past his attention?

“It’s complicated,” the other replied. “But I do know you.” His tone of voice was so strange. There was sadness there, even something like restrained anger… but also a measure of relief. A relief to see him. To see him again?

…How…

“Uh…” the fairy butted in. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Could this young man be lying to him? Yes, that might be more likely, even with such a display of emotion. That could be faked, after all. “…Sorry, but I just can’t take your word for it,” he shook his head. It was just too strange. He’d never been close enough to anyone to warrant this sort of reaction. Someone adamant to find him… that only happened to other people.

To real people.

The outlander set his jaw, his golden eyes hardening. “I can prove it,” he spoke, with such certainty it took the youth aback. After one more pause, he spoke again. “…You’re a puppet.”

His entire being ground to a halt, going cold and still and distant with shock.

“A puppet?” he heard the fairy ask, confused. “What makes you think that?” But the words barely reached him.

Just who would know such a thing? How had he found out? Why didn’t his companion know?

This person knew just what set him apart from everyone else. The hollow in his chest, his long lifespan, his unchanging nature. And still…? Still he’d come after him, come to find him…?

“Huh?! You were right!” the fairy exclaimed. “The look on his face…”

He’d brought a hand to his forehead, staring into nothingness for a moment. “I guess you do know me after all,” he murmured, looking up. “That is not something I share with a lot of people…” Really only his creator would’ve known this. Did this young man… have something to do with her, somehow? But why seek him out now? He was nothing, no one. “…Look, I’m just a wanderer.” He hesitated, just a moment longer. “But seeing as you’ve gone to all this trouble to track me down, I’m sure whatever it is must be important.”

First the merchant seeing him, taking him in. Now someone entirely new taking an interest in him. Had his fate completely turned around?

The outlander solemnly beheld him. “There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Curiosity flared within him – but he had something else occupying him, first. “Okay, but please let me deliver these goods to my boss first.” Who would he be if he went back on promises made? He had so very little tying him to this world at all.

“Are you really working for that guy?” the little fairy wanted to know as they set themselves in motion, hovering along by his shoulder. “He said that you don’t want any Mora for it. Is that true?”

So inquisitive, so… invasive, almost. He’d half expected a fairy to be sweeter and more soft-spoken than this, but… he didn’t quite know why he’d thought that, himself. He’d never met one before. “Yes,” he replied, kindly, elated at the memory. “I ran into him out in the wilderness during a storm, and he let me take shelter in his cart. In return, I said I’d be his helper for a while.”

“That’s oddly nice of you,” the fairy mused.

The wanderer tilted his head. Oddly nice? What would make her say that? Did he… have a negative reputation somewhere, somehow? What had he ever done to warrant such a thing? He couldn’t think of anything he’d ever done to wrong others… he didn’t even need to eat, so he’d never hunted animals for food or even taken fruit from trees that might’ve belonged to someone else…

…No matter. First things first. “Let me take these back, then I’ll come with you. Okay?”

The young man with the golden eyes had been quiet, seemingly studying him. “…Alright,” he replied at length. He remained silent after that, simply following by his side as they returned to the Bazaar, and the merchant’s stall.

“Here you go, boss,” the youth spoke brightly as he unloaded his armful of sunsettias in one of the stall’s empty compartments. “I’ll leave them right here.”

His employer looked up, surprised. “Oh, you really went pick some more…” He blinked, spotting the puppet’s new companions. “Hmm? Who are these two?”

The youth fidgeted, suddenly nervous, as if about to jump off a ledge into deep water – into the unknown, unsure if or when he’d be back at all. “…Something’s come up, and they need to borrow me.” He met his employer’s eyes, open and sincere in his intentions as always. “Sorry, boss, I’m afraid I’ll be away from the stall for a while.” But he’d be back! He’d made a promise!

The merchant sighed, closing his eyes for a moment – then smiling fondly, gesturing dismissively. “I was just about to pay you, anyway. Go wherever you want, kid. Don’t waste your time here.”

The puppet faltered. “…What?”

“I get it, okay? You just wanted to help me out to thank me for giving you shelter from the rain that day. Even then, I don’t understand why you’re so adamant that you don’t want any pay for it…”

No, no, no…

“…But look, it was pouring down, and there you were, sauntering along without a care in the world. Like you had nowhere to be, and didn’t even care that it was raining…”

He glanced at his new companions, forlorn, already aware of where this was going. He was just too strange. Too untethered… even for such a small purpose as this. The smallest disturbance, reminding the merchant of that strangeness, was enough to unmoor him and leave him adrift once more…

“Imagine you were me for a second. It’s a little weird, right? Why’s this guy traveling during a rainstorm if he’s not trying to get somewhere? And why’s he taking a shortcut through the open country if he’s not even in a hurry?”

He hesitated, having nothing real to say for himself. “Uh…”

…The merchant was right. It had been strange. He was strange. All he could do was stay silent and listen to it being laid out before him. But… the merchant’s tone was light, open, friendly. Sympathetic?

Even the golden outlander seemed less wary, hearing this story. Was that… a flicker of pity in his eyes?

“But anyway,” the merchant continued, still smiling that warm smile, “taking you in didn’t put me out even slightly. You don’t owe me a thing for it, certainly not all this… Your time is valuable, y’know? You should go live your life.”

My time is infinite! He huffed in some frustration. “But, I don’t…!” He hitched, falling silent, losing his train of thought, losing steam, his head bowing and fists balling for a moment. The merchant and his new companions remained silent as well, seemingly giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

His new companions.

The ones that apparently knew him, wanted to take him somewhere, needed him for something entirely different and new…

…Maybe the merchant was right. Maybe staying at the fruit stand would be an opportunity wasted, instead of gained. Even if just days ago, just half an hour ago, it’d been all he’d ever wanted.

There was more to life. The way he kept getting distracted… wanting more… might just be a sign.

Just maybe, more was right up ahead, in his near future, with these two mysterious strangers.

“…No,” he heard himself say, willing himself to look up, meet the merchant’s eyes, making his choice. “You’re right.” He squared his shoulders, mustering up a brave smile. “Then I suppose this is where we say goodbye. Thank you again for taking me into the city.”

The merchant blew off his politeness. “Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he fondly replied. “I’ve run into all kinds of characters over the years… I just hope you find your path.”

Warmth lanced right through him. He placed a hand over his empty chest, smiling sincerely, even as he felt more hollow than ever. He’d brave it. “…Thank you.”

The merchant nodded, matching that sincerity for just a moment, attempting to understand even if he still clearly found him strange. “Don’t worry about me,” he impressed upon the puppet one last time.

One last smile. Alright.

He turned back to the golden stranger and his fairy companion, almost surprised they were still there at all. “…Alright, done.” He willed himself not to apologize, and be thankful instead. “Thanks for waiting for me. We can go now.”

The outlander had looked a little shocked, a little thoughtful for a moment there. Had it been something he’d said? Done? But then it was gone, and he was nodding. “Come. We’ll show you the way.”

They left the Bazaar’s lively bustle, then the city’s lower-level streets, climbing the winding, root-lined paths leading up to the higher levels. Homes and calmer stores awaited, and he tried his best not to get distracted once again – for some reason, he really didn’t want to lose sight of this mysterious young man. “So… who are you, exactly? How do you know me?”

“Paimon is Paimon,” he fairy replied at once, though still a little wary. “And this is the Traveler. Um, as for how we know you…” She looked to her companion.

Silence. The outlander – the Traveler, then – bit his lip. “It’s… a long story. Not something to be told here and now.”

…And he’d always thought he was the strange one. “Alright…”

Up and up they went, and he couldn’t help but crane his neck, seeing the tree’s grand canopy blotting out the sky overhead like a verdant cloud. “Where… where are you taking me?”

“…The Sanctuary of Surasthana.”

The puppet blinked. “…Wait… isn’t that…” He’d only just arrived, only just started understanding this place, but that sounded like it could only be…

“We’re taking you to Nahida,” the fairy blurted out. “The Dendro Archon!”

The Archon?! His breath hitched, and he faltered, almost tripping as he missed a step. He barely caught himself, a hand on his hat – carefully making sure not to bump into the Traveler, even if the young man had reflexively reached out a steadying hand. “I’m… I’m fine, don’t worry! But… really? You know the Archon?” He couldn’t believe it – but why would the outlander lie?

“We do!” Paimon nodded. “She’s really nice!”

“Why me?” he then asked, getting to the true question. “I’m no one!” Normally, it’d sting to admit this. But in this situation, about to meet a god? Even most regular humans would have no reason to receive such an honour, let alone him!

What did the Traveler know about him? Something he didn’t even know about himself…? How could that be?

The young man with the golden eyes had studied him, silently and carefully as they kept walking. “It’s too strange,” he murmured then. “Nahida’s more suited to tell you everything.”

“Oh… okay…”

Was this good or bad?

In any case, it was something.

Finally, he’d experience his own life for himself. Live his own destiny, find out what his fate had in store.

He made sure not to gawk too much as the outlander led him through the grand halls and across the mirror-smooth floors of what appeared to be a place of most important learning, past throngs of green-robed students in animated conversation or carrying stacks of scrolls. Some of them glanced at him in passing, and he made sure to nod politely, tipping his hat – while not slowing down or getting lost in his surroundings.

Then they emerged back into the open air, much higher up in the great tree, and he couldn’t help but gaze out at the baffling view before and below him now – the rainforest, the rivers, glinting in the sun, lost under pearly white fog. How extraordinary today had already been. How much moreso would it yet become?

The Traveler and even Paimon remained quiet as they led him up into serene, gorgeously contructed high gardens, along hidden paths closely hugging the great tree, and then, finally, towards the great guarded gates of a marble-and-emerald jewel of a palace crowning the whole city. He blinked up at it, pale and ethereal, like something from a fairytale.

His fate awaited. No matter what it was, he’d embrace it.

He stepped forward, ready to meet Sumeru’s Archon.

Chapter Text

“Nahida! Nahida!”

As soon as they’d entered the Sanctuary of Surasthana, Paimon had apparently been unable to contain herself any longer, darting ahead even before the nameless youth had oriented himself.

Curving pillars and delicate bridges, all leading the eye to a central platform above a yawning void – all spanning the great tree’s hollow summit, cradling the Archon’s abode.

The pale platform held a lotus-shaped structure, a little like he’d have envisioned a throne, but the Archon wasn’t on it. She stood before it, emerald eyes wide as she greeted the fairy – and then shifting to meet his.

“Huh? Are you…?”

She was a child.

Clearly divine, so much more than human, but still a child. She barely reached his shoulders. There was an air of wisdom about her, but also a hint of helplessness – even some distress, as he approached and attempted to read her expression.

“Hello,” he greeted politely. “I do apologize for the sudden intrusion.” Fate or not, he was speaking to the ruler of a nation.

“We found this guy in the street,” Paimon barged in, not bothering with such manners at all. “But he doesn’t seem to remember anything… So yeah, quite an eventful walk!”

The Traveler stepped in. “We went down to the Bazaar to clear our heads,” he began. “After Inazuma, and your… fairytale…” He glanced at the puppet, but couldn’t hold his gaze for long. “…And… there he was. He was… helping out a fruit merchant. We tried to introduce ourselves the best we could, and just… brought him to you. I’m sorry, I… I can’t…” His words trailed off. He didn’t look at the puppet again.

Was it… painful, somehow, to be in his presence? He wracked his mind, but just couldn’t imagine what he must’ve done to have such an effect on anyone, let alone such a seasoned adventurer – and friend to gods – as this young man appeared to be.

He’d just recently come back from Inazuma? Quite the journey, yet he didn’t look any worse for wear at all.

“I’m just a wanderer,” he stated then, stepping up and filling the uncomfortable, strangely sad silence that’d fallen. “I’ve traveled far and wide, searching for a purpose, and… training my self-sufficiency.” With no one to ever truly see him, let alone form lasting bonds, that was all he could do – become self-sufficient, mentally and emotionally as well as physically. His body had very few needs. Maybe if his mind no longer had them either, that’d make his existence more bearable and worthwhile.

“You say that you are trekking across Teyvat to train yourself,” the Archon mused, eyes attentive. “Many other Inazumans who describe themselves in this way call themselves ‘shugenja’. Why do you refer to yourself as a ‘wanderer’?”

How had she known he was from Inazuma? He supposed his attire still echoed it in some ways. Perhaps his facial features did too. Either way, she was the God of Wisdom – she was bound to be perceptive. “Well, it seems more relevant in my case,” he shrugged. He didn’t belong anywhere, so what right did he have to an Inazuman term? “To me, it sounds like a plant with no roots.”

He glanced at his two companions. “But these two claim that they know me, and that I have a hidden past unknown even to myself.” How strange. How fascinating. He had to find out more. What did the Archon know?

“I wouldn’t call it the ‘past’,” the small goddess hesitated. “But rather… Uh, this is a difficult one to explain.” She shook her head. “I don’t like to rely on using terms like this often, but in your case it seems that it ought to be called a ‘previous incarnation’.”

…What?

Paimon snapped her fingers. “Oh, like a past life or something?”

“Yes,” the goddess nodded. “Something far more distant than the past. So far away that you cannot perceive it.”

Coming from the Archon, he had no choice but to believe it. In a way, it felt… right. True. His true identity… really was so distant he had no way of perceiving it.

But she could tell him? At last, he would finally know?

“Okay.” He took a breath, trying to contain his giddiness. “I have to ask… what was I like in my previous incarnation?”

The fairy looked away. “Ummm…”

The goddess remained silent. So did the outlander.

He looked from one to the other, blinking, feeling adrift once more – but in a new way, now.

There was a current to guide him. It just led straight down into the inky, icy depths. His luck hadn’t turned at all, then.

“…Oh, okay, I see,” he managed. “You want to tell me, but you can’t bring yourselves to say it. Looks like I didn’t have the most wonderful existence in my previous incarnation.”

The Traveler met his gaze again at last, expression pained. “We’re just trying to think where to start…”

“If it’s that difficult to talk about, I have no doubt it will be just as difficult to hear,” he sighed. But such was his life. Such was his existence. At least he would finally know! “…But I’ll be able to handle it.” No matter what it was, he’d accept it. This was what he’d been looking for since the beginning. He’d only bother them with it this once – but he had to know. “Please, tell me the truth.”

The goddess held his gaze, thoughtful. “Is truth something you care a lot about?”

This somehow felt like the most important question of all. She seemed… hopeful. Searching for connection, just like him. Had she known him, in that other life…? Did she care about truth, herself? Was that why she was doing this now?

“…Yes.”

“Then I’ll be straight with you,” she spoke, bright and clear even though there was still a measure of pain in her eyes. “In your previous incarnation, you did many things that would be considered evil. You nearly died because of what other people did… and many died because of you. As a non-human being, you hated gods and humans alike. You drifted from place to place, never able to settle, even where you found status and identity. You adamantly believed that you were missing a heart.”

He couldn’t speak, only hold her gaze as he listened, as her words struck him right at his core – the core of all that he was.

Evil?

Many had died because of him?

He’d hated both gods and humans?

Part of him couldn’t imagine himself acting like that, committing such deeds… but another part of him knew the goddess’ words to be true. He’d never been able to settle, and believed he’d been missing a heart – that much was true even now. If his life had been just a little different… those aspects of him might have festered into that dark undercurrent he was sensing now.

Something stirred far beneath the surface. Something filled with hatred and pain, half-waking, groaning, though yet distant… for now.

The God of Wisdom still gazed up at him, searching his expression. “…Actions rooted in persistence sometimes bear bitter fruit,” she spoke. “Sometimes, you have to let parts of yourself go, or you’ll never be happy.”

He steeled himself. “Tell me everything.”

The pavilion he’d wandered out of on his own. The nearby community of bladesmiths.

In that other life, they’d found him and taken him in?

The rainy beach, the collapsed hovels.

There’d been a child? They’d lived together?

The world at large, the wind and snow, the endless wilderness.

He’d been part of a world-spanning organization? A leader? A killer?

Vengeful and bitter – accomplished and skilled?

He’d briefly been a god? But a god of cruelty and pain, taking everything out on the world… and on the Traveler and Paimon, and this little goddess. These travelers that’d taken great pains to find him again, even traveling to Inazuma to investigate the consequences of his former self’s actions. This Archon that still reached out to him even now, regardless.

His former self had finally seen the light of truth thanks to her, with the Traveler by his side, and tried to give everything he had – everything he was – to tamper with the world tree and turn back the course of fate.

He could understand. Even if the ‘him’ that existed now was willing to accept his fate no matter what it looked like… with such a lifetime of pain and grievous mistakes, he could understand he’d revolted against it before.

“I gave everything I had, but it barely changed history at all,” he mused in the end. This hadn’t been what he’d expected, or hoped for. It was hurtful, and saddening… but he would accept the truth as it was presented to him.

In a way, it’d always been his fate to leave no trace. Only his mistakes and the pain he’d caused.

“In terms of the outcome alone… that’s true,” the goddess agreed.

He wondered what it all meant. What could be gleaned from his existence so far? Maybe nothing at all. Still, he wouldn’t be so quick to decide. “…I don’t think I can judge everything I’ve heard purely in terms of right and wrong.”

He gathered his thoughts for a moment.

His former self had attempted to erase himself, but what had remained… wanted to live. Wanted to see. Wanted to be.

That dark undercurrent had grown stronger, yet still seemed dormant. Something else had reared up in response, though. A drive to continue, stronger than ever now. A bright breeze, stirring petals and drifting seeds, granting them some semblance of direction.

That was him, he knew. No matter what he’d been before, he was something now, too.

“Each choice a person makes belongs to a specific place and time, a chain of cause and effect,” he spoke then. His circumstances had shaped him, and he had shaped the world around himself. Even now, those echoes lingered. “A cycle of karma and consequence.” His former self had committed these deeds. The consequences were still there. The responsibility was still his, even if no one else was aware. Even if he himself hadn’t been aware just a moment ago.

He did have something to connect him to this world after all… no matter the negative nature of those bonds. No matter the fact he deeply mourned them even as he welcomed them back.

“That is the nature of truth,” the goddess nodded. “If one thing is right, its opposite must be wrong, and yet dichotomies like this are not enough to explain the world in all its complexity.”

“Seems like my previous incarnation wasn’t the most likable individual,” he lamented. Surely it couldn’t all be blamed on how life had treated him. Humans fell on hardship all the time, yet many of them were molded into something stronger and more beautiful than before – not the ugly, broken husk he’d now caught a glimpse of.

Paimon gave a nervous little laugh. “We’re not trying to hurt your feelings, or anything… But yeah, we weren’t your biggest fans.”

“We were each other’s enemies,” the Traveler ground out, still looking away.

The puppet curiously beheld the young man beside him. “If we were enemies, why are you trying to help me find the truth?” There was more to this. And if nothing else, he was in the young man’s debt for this.

The Traveler opened his mouth – but before he could speak, Paimon got between them. “Aah, this is so frustrating! This guy’s supposed to be our arch-enemy, but now he’s just some random stranger we met on the street!”

…Sorry? Should he regret the fact they couldn’t defeat him in some big climax? Should he want to give them that satisfaction? Did they even want such a victory? The Traveler seemed… conflicted, still.

“He’s got so much to answer for, but we can’t make him talk because he doesn’t remember anything… Ugh, what a weird situation…”

It was weird. It occurred to him she was probably underestimating just how much weirder it was for him. Hearing there was a whole past locked away from him – something that should rightfully be his, no matter how bitter it was.

“Lesser Lord Kusanali,” he addressed the little goddess. “As the God of Wisdom, I trust that everything you told me must be true?”

“Yes,” she nodded, looking up at him with that strangely fragile look in her eyes. “It’s all true. I can even show you the memories themselves, if you’re willing.”

He jolted. “Please.” Could that be done? Could he truly regain what should be his? “I want to see them for myself. I want to experience… my own transgressions.”

She hesitated, fidgeting. “Even though it will cause your present self great mental anguish?”

She was a gentle god, he knew for certain then. Wise, yet… through knowledge, not experience. Not broken by the world in the ways he had been.

And would be again.

“I’m just a puppet,” he managed, more than a little breathless. “With no heart, and no name. There is nothing in this world for me to cling to, to fill the void within me… except maybe these sins that can never be undone.” He would do it. He would face all of it. There was no other way forward – and he had to move forward. No urge had ever been stronger.

“…Very well,” the goddess agreed, seemingly… proud, even if still a little sad. “As you wish.”

“Wait,” Paimon then butted in. “Shouldn’t we go with him? This one’s kind of on us for bringing him here…”

He shook his head, not unkindly. “Don’t worry. Whatever danger I might face… it’s my burden to bear.” It had been his for a long time, now. It’s been a long time coming. Finally, he could set things right.

The Dendro Archon looked up at the Traveler. “Traveler, could I ask you to supervise him on my behalf?”

…Just like she did when I…?

The Traveler gave her a troubled look for a moment, but then nodded. “…Okay.”

“Oh, good point,” Paimon nervously agreed. “Given your, um… unique situation, w-we’d better keep an eye on you!”

Ah. So they insisted. There really was no need for them to go this far when this was his darkened past, but… alright. “Understood,” he murmured, softly, just as troubled as the Traveler looked.

“Thank you,” the goddess let out on a soft sigh, fragile and relieved. “Now, prepare yourselves, everyone.” She moved her hands over the lotus pad, and intricate green light wove itself into some sort of screen, or console. “It’s time to get ready.”

He beheld it solemnly. Time to face the music. He mentally bid life as he’d known it goodbye – though there wasn’t much to mourn. In a way, his life was finally beginning, even if it was unnerving, even if it would be painful to become… ‘himself’, once again.

He caught the Traveler’s gaze. “No matter what lies ahead, I’ll face it,” he reassured the outlander. “Whatever it takes. I’m just sorry that you have to join me for the whole thing.”

His eyes widened as the outlander took a step closer, and made a move as if to take his arm, or his shoulder – but abandoned that motion halfway. There was such concern in his eyes, such turmoil. He was clearly seeing that other version of him overlaid on the puppet currently in front of him – but not only that.

There seemed to be new understanding there, too. As if his current self was granting the Traveler insight in what had been there before, but he’d been unable to see then.

“I’m joining you willingly,” the outlander then spoke. “I’ll be there the whole time. Now… let’s go.”

Chapter Text

The mansion.

Broken boards, drifting scarlet leaves like angular stars. The eternal ruddy light of sunset filtering in.

The Dendro Archon had taken him back. All the way back – back there.

Shakkei Pavilion, where he’d waited for an eternity for his creator to come back, explain to him what she wanted from him, what she’d made him for.

She’d never come. Eventually, he’d left on his own.

So, why…

“This looks like Inazuma,” Paimon observed beside him, breaking the spell, and his mounting panic at being returned to this place.

“Right now, you’re in a dream I created using information extracted from your memories,” came a gentle voice, seemingly out of nowhere. Lesser Lord Kusanali.

This wasn’t then. This was just a dream. He was still moving forward. Moreso than ever, now.

“These memories will show you the raw truth, but be aware that enemies may react just like in the real world. Please, be careful.”

“Sounds like an immersive experience,” Paimon marveled, looking around at her opulent surroundings. “It’s a good thing we came along…”

Was she… concerned for him? “You don’t need to do this for me,” he managed, turning to face them both. “I don’t deserve your protection.” Hadn’t he been their enemy in his past life? Why? Why were they doing this? He’d done nothing to earn this kindness, and he had no way of repaying them…

“We never give up halfway!” the fairy proudly proclaimed. Then she backtracked immediately. “…Well, we had to once… but that was your doing.”

…His previous incarnation, he presumed.

“And now we’re just finishing the job,” the Traveler added, a glint in his eye, a little warning, a little admonishing… but also a little amused.

He let out a little chuckle, bashful, overwhelmed. “Alright… thanks.”

“Wanderer,” the Archon’s voice rang out once more. “This is the Shakkei Pavilion. In your Balladeer incarnation, this is where the Electro Archon placed you after your creation.”

He remembered that much. How could he forget? That one action had defined his entire life…

“You had a great many memories here.”

None of which he could directly recall now… he could only go off of what he’d been told.

He knew it was true, though. All of it. That was why he wanted to experience it as well, let it sink into his bones, truly let it become part of him. Even if it’d hurt. Even this.

Paimon tilted her head. “Is that because this is kind of like… his birthplace?”

“You could say that, in a sense,” the Archon replied, soft and sympathetic. “You’ll see why shortly.”

The puppet looked up. This was different from his own featureless, uneventful memories. The very first difference…

“…I hear footsteps.”

Someone had actually come to break that endless monotony. To find him, to carry him away from this place… to guide him…

“This place is huge,” came a young man’s voice, hushed and awed, musing to himself. “I can’t believe the landslide didn’t fill it in. I wonder who built it? The crystal marrow miners?” The footsteps came closer, and there he was – a broad-shouldered, dark-haired Inazuman worker.

The puppet imagined what his previous incarnation must’ve felt for this person, his saviour, his… first friend?

“…No, there’s no way. Look at the exquisite construction work, and so well-preserved, too…” The young man gaped at the scarlet maple trees, the lanterns, the carved doors with their reliefs of flute-playing silhouettes in the mist. “…No mining crew would be capable of this…”

Then the young Inazuman faltered, stopping in his tracks, snapped out of his admiration by something he’d spotted on the floor. “…Hmm?” He crouched down, expression fraught with concern. “There’s someone passed out on the ground…!”

Another voice – this one very familiar to the puppet. His own. Breathy and unnerved, almost pained. “…Who are you?”

So close to how he remembered feeling. He would’ve wondered who this person was, what he was here for. If he’d leave again, too…

“Y-you’re awake!” the Inazuman exclaimed. “What happened? How’d you get stuck here? Are you injured?” Hands, hovering over the prone form on the floor, checking him over so very carefully – so gentle and cautious for their size, their rough calluses. “Huh, not a scratch,” the young man marveled, relieved. “And these fine clothes… Who are you…” Wonder came bleeding through in his voice now, almost… reverence.

He’d been greeted like this?

He’d been awoken like this…

…This was why the Dendro Archon had said this place was like his birthplace. This was where he’d actually been welcomed into the world. By this man.

“This man is Katsuragi,” the Archon then told him. “Deputy to Torachiyo’s adopted son, Mikoshi Nagamasa. He found the Balladeer in Shakkei Pavilion and took him back to Tatarasuna.”

Paimon nodded. “And the rest is history! …Well, it used to be…”

“In the original version of events, Katsuragi was ultimately killed by Nagamasa.”

The puppet stared at the man even as the Archon told him this.

“Let me get you out of here,” Katsuragi told his former self, still a little frantic with concern, oblivious of the way his own fate would be changed by the being he’d just found. “Our people are nearby. Hang in there!”

The Archon went on, quietly searing the world’s cruelties into the puppet’s mind. “During the Tatarasuna incident, Niwa was murdered by the Doctor, disguised as a mechanic. The Balladeer, then known as the Kabukimono, disappeared not long after.”

Katsuragi faded from view, as if he’d never been there at all.

“As the second-in-command at Tatarasuna, responsibility for what had happened fell to Mikoshi Nagamasa. But Katsuragi had sworn lifelong loyalty to Nagamasa after the latter had once saved his life. At Katsuragi’s insistence, Nagamasa killed him to put an end to the Tatarasuna incident.”

The puppet heaved a deep sigh.

He could hear the slight inflections of emotion in the Archon’s voice, even as she presented the information as impartially as she could. He appreciated her thoroughness. He appreciated her putting herself through this.

It was difficult to hear, but surely also difficult to recount, for such a gentle god.

“Katsuragi seems like he was a good guy,” Paimon murmured, voice low and sad.

“He looks like a warrior,” the puppet heard himself say. “But he has a kind face.” He lingered on the mental image of the one that’d found him, turning it over in his mind, committing it to his flawless memory. He didn’t want to forget a thing. Even if his past with these people had been totally forgotten, he’d keep it safe in his own mind.

Then… “…Why couldn’t he live a long and happy life?”

Had there really been no other way? He’d only wanted to belong with the bladesmiths. Had that been enough to condemn them all?

The Traveler had moved, guided by the Archon’s mastery over this dream. At his urging, the puppet followed through a hole in the splintered floor, descending to a lower story strewn with maple leaves. These halls he’d wandered, once upon a time.

Doors opened, hallways stretched away, stacked with boxes, trinkets and cobwebs. Voices reached them from the nameless ether.

“Nagamasa, I found this young guy in a cave sealed off by a landslide. He doesn’t remember his name.”

A new voice, older, highborn. “…Well, we need to call you something. I hear the workers are calling you ‘the Kabukimono’?”

His own voice came back to him, hesitant, still deciding how to feel. “Mm, that’s fine with me.”

So strange. But it had to be true. The God of Wisdom didn’t lie. This was what had happened, down to the most minute detail.

“Katsuragi, report to Niwa. Tell him we have someone new joining us.”

The very sound of that. All he’d ever wanted. Surely, it was all he’d ever wanted then, too. This puppet wasn’t that different from his current self at all.

On and on they went, down into the darkened bowels of the pavilion, where he vaguely remembered cowering at the gloom and the dust, scared of becoming one with them, forever ensnared into the shadows. But just as the gloom grew deepest, there was a green light, materializing into a luminous leaf, soon spiraling outward to fill the whole world – and to shift it around them.

The dream had changed.

And just like he’d done then, in his own remembered past, they’d returned to the lighter room under the eternally dying sunlight, falling in through the scarlet maple leaves.

“Huh?” Paimon wondered aloud. “What are we doing back here?”

The Traveler sharply looked around. “I hear voices…!”

Light footsteps approached – more than one set.

“Whoa… this is where you were born?”

A young voice, full of wonder and awe. The nameless wanderer took in a sharp breath, faltering for a moment before turning around.

A figure in lilac and white, eyes wary and cautious, yet wide and caring, too. And… a small boy in green, with a messy head of dark blond hair.

The child that’d…

“It’s pretty! But there’s nobody here…” A bout of raspy, hollow coughing cut the child off. It cut right through the wanderer, too.

“I was abandoned, like you,” his former self then murmured, sounding just as hollow – downright lifeless. “I lived here for a while at first, but…” He sighed, biting his lip, looking away. “There’s nothing for us here. We can’t stay…”

There’s nothing here that can help you. There’s nothing I can do. Nothing but show you this opulence, my past, a distraction from the pain.

The child nodded, wide-eyed, trusting, unaware. “…Okay.”

Then he went on, and the nameless youth could only wish he hadn’t.

“My mom and dad used to make swords,” the boy mused, wandering through the dilapidated hall, scuffing his foot through the fallen leaves, running a hand over some dusty crates. “But the factory manager died, and then my dad got sick…” Another cough. The puppet in white turned at once, hurrying in, shepherding the boy away from any sources of dust. The boy smiled, taking the puppet’s hand, squeezing and idly swinging it between them as they moved on. The puppet just let it happen, seemingly inwardly frozen even as he let himself be pulled along, as though terrified to interrupt the moment in any way.

“He kept coughing all the time, just like me,” the child continued, his voice just a little more breathless now. “Then, mom started coughing too…”

The puppet spoke at last, gathering the child’s hand a little closer to himself – possessive, protective. “But you can’t. You promised me.”

It was a statement. It was a plea. It was a last resort. The threat of a last straw, even now.

The nameless wanderer, having just heard from the God of Wisdom herself how this would end, could feel it searing into him like a brand, even across the gulf of nothingness that lay between him and his previous incarnation. This foolish, wonderful, deeply caring person who’d staked his entire soul on this sickly child, placing his very last trust in the world on those fragile, narrow shoulders.

Even then, the story had already been written. He just hadn’t wanted to see it.

“Yep, we’re family now,” the child beamed up at his puppet friend, unaware, innocent, hopeful even where the puppet was already hopeless. “We’re gonna be together forever and ever!”

“This child didn’t have a name,” the Dendro Archon’s voice reached them once more. “Or rather… the Balladeer didn’t know what to call him. His father died before he could name him.”

The wanderer was aware of the Traveler’s eyes on him, even as Paimon kept gazing at the child. He didn’t meet the golden gaze. He couldn’t.

This would be his only chance to look upon this child, that’d been so important to him once. The last chance he’d get to memorize his voice, his face, his brightness, like a little sun even now, even here in the eternal sunset gloom and the dust.

“After his mother died, the child stayed in their straw hut alone. Some of the neighbours helped to raise him.”

…And nobody thought to name him? No one at all thought to give him that one gift? The best this child had ever gotten… was him?

“After leaving Tatarasuna, the Balladeer ran into this child who didn’t have a name, just like him. They made a promise to live together.”

Paimon was still looking at the child, mired in concern. “…What happened to the child, then?”

There was a shift in the air. The wanderer’s eyes widened.

Time had passed like dust in the wind, and now the boy was laid out flat on his back in the flaming maple leaves. He was pale, and the puppet knew then his skin must be as cold and lifeless as his own.

“He died from his illness when he was still very young,” the Archon murmured quietly, as if not to disturb a single leaf in this still, grand chamber. “The Balladeer came home one day and found that he had stopped breathing.”

The puppet could not stop staring. Something stirred within him; some faraway scream that felt like it hadn’t stopped for hundreds of years – since these events had taken place.

“…Hey! Wh-what’s wrong…?” A breathless voice – his own. Frantic, denying what was before his very eyes – yet already knowing the truth. Too aware of the world’s evils and tragedies not to.

“Say something!!”

There it was. The scream. The start of it.

That scream at the very core of him, running through the dark undercurrent like a scarlet line of blood in the water.

If he’d been human, that scream would’ve made his throat bleed, too.

It felt like it had. Like it did.

Pain, high in his throat, in his chest. Hot pressure behind his eyes. Something, clawing to get out, just a little closer to succeeding.

“…You promised me we could be family!” the scream went on. “You’re no different from Niwa and all the others…! You betrayed me too…!” Laughter, yet not. The furthest thing from it. A sound that tore at the air, made it shiver with the agony it embodied – the torment of undeniable realization.

Nothing was ever going to last. No one was ever going to stay.

It’d been exactly the same way it’d been for the nameless puppet, after all.

Was this really his lot in life? To lose everything he had as soon as he gained it? Have everything swept from his side by the winds of fate, and to be swept around by it like a lost toy, in turn?

He groaned with the weight of it, these new thoughts and feelings. But he knew one thing.

There was no point in foregone conclusions. He was here to find out the full truth, and he did not yet possess it.

“The voices have gone,” he stated, willing himself to open his eyes, to face ahead – to face the Traveler. “It looks like the memory ends here.” His voice was pained, but his determination was clear as well. The Traveler gave him a curious look – but then nodded, apparently trusting in the situation, in the state of him.

Paimon nodded in assent as well. “Let’s keep going.”

That was good. He didn’t want to have to convince them again.

He wanted to keep going. He needed to keep going.

The great doors at the center of the grand, shattered hall had groaned open. More sunset light came streaming out.

He stepped out from splintered wood to worn tatami flooring, and was greeted by yet another luminous green leaf, a marker of a new phase of the dream.

He could do this. He reached out, and let it envelop him, take him onwards.

Darkness.

The gloom had deepened, the surroundings grown more derelict. Torn paper screens, cobwebbed jars, coils of rough rope. Still, they appeared to be in an expansive Inazuman facility, either at night or underground.

“You do realize you’re blocking my path?”

His own voice, once again echoing back to him from that other life.

There was a sharp edge to it now, something that hadn’t been there before, even with the nameless boy. An anger, an urgency, the ever-present embers of suppressed rage at the world in general.

Another voice answered. Someone new.

“I come not to obstruct you. I have been waiting.”

Deep, velvety, persuasive. Even now, the puppet felt the urge to listen to this voice, find out what it had to say.

“What you are, truly, is a weapon… one that could be wielded with an iron will. Or you could continue to drift aimlessly…”

It was a choice. Both options were presented as equally valid, neither of them exalted or degraded; simply a statement of fact. Still, what the voice really said was don’t you want to find out what happens next? I know you do.

“…Are you trying to win me over?” his former self warily replied, outwardly incredulous at the voice’s audacity, yet also obviously intrigued.

The other voice continued as though the puppet’s words hadn’t registered at all. “The long-fated rebellion has begun,” it reveled. “Why not take your place at the banquet and join those who shall feast?”

A bad idea. That much was obvious, even if the nameless wanderer didn’t quite know what was meant here. But to his former self…

Such a purpose, offered to one who’d just lost everything, had no faith left in anything. What would he have done when offered a chance to create meaning through harm, at that time and place?

He already knew. He’d have taken that chance. He’d already done so. The puppet wandering this darkened world and meeting this terrible influence had been him, plain and simple – he had no right to judge. Only to witness, and perhaps learn.

The darkened hallways led into a larger room, a flickering, pale light falling in from somewhere outside, grates belching glowing purple vapour lining the length of the walls. This must be the center of whatever facility this was.

“This place is dark,” he observed as he strode in, the Traveler and Paimon on his heels. He felt small, boxed in, claustrophobic even with the size of the chamber. He knew there was no way out from here. He’d never done well in spaces like that. And that violet smoke… he had a really bad feeling about that.

“Ugh, Paimon knows this place,” the fairy murmured, just as downcast, but because of the actual memory in her case. “It’s the Delusion factory in Inazuma…”

The Dendro Archon’s quiet voice joined them once more, anchoring them to the real world – even as the puppet yearned to immerse himself in the memories as deeply as possible, glean everything he could. “In the original version of events, the Traveler once encountered the Balladeer here,” she explained.

“Such a creepy atmosphere,” Paimon shivered. “And so familiar…”

The Traveler did not speak. He didn’t look at the puppet, either.

Their shared memory here was clearly anything but pleasant.

“Hey, look over there!” the fairy then piped up. The puppet and the Traveler both followed her gaze.

New figures had appeared from the violet mist.

“Well, well, my fair lady,” came his own voice, speaking on a lazy sigh, practically bored. “Is this run-down factory and these incompetent fools all for me? Wow, you shouldn’t have…”

The puppet stared at his former self. Such biting words, such obvious provocation… had he been that starved for attention, interaction, even pain? He instinctively knew that puppet in black and red would’ve even welcomed a slap to the cheek from the stately, masked woman opposing him – just to be able to grin and retaliate.

The dark current within him stirred. Yes. He was right.

The woman only scoffed, not rising to the bait. “What do you have to gain from belittling your subordinates? You might not want to admit it, but you are a part of this plan.” Her pale eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you find fighting in the Abyss to be a more meaningful use of your time? Oh, but of course, even this pales in comparison to being experimented on by the Doctor.”

“…Heh, what a sharp tongue you have.”

His former self’s expression had soured. Instead of rising to the bait, the woman had laid out some of her own. Had this been his life? Had these people been his allies? Had he ever wanted to be better, inspire them to be better, or had he gone into this fully expecting and welcoming the pain for lack of anything else to fill his life?

…He already knew the answer to that.

That black-and-red attire… so similar to his current blue. The same wide-rimmed hat, the same trailing sleeves, the same shorts. This puppet covered his wrists and ankles, too. Even the golden emblem around his neck…

They really weren’t so different. He really hadn’t wandered that far.

“Funny how negotiating never seems to be your strong suit,” the Balladeer ultimately snarked back, turning away. “For the task ahead, I suggest you keep your true feelings to yourself.”

“Hmph, save your breath,” the woman huffed, affected after all. “I know what I have to do.”

“I’m sure you think so,” the Balladeer tossed over his shoulder. “But I still think you need to hear it: don’t start thinking you’re invincible. And don’t let your emotions get in the way.”

Words of caution… in a rather sincere tone. But the nameless puppet knew instinctively these words weren’t solely meant for the woman – or even at all.

Somehow, he already knew he’d never taken his own advice either, though.

“Surely you’re not worried about me?” the woman mocked.

“I just can’t have you getting in my way,” the Balladeer deflected, prickly. “You and Childe never fail to find ways to complicate things.”

“I’m merely lighting a little fire in this chaotic nation,” the woman mused, voice like slow honey. “But you… Being tossed out like trash must make you want to destroy it completely.”

A jolt coursed through him. Yes. He’d nurtured that raging fire carefully across the centuries, he knew. And, horrifically, he understood. Even if he couldn’t agree anymore.

“Do you remember the last time you were here? That was a lot of swordsmiths you killed,” the woman cruelly went on, twisting the knife. “I’m sure the descendants of the Raiden Gokaden are still suffering the consequences now.”

His former self turned around, expression thunderous… and aggrieved.

Even then, he hadn’t agreed with his own violent impulses. He’d been a whirlwind of contradictions… yet lashing out all around himself all the same.

“Look at you,” the woman mocked him. “Aw, don’t get so sentimental. Now, give that poor little tongue of yours a rest, and stop pretending like you’re above everyone else.” She gave a taunting little wave. “Bye, then. See you at the victory feast.”

His former self watched her go, arms folded. “…‘Poor little tongue’?” he then murmured to himself, incredulous, yet carefully out of earshot. A joyless laugh left him. “She’s playing with fire talking to me like that. Who does she think she is?”

Always burning. Always festering. Never at peace.

Eternally in pain, and therefore eternally hurting others. Yet not believing he deserved any sort of redemption, so therefore eternally seeking out sources of pain for himself, too.

Had he believed it made him strong? Had he believed this was all there was?

He already knew the answer.

“…Forget it,” the Balladeer then ground out. “Someone might find me here any minute now. I should prepare to give them a warm welcome…”

The puppet glanced at the Traveler and Paimon. …Yeah. Their shared experience here truly hadn’t been pleasant. I’m so sorry.

“The plot does not end here,” Lesser Lord Kusanali gently reminded them. “There is more of this story to come. Wanderer, are you able to continue?”

Wanderer? Was that… his name now? For lack of anything else, but still…

Something to be called by. He’d never had that. It wasn’t quite a name, but… it was nice.

He gave a nod. “…Yes. Please, don’t worry about me.”

As they continued through the darkened halls, voices continued to surround them. “Why are you staring at me in silence?” the stately woman asked from the depths of another, unseen memory. “Can’t you think of a nicer way to express yourself?”

“I’m under no obligation to be nice to you,” the Balladeer replied. “Besides, I thought nothing mattered to you except results and your own interests. Isn’t that right… witch?”

The woman chuckled. “Muddle-headed puppet.” Whatever insult the Balladeer had meant to deal her, it hadn’t landed. “You’re only number six because you can take more abuse than other humans. Do you really count that as an asset?” she then quipped, cutting deeply into the Wanderer, as well as the Balladeer himself. Somehow, the Wanderer just knew. The things that subconsciously pained him… were the things that’d pained him before.

Still, the Balladeer outwardly only scoffed. “You’re about as much fun to be around as a raging inferno,” he remarked, jolting the Wanderer again with some residual knowledge of knowing exactly what that comparison entailed. “But before we murder eachother, it’d be best if we finish our duties.”

A lifetime of pain, distrust and ridicule… each fueling the others like that raging inferno.

Maybe his own lifetime of aimless wandering had been a mercy.

Still, it’d been a delusion in its own right. Whatever the full truth ended up being, he’d accept it. He was accepting it.

Ahead of them, another luminous leaf unfurled. The Wanderer strode straight ahead, and through, trusting the others would follow.

The next segment of the dream led them into a baffling mixture of nature and machinery.

A grand marble platform, housing something that looked like an elevator, garlanded with roots and leafy vines – but surrounded by other, metallic platforms, connected by bridges and cables, flanked by pipelines, steaming tanks and slow-moving cogwheels.

Paimon hovered in by his side. “Looks like we’ve arrived in Sumeru!”

There were figures on the central platform. More than last time. Two in Sumeran robes, one in a peculiar white coat, and…

Paimon tilted her head. “Uh… Is that…”

One of those in green spoke first. “Considering that Amurta’s sage, Naphis, refused to join this project, I’ll take part in the experiment in his place.”

“Welcome,” a new voice drawled, sounding all too pleased with itself. “I look forward to a fruitful collaboration.”

The one in white. Wavy teal hair, a sharp, dark mask.

A shudder ran down the Wanderer’s back, even as his former self huffed out a scoff at the man’s words. “…Hmph.” He narrowed his eyes. “When do we start?”

Nerves, fear. Yet also determination – more than the Wanderer had ever seen or sensed. The path ahead would be agony, but also the only possible way.

Never before had he felt this trapped.

“You seem impatient?” the scientist in white observed. “You should know that becoming a god is far from a trivial affair.”

…Ah. So that’s what this was. That was the moment in time he was witnessing now…

Close to the end. Close to the now. Close to the him the Traveler and the Archon had seemed to know.

The Balladeer was a guttering flame, thinking he was about to flare as brightly as he deserved, yet… about to fade into smouldering embers, devoid of all power.

The other man in Sumeran robes spoke up. “The biological transformation is a lengthy process,” he agreed with the scientist in white. “As such, I too would recommend that we commence as soon as possible.” He beheld the Balladeer as one might an interesting beetle in a jar. Now that the Wanderer had spotted that look, he realized they all looked at him that way.

“In the event that a successful connection is established, his body will become permanently bound to the machine, and he will be unable to move independently of it.”

…Even when he’d almost been a god, people had still talked to him like that. Or worse, talked about him as if he wasn’t in the room at all.

…Permanently bound? He’d been willing to do that to himself…?

…Yes. He had. Of course he had; he’d been desperate enough for meaning and purpose. He still was. He was here doing this to himself right now.

“Nothing worse than what I’ve been through before then, Doctor?”

The Balladeer’s voice was flippant, practically bored. Yet the Wanderer picked up on the nervous thrill beneath.

Nothing worse than what I’ve been through before.

A horrific statement. Yet, even with all that experience, the pain and terror had never lessened.

“You were the most resilient test subject I ever came across,” the Doctor mused, almost affectionate – but not towards him. Only towards what he could provide. “Thanks to you, I was able to garner a great deal of information.”

So, this was the man who’d cost him his previous life. Tore him away from the bladesmiths, triggered the pollution that’d killed the young boy.

“Alas, after that, you were under orders to remain in the Abyss,” the Doctor then lamented. “We barely saw each other, and it became difficult to further refine the knowledge I had gained.”

“That was gracefully worded,” the Balladeer countered. “Ever wonder what they’d think if they knew that nothing matters to you apart from your crazy experiments?” His voice was light, almost gentle – almost like a last plea for help, for reconsideration, for sanity. For these other men of science to step in and stop all this. His arms were folded tight, his eyes alight with something… close to fear.

Yes. Even after all that time in the laboratory, all that time pursuing this goal – he’d never truly wanted it. Not for himself. He’d been pursuing it to prove a point to others.

The Wanderer was starting to realize that was no way to live.

“I suggest you speak to me in a more respectful tone, Scaramouche,” the Doctor then sneered, harsh and unyielding. “The mere fact of your utility does not make you indestructible.”

That last statement was like a whipcrack to his soul. Something inside him reacted to it, viscerally so. Utility… he’d once yearned for nothing more. Now…

He found himself turning away from it. Never again. Not like this.

He would learn from this previous lifetime. And this lesson was the clearest of all.

Paimon folded her arms, glaring at the scientists in disgust. “…The Doctor again… That was uncomfortable to watch.”

“That person gives off a very sinister energy,” he heard himself muse, almost detached, his gaze still fixated on the masked scientist.

“He’s the Doctor,” the Traveler quietly told him. “He’s behind all of this.”

“It’s normal for him to give you the creeps!” Paimon reassured him. “He scares the bejeebers out of Paimon…”

The Wanderer clenched his jaw, almost surprised to hear a scoff leave him. That man… no longer knew he existed at all. Nor would he ever. Not until…

…wait, what was he thinking?

…Either way, that man held no power over him. Never had – and his power over his previous incarnation had evaporated like morning dew, dissipated like flying seeds…

The Dendro Archon broke the spell he seemed to be under. “Let’s move on,” she gentled. He blinked, looking up, nodding in assent. “Mm.”

Not long now. He could feel it. The dark current was stronger than ever, lapping at its shores, almost spilling over – set to soak and saturate the featureless earth of his previous, oblivious self.

He was almost ready to let it.

Chapter Text

The next segment of the dream had taken them to a grand chamber with vaulted ceilings and mirror-smooth marble floors, inlaid with geometric flower-like patterns. It felt like a temple, an echoing cathedral.

It felt like Shakkei Pavilion.

The Wanderer knew this was the final stop on their journey.

He came to a halt right at the center of the great flower inlaid in the floor, a motif so similar to the lotus spreading its petals on his hat. This whole chamber seemed to match him that way.

He looked up, facing the light streaming in through the ornate, faraway dome with its stained glass windows, teal and cold azure. He addressed the god that’d guided them, even if she was all around, not solely present in that light.

“You’re a god,” he began, mustering up the courage for what he knew he must do, had to ask, had to hear. “Do you think I’m evil?”

Just what had been his nature? Was his nature? How should he proceed from here?

The goddess replied.

“If you accept that he is you, just as you are you, then yes – you are evil.”

A gentle statement, non-judgemental. He nodded, accepting it in full. What had happened, had still happened, even if none now remembered it – or remembered that it’d been him.

He folded a hand over his empty chest, resolving to dig deeper still. “In your eyes, are there any differences between humans and… puppets?”

Was there hope for him? Could he change and grow the way a human might? Or was his path set in stone, and this was all he’d ever have, by virtue of his nature?

“Do you think there are any differences between your present self and your previous and future incarnations?” the Archon replied. “If not, then what are the differences between humans and puppets?”

He blinked. The differences between his present self and his previous and future incarnations…

He’d changed over the course of his long life – that other life, where he’d actually been part of the world. He’d seen and done so much, met so many, changed the lives of so many and been changed by them. At his core he’d always been the same, but his circumstances had shaped his fate – the same as any human.

“Whoever has tasted the joys and sorrows of life in the human realm is human,” Lesser Lord Kusanali went on, uplifting and gently shattering him at the same time. “Whoever has loved and lost, cried with grief, howled with rage at the tragedy of death that eclipses the miracle of life… they are human, too.”

That’d been him. All of him. In both his current, and former incarnation.

He huffed out a breath, thinking it over.

Had the difference always been arbitrary? He’d stumbled on some horrifically bad luck, again and again to the point of madness, but he’d also made no effort to change his ways and seek out love once again when he’d had the chance, even when he’d seen it all around himself. He’d allowed himself to be blinded to anything that didn’t align with that bitter worldview, needing to believe the entire world reflected his early experiences, unable to crawl out of that hole. In the end, he’d allowed himself to forget things had ever been different.

Could his fate be reshaped, if only he’d try again?

This world was full of possibility, if only he could be part of it once more.

It was worth a try. His lifetime of aimlessness had left him a blank slate, not so different from how his former self had started out. He could have a life once more, even with all his previous baggage.

He would take on that baggage, though. That would be the price for regaining his life. He’d take it all, bitter and sweet – he craved the full truth. It’d only be right.

He was so close. He wanted to become that person once more. He understood the Balladeer – he was ready to become the Balladeer.

Or… whatever would emerge when the Balladeer was granted access to this body, with all its own experiences and memories; five centuries’ worth of them.

He made up his mind. He’d seen the Balladeer’s key memories, and imagined what it must’ve been like to live them, and felt the dark current stirring within himself – but now…

…he was ready to let it wash over him, submerge himself in it, become one with it.

His hand tensed over his chest. “I’ve seen enough of my past,” he managed, looking up to the light once more. “If possible, I’d like to reclaim the sins that are mine to bear.” He took a breath, righting his shoulders. “No matter the consequences, I won’t run from blame or punishment. Whatever I am due, let it come to pass.” Even if it meant death. At least he would die as himself – and set the record straight in the process.

“Are you saying…” the Traveler hesitated, clearly torn – moreso than the puppet was.

“Can you return your memories to me?” he asked the light.

“Huh?” Paimon startled. “But won’t that mean you’ll lose your current identity?”

He tilted his head in thought. “I’ve always believed that human lives follow a set of rules, with each person being a collection of past experiences.” The same way his former self had been shaped by his experiences – and could do better, with the addition of what he knew now. “As a puppet living in the human world,” he voiced his new realization, “my life is subject to the same rules.”

“Regaining your memories means reverting completely to your previous incarnation,” the Archon warned him. “All the emotions that you discarded will return to you. Are you sure you want to do this?”

He could feel the flood of anger, pain and grief roiling under the surface.

He yearned for it. It would mean feeling alive. Being real. Being more than this ghostly existence, drifting through the world without meaning, purpose, destination or companions. Even if grief would be his only companion, it would be better.

“I’ve lived with a void in my chest my whole life,” he replied, turning away from the light. “My creator didn’t need me, and ever since I awoke, I’ve just drifted from one place to the next.” He turned again, facing the Traveler, that golden beacon under the dome. “But then I met you, and I finally realized that… reclaiming my missing sins might be my one opportunity to become my true self.” To become real. He was almost giddy at the prospect.

The Traveler remained silent, but the look in his eyes… he couldn’t quite describe it. Intrigue. Surprise and shock, worry – and a hint of admiration. But then, a quiet nod of assent. This mysterious adventurer of few words agreed, and would remain by his side.

He gave a small smile. No words were needed in this moment.

“I’ve always felt I have an innate tendency to yearn for something more, in a way that goes deeper than for most people,” he stated, more than convinced of his course of action, exhilarated to finally be able to voice these feelings. “But for all my soul-searching as a shugenja, I’ve never fully understood it. Looking at it now, it seems that I brought this curse upon myself.”

He hadn’t wanted to exist anymore. He’d erased himself. But what had remained… had still carried a core of wanting to live, and wanting to regain all that he’d lost.

There was no escaping this. What was about to happen had always been inevitable. He was always going to end up here, staring himself down and saying no. We keep going.

It was all in the Dendro Archon’s hands now.

“So I beg you,” he addressed the light once more. “Grant me this opportunity to gain a purpose. To change my destiny and end my wandering.”

“Very well,” the Archon replied – sounding like she, too, had known this had been inevitable.

“Since your mind is made up… I will return to you that which is yours.”

Something materialized between him and the great dome overhead. A cube, made up of green light shaped like twining vines and small flowers, with a swirling core casting up rainbows into the air.

His memories? His self?

His future?

It drifted closer. He slowly took off his hat, stepping forward as though in a trance.

The vines dissipated, the core remaining, flowers scattering everywhere. “You have made your decision,” the Archon intoned from all around. “Now… take this.”

He narrowed his eyes, huffing out a breath in preparation – he could do this. After everything he’d been through…

…he could do it all over again as well.

He reached out to his former identity.

It twinkled, flared, and darted out of his reach, making him gasp – a blink before it plunged into his chest, setting his entire body alight. His eyes flew wide open, unseeing – seeing too much, seeing everything.

His hands were around his head immediately, and he hunched over, but he was no longer consciously aware of it. His mind was elsewhere, racing ahead, racing back.

All the way back.

He saw…

…everything.

His creator, walking away, her robes and thick braid fluttering in the petal-laden breeze.

…Set him free?

Maple leaves and dust.

Just like before. Just like the beginning of his own life as a nameless wanderer. But now…

Betrayal – hatred – rage –

There was so much more –

He’d thought he’d known, thought he’d understood what it’d all meant to that other version of him, but he’d had no idea –

The man in the pavilion, looking down at him, finding him. A puppet? What’s he doing here…?

Fondness – belonging – hope –

Metal and salt. Family. Everything he’d once had… everything he’d lost. And the truth of exactly how and why.

It came up around him, through him in heated pulses; dark and bitter pain, bursting forth from deep within with every new vision, every new memory. It was overwhelming. It made his breath hitch, made him choke, made him cry out and claw his hands around his head, made him arch backwards until he stared straight up into the light, utterly overcome. “Argh! It’s…”

Furnace fumes.

Niwa.

Niwa at the furnace, Niwa looking at him with genuine affection, it’d always been genuine, it’d always been real, it’d been – it’d been –

You’re a human as far as I’m concerned.

In a flash, his friend was gone, replaced by another, dressed in red.

Escher.

…Dottore.

Addressing the room, greed in his eyes that he hadn’t recognized then.

Everyone’s here. Wonderful!

Blood and corruption.

These were no longer…

A man holding a great ornate blade. What a fine blade! Nagamasa will be thrilled…

He thudded to his knees, teeth gnashing, vision blurring.

These were… no longer…

He blinked, catching flashes of the great chamber of the Dendro Archon’s dream, spinning around and around as his mind reeled, as his nails threatened to crack his own skull to take some of the pressure off, the pressure of five hundred years of life flooding in. Flooding back.

Closing the distance, no longer other, no longer separate.

These were…

With a monumental effort, he took one of his hands off his head, staring at his trembling fingers, recognizing them as those that’d gripped the hilt of that great blade in a sword dance under the moon, all those other blades that’d spilled all that blood, cast up violet lightning in the Abyss, clawed around the straps in the Doctor’s lab.

“This is… my…”

That voice.

His voice.

Sakura and lavender melon. Snow and fever.

Chemicals and agony. All that agony. All those times that other body had been sliced open from throat to navel, the scalpel screeching over his bones, the fingers probing his organs, inside his head, the cables plunged into his back and connected to his spine and brain and mind, pumping in their forbidden filth, all of it overlaid onto itself in a single instant, a single looped staccato scream –

It didn’t stop. It never had. All the pain his former self had ever felt – that he had ever felt – all the experiments, all the emotion, all the Abyssal time distortion… everything, all at once, on and on and on, warping his vision, warping his sense of self, until…

The ground shook under his collapsed, hunched-over body. He barely took note. His world was already crumbling, heaving apart, shattering into unrecognizable shards that twirled and glittered and reflected the light of laboratory lamps and lightning and five hundred dying, setting suns, on and on and on –

He managed to glance up. A dark, violet sun was rising into the great chamber, enormous enough to be clear even to his hazy perception. The Traveler and Paimon were so small before it.

He shook his head, blinking, vision flickering between this and all of that.

His mother. His family. Their murderer. Details, conversations, sensations, emotions, battles won and lost, modifications to his prone body. He couldn’t – he couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t get up –

Fists smashed into the floor, seemingly inches from his body. The Traveler was a golden flash, flitting to and fro, blade drawn and gleaming like starlight. Leaping in, thrown back, flying amidst a constellation of shattered rubble forming a seamless, delirious whole with everything going on in his psyche –

– something that would’ve shattered his body to match his soul burst apart up ahead, unveiling the Traveler once more, skidding to a halt before him as he stared at his hands, barely seeing Paimon even as she barged into his face. “Hey! Are you done yet?!”

He couldn’t speak. The meaning of the words didn’t register. His ears were filled with Snezhnayan songs, echoing hallways, mocking laughter, crackling flame.

Then… a flicker of something he couldn’t ignore.

Violet lightning.

Paimon screeching.

The Traveler turning, so very slowly.

That light.

That light, born of the wish to end everything, roiling hatred and pain set to eradicate this world and silence it all, and then himself.

To make it stop, make everything stop.

He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to go silent. Even now.

He wanted to get through and see the other side. He knew it was there.

So he –

– withdrew within himself, immersing himself deep into the utter black, and –

– reached –

– for that unreachable light…

The blood-soaked dark was all around. No longer a hidden undercurrent stirring vaguely when disturbed by his attempts at recollection, at understanding. Not even pulsing up from the depths in bursts. No – it’d washed over him now, blotting out everything else, filling his nose and mouth and eyes with iron and smoke and Abyssal darkness, drowning him, burning him alive, turning him to ash.

You see why I wanted to die! it shrieked at him, shrill and hitching in its agony. Why I still do! And yet…! It swirled and gathered, balling itself into furious fists. You worthless worm!!

He stared straight back into it, furiously reaching up. The you that was hurt and deceived and used isn’t all there is, he knew. I’m here, too, free from all of it – but I’ll embrace it all again, do it all again, fail all over again just to be. “All worthless dross… will be purged,” he managed, panting, breathless, both sides of the argument swirling in his skull, voicing both at the same time – and then, for the merest fraction, managing to tip the balance. “That’s why… this won’t be the end!”

‘Never been born at all’… is that really all you wish for?

There was so much more to the world, to him, to his future – it was his right to see it, now he knew everything, understood it, and could rise above it –

Let me out, damn you, let me live – !

He reached as far as he could go, pushing himself beyond his limits, and –

– grabbed hold of a very familiar hand.

Something else grabbed hold of his other hand in turn, holding on like a lifeline. He widened his eyes, breath hitching, turning to look down with dizzy dread swirling in his stomach.

He’d managed to win over the Balladeer.

There he was, venomous and silent, staring up at him as he dangled from their joined hands, the swirling pit of blood and agony below – the hell they themselves and everything else had made of their life, eventually warping into that violet light destined to end it all.

But now the Balladeer had rejected that force, too.

The Wanderer in blue could only stare down into his own indigo eyes, narrowed, only saying let’s get on with it, then.

A golden light bloomed where their hands met, consuming everything all over again.

He took a shaky breath, everything spinning back into razor-sharp focus all at once.

He’d just been born. He’d existed for five centuries. Ten centuries. He’d lived two entire lives across too many identities to count.

None of it mattered now. He’d still lose it all again if he didn’t act. The Everlasting Lord was ahead, a blink away from obliterating both him and the Traveler.

Not happening. Not today.

In that instant, he could hear the wind’s voice. He didn’t know where it’d come from, only that it’d changed direction as if to greet him.

On it were scents old and nostalgic – the iron hammer, metals, the furnace, the dust of the earth. Distant dreams, a prosperous past… incredible though it might seem, even he had once led such a simple life.

It really was simple enough.

That which had remained had been right. Niwa had been right. And all of him, whatever he was now, had accepted it.

He moved like lightning itself, straight into that oncoming violet oblivion –

– and a blazing light came between him and the Everlasting Lord, utterly blocking and deflecting its attack, forcing the gargantuan machine into a jerky standstill amidst smouldering embers and billowing dust.

He took a breath, set his jaw, and tipped up his hat as the wind gathered all around him, sweeping the dust into a storm, him at its unperturbed eye as a small amount of blood welled up from the cut on his cheek.

Here in the dream, it was red, like a human’s. His lingering wish, a metaphor made real, just this once.

The light had not disippated.

He looked up, but not at the skylight above. His eye was on something much closer, and far brighter. Brighter than the stars, brighter than any fleeting hopes and dreams he’d ever had.

His eye was on their accumulation, made manifest.

The baffling, glittering ornament came spinning down before him, almost lazily, winking like an eye on a smiling face, stirring up the storm within his chest.

His desires had earned him a Vision. The attention, the eye of the gods, at last.

So, his lack of a heart wasn’t a problem for them? Or had they granted him something fit to take the place of one?

The thought was almost enough to bring him to hysterical laughter, but he wouldn’t give any divine observer that satisfaction. He only tipped down his hat in reflex, though he couldn’t keep a smirk from his lips, rigid and maniacal enough to hurt. He’d never had a better reason to smile in his entire sorry life. He fully had to admit – this was the best joke yet. He rather liked it.

“…Balladeer…?” Paimon asked behind him, baffled, at the feet of the fallen Traveler. He had to chuckle. Feeble hero. Let me show you how it’s done. He’d been fighting this foe his whole life, even if he hadn’t always been aware. He knew how to win.

He wiped the blood off his cheek, snatched the Vision from the air in the same motion, and clutched it tight enough to nearly cut through his glove as he took one more moment to behold its glittering glory.

Sky-blue Anemo, encased in Sumeru’s leaf-shaped golden shell.

Somewhere far away, drifting seeds were blown further up into the sky.

What a day.

Another chuckle bubbled up from within his chest as he looked up at the waiting machine, the manifestation of all his pain and destructive urges.

That wasn’t him anymore. The him that wanted to erase all he’d ever been – how infantile. How short-sighted.

No one was quite like him – the Vision confirmed that much. And he’d accepted that. He was himself, for better or for worse.

And he’d kill the part of himself that’d ever wanted to be otherwise.

His eyes narrowed in a wicked grin from another life, another time, utterly unfamiliar to this version of his face – yet the truest thing this body had ever known.

“Die.”

Knowledge of his Vision and its inner workings came to him instinctively, effortlessly, his bafflement there but blotted out by a haze of adrenalin. He leapt, and he stayed up, hanging in the air with maniacally curved fingers, staring down the empty automaton. When it deigned to fire at him, he darted away on a trail of pure light, dodging the violet beams, spinning out of reach. “This is trying my patience,” he growled, glancing back.

The Traveler was gaping up at him, down below where he belonged. “Have you got all your memories back now?” Paimon screeched up at him.

“Have you got any more stupid questions?” he tossed back, evading blast after blast in a hailstorm of purple, enlightening her in as few words as possible. He had more important things to focus on.

He zipped through the air, barely even thinking, simply willing himself to lunge and sprint and evade the machine’s giant, slow hands, pelting it with blades of pure, luminous air the whole time, as though wielding his new element like an unseen weapon. It was easy as a dream.

It was a dream. But Lesser Lord Kusanali had told them that enemies might still be able to harm them even here. He should end this as soon as he could.

He remembered her telling that innocent, untainted version of himself. He remembered everything. It was the strangest thing he’d ever experienced, feeling the jagged shards of those two lifetimes fitting back together – and they’d both already been cracked to breaking to begin with…

…it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact Shouki no Kami had been designed to obliterate far less agile targets than him. He was steadily chipping away at it, slicing open that hollow shell, making it spark and smoke and leak those violet liquids that’d never touched this body, now. With every fling of his hands, he distanced himself further from all of it, everything that’d been done to him, everything he’d been used for.

The Doctor and the Sages had never seen him coming when they’d designed the giant divine body, designed those shackles. And they never would again.

Pillars of water and wind, torrents of flame and ice – none of it mattered to one able to rise over everything, transcend all the pain that’d created the obscenity before him. He was cracked, but he was whole and seeing clearly, whereas the machine was just a fragile mask… and he would remove it by any means necessary. He would no longer suffer any form of concealment. Not after finally laying everything bare in the past and present. His future would be similarly, brutally honest, whether it be long or short.

The machine summoned an array of violet beams around its base, ready to sweep the entire platform where the Traveler stood, hapless as ever – but he would not suffer that either. He soared right in, pelting the Electro symbol on the machine’s chest with everything he had, then twisting in the air and crashing his foot into it with devastating force, shattering that false heart under his heel and grinding it away like so much dust in the wind.

He violently kicked himself away from the whole mess, skidding backwards onto the platform as the violet beams dissipated. “Imbecile! Get out of my sight!”

The machine toppled over backwards, falling into nothingness without a sound.

There was only the roar of blood in his ears as he panted, both hands still curved into claws at his sides.

Cautious footsteps joined his side, accompanied by telltale tinkling. “…It disappeared,” Paimon murmured. “Did we win?”

We? He had to scoff. “What did you expect?” He glared at her over his shoulder. “I’d never lose to that.” Not the way he was now. Fully, completely himself, entirely on his own terms.

The fairy gave him a flat look. “Ehh, there’s that tone of voice again… You’re definitely back to your old self.”

Just this once, she was completely correct.

The Traveler’s eyes were rather different. They were shining, and… glad? No, surely not. He’d been his enemy barely a day ago. Yet, also a lifetime ago. And the golden outlander had taken great pains to retrieve him and restore him to his former self…

…Why?

To face consequences, most probably. And that was only right. It was why the blank slate of himself, conjured by Irminsul, had wanted to recover his previous identity. Now that those jagged shards had joined into something resembling a personality again, he agreed with that notion. Maybe all of it had been done at Kusanali’s behest; it wouldn’t surprise him.

“Wait, but it was you inside that thing, too!” Paimon then continued her train of thought. “What have you got to be smug about?”

He blinked, catching himself. The two recently-joined parts of himself didn’t quite agree on how to behave, both pasts warring to decide. “Sorry, I’m harsh on myself and everyone else,” he then settled. “Just the way I am.” He owed the two of them that explanation at least – he would be curt and to the point, accepting no nonsense or excuses from anyone, but the least he could do was ensure the right interpretation of those manners.

The Traveler gave a small, rueful smile. “Now you’ve recovered your memories… the past will catch up with you.” That strange light still glinted in his eyes, as if he really was glad to see his old enemy return. The direct and indirect murderer of so many. The threat to his own life. The puppet had to laugh, a hand on his hip, a self-sure tilt to his head. “You sound like you’re concerned about me.” He smirked just a moment longer, before growing a bit more serious. He did have reasons to be grateful and assuage that concern. “But don’t worry. Thanks to you, even if I didn’t change a thing… at least I now know the truth.”

Niwa and the others had still died. Only the memory of the world had shifted a little… elevating Niwa to a hero at the very least, choosing to die in the furnace. Yet, now he could avenge them. Now, all his strings had been cut, and he could finally step off the stage of tragedy and farce he’d unknowingly inhabited all his life.

The three of them looked up as Kusanali’s voice rang out through the chamber once more. “The memory recovery seems to have been a success. This dream has served its purpose.”

All according to plan, eh? You had me dancing on strings too – even if you did cut them yourself. He gave a wry little smile. That discussion could wait a little longer. “…Come on. Let’s continue this outside.”

Chapter Text

It feels like… I’ve lived two lives.

Returning to the eternal green glow of the Sanctuary atrium, it simultaneously felt as if he’d just left it yesterday… and five hundred years ago.

Lesser Lord Kusanali was before him, gazing up with curious and hopeful green eyes, so deceptively open, genuine and harmless. But she’d been the one to deliberately end him up this way – disjointed, fragile and new and vulnerable, yet also stronger and more clear-headed than he’d ever been.

He briefly looked himself over, still both surprised and intrigued at his past fashion choices when he’d been completely free of outside influence – and at the same time, aware it’d always been this way. Blue? Not bad. It certainly beat the Fatui getup. He appreciated the symbolism of the lotus, a massive improvement over the brown kabuki mask – but part of him had to get used to wearing the feather out in the open on his chest again. Yet, he also knew he wore it because it’d been all he’d had, before he’d gained this shiny new ‘heart’ pulsing above it now. Its connotations weren’t as negative, or solely negative, any longer. There was no need to hide it away while also carrying its unseen weight on his back and having it follow him everywhere, unable to be rid of it. It could flutter freely in the breeze now, same as the rest of him. He’d keep it this way.

Kusanali gave a fragile smile. “Welcome back, Traveler, Paimon, Balladeer.”

Paimon prattled something about being exhausted after a long journey, but he didn’t really hear it. That last word had lodged itself in his mind like a thorn. He let out a wordless, deeply uncomfortable growl, catching the Archon’s attention. “You don’t like being addressed by that name?”

He recalled their conversation about names, where they’d settled on ‘Balladeer’. He’d thought he’d reclaimed that title from the Fatui, and it’d suffice. But now…

Everything had shifted with the wind. “It’s fine,” he replied on a reluctant sigh, turning away. “But I was just thinking… I should probably change it.” To what, he didn’t yet know. But he’d rather go back to being nameless than ever again –

“You won’t go by ‘the Balladeer’ anymore?” the Traveler asked him before he could finish his thought.

He turned to the outlander. “After learning about everything the Doctor did, there’s no way I can carry on using a name connected to him,” he voiced his thought out loud, venomously narrowing his eyes. “I’m not planning on returning to the Fatui, and they wouldn’t take me back anyway.” His thoughts raced ahead, and back, taking stock of everything that’d happened, and everything it’d mean. “Recent events will have affected a lot of people, and they might not even remember who the Sixth is.” What a giddy idea. He might still be alive and around… but he had managed to cut himself out of Irminsul. To cut himself free from the ties of fate.

“So…” Paimon hesitated. “You’re quitting the Fatui for good?”

“Let’s call it a tactical retreat,” the Traveler replied with a knowing smile. The puppet sighed in response, not dignifying that with an answer, turning around at last – only to face the Archon, instead. “It’s like you said, Lesser Lord Kusanali. Everything may look futile, but it wasn’t completely meaningless. At least I made a lot of people forget about me.” His voice grew meaningful. The sheer possibility before him now…

She was quick to anchor him. “But that doesn’t mean your own past has disappeared.”

He folded his arms, conceding to her. “Of course.”

She stepped in, padding across the smooth tiles. “And your main goal, for which you gave up everything you had… you weren’t able to achieve it. I hope you can see and understand that.” There was compassion in her eyes, but she made no move to soften her words as she went on, turning to gaze up at the atrium’s great pillars. “Changing the world, changing the past, changing the fates of other people… these are not simple things to accomplish. What you were looking for is complete annihilation… But this is just a fantasy. Even if the Balladeer is removed from existence, the world will not heed your will.”

He gazed at his hand. It was still the same as before. He didn’t even have to focus to see it as it had been, wrist covered by his Fatui gauntlet, or spattered in blood, or half-covered by a white silk sleeve. He gave a small smirk, forced to agree. “Indeed.” He chuckled joylessly, faced with the utter foolishness of his endeavor. Of course it’d been impossible. And a good thing, too. “…How ridiculous.”

Paimon spread her little hands. “Do you regret doing all that, when you’ve gotten so little in return?”

Little? Only an entire existence free of any restrictions or strings, and the gaze of the very gods? And even aside from that… “Even if I’m completely worthless, there’s nothing in the world worth regretting,” he told her, making it more than clear where he stood.

Still, there were things that bothered him. Things he needed to discuss. Even aside from the thousand years of history pounding away at the back of his head, and everything he’d learned the day before – Niwa, Dottore, the real truth of his own history. He’d get to those later. No, his first starting point would be this. “Lesser Lord Kusanali,” he began, turning to her, gaze piercing. “You purposely left that information in Irminsul, didn’t you?” This had been her game all along. No doubt, this was why she’d invited him to help her at the heart of knowledge in the first place.

“Yes,” she nodded. “And I took pains to make sure that you’d acquire that information naturally.”

He stared her down, narrowing his eyes a little. “Why would you go to such lengths? You trying to win me over too?” From one set of strings to the other, right into her trap, all according to her divine plan. He had to get better at spotting these things.

“In all honesty… your past experiences have made you a useful asset to Sumeru, and to me,” she outright admitted. “Winning you over was indeed a part of my plan.” She half-turned away, folding her arms, gaze growing pensive, softer. “But before that, I wanted to tell you the truth about your past.” She caught his eye. “If all I wanted to do was use you, then I’d be no different from the Doctor.”

A way to coax him out of his self-imposed coma, and irrevocably turn him against the Fatui at the same time. Ruthless, yet efficient, he had to give her that… even if she’d lost a large chunk of the misguided faith he’d grown to have in her. “Very clever,” he murmured.

She turned back to him, open and genuine once more, placing a hand on her heart with a disarming smile. “I guess you could say that’s one of my virtues!”

He tightly folded his arms, falling back on what he knew best, what’d always served him and kept him safe when everything else spun out of control. “Utility to others is what gives me worth,” he stated, matter-of-factly. No matter what the God of Wisdom was telling him now, that much was also true – she had always wanted him to be of use. He didn’t trust her and would look upon her with wariness for a while at the very least, but that much, he could muster. “So if embracing my sins is what it takes to make me useful again, so be it.”

The Traveler caught his eye. “Nahida doesn’t see you in that way,” he reminded him, almost gently.

He had to scoff. Nahida. Look at this golden hero, calling the Archon by her chosen name, best friends after barely meeting twice. “Oh, right,” he mocked. “I almost forgot… you’re the good guys. You’re into justice and all that.”

There was no such thing as justice. Not unless he made it himself. He did intend to… but he doubted this lot would cheer him for it. “Sorry if I have a slightly different perspective on things.” He turned his gaze back to the little Archon. “But, I don’t feel like I’ve been duped. The wisest leaders are fated to end up with the best helpers… I can live with that.” She was the best he could’ve gotten. She truly was wise, and at least attempting to be compassionate… even if she’d put him through the worst wringer of his life, forcing him to relive everything that’d ever been done to him. Did that make her even crueler than the Doctor, or rather his antithesis…? Why were things never simple in Sumeru – or his life in general?

Maybe that was what he deserved, an existence as lofty as it was challenging.

Unaware of his more pessimistic thoughts, the Archon smiled up at him. “I’m glad you’re able to think of it in that way!”

…This child. Even with this blow to his trust, his view of her, he’d never be able to truly turn on her again, or probably even stay wary for long. Damn it all.

“Traveler,” the little goddess continued, turning to the outlander. “In the future, I’ll continue to search Irminsul more deeply, and see what secrets can be uncovered.”

Hah. Yes, she planned to do that herself, after all. The whole ploy to get him into the heart of knowledge had just been to show him his past. And he’d fallen for it like an idiot.

At the very least, he was an enlightened idiot now, hopefully with less of a propensity for arrogance and the assumption he was meant for some grand purpose in divinity’s schemes. Even his newfound Vision would not delude him into that this time.

“…Including the beginning of your twin’s journey recorded in Irminsul. What exactly happened before and after that point? I want to know as well.”

“Thank you,” the outlander nodded, clearly grateful. “Let’s hope you can find some answers.”

“I will try,” the Archon promised.

…Why did he believe every word out of her mouth? The both of them, in fact?

He supposed he couldn’t deny they’d gone to great lengths to help him, in their own misguided ways. And somehow, they’d actually ended up… improving his circumstances somewhat. Even with the amount of inner turmoil steadily rising within him as it occurred to him how much he had to think about, he had to admit that much.

The question was… why?

He made up his mind to ask at least one of the questions on his mind, though he didn’t turn to face the outlander, gazing ahead instead. “Traveler.”

“…Yes?”

So hesitant. Almost vulnerable. He had to glance over – he couldn’t miss that gormless expression. “After I dove into the information torrents in Irminsul, why did you go to Inazuma?”

“Because I wanted to know what you’d changed.” The Traveler’s voice was as weary as he himself felt, weighed down by deep, feverish worry. Of course – his Inazuman friends. Some of them had ties to the Raiden Gokaden. If he’d truly managed to shift history… the course of their lives might’ve shifted significantly, too, or they might’ve ceased to exist entirely. “…So that’s how you found out whose fate had changed, and how.”

The outlander made to speak, but the puppet cut him off, turning away as he spoke. He didn’t want to hear it. “Well, whatever your reasons, you did me a favour, and I’ll do everything I can to pay it back.” He would not be caught indebted to this heroic nuisance.

The Traveler gave a weary chuckle. “Please don’t make it sound like I’m extorting you.”

The puppet inwardly sighed. Such endless eons of life, and still so much to learn. “Borrowing and returning are the only real relationships between individuals,” he reminded the outlander, beginning the repayment of his debt with a little education. “I’ll balance the books one day, don’t you worry.”

“That’s not true,” Kusanali protested beside him, making him look down. “A relationship between two people is not simply a ledger that can be reset to zero.”

His eyes shifted, looking away – looking inward, despite himself.

He has nothing to prove to anyone… because not everyone… just wants to use other people, a familiar, dear voice resounded through his mind, loud and clear. The only ones who think like that… are people like you.

He’d be hearing those words every day of his life. Even if his memory hadn’t been perfect, they would’ve been engraved in his mind deeply enough to last him his entire immortal lifetime. And to that voice… he’d always listen as intently as the Kabukimono had ever done.

“I think, deep down, you realize this,” the Archon went on, as if she could hear the voice too. “People who show up in your life don’t just evaporate like water drops and leave nothing behind.”

…That much was clear. Even if he still had to decide whether or not he thought Niwa had been right… his old friend certainly had left something behind.

“There is no such thing as ‘balancing the books’.”

…But if that were true, he’d never be free. Not even now, with everything he’d done, all the hoops he’d managed to jump through.

“Some things in this world can never be brought back, and they can never be changed, which is why there is emotion in the human world.” The little Archon smiled, as if she hadn’t just reminded him of the things that’d shackled him his whole life – that’d gotten him cast out from his initial purpose in the first place, with tears on his unconscious, newborn cheeks.

“Everything that you feel is real and lasting, and whatever is missing in you will not be made whole.” She placed a hand on her chest, making the void within him ache all the more, even with the sky-blue Vision pulsing right next to it.

“To be human is to live with imperfections. You can choose whether or not you want to be human.”

Humans were the imperfect ones? After everything she’d seen of him, of her very flawed self, and everything she’d seen through his eyes, she truly thought so?

It didn’t matter. It was a farcical argument anyway. He turned away, gazing into the Sanctuary. “But humans can’t live without a heart, can they?” he quipped on a mirthless little chuckle. “Anyway, I gave up trying to become a human a long time ago.” He was himself, for better or worse. He had no use for pretty metaphors – only reality as it truly was would do, now.

The Archon insisted. “You understand what pain is perfectly well, even without a heart,” she countered, forcing his newly truthful self to reckon with that truth, as well. “You’re just burying your feelings.”

She padded up to him, gazing out together with him, not waiting for permission to approach. He did not move away.

This easy, natural closeness she had such a penchant for… despite everything, it made him feel – even if just for a moment – as if they truly were kin.

Two lost, spurned divinities. Five hundred years of suffering. Sharp wit, intelligent conversation. He hadn’t hated their time together. Not quite yet.

“The past is set in stone, but you can keep moving on,” she spoke, and he knew she spoke from experience. “And the longer your future lasts, the shorter your past will become, until one day it is but a tiny fraction of your life.”

Her cage. His self-imposed exile to a world of betrayal.

His former self had not believed there was a way out at all. She had managed to show him that much. What more might she show him, in time?

It would take time for him to trust her again, but perhaps he would take that time with half a mind to try again.

She sounded so hopeful for the both of them. Maybe he’d humour her, just to see. He was still nothing if not curious… despite his own better judgement. He folded his arms, gazing ahead by her side, some part of him hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever she was picturing in that mind of hers. “It sounds like you’ve got a future planned out for me.”

The Traveler shifted behind them. “I hope you can give Nahida a chance.”

He could just hear the smile in the outlander’s voice. Hmph. Who did he think he was?

Paimon floated around them. “Everything’s ended up being pretty darn complicated, Paimon doesn’t even know where to start… But the most important thing now is that you need to follow Nahida! Otherwise, all our efforts will have been for nothing!”

He automatically tuned out her childish lecturing, striding away, fully knowing he was making them sweat the longer he stayed silent.

He gave it some genuine thought. He had plenty of alternatives. He could literally fly away, anywhere, right now. But then again, what would be the point? That was exactly the fate his blank slate self had wanted to turn around. On top of that, he’d accepted his missing sins to make up for them. No better place to start than here, with the one who actually still remembered his transgressions against her and her nation. He could work his way back from there.

He was done running. As far as company went, he could do a lot worse than the Dendro Archon. He’d already decided – had decided when he’d come out of his coma, really. The Archon’s deception had cost her a significant portion of his trust, for now… but not his service.

He turned, looking down at the little Archon. “…Then I guess I’ll be helping you from behind the scenes from now on.”

“I’m glad that you’ve accepted our proposal,” she beamed back, Paimon quietly celebrating and the Traveler looking altogether too smug by her side. “Why don’t you choose a new name to celebrate?”

He faltered, suddenly very aware of all their eyes on him. A name? Here, now?

…He did suppose it was a new day, a new life… and he did want to start it off better than the last time, and something to mark his new identity would be…

…ugh. The blank slate he’d been an hour ago had been so thrilled at simply ‘Wanderer’.

And they wanted him to pick something himself? How would that be meaningful in any way?

“Ooh, ooh, ooh! Paimon wants to pick an ugly nickname for you too!”

His expression went flat. “…Why.”

“Because… because Paimon still doesn’t like you that much!”

He had to chuckle at her honesty. “Hmph. Then I hope we don’t see much of eachother in the future.” It’d be best that way.

The Archon turned to him, green eyes seeing right through him even with Paimon’s childish distractions right beside her. “‘A name is life’s first gift,’” she stated. “You didn’t say it out loud, but I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

…More or less. He only managed to utter a quiet growl, too many thoughts to adequately express churning in his mind.

The gift he’d been denied the first time. The gift he’d scrambled to obtain – identity, plain and simple. But the best he’d ever gotten was Kunikuzushi, that self-made mockery, never intended for himself but rather against his creator. Everything else had been hollow titles that merely described, and might just as easily be transferred to anyone else.

He glared at the little Archon. She was on thin ice. If she proposed giving him such a gift, here, now, after orchestrating everything that’d landed him where he was now, even as who he was now…

“The Traveler and Paimon have helped you a lot,” she then smiled, as though reading his mind yet again. “If you can’t decide on a new name, maybe you can ask them for ideas.”

The Traveler turned to her. “Huh? You want us to decide?”

“Nope, Paimon only does nicknames!” the fairy immediately declined. “If it’s a serious name you’re after… it’s all yours!”

…The Traveler, huh.

This pesky golden presence, collapsing at his feet at the merest shove, yet also having brought him to his knees more than once. Neither god nor human, just like him.

He’d come after him to save him from that hollow fate after he’d erased himself. No one else would’ve done that. Not even Lesser Lord Kusanali – she’d merely sent the unknowing Traveler. The misguided saviour’s heroism had extended to him without a second thought, just as unaware of the Archon’s grand plan as he had been.

…Let’s see what the Traveler would come up with, then. Why not. He could always laugh it off.

He folded his arms, leveling his gaze with the outlander’s. “Have you got anything?”

The Traveler blinked, lightly biting his lip, giving him a very strange look indeed. Almost pained, as though burdened with something very heavy, moreso than during their entire journey together.

…He was actually taking this seriously.

The puppet faltered as he deciphered that unmistakable look. What…

…Oh, this was hilarious. He doubted even most human parents would look that troubled when picking out names for their children. And he wasn’t even tied to the Traveler anywhere near as closely!

The outlander turned away for a moment, pacing, a hand on his chin, looking this way and that, straight up in intense contemplation, no doubt revisiting many memories of his bygone travels. Was he thinking of Inazuma? Was he thinking back to the other worlds he’d visited, beyond Teyvat’s false stars?

This was getting ridiculous. He shouldn’t be worth this much effort, not to a former enemy – even still a current one in some ways.

The outlander came back, jaw set, eyes filled with certainty. Despite himself, the puppet held that golden gaze, curious, filled with some strange anticipation.

“Kintsugi.”

He jolted, stunned with a mixture of emotions – not all of them positive.

Kintsugi. Really? That’s what the Traveler had chosen to go with?

…He supposed now that he’d stopped wishing he’d never been born at all, he could start wishing the Traveler had never come to Teyvat, seen any of the sights, or retained some of them so infuriatingly well.

“Are you sure?” was all he heard himself say, instead.

“Yes,” the outlander nodded. “I think this will do. It means…”

“I know what it means,” he hissed back.

Broken pottery, mended with gold, according to that Inazuman artform. Of course. It made sense. The Traveler still hated his guts, then. The audacity – ! A broken thing, mended with gold, of all things! The arrogance!

…But, indeed, it would do. It was only right. The Traveler had every reason for this, and he would take it as it was – the first punishment, the beginning of his atonement. A name to aptly remind him of his past transgressions every day, as well as the one who’d pulled him back together to make up for them in this new life. A reminder of just how broken he was underneath what the Traveler had done for him, just how broken he always would be. “…Alright, if you say so.”

“There,” Kusanali smiled. “Now you have a name of your own.”

He did. For the first time, someone had seen fit to bestow this gift upon him. He supposed that was something worth lingering on, worth examining for a while.

He glanced at Paimon. “What about a nickname? Are you done yet?” Maybe he could gather one more… some part of him welcomed that notion. Some part of him was carefully cradling the name despite his bristling outrage, hiding it away deep within himself, protective and possessive and greedy.

Even if it’d been an unequivocally nasty gesture from the outlander.

Hah. He really would take anything, wouldn’t he? What a pathetic display.

“Uh, uhhh… still thinking!” Paimon flapped at him after a beat. “Stop rushing me!”

Something to look forward to, then. “Take your time,” he spoke with a small smirk. “I don’t need to see you again until you’ve thought of one.”

“What do you plan to do next?” the Traveler asked, having the audacity to look a little concerned.

Now there was something he was clear on, right through the fog of everything that’d changed and rearranged his entire life. There was something he had the answer to. “Everyone who manipulated me and made me suffer will have to pay the price,” he told them flat-out. Settling scores and balancing books went both ways.

“You mean, the Fatui?” Paimon asked.

Oh, he’d enjoy their terror and confusion when using his insider knowledge while they didn’t even know he existed, but… seeking out every last grunt would be a waste of even his infinite time. First, he’d set his sights on one individual in particular. “The Doctor, at least.” It wouldn’t be easy. It’d take time. But his vengeance would arrive all the same.

As Kusanali looked up to him, he half expected her to berate him for this single-minded urge, but she did not. “Now that your stance has changed, I believe your future path will change accordingly,” she stated. “You still need some time to compose yourself.”

…Right. Maybe she was berating him after all, trying to shift his course in the gentlest, most underhanded way possible. Rationally, he knew she was right. He could barely think straight; other than his murderous impulses towards the Doctor, barely anything was clear.

No matter how much time he took for himself, though, those impulses would not change. He knew that much. The Doctor would die, slow and by his hand, knowing why.

He sighed, seeing no merit in arguing. “One more thing,” he stated. “There are still some descendants of the Raiden Gokaden living in Inazuma. Some of them know… well, they ought to know about the connection between the Raiden Gokaden and myself.” Retribution went both ways. He’d make the Doctor pay, but he’d pay for his own transgressions himself, too. Misguided and manipulated or not, he’d still killed the bladesmiths.

…But he would first take Kusanali’s advice and take some time to calm himself. In this state, he’d be no use to anyone, let alone himself. “I don’t plan to leave Sumeru for the time being,” he continued, turning to the Traveler. “If you see them in Inazuma, please tell them that I was the one responsible for the Raiden Gokaden’s downfall.” He tightly folded his arms, looking down, briefly shielding his eyes with his hat. “…Even though the events have been erased from the world, they still deserve to know the truth.”

“I see…” The Archon had the audacity to sound slightly regretful, as if she cared. “That is up to you.”

“Huh?” Paimon protested a beat later. “But if we do that, then…”

Couldn’t she comprehend the salvation of such bookends? He wanted to live, yes… but if that life only served to carry him to the right kind of death, repaying everything, then that would be worth it, too. “It’s fine,” he shook his head. “Let them stab their blades into my chest if they so desire. …Maybe that’s how it always should’ve been.” If Katsuragi had passed him by in the pavilion… if he’d been there to shield Niwa from the Doctor’s blade… if he’d died in the furnace, or the burning cottage. Maybe he could reach such a resolution yet.

The Traveler had that troubled look on his face again, posture uncomfortable, not saying a word. Kintsugi chuckled. “What’s that look for? Don’t make that face, I know what I’m doing.” He leveled his gaze at the outlander, willing him to understand, to not be an idiot about this at least. “That day will come.”

Still nothing. He briefly closed his eyes, smiling crookedly. “Alright, we’re done here.” He turned, walking away across the atrium’s bridge, long overdue for some fresh air to clear his head. “Goodbye, wise deity, and you two.”

They could stick it out without him for however long he’d decide he needed.

He. Kintsugi.

Really? He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t really bring himself to think about it too much. He’d have to take it slow, just like everything else he’d realized in the span of the last day or two… mangled through time as they were in his perception.

Kintsugi.

He finally had a given name to tack that Raiden onto.

…No. No, not that. Never that.

He’d much rather bear the family name of his actual family. The one who’d guided him back after all, even if he’d been centuries behind in listening to his words.

He’d never tell a soul – and even Lesser Lord Kusanali would really have to try in order to pry it out of his mind – but as he walked away towards the Sanctuary doors, privately, he dubbed himself Niwa Kintsugi.

The last, the only Niwa. He’d keep that name alive with him for the rest of his immortal lifetime. He’d carry it, together with everything the Traveler had wanted to bestow upon him. He knew he had no right, but until he could ask that right of Niwa’s Kaedehara descendant, he would carry it anyway – just one more little transgression for the road. And when he met that descendant, his immortal lifetime might just find its rightful end, regardless.

He might be a little delirious with it all. It was getting difficult to keep up his dignified walk, when his body would really rather stumble and hold on to things at this point.

He stepped out through the great doors, letting the outside world overwhelm him all over again, beginning to make room for all the myriad things he had to process.

Not long after Kintsugi had left – Kintsugi! how wonderful! – the Traveler and Paimon left Nahida’s side as well, off to some long-overdue food and rest.

She was once again alone, yet she was buzzing with joy – as well as overwhelming relief.

He’d done it. Even with all the cards stacked against him, without and within, he’d overcome the obstacles of his previous life, and himself. At least today. It would be a daily battle, of course, she knew this just as well – but he was off to a very promising start indeed!

No thanks to her. She’d tossed him into it without warning. She’d seen the way he’d looked at her – cold, wary. None of that budding, amused trust that’d started to bloom before she’d knowingly dealt it this grave blow.

She hoped they had a few more good conversations ahead of them. She had much to answer for – but she would. She was reasonably sure he’d respect that, at least.

She’d glimpsed the Traveler’s reasoning for Kintsugi’s new name in his mind. She hadn’t been able to help herself. It’d set her whole psyche humming with delight – she wasn’t the only one to see how lovely he was!

After everything I’ve seen today, everything I’ve seen him do and take in stride… after seeing his entire story… we have a long road ahead before I can really say I like him, but… he inspires me. He’s beautiful. All the ways he’s been shattered do define him, but he’s turned it into light, making himself shine.

With everything he’s been through, everything he’s overcome to be alive today… he’s stronger and more beautiful for having been broken, and I wouldn’t want him to be otherwise.

Yes. She’d be humming with the beauty of those thoughts for a while. She’d do her best to convey them to Kintsugi in time, in ways he’d be willing to hear and internalize.

The Traveler’s second choice was almost as lovely. That flower from Vanarana that only grows where there’s hope and stories and song, appearing as though from nothing… no seeds, only the memories of the earth. ‘Viparyas’.

…But that name would’ve fit the version of him without his memories more. Now… that pure puppet is still there, I still see him within who he is now… and I see he’s always been in there, now I know what to look for, under those golden cracks and sharp edges.

Yes. ‘Kintsugi’ will do.

The Traveler had been bittersweetly amused by the puppet’s disgusted reaction, on the inside where only she could see. I get it. But I have nothing to do with that gold, and I wouldn’t want to. It was all him, in the end. It could only ever have been him, and his fate can only ever be in his own hands now. I know he won’t let me explain, but I still hope he’ll understand my full meaning one day.

Yes. If names inspired one’s fate at all… Kintsugi’s future looked bright indeed, even if he still had to cut through some fog to see it.

She’d wait for him. She had time.

They both had their whole lives ahead of them.

Chapter Text

Sumeran sunsets were truly glorious, especially from all the way in the canopy of the Divine Tree itself. The red-golden light and the endless views from the Sanctuary of Surasthana were enough to inspire anyone into waxing poetic, or at the very least, sweeping prose.

“On the night when that prized blade, the Daitatara Nagamasa, was forged, the people rejoiced, and there was painting, dancing, and drinking!”

Sawada, the Inazuman writer that’d come to Sumeru for inspiration and collaboration with the Akademiya, theatrically faced the forge-fire sunset, the closing passages of his book coming to him as he spoke. Aqaba, his Vahumana collaborator, beheld him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. It was all so highly dramatized, which such little basis in actual research…

“…All these expressions of joy melted down in the furnace fire and turned into red clouds that rallied around the final sunrise that Mikoshi Nagamasa saw in his lifetime!” the writer triumphantly carried on, gesturing into the tropical evening air. Neither he nor his companion noticed the new figure appearing behind them, having emerged from the Sanctuary a moment earlier. He walked past them, but paused for just a moment, listening in.

“Life is a story too long to be told, a journey that you must walk to behold,” the writer sagely finished, nodding to himself in satisfaction. The scholar by his side fondly shook his head, preparing some constructive criticism.

The stranger didn’t stick around for it. He let out a quiet scoff to himself, and walked on.

He’d have to correct that writer’s notions sometime, but he currently couldn’t bring himself to exchange another word with another person for a good long while. He needed some time to himself, much as it annoyed him to have to prove the God of Wisdom right.

He’d blown his chances to outdo her, after all. It remained to be seen whether or not what he’d gotten instead was worth it.

…He had so much to think about, it made his head spin.

Chapter Text