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Summary
His brother looked the exact same the day he set out to the mission he never returned from, but a far cry from the battered and rigid corpse their father cradled in his arms. He was dead, but looked more alive than the last time Kaeya saw him, resting in a coffin filled to the brim with flowers and his claymore.
“Diluc,” Kaeya croaked, only noticing how rough his own voice sounded to his ears.
Only those who are living are capable of mourning, but perhaps there are some exceptions to that rule.
Series
- Part 5 of diluc-centric shitposts