Chapter Text
Waking never used to be associated with trouble and displeasure. Over time, though, such a simple and unassuming act has evolved to become a hindrance.
However, it is not the process itself that Xiao is distasteful of, but the hit of clarity that follows after.
During sleep, the mind is kept safe from the harsh winds of reality and personal troubles. Xiao is not as lucky. More often than not, he dreams of the past, reliving moments belonging to a bygone era. Rarely does he conjure the present, less so experience happier instances in time.
The memories he is forced to revisit affect him even in slumber, and it is upon awakening that cruel lucidity amplifies every lingering, negative emotion. Unwarranted reminders become clearer, sharper, more painful to bear in that brief phase of hyperawareness.
Xiao desires none of it, yet he is also loathe to forget.
"They strive towards harnessing the power of the cosmos. Instead, they will bring down eternal eclipse, starless night, and a black morning."
Words from the dreamscape are always quick to grow muffled and muddled, clear audio softening to a low hum. It is one of the few respites offered. Xiao unfurls from where he is nestled among the clouds, soon realising the reason for his disturbance when he senses the presence by the entrance to his home.
It is a familiar one, so Xiao disperses the mists concealing his abode, albeit reluctantly.
Almost immediately, a lithe figure steps into view, periwinkle blue locks half-melded into the boundless sky. Xiao does not - cannot - understand her fondness for living in the mortal realm, let alone taking on their form. Nonetheless, he shifts into one himself - the only other appearance he ever uses when he does use it - if simply out of courtesy.
"Xiao," Ganyu greets politely. Despite having been acquainted with each other for decades, they are by no means close. Xiao does not have anyone he considers a friend, preferring to be left alone, and he knows Ganyu would not actively seek him out unless the matter was bound under 'work.'
Nodding once in acknowledgement, he waits for her to speak.
"Zhongli would like to invite you to attend the upcoming council." Already anticipating Xiao's refusal, Ganyu adds, "It will be the largest meeting to-date, involving a few political figures from the humans' side." Here, she pauses, looking a bit unsure, a rare crack in her usual, meticulous demeanour. "It will also be the first to... to formerly address The Descent."
Hearing this name, Xiao raises a brow in slight surprise.
So mortals have taken to calling it this.
Pursing his lips, he shakes his head, declining, "There is no need. Zhongli and the others are perfectly capable handling it on their own. I will only serve to be a disturbance."
"Every opinion and insight offered will be valuable," Ganyu denies, then hesitates. "It—It may also be a good opportunity to gain some closure."
The true purpose for this invitation, he already knows. It is not the first time Zhongli has attempted something of the like.
Xiao simply replies, "Then I have to apologise for any misconception you and Zhongli may have of me. While I appreciate the intention, it is not needed. I have no desire to witness the proceedings; I do not see the purpose of the council. An apology or compensation of any sort will not bring back what has been lost." Of what use will such a meeting be?
There is truth behind his words. Ganyu is silent for a few, long seconds, seemingly about to persist in trying to persuade him, only to say resignedly, "I understand. I will inform Zhongli of your decision. Should you change your mind, feel free to let either of us know. I apologise if my words have caused you offence."
"It is of no consequence," Xiao says.
Ganyu makes to leave, then adds, "Zhongli would also like to pay you a visit, or you to him."
"...I will make a note."
As her silhouette fades into the distance, Xiao reactivates the sigils, once again obscuring his domain from view, warded against all outsiders. Visits from others have always been short, but Xiao has never been one for social gatherings. The only exception had been back then.
Left alone with his thoughts, he muses.
The proceedings between mortal and dragon... He had heard news of it months prior through whispers carried on the wind. The disaster had taken place nearly 300 years ago, and it is only now that the humans have reached out in hopes of reconciliation. Of course, such an occurrence has its explanations.
When the fallout first happened, the latter race hid out of fear of facing the dragons' wrath, refusing to admit to any wrongdoing. Mere words and pleas could not placate and make up for the demise of so many, after all. Hence, wasn't it better to simply not acknowledge the issue entirely? Their direct descendants knew not of what their parents had done; the truth had been twisted to mask their shameful deeds, reality perverted into a falsehood that made their children as frightened and reluctant to come out into the open.
It was only by the fourth and current generation that their ancestors' past deeds and the actual timeline of events came to light through the discovery of written records: worn diaries with yellowed pages containing hurried, nearly unintelligible scribbles conveying the authors' horror of having angered the heavens, tattered manuals detailing the construction of mediatory objects that would act as conduits for an ambitious ritual...
Be it out of some sort of moral obligation or guilt, there then came a portion of humans that sought to make amends. Although, Xiao has heard of some insisting that they should not be held accountable for what they themselves had not committed, that they should not be blamed for the actions of others.
This discourse is not novel, nor is it limited to mortals alone. Xiao's own kind has differing opinions.
There are some similar to Ganyu and Zhongli, who believe that as the superior species once worshipped as gods, they must thus be of better temperament and character, limited not to holding grudges. Humans are intrinsically foolhardy creatures, prone to carelessness and arrogance. That the incident happened at all was indeed dreadful, but should the people seek to make amendments, it is only right of them to listen. They should not dwell in past, but seek to move forward, using the past as a lesson to learn from. A common goal between races is the cornerstone for future success and harmony.
The others are less forgiving. The cowardly actions of earlier generations had revealed the core of human nature: selfishness and the lack of willingness to be accountable. Said nature is bound to their identity as humans - their descendants would not be any different. To agree to the council would be to let the mortals off too easily, especially when they had not suffered as the dragons had, when they do not truly understand the consequences their folly had wrought. Without any form of penalty, there would remain the risk of mortals enabling another accident.
Xiao is of neither side; his thoughts on the whole matter is... complex.
He has some remaining attachment to his past role as a guardian, a revered manifestation of the wind that once guided primitive beings to safety, shielding them from danger. He had served that role for thousands of years and he is by no means a resentful being - he holds neither disdain nor hatred towards mortals.
Yet, the calamity... It had cost him much.
All of his friends perished in that event, each of them having died under agonising circumstances. Dragons being immortal beasts, they were already so few in number, amounting only in the hundreds.
Bosacius, Menogias, Indarias, Bonanus...
Losing them, let alone the whole population of Celestials... It would be an understatement to call it agonising.
Moreover, it had taken away his—
Xiao lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His gaze dims as he recollects Ganyu's words.
The Descent...
Even if he is not vindictive, it is difficult to stop the small trickling of bitterness.
How typical of them to name what had happened something of this kind; something to distance themselves from, with nothing in the title to reference or acknowledge their role - their mistake - in causing the catastrophe. The catastrophe that came about because of their desire to reach beyond their limited capabilities, to obtain the impossible.
False impartiality. Baseless sincerity.
Such a name feels like a cold mockery, as though making light of how the bodies fell from—
Sighing, Xiao transforms back into the feathered form he is more accustomed to, quietly receding into his chamber of zephyrs.
He is in a more melancholy mood, today. Then again, it is the first time someone has brought the incident up to him since Zhongli's last attempt at comfort when Xiao's wounds were still fresh and bleeding, when he had been near buried in his grief, stifled by pain so intense it had him gasping to breathe.
As per usual, Xiao begins to shift through his memories. He is no stranger to remembering the past - his dreams make sure of that - but he does it on his own accord when awake, as well. Whether it is spurred by emotion or if he is consciously willing to be a glutton for punishment, he does not know. Perhaps, it is a mixture of both.
His kind is a race blessed with longevity, and with longevity comes a sharp mind, an uncanny ability to recall the past with startling clarity, almost like the events had only occurred the previous night. For this, he has never been more grateful and resentful.
Several beats pass as images flicker in one after another, when Xiao suddenly stops.
As he always does at this particular recollection.
Before he is even aware of it himself, he is soon clutching the only memento of him in his claw.
It is the one remaining relic that Xiao has, deemed precious enough to carry on his person to safeguard. Its appearance, texture, every intricate detail... he knows them like the back of his hand. Xiao takes it out more often than he would like to admit, an unspoken yet essential part of his daily routine.
Even now, he grasps it like an anchor.
"You know, we should make one for you, too."
Closure... A word Xiao has heard numerous times over the ages.
He had not lied to Ganyu about not needing closure. He does not deny the cataclysmic event, does not refuse the truth of the death of his friends, of Aether's own passing. It had taken time and was excruciatingly difficult, but he has long since committed himself to surge ahead, to not drown in his sorrow. He knows and lives in the finality of it.
Nevertheless, what does closure really entail? Does it mean to discard all emotion, to rid oneself of every sentiment? Does it dictate the loss of regrets, of wishful thinking, of unspoken desires for life to have gone down a different route?
No longer does Xiao shed tears, but the pain has always been a constant. It used to sear, but now resides in the background, reduced to a light ache. Its presence is less forceful than before, yet by no means has it ever waned. It has become familiar, akin to that of an old friend.
There are days, though, where Xiao's heart clenches and convulses with the same intensity as from 300 years ago. It serves almost as a relief now, an assurance that Xiao has not forgotten, that he has not grown indifferent.
Looking down, seeing the worn earring, Xiao carefully turns it over. He takes in the matted, greying feather, rusted metal clasp, and dull bead.
The biggest regret that persists in haunting Xiao, is him not having been there to witness Aether's final moments. It had been overwhelmingly chaotic - by the time Xiao could even form some semblance of realisation of what had befallen them, the Celestials were no more.
Xiao never knew what befell Aether. He had witnessed one Celestial physically fade into nothingness, and another violently bursting into a flurry of stars. How had Aether gone?
Had Aether felt pain, did he have regrets as Xiao did, could Xiao have somehow saved him - all futile questioning.
It was almost laughable.
Xiao will never know the answers, anyway.
"An earring?" Xiao repeats, visible confusion marring his expression. "What is that?"
"It's a form of accessory that mortals wear on their ears," Aether cheerfully explains. He extends a palm out, showcasing the piece of jewellery. Xiao studies it closely - it is surprising in its quality and design, admittedly pleasing to the eye. He had not expected humans to have such potential in craftsmanship.
Aether grins at him, seemingly having read his thoughts. "Pretty, isn't it? I only had one made."
Xiao frowns, "Will it not look incomplete?"
"Not really," Aether hums. "I hear asymmetry is quite fashionable among them."
Xiao does not say anything to that. Aether likes to be in human form, more so dolling himself up. Even as a dragon, the latter would don conjured trinkets, such as bracelets and shimmering chains weaved from constellations. Xiao himself can't relate as well, feeling much more comfortable with his natural appearance. Walking bipedal, being weighed down onto the earth... he finds it difficult to accustom himself to.
"You know, we should make one for you, too."
Aether's abrupt suggestion has Xiao startled. "Why? I do not partake in such hobbies."
"It'll be a nice experience for you! It can be our version of friendship bracelets."
Xiao wrinkles his nose, "Another strange human invention? Do they limit friendship to the constraints of physical objects?"
"No, silly," Aether's eyes curve into crescents as he laughs in amusement. "They serve as physical tokens representing the bond between two or more beings."
"Of what use will this be?"
"You're too practical for your own good," Aether rolls his eyes. "I just think it will be nice for us to have."
Xiao is about to refuse, seeing no value in such material possessions - why would either of them need a reminder that they are friends? - when he falters at his companion's hopeful look.
Hesitating, he finally sighs. He finds himself to be a lot more lenient and willing when it comes to Aether.
"Alright, but just this once."
"Hehe, don't you say that every time?"
Xiao merely grunts in response.