Chapter Text
Harsh coughs and choked gags wrack through the bitter air, shattering the serene sense of a still winter as though thick icicles fall from great heights towards cold stone.
A wet splatter followed by the clinking of glass like champagne flutes tapped in refined toast joins the forceful ruckus.
Gold rolls over the ground, drenched yet still radiant; transparent liquid drips off its orbed curvature to add to the droplets on the ground of grey rock, frigid to the touch. A white-gloved hand takes the gilded ball between dexterous fingers, uncaring about its filthiness wetting the pristine material. Another pair of hands in white gloves as well edge into his vision, offering him a moist towel.
His stomach lurches one last time, gagging into the crook of his arm that he raises hastily as tears dot his eyes once more. They spill over his cheeks, ticklishly sliding down with the sweat trickling from his temples. Despite the lack of necessity that is the act of breathing to him, his body is forcing him into labored heaving, compelling chill air into his vessel over and over again to cool his internal systems while huffing out the burnt warmth that it converts into.
The cold, damp towel is pressed into his heated cheek caringly and carefully, patting away the mixture of human-simulated liquids lingering dirtily on his skin, cooling him from the outside as though tending to a fever.
The last of the tremors shakes through him; final shudders tremble his shoulders. Albeit his breath is still quickened, his body, at last, settles into an exhausted calm now that Lumine’s memory fragment isn’t making his system go haywire and corrupting its computations. Wanderer slumps forward tiredly, on the ground and barely able to keep himself sitting upright, back curled like a shrimp.
Weakly yet gratefully, he gingerly grabs the towel from Manekina’s hands and takes over the hygienic care. Wiping the drool from the corner of his lips, Wanderer’s eyes flick upwards to her twin, who has risen to a standing position above them, almost boredly regarding the gold orb held in between his fingers through the monocle he wears today.
“Shall we take over the collecting from here, Wanderer?” Manekin asks gravely, purple gaze unwavering as he turns his attention to him. Manekin’s fingers release the memory fragment, letting it fall as elegantly into his palm as the black attire fitting for a proper butler might wear. A magical black hole appears upon the surface of the white glove, consuming the gold orb into Manekin’s system.
Briefly, the male terminal’s eyes flicker between the purple lenses he has put in and a unique electronic flash of blue only computers might emit as data is successfully downloaded.
Wanderer swallows the rest of the pooled saliva on his tongue, clearing his throat. Even so, his voice still comes out thin and hoarse. “No. Absolutely—” He coughs dryly. “—not.”
Now both terminals react, Manekin and Manekina tilting their heads with complicated expressions twisting both their pretty features. As though they cannot, even a little bit, comprehend the reasoning for his answer; as though they do not understand the human obstinacy within his reply.
Isn’t it obvious that Wanderer doesn’t want them to get hurt? To get destroyed by touching the Abyss?
Forget Lumine never forgiving him, he would never forgive himself.
Don’t they care if they’re ruined beyond salvation? They’re not emotionless automatons—
Never mind. Growing pains. They’ll learn in time; he will safeguard their journey so it isn’t as disastrously bumpy as his own.
Well, he’s also a hypocrite, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want better for them.
Manekina composes herself first, smoothing out the skirt and apron of her black maid’s dress as she rises on her knees. With hands brushing aside Wanderer’s bangs, she plasters a special fever patch onto his forehead – something Albedo whipped up quickly and efficiently in the lab when Wanderer was brought in, overheating and on the verge of a malfunctioning shutdown.
The cool sensation spreads like mint on the tongue. Wanderer involuntarily sighs in relief. Unlike the ones for humans, there seems to be a sort of chemical reaction on the sticky, medicinal side that soothes the electrical currents still sparking chaotically in his wiring.
Speaking of his impromptu taxi ride to the lab on Dragonspine, a quiet knock on the temporary privacy screen set up in the back echoes. Black horns peek out from around the edge first before eyes, the hue of a gorgeous, artificial gemstone, follows them. Concern and anxiety mar their beauty. “Hat Guy?”
“Durin,” He greets, voice croaky from the tortured rawness in his throat. Wanderer closes his eyes, reveling in the sensation of the patch. Just a little longer… Let him rest pathetically on the ground for just a little longer. Surely, his friend won’t mock him for it. “What’s the matter?”
Taking his words as a go-ahead, Durin steps around the barrier and hurries to his side, dropping to his knees in front of him. “What do you mean what’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Manekina shuffles back, stepping away to give them space. She takes the medical kit and excess garbage with her.
Wanderer peeks a single eye open, studying Durin’s visage. A flush from exertion is painting the little dragon’s cheeks like pinkened peach fuzz. He opens both eyelids now. “Give me your hands.”
Durin blinks in surprise at the unexpected request. “What?”
Wanderer grabs one anyway with Durin’s fumbling inaction. He doesn’t receive a protest, flipping the white-gloved hand back and forth and finding nothing too amiss other than a little scuff on the fabric. “Did you get burned picking me up?”
“No, I’m fine...” Durin trails off softly. “You’re changing the subject.”
Wanderer tugs the glove off, revealing smooth flesh beneath. “I’m not.”
If he didn’t hurt Durin, he’s doing much better.
“You are,” His friend insists. Durin’s eyes dart to the side. Although the screen is in the way, Durin is looking beyond the barrier, beyond the entrance of the cave, and even beyond the cliffside where large bones lie in the still snow. “Besides, my body is—his…”
“My systems have calmed,” Wanderer finally answers. Despite Durin’s words, he takes the boy’s other hand and inspects it like he did its twin. As undamaged as the first. “Just a little tired. My body will settle back to normal in a minute.”
Durin breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good. You had me really worried, you know?” He pauses to look over his shoulder. “Where’s Albedo, by the way?”
“Mr. Albedo has gone to gather more specific mint samples,” Manekin, who has been quietly tidying the lab with Manekina now that tending to Wanderer as an emergency patient on the brink of death is unneeded, informs coolly. “He states that there are a few bundles he has come across during his time here that he hypothesizes will better benefit Wanderer in the future, should this happen again.”
“Anything you need, please feel free to ask us in his stead,” Manekina adds. Taking the privacy screen in hand, she folds it up and sets it out of the way to the side. “Those are the instructions we have been left with, as well as guarding the entrance. Almost nothing you request will be too absurd, unless Wanderer wishes to put a stop to it.”
The words I’m fine are on the tip of Wanderer’s tongue, but he swallows them down. Pushing himself off the ground, Durin hovering closely and latching onto his arm in case his knees buckle, Wanderer comes to a stand. “Thanks for the help.”
“Certainly,” The terminals reply as a matter of course. “It’s our pleasure.”
Wanderer peeks at Durin. Clearing his throat, he looks away. “You too. Thank you.”
For a moment, the childlike happiness at receiving positive affirmation crosses Durin’s face. Unfortunately, soon after, it melts away and is replaced by mature sobriety. “You’re welcome; I would never leave you like that, anyway.” Durin exhales slowly. “You scared me.”
“Indeed. You scared all of us.”
Simultaneously, everyone turns their attention to the open entrance.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Albedo strolls in, a bundle of special mint in hand and not even a stray snowflake in his hair. “Is that one helping? I’ve tested it on myself, but I can adjust the formula if needed for your body.”
Wanderer puts a hand to his forehead, picking at the edge to begin peeling off the fever patch. “Yeah, a lot.”
He tears it off – already regretting doing so – and tosses it into the trash, his fingers doing their best to unstick it from his skin.
Albedo nods, making his way to his lab bench. Already, he is getting to work, still speaking with them while his eyes are trained on his toiling hands laying down the mint carefully. “Shall we review what has occurred in chronological sequence so everyone is on the same page?”
Manekin strides to Albedo’s side, clipboard in hand. Albedo takes it now, teal eyes flicking to the privacy screen set off to the side before his pen crosses out the picture he had drawn earlier.
The object disappears – coldly destroyed by its creator and no longer being. Chairs soon replace its existence. Manekina drags them over for them to use.
Durin looks to Wanderer. “Do you want to start, or should I? I’m not really sure what happened first.”
“I’ll start. Regardless of which was really first, I should tell you what I observed down there before finding the memory fragment.” Wanderer shrugs. He thanks Manekina with a quiet nod, accepting the seat she places next to him, her curly pigtails swaying with her movements. “In the Abyss, I came across monsters fleeing. All but one ignored me entirely, but let’s consider that one an outlier for now. An agent of the Abyss Order.
“Going in the direction they came from, I found another bubble space that Lumine’s memory fragment likely had a hand in altering into the black void hiding gold stars behind the veil. The same kind of space as the one behind the torn rift at Stormterror’s Lair.”
“Fleeing?” Albedo seeks to clarify, flipping a new page on his clipboard.
“In a way,” Wanderer hums thoughtfully. He crosses his arms across his chest. “The monsters in the dark realm act either as though their instincts are sharper, or that the world isn’t muffling them to fit into the laws of the human realm. We all know of Lumine’s ability to purify abyssal corruption. Or maybe she takes it for herself and consumes it. That’s neither here nor there for now, but the monsters knew going near that memory fragment would mean certain death.”
Albedo writes it down. “The abyssal monsters that have risen or been born into Teyvat don’t feel this visceral fear you’ve observed, is what you’re saying.”
Manekin and Manekina finish their work, coming to stand side by side next to their discussion.
“So, her memory fragments are purifying spaces in the Abyss?” Durin asks. “As for me, rather than entirely purifying, I felt a weak wave of abyssal energy sweep through the skies when I was flying around. It didn’t linger long, like a bad smell that gets carried away by the wind. That’s why I went towards the source in the first place, and then a small rift opened right in front of me. Like the others, nothing came out. Well, except Hat Guy, who was burning up and in a lot of pain.”
“Care to tell us why you were in such a state?” Albedo suggests pressingly, looking up from his clipboard and fixing his gaze on Wanderer.
“Lumine’s memory fragment was deteriorating.” Wanderer crosses his legs to match his arms, leaning his weight into the backrest. “And as we agreed, I said I would collect them, act as transportation, and bring them back. I ate it to store it in my body.”
Durin’s forehead dips in a furrow. “Ate? Where… Where is it now?”
Wanderer lifts a hand, expression falling into indifference, and sticks out a thumb to point over his shoulder. “I threw it up just now.”
Even Albedo is raising a brow. “You’re saying Lumine’s memory fragment is poison to you?”
Placing his arm back with the other across his chest, Wander looks away, turning his cheek to them. “I knew a long time ago we were never compatible.”
“Oh, archons—” Durin is suddenly gasping, face morphing into something horrified. “I didn’t step on it just now, did I?”
“Worry not, Mr. Durin,” Manekin speaks up. “It is safely in my possession. When we return to Miliastra Wonderland, I will store it within the save data.”
Albedo respires away the emotions drudging just beneath the surface of his skin. “A data-center-like being who can enter the Abyss but cannot save the information safely, and one who cannot enter but can. What a dilemma we’ve hit.”
“Even if I can only do one at a time and it takes eternity, it doesn’t matter to me,” Wanderer interjects. “I’ll do it.”
Durin reaches out. “But—”
“I’ve experienced what it does to my body now. I can hold it off better the next time,” Wanderer cuts in once more, serious and grave. “It took me a long time to find the one, in any case. There aren’t that many. At least, not clustered together.”
He wonders about that, though.
But he’ll do this forever if he needs to. Obsess over it until it kills him; just like this love does.
Albedo clears his throat pointedly. “Let us bring the discussion back on track. There’s no reason for us to debate the roles we’ve already consented to. Durin, you said after seeing the rift open before you, Hat Guy came barreling out of it?”
Although Durin purses his lips unhappily, he does answer properly. “Right. I thought it might be Hat Guy opening it as a plea for help or something similar, so I called out his name into it.”
“Did you, Hat Guy? Open it.”
Wanderer shakes his head negatively. “No. I looked up when I heard Durin’s voice and saw the door ajar. It wasn’t me who blew a hole in it.”
Albedo brings his fist to his chin in thought. “Do we theorize that Lumine’s memory fragment is strong enough to purify, or eat at, the barrier between realms? Or would it be safer to say there is another force altogether mixed up in this matter?”
“Wait, but if the former is true, what happened to the memory fragments that opened the rifts before? The ones that have already closed,” Durin inquires with concern.
Wanderer clenches his jaw.
“If Hat Guy did not encounter them, and with the knowledge that the one that was found was already deteriorating, I’m afraid we can only theorize that they’ve disintegrated entirely,” Albedo replies, ribbons of regret wrapping around his voice to make the harsh truth seem prettier than it is.
“That…” Durin slides his gaze to the ground, his bottom lip getting bitten by a sharp fang. “That’s not fair…”
Albedo begins drawing on the page attached to his clipboard. “If Lumine is somehow a willing participant of this game, perhaps the ones lost are the memories she has chosen specifically to be given up?”
“No,” Wanderer interjects, certain and confident. “The two I found had nothing in common, but they’re precious. Lumine cherishes every memory, good or bad. I know that better than anyone.”
“You do?” Albedo glances at him.
Wanderer swallows down his real thoughts. Keeps them safe and where they’re meant to be. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
Durin fidgets in his seat. “Then do we think it was an accident and the memory fragments are scattered throughout the underbelly of the entire cosmos? They could be anywhere.”
“Then I just have to work faster,” Wanderer declares, his sharp tone leaving no room for argument.
“I suggest sticking to the plan. Even while other variables change, and we obtain more questions than answers, we can still control our actions in this ever-changing environment. To conclude our recap, after that point, I’m sure we all know what happened, since we were together,” Albedo continues after a breath. “Durin brought you, Hat Guy, here for help and then left to inform Jean of the new rift.”
Durin nods his head up and down. “She sent knights to cordon off the area and keep an eye on it.”
“Where did you say it was?”
“The edge of Cape Oath,” Durin replies. “It’s still spreading in the direction Dvalin said it was going.”
Wanderer bounces his gaze lazily between the two brothers as they deliberate this experiment of theirs. Rather, of Albedo’s. To treat it like field research is one thing, but Albedo is a little too invested in seeing what makes the Abyss tick—and even how all of this is affecting him, Wanderer. Maybe all the better, in the end, even so.
He should write to Nahida.
In his absentminded—tired—listening, his eyes eventually fall upon Manekin and Manekina, both as quiet as a mouse. He wonders what they think of all of this. Both of their masters have gone and disappeared.
Albedo and Durin turn to look at him simultaneously, expectant eyes staring.
Wanderer sits up a little straighter, preparing a vague answer. “Best bet is to keep going as we are. I have nothing else to add and have no complaints.” He looks to the terminals again. “Do you two have anything you want to say?”
Although Manekina begins shaking her head negatively, for once, they are out of sync.
Manekin parts his lips minutely before closing them again; an argument with himself inside his head is visible on his face. This time, free will comes out victorious. “Are you certain, Wanderer, that you do not want us to take over collection in full? Master Lumine would be displeased to know you’ve—risked yourself so.”
“And have you two do the same but irreparably? No, I do not,” Wanderer replies firmly. “Get it out of your head. I’m fine.”
“But we—” Manekin cuts himself short, swallowing back the words. A strange light passes across his purple-hued gaze. “Understood, Wanderer.”
Wanderer’s brows dip in thought.
Do they have commands that can overtake their autonomy, too?
The message they’ve relayed to him floats across his thoughts once more.
Don’t follow.
“We’re leaving already?”
“Sorry for making you come along on such short notice. You can go back if you want; you deserve a vacation. I know we’ve been running around a lot lately.”
“No way! Paimon’s your number one travel partner! She’s not leaving you alone. And if we’re taking a vacation, we’re taking one together!”
A melodic giggle echoes free, gentle, and as warm as the pure breeze tinged in bright dandelion seeds. “Oh? How very kind of you, Paimon~”
The small girl floats by midair, hands balling up into fists against her hips as she lifts her chin proudly. “Of course! You’re Paimon’s bestest friend, and Paimon is yours.”
A grin curves the corner of her lips. “And where does my best friend wish to vacation after this, hm?”
“Oh! Oh!” Paimon exclaims excitedly, drawing her fisted hands up to her chest and wriggling her legs as though she’s hopping on the ground on one foot at a time. “Let’s have another food tour in Liyue! Like when we were tour guides for Zibai. We can start with Li cuisine, then go to Yue cuisine, and then finish it off at Wanmin! Besides, Manekin and Manekina haven’t had a chance to try the local delicacies yet.”
She snorts. “Excuses, excuses.”
“Is not!” Paimon is pouting again, brows furrowing halfheartedly before she simmers down, letting the silence overtake them.
Gravel is crushed beneath her feet as she treads the incline, ruins upon ruins lining the path she takes on either side. A civilization once thriving and grand, toppled over only to be left to erode in the winds. Pillars, protective walls, gateways; all of it gone with time. Although the grass that has taken over is as healthy and green as can be, its home used to be someone else’s, whose ashes have cultivated the land to shape.
Long-forgotten symbols carved into the stone stare at her beseechingly, hiding amongst the broken and the ruin—hoping to be found, hoping be acknowledged.
Wind brings the seeds of tales, time allows them to take root.
Her shoes clack against the broken stairs, ankles threatening to roll with every jagged platform if not for her willful balance and steady strength.
Even the sacred sundial she passes has similar words to say—hoping someone remembers.
Seeds of stories, brought by the wind and cultivated by time.
For whatever reason, as she continues onwards, hilichurls stand guard on either side along this main path she takes, just like she’s sure ghosts of distant pasts once did. Perhaps these hilichurls here now were the ones to call this place home and have merely returned to it. Guards protecting the way to the sacred area ahead.
Unfortunately for them, for the past, whatever that may entail, they’re easily dispatched of, her sword barely retaining even a lick of blood on its sheen.
“You know,” Paimon begins quietly, coming out of hiding once the enemies are dealt with and returning to her side. “Paimon thought we were going to wait until Manekin and Manekina recharged their battery back at home before setting off again. What’s got you so antsy to come out here?”
“Hm…” She hums in reply, unsure of how to truly explain herself. “Just a bad feeling, I guess.”
Taking the last step available, she quietly stands and observes the ruins of an ancient amphitheater. A place that was once used as an arena where slaves were forced to fight in the name of entertainment for haughty aristocrats. A place that was once a temple of worship towards the Anemo Archon, and even Istaroth.
GN/Hu-24601 makes its rounds, as it always does, the Ruin Guard simply following its set commands and operating system. To protect the crumbling walls and broken tiles.
Paimon hovers just behind her shoulder, little hands gripping at the fabric of her scarf in apprehension. To not alert the patrolling machine, Paimon whispers in her ear. “Did that Tone-Deaf Bard put you up to this?”
“Hm? Venti?”
Paimon nods furiously up and down. “Didn’t you go meet up with him yesterday? You even gave Paimon your wallet to buy some snacks while she waited.”
“Ahh~ Then,” She puts on her best conspiratorial smirk, closing a single eye in a wink and placing a finger to her lips in a hushing motion. “Maybe it was~”
Paimon is pouting again. “You—!”
“Shh. You don’t want to draw the Ruin Guard’s attention, do you?”
Paimon snaps her mouth closed.
Holding in a chuckle, she makes her way the long way around, toeing the edge of the cliff that overlooks the ocean. Cecilias brush against her ankles in greeting.
“Now what are we doing?” Paimon asks, covering her eyes by flattening her hands akin to a visor on her forehead.
She points ahead, towards the island afar; lonely and crying. “Going towards that bad feeling.”
Paimon squints her eyes as though she needs a pair of glasses to see clearly. Yet, when her vision does focus, she’s rearing back in the air and lowering her hands to her mouth to hide the gasp behind.
Because it is shocking.
The heavy black clouds that hang over the Nameless Island.
Traveling the way she always has, she climbs to the highest point near the cliffside and leaps, unfurling her wind glider and taking to the breeze. Although near the end of the long flight, her toes are scraping against the deep ocean currents, she makes it nonetheless.
Paimon gulps audibly at her side, a shiver wracking her little body. “Paimon doesn’t like this… It feels creepy.”
The dark cloud responds to her criticism, flashing a bright and menacing violet as though lightning prepares to tear the heavens asunder and shatter the earth in two.
It might just.
Paimon yelps, quickly fleeing to hide behind her back again.
“The Abyss isn’t playing today, it looks like.” Tentatively, she takes a step forward, and then another.
And another.
“The Abyss?” Paimon inquires in a small voice.
“It feels like the Abyss. Like it’s accumulating here.”
The paved path inclines up towards a carved-out, circular section inlaid with grey stone and surrounded by once-standing pillars of great height.
On the other side, another sundial stares back at her. Watching.
Stories brought on the wind will bloom into legends in due time.
“M-Maybe we should go back and tell someone,” Paimon suggests anxiously. “Paimon knows you’re super strong, but…”
“This looks far from normal,” She finishes the thought for her friend, agreeing with a nod. Even her skin is starting to prickle with goosebumps, ones not related to temperature despite the freezing chill clinging to the air like a former lover gone mad. She steps down, descending the stairs towards the center of the circle. “It’ll just be a second. I promise.”
Paimon makes a worried, grumbly little noise, following hesitantly and sticking close.
She steps into the center.
Only to realize that the air is much too stagnant here to be a place designed for the blessed winds of time.
She is suddenly staring at her own reflection in the dark waters of the rippling Abyss, the fabric of reality tearing before her and splitting wider where there aren’t any seams. Black, shadowy tendrils latch onto her limbs and wrap around her neck like a noose. Tightening. Squeezing. Turning her skin paler and paler.
“Lumine!” Paimon screams. She speeds to her side, tiny hands grabbing her bigger one.
The tendrils fiercely tug like puppet strings, the doll in the making moving along with it obediently.
A doll can’t do anything else.
A bright and pure white light engulfs Lumine’s vision before she is plunged into the Abyss and begins to drown. Not even a scream leaves her squeezed throat; not even the shadows of the abyss can enter through her agape mouth.
Her limbs are tugged outwards, pulled taut.
A distorted and broken voice – much like the ruins of ancient civilizations laid to rest – echoes through the space full of hot malice and cold despair.
“…will…only for…second…r.”
Lumine’s eyes widen. A noise, watery and choked, finally comes free, spewing with it a spurt of golden blood from between her lips.
A tangible shadow juts out of her chest.
“NO!” He screeches harshly enough for his throat to shred and sting.
Lunging forward, the final still image of the memory shatters apart with Wanderer’s weight crashing through in the same way Lumine’s body erupts into nothing but golden particles floating aimlessly through the Abyss while looking for heaven.
He free-falls for a long moment through nothing before frantically desiring to return, soon landing heavily on solid void and disturbing a cloud of gilded glitter. His arm bends and threatens to snap right in half where he lands on it, but Wanderer ignores it. Ignores the pain, ignores the ache in his chest, ignores the way he’s suffocating, and swims back towards the memory fragment lying in ruin by his reckless attempt at changing history.
“No. No, no, no, no, no—!”
He’s panting, thoughts disordered, and limbs hysterically trying to gather the floating pieces as successfully as dandelion pollen coveted by the wind.
“Lumine, no… Please—!” Wanderer’s inhale is sharp in its desolation, cradling the dots of color in his arms as best he can, even as they fly away. “You—couldn’t have…”
He swallows harshly. Squeezes his eyes shut tight.
And seals his heart in a block of ice.
He’s not too late.
“…Let me…” He chokes on nothing. “…Take you home.”
He can still do something.
He can still do something, right?
Will Durin and Albedo have a better answer? A kinder one?
The floating stars come back together at his earnest request, bundling together into a small, gilded orb.
He doesn’t hesitate to swallow it down dry like a pill this time, a piercing headache already coming in and rendering him to his knees.
Fire is licking at his veins, spilling inside his wires like acid. The computational core is already beginning to heat up in rejection.
But he has to go.
He must.
Wanderer stands to his feet, knees knocking together and his head swimming. His vision blurs; despite the complete darkness, everything around him spins. Saliva pools into his mouth, dribbling out the corner.
He’s going to throw up soon.
Wanderer bites his tongue. The difference in pain sensory steadies him for just a moment, the jarring taste of silver sap mixing in to further split his attention in two; a tug-of-war between two applications contending for priority.
Grasping at the Abyss, he wraps anemo around his feet and launches himself directly upwards.
A door has opened. A rift. An exit.
With his arms leading the way, bent over his head to barrel through, the deep shadows are replaced abruptly by bright light – as though dawn and dusk do not exist and only day and night flip the pages. It just makes him sicker.
The Abyss is no longer within reach to pilfer from, and his Vision is still running empty. Passing between realms has him making a crash landing that once more bends his limbs at awkward angles. He’s sturdier than most—can take more abuse than others. For once – no, once more – he is glad.
His elbow pops out of place, his cheek rubbing against the grass until it burns and leaves a green stain. And through it all, he is heaving, gagging, and drooling silver from his injured tongue.
“Hat Guy!!!”
Wanderer barely hears the call of his name, rolling himself onto his knees and vomiting up Lumine’s memory fragment as he is. Soon, a hand is rubbing up and down his back.
A gold orb tumbles into the ruined grass, wet and shining against the sunlight. Wanderer’s fingers uncurl themselves from the dirt where they have dug in, body slowly relaxing in relief.
“Hat Guy…” Durin’s worried whisper reaches Wanderer’s ringing ears.
“I’m—fine.” Wanderer’s voice is wrecked; he can hear how ruined it is himself. He’s still panting as well, which makes it all sound worse than it is.
Durin leans closer, a strange sort of conflict warring in his gaze. “I—There’s—um…”
Wanderer sits up a little straight and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “What—” A cough rips out unceremoniously. “—is it?”
Durin stalls, eyes landing on the golden orb. “Is this Lumine’s memory fragment?”
“Yeah.”
Durin picks up the little object, the dirt it has picked up on its coating of saliva soiling his glove.
Something in the world breaks.
As though the golden orb is merely a hallucination, it flickers briefly in and out of existence—threatens to disappear completely.
“Huh?”
“An unrecorded Descender’s memory can’t survive outside a vessel in Teyvat for long. The Ley Lines aren’t going to give it a home to rest safely in, and the winds will just erode it,” Wanderer realizes in revulsion. He takes a huge, hissing breath. “Durin. Go, please. Fly. Take it to Manekin or Manekina. After… I have news to tell you all when I catch up.”
“Eh—? Uh—okay, but—” The words fall out of Durin’s mouth in quick succession, tongue tripping over itself. “We’re gathering together anyway, so I’ll carry you again.”
Durin grabs Wanderer by the arm and insistently tugs him to stand; not too harshly, but most definitely hurried. Excitedly?
“What do you mean?”
Durin looks conflicted again. “Mm… Don’t go shooting off and hurting yourself, okay?”
“What?”
“Please.” Durin squeezes his arm gently with the one hand still holding on; the other still carefully cradling the memory fragment. “Don’t overexert yourself too hard. But it’s good news, and we should go as fast as possible, though also as safely as possible for your condition. Nothing is going to change if we’re a little slower.”
“Spit it out, Durin.”
“Miss Jean sent word.” Durin looks at Wanderer directly, unblinkingly. “Lumine showed up in the city.”
Huh…?
How?
Did she—
Wanderer’s Vision, only partially recharged, is drained dry again, his feet leaving the ground and the wind whipping through his hair.
“Ah!” Durin gasps. “Hat Guy!? I told you to take it easy!”
The loud flap of wings quickly follows after him.
Durin lets out another surprised and anxious yelp when Wanderer plummets a couple of yards downwards as his Vision depletes entirely. Yet, Wanderer stubbornly keeps going, allowing his Vision to siphon off his own – sparse – energy reserves; like a human giving up a portion of their health, of their life, in exchange. Thankfully, Durin stays right by his side through the flight, giving subtle pushes of wind, thinking Wanderer won’t notice.
They fly over the city walls and descend by the town square, feet landing unevenly on the steps.
“It’s okay, Big Sis Honorary Knight! Big Brother Albedo will know what to do, so you can just hang out with me for now. I promise to keep you safe!”
A melodic giggle echoes free, gentle and as warm as the pure breeze tinged in bright dandelion seeds. The same kind as the one Wanderer heard just minutes ago.
“That’s very sweet of you, little girl. I’ll be in your care then~”
“Big Sis can count on me!” Klee nods excitedly, bouncing on her feet.
Wanderer stands stock still, eyes never drifting from the sunbeams that shine its spotlight onto the dimmed star perched on the edge of the spurting fountain, hands politely on her lap and a strained smile on her lips as she humors the young girl in front of her.
Lumine…
He can’t move his feet, but his gaze doesn’t waver.
There is something—
“Klee,” Durin calls out calmly, walking closer without any issue.
Klee spins around happily, eyes lighting up. “Big Brother Durin!”
Durin holds Lumine’s memory fragment away from his body as Klee attaches herself to his legs in a brief hug. Durin reciprocates with a hand placed on her back. “Are you keeping Lumine company?”
“Yep!” Klee nods eagerly. “Miss Jean said she would be happy to see me, but I’m happy to see her too!”
Durin smiles gently before lifting his gaze to the woman in question. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. I’m glad to see you, but are you alright, Lumine?”
Blonde hair sways to and fro as she tilts her head. “Lu…mine?” She points a finger at herself as she tests the name on her tongue. “Is that me? I’m sorry, I—can’t seem to remember much.”
Klee turns to Durin again. “Do you think Big Brother Albedo can fix her?”
“I—” Durin falters, eyes flitting to the golden orb still in his hand.
Wanderer feels his breath stick inside his sore throat, the chill breeze brushing his bangs across his forehead beneath his hat doing nothing to calm his overstimulated and frayed nerves.
He can’t believe it.
Doesn’t believe it.
There’s—
—And the memory—
“Oh! Traveler, you’re in town today?” Margaret greets amicably as she walks into the town square. “I haven’t seen you come in to play TCG in a while. Want me to get Diona to whip you up a drink?”
“Huh? Oh, me? Ah—TCG? I don’t know if I’d be very good…”
Margaret snorts, unladylike and bold. “Hah! Are you kidding? You wipe the floor with anyone who walks through the door.”
“Are you just hungry?” Sara asks loudly from over at the Good Hunter’s stall. “Come have a seat, I’ll get you a Sticky Honey Roast.”
“Um—”
“Your cheeks are pretty flushed,” Timeaus adds to the whirling conversation, leaving his shadowed space by the alchemy table. “We have a lot of medicines. Do you have any other symptoms?”
“We also have some fresh produce in for you to take home and make yourself some soup,” Blanche interjects next, bringing up a basket of varying vegetables.
“N-No! I-It’s quite all right! Really! I only came here because… um… I think there’s a man here who exchanges common items like carrots and pinecones for money?"
“How about a flower, then? The aroma might help.” Flora, a young girl likely around Klee’s age, skips by Wanderer, brushing against his clothing. “There was a ruckus up here, so I came to see. I appreciate you helping me out with my floral experiments in Dragonspine, so I can’t just leave you empty-handed if you’re feeling sick.”
“I—”
Lumine is overwhelmed.
Wanderer’s brow furrow. He hates seeing her so out of sorts, but there is just something that bothers him, keeping his feet glued to the ground and his lips glued shut.
Eury, who was on her way to have a meal, Marjorie, who stands at her storefront, even Donna, Quinn, and Beatrice curiously peer over, lingering on the steps where they stretch their necks to practice nosiness. He recognizes them all from Durin’s letters – the people who have welcomed him into their home to make his own.
Durin clears his throat. “Everyone, one at a time, okay? Lumine is…”
“A blank slate?” Albedo guesses acutely, arriving with Manekin and Manekina in tow just behind him.
The two terminals stop haltingly at the same edge of the last step Wanderer stands at, an unusual inelegance from them.
“Big Brother Albedo!” Klee calls out thankfully, running over. She reaches up and tugs at her brother’s hand. “Please help! You can, right?”
Perhaps feeling anxious and wanting to flee, Lumine stands from the edge of the fountain. She fidgets. Wanderer keeps his eyes on her.
Until he doesn’t.
A sharp spike of ill intent knifes through the peaceful air.
He flicks his gaze around, finding that only Durin and Albedo have straightened their backs and gone rigid, the others—the humans—none the wiser.
His instincts sound the alarm, blare them loud in his ears even as the town square remains serenely tranquil with the fountain’s steady white noise controlling the ambiance.
Inhuman.
Something distinctly artificial and inhuman has opened its metaphoric floodgates.
Next to him, Manekin and Manekina take simultaneous steps forward, their similarly designed, pure white ceremonial jackets adorned in delicate rose motifs flowing with their graceful motions; their matching shades of hair, just as pale, doing the same. Like award-winning conductors stepping before their esteemed orchestras, they take to the stage, knowing they must lead flawlessly for everyone to become a single success story.
A cold yet refined expression takes over their features, just as fragile and just as beautiful as the rose adorned in their attire.
A step closer. Then another.
Manekina brushes shoulders with Durin, plucking the memory fragment from his palm and engulfing it into her own, much like her counterpart had done with the previous one. Her eyes never stray from staring straight ahead.
Lumine opens her mouth, voice a nervous quivering spilling between pretty pink lips as she speaks. “Do I know you two? I’m sorry, I can’t seem to recall much right now.”
Albedo dares to put his hand on Manekin’s shoulder as he walks past the alchemist, Albedo slightly pushing Klee behind his legs as he does so.
Manekin doesn’t react, continuing forward even as Albedo’s grip digs in and pulls at the jacket.
The terminals both adjust the black gloves on one of their hands each, a sword being brought forth once they’re done. Completely in sync.
Manekina ignores Lumine’s words. The female terminal turns to face the opposite way she had come, using her free hand to grab Lumine’s wrist and pull it taut, grip unyielding. “We do not take kindly,”
Wanderer’s survival instincts restart his body’s systems in a hasty panic, pushing energy consumption to maximum usage.
But it’s too late.
They’ve gotten complacent. Like unable to recognize like.
Couldn’t recognize what they, themselves, have shelved away for humanity—too caught up in the principles they’ve accepted as common sense, and forgetting that those values were instilled upon them like precious gifts and not innate predispositions.
They were too disoriented. Egotistical.
Wanderer, Albedo, Durin—they were too human.
“W-What are you doing?” Lumine gasps, golden eyes wide as she begins to struggle free.
Wanderer moves before he can hesitate this time, reaching out to the side where the young girl who runs a tiny flower stand had brushed past him prior. Roughly, he presses her face into his chest, forcing her eyes closed and putting his hands over her ears – keeping himself between the innocent kid and potent killing intent.
Manekin mimics the action of his direct counterpart on Lumine’s other side; another wrist seized. Two swords, front and back, press to Lumine’s neck. Twin trickles of blood paint the pristine flesh in a vivid rivulet of red. “To those who wear our Master’s face.”
Durin and Albedo switch places in an instant. Durin kneels to the ground and hugs Klee to himself, protecting her within the shadowed embrace of his spread wings and keeping her even closer with his tail.
Albedo, on the other hand, is just a smidge too late.
It’s difficult.
It’s difficult to slice through flesh and, especially, dense bone. Nearly impossible for most weapons and people, in fact.
Yet, even with the awkward angle, even with no swinging momentum to aid the blade, even with the rigid obstacles the swords must pass through—Manekin and Manekina have no trouble pressing their swords clean across, an unnatural calm eclipsing their meager humanity through it all.
Wanderer knew.
He sensed it from the very beginning when they had been introduced; that lingering thread of danger beneath the polite façades the terminals kept. Felt it once more after that and ignored it still—when Jean had been handed the Inteyvat petal with great hesitancy from Manekin. Manekin had been warning—threatening—Jean; was prepared to kill her should she do anything to that precious item given to him by his master.
As the squelch of a slab of flesh cut like a beef steak flopping to the floor resounds stickily and the heavy thunk of a head rolls somewhere behind him, Wanderer can’t help but feel he failed.
He failed them. Manekin and Manekina.
Albedo’s harried dome of geo completes its construction only after dead eyes stare towards the fleeing dandelion seeds on the breeze unblinkingly. Too late. The public has witnessed the cold-blooded execution; the perpetrators front and center.
Someone screams.
And then someone else.
Until all of Mondstadt is wailing to the winds.