#[ so hiiiiii take this *PEWPEWS AT U* ]

[sylvctica]

“...Sylvie.”

Their name, which often rolls off his tongue so naturally, felt heavy—poised hands settling down his tea which he has been taking long, tentative sips from. “May I suggest holding a funeral?”

Silence.

"..."

“For Foras…and you.”

He continued, straight to the point and leaving no room for doubt on what he meant. Sylvie is Foras, and yet in many ways…they’re not.

Not missing the way their eyes flicker with apprehension, fingers twitching in a cold sweat—he reaches to cup his hand over theirs. “...Forgive my forwardness, but this has been weighing on my mind for quite some time. Since the Rite of Parting, I've deeply pondered if I could offer the same to you.” The sincerity in his eyes was nothing short of good intention.

…of course at a glance, the deceased in question is still very much alive—talking and smiling as one does. But for those like the Archon who lived through countless millennia, he knew they were a dead God walking. Very few could recall them as Foras, God of Trees and Forests. Otherwise, little traces of them remained in the world. They bled into the casualties that were forgotten and buried in war. If people mourned and searched for them, they would not know it.

So as a consultant—but most importantly as their partner—there was no one better fit for this task than him. Though it is many years late, he believes every being has a right to be preserved in name and memory. Death by nature is cruel, but nothing is more cruel than a forgotten and silent death.

In addition, it would allow some closure for him as well...a time to properly mourn.

In the tides of war, where grief and vulnerability were not allowed, the weight of their death had not dawned on him until it was far too late. And though it all rests in the past now, feeling Sylvie’s essence slipping between his fingers, their own words assuring him in their time of peril ( oh, they were always so selfless, down to their last breath )…it still felt very much real when he thought back to it.

It wasn't hard to miss the weight behind his voice, though his body language long gave away that something was sitting heavy on his thoughts. Sylvie's smile flickered and faltered for a moment as their focus shifted towards him and their teacup came to a rest upon the table they sat at; it was rare for him to initiate serious conversations without prompt.

Although there was no way to predict what he was to ask—never would they expect him to bring up a funeral.

For them.

Something cold spilled through their limbs, like ice sinking through their stomach and leaving an empty hole behind—and it was the gentle touch to their hand that brought some warmth back to the present, though their 'heart' was beating like a fearfully caged bird.

Their tongue nervously darted out to lick at dry lips, mind lost between racing and having absolutely no coherent thought, as if it were frozen.

They know Zhongli means well, it'd be stupid not to after knowing him for so long … so what was this fear within them? That part of their past—Foras—was long left behind, one they've stopped really associating themselves with since that day they woke up from their death, buried behind what was now 'Sylvie'.

So a funeral is thematically fitting, yes.

So why were they so scared?

Perhaps it was the finality of saying goodbye to 'Foras' that scared them more than holding a funeral for their own death. But they wanted that and have wanted to snip that past for a while, so why did it make them want to cry merely thinking about it?

Why did it feel like it was asking to tear themselves in two?

No easy answer came, just waves and waves of emotions that seemed to tear at the seams of their heart, torn between wanting to release, and wanting to hold 'Foras' closer (even if their eyes are closed).

(You wish to know why? It's because a funeral is a finality. An acknowledgement to let go of the memory of 'Foras' they've quietly carried for two-thousand years, buried between their ribcage. To acknowledge, 'Foras' is dead and forgotten to history.)

(A fear.)

(A fear.)

(A fear.)

But, this is not only about themselves.

They know this is for him as well; Zhongli has not had time to mourn, has not been able to afford to do so, not with Liyue on his shoulders. And as years passed, those opportunities dwindled as the feelings slowly eroded and washed away like rivers over stones, dulling them down into something they can shelve far, far behind.

Memories flicker, of the anguish and hurt on his face as he held their body within a dying dreamscape, of the apologizes spilling out amongst sobs they could never imagine leaving him, shaking his body, of the regrets he's had over so many years. When has he ever had time to mourn? For them? For lost friends and companions? For the people of Liyue who had died for him?

They cannot be selfish and hide in their fear, when this was for him too.

Wide eyes moved from staring a hole into the table, to slowly look towards the other god. Their lips parted, then closed as the words seemed to wither in their throat.

"No it's ... I think it might be worth ... the um ... no, it's a good idea." Their voice was quiet, meek, lacking any of their confidence. "Please be slow with me, I ... I want to, but the idea scares me. Silly as ... I feel silly for being so scared of ... burying myself. I'm scared, but I trust you. I trust you."

They trust him to put Foras to rest; the glory of the God of Trees had long come to an end, and it was long overdue to say goodbye to what is now the past.