I think it’s interesting storytelling how in the beginning of the game Cal says the Sixth Sister’s name, Masana Tide, and reminds her of who she used to be—and it visibly distresses her because it hurts what was done to her and Cal isn’t wrong in what he’s saying. The shocking thing for me was the moment when Cal said “It’s time to set you free”. It was such a surreal feeling hearing Cal say that, those kinds of words, to know he decided it was time to strike her down; it’s understandable because she killed his entire crew, but for Cal to be the executioner in that way was scary to see coming after only experiencing the young kid he was in Fallen Order. Now you really get the feeling Cal has been through a lot, he’s grown as a man since Fallen Order and he’s calloused, not entirely in a bad way given he’d have to be to survive but still in a depressing way, as a result. I know overall and gameplay wise, Cal has killed a lot of people, it’s nothing new, but storytelling wise it’s a serious moment for Cal. It’s a moment you know is going to follow him the rest of the game for character development. After he kills her, it’s made clear by the music and by Cal’s body language that this isn’t a good thing coming from him. It isn’t a triumph. Even BD-1 knows and worries for Cal with his little “Boop…?” and Cal is only able to respond rather shakily, “Yeah… I’m okay”.
When he meets up with Bode and Bravo and they ask him what happened to the Inquisitor, he gives a simple, no emotion, “Dead”. The long pause of Bravo not saying anything in response to me says a lot; it feels like he isn’t used to Cal having a reaction like that.
Then we have Rayvis. Cal defeats him in battle and asks him to join in the fight against Dagan. He doesn’t want to kill Rayvis—“You don’t have to do this”. The oddly tragic part to me is that Rayvis has dreams of seeing Tanalorr again. If Dagan succeeds his dream will be realized, but he’s given up on the dream and wants a warrior’s death now. He wants to die, and in his mind, honorably, by Cal’s hands, and he’s going to force Cal to do it. But for Cal it’s another execution on his part. He pauses before he lifts his saber and kills Rayvis. It isn’t a triumph. Again we’re given a sudden swell of music to tell us the emotion behind the action of killing Rayvis. You can see it’s affected Cal badly. BD-1 seems to ask Cal the same question as before, “Boop…?” but this time Cal doesn’t acknowledge the question and just replies, “We should go”.
Killing Dagan hurts for Cal too. Dagan is a Jedi, someone who held onto the Order, who tied his entire identity to it and all of his goals are focused on restoring the Order and fighting to change the universe. Just like Cal in a way. Dagan is single-mindedly focused on the mission, so obsessively, he lost himself and the one he loved as a result. Cal understands and see the parallel of that kind of drive in his own mission against the Empire and it terrifies him. Dagan could’ve helped him fight the Empire but it became another tragic moment of having to kill a once fellow Jedi. This is another tragedy. Bode doesn’t care about Dagan being dead on the floor but Cal does. Cal has enough respect to place Dagan’s lightsaber on his chest. Cal pauses to reflect but Bode immediately gets back to getting the compass.
We have this interesting arch of reactions to killing his opponents. They were each killed for the mission. It was necessary. They each started the fight against him. No matter the reason though, it’s still very painful for Cal.
Cal is being pushed into this direction of forcing him to question his beliefs and who he is. His whole identity at this point has been tied to the Order, of being a Jedi, and it’s very clear by his conversations in Fallen Order that it really matters to who he is. By the end of Survivor, we have three fallen Jedi: Masana Tide, Dagan Gera, and Bode Akuna. So who is Cal Kestis? What will he become? Is he doomed to fall like they did? That’s what troubles him—“Let’s just say I don’t wanna end up like him [Dagan]”.
He’s afraid he’s going to lose himself.
The fear is almost realized when he’s about to kill another opponent. The one behind the murders of his friends and mentors. Cal’s been killing each of his main opponents up to the point at Nova Garon—this one will be no different. Except killing the man who sent Bode on the mission to infiltrate his team is different. Cal is on the edge of losing himself to the Dark Side. In Fallen Order he pleaded for Cere not to use the Dark Side because “She’s stronger than that”, “[she] still had a choice”. But Cal is failing to remember any of that for himself. He wants to kill because he’s angry, grieving, and in immense pain. Merrin has to bring him back—“This is not you!” There’s a question of whether or not Cal would’ve been able to stop himself if Merrin hadn’t been there though.
When we get to the final battle, Merrin is warning Cal of what’s likely going to happen but he ignores her for a while which prompts her to say, “Well? Say something!” He doesn’t want to acknowledge that Merrin is right and they’re likely going to have to kill Bode, and with that, taking Kata’s father away—a loss of family Cal and Merrin know too much about. So they both try and give Bode every chance to stop and turn away from what he’s done, despite how much Bode had hurt them. Sadly, Cal once again is forced into using the Dark Side to prevent Bode from killing Merrin. It was worth it. It was worth using it to save Merrin. He couldn’t let her be killed. He couldn’t see that happen before his eyes like he had with all of his friends and mentors.
After everything is over, there’s this sickly feeling left behind. Not simply because of Bode’s death, but because of the impact on Merrin realizing Kata has lost family just like she and Cal had, but also because of the impact the death of Bode has on Cal. And after Cal carries away Bode’s body, the music changes to an eerie, ominous, high pitch, minor key when we see Cal board the Mantis. The kind of change in music which lets the audience know there’s something seriously wrong. Things are different now. Cal’s different. And he knows it.
He’s lost in time watching the pyre, reflecting on everything that had happened but also on how grateful he is to Cere, but he knows the impact of her loss will continue to be with him for the rest of his life. Just like Jaro Tapal. Another guiding force in his life is gone. With Cere and Cordova gone, there is no longer any Jedi wisdom to seek out. He’s now alone in that way as a Jedi.
“I’m scared… I almost lost myself… I don’t know if I’m ready.”
Cal and the audience are left with the dreadful realization—
“I don’t know if I’m ready for what comes next”.
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i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy
burden to bear
word count: 2.7k
-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.
-> gn reader (you/yours)
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay
< masterlist >
during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.
it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.
unacknowledged.
perhaps he had delivered it wrong?
he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.
he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?
or is it simply the prospect of failure?
xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.
his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.
why else was he there, if he couldn’t?
it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.
he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.
the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.
he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-
he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…
xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.
the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.
the mitachurl’s ear twitched.
he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.
the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.
“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”
xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…
he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.
luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?
“‘adeptus’?”
the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.
his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.
his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.
xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.
not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.
your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.
xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.
many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.
he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.
he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.
the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.
xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..
“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”
confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.
he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.
knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.
what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?
the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.
he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.
weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.
he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.
“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”
and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.
xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.
almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.
he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.
he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?
you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?
(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)
(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)
yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.
even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.
zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.
“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”
how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.
he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.
it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.
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