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kii-nami · 2 months ago

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WHITE COMET'S DESCENT | IL CAPITANO

You never state for what reason you are holding him back, but it is already obvious. The Commander of the Khaenri’ahn army went missing with one swift strike of the starbound ice. You don’t seem to think of people as disposable yet cannot bring yourself to warm the snake’s nest willingly. Thrain shares the sentiment: he has never been a fan of holding his enemies closer than his friends. And despite your peculiar character, this is definitely something Thrain cannot fault you for. Queen [Name] Einherjar is incapable of trusting even herself. He fears that one day it can become your downfall. He accepts the position with no hesitation, yet it does not save either of you from damnation.

CW: 9K WORDS; PART TWO OF TWO; FEM!MC; MADE-UP KHAENRI'AHN LORE; OCS MENTIONED; PART OF A WIDER GENSHIN AU BY ME AND MY FRIEND; INCLUDES A NECESSARY MAVUIKA NERF; IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK, I NEED TO RANT ABOUT HOW THEY BUTCHERED NATLAN

His lady cannot die, as she buried her own mortal flesh under the Sea of Flowers at the End a very long time ago.

It takes five years of your companionship and the watchful eye of the Crimson Moon for Thrain to learn that you do not deem yourself a living being. You have died twice and twice you’ve been reborn as someone else in a corpse of the white comet long faded. And now, the rapidly evaporating ice that makes up your body is all they can ever have.

Not that they will have anything at all for much longer.

You entrusted him with Saga’s life. Ordered to accompany her, Lumine and Alice through the collapsing terrains to the closest gate that can take them up above. Whatever is in the box the witch forced him to carry, Thrain doesn’t know and does not dare ask. Not that he is able to complete his mission, as halfway through their journey Alice, startled by Skirk’s sudden appearance, orders him to immediately return to the palace. In all honesty, Thrain has no right to comply with Red Witch’s demands; your word will always weigh more especially under such circumstances. Yet something in the way their hushed, tense conversation seems to be moved more by the inconspicuous glances than the careful choice of words that makes Thrain stop questioning Alice’s choice.

Lumine departs with him, lips tightly pressed together and strained muscles stonier than usual. They never truly got to know each other, so the silence is a bit overwhelming right until the point Twilight Sword appears, barricading their path. Distraught and somehow guilty, Dainsleif tries offering his side of the story. Lumine unsheathes her sword without much of a word, just throwing a nod towards the desolate, floating island to the west of the royal palace. Then she strikes first.

Whatever happens next Thrain does not know. Those closest to you wish for someone to return to your side no matter what, and if it so happens that they can’t do so anymore, then he will become that person in their stead.

When Thrain arrives at the Einherjar family’s burial grounds, his platoon is already waiting for him. Anxious and horrified, they scurry to let him pass to the entrance of the building. The air of the royal tomb is dry yet heavy, the marble and diamond follow his every step, vacant eyes of the statues watching him pass by. You are nowhere to be found but the dull light flickering at the end of the dimly lit corridor is guiding Thrain in the right direction. He stops at the heavy doors, creaked ajar just enough for a person to barely slip in and slides it fully open.

“Princess Saga has departed safely, along with Lady Alice and the box.” Thrain enters Lady [Name]’s crypt without announcing his presence. You can hear his footsteps, for better or for worse, and he guesses there isn’t much time to abide by etiquette now that the sky is falling.

As if expecting him, you are already facing the entrance with your misty eyes gazing right through him, “I am glad.” You say, hastily turning away. “What about Lumine?”

The Bough which crowns your head looks particularly heavy when you take it off and place it on Lady [Name]’s tomb. No headpiece and no extravagant braids, no diamonds woven into your hair and no flowing silks or sheer tulles clinging to your skin. You look more like a soldier than a royal, yet something in the way your shoulders quiver under the weight of your cape prevents Thrain from forgetting that you are, in fact, a queen. His lady. Now and until the memory of this world fades away.

“The last I’ve seen of her, she deserted…” Thrain cuts himself off, picking and choosing what is better suited to say to you in this moment. Watching your hand trembling on top of the stone of the first princess’ tomb, Thrain is sure that any careless word will surely send you spiraling. “To engage in battle with the former Captain of the Royal Guard, my lady.”

He must have made the right choice for once, and you huff. “Whatever helps her sleep at night.” Unclasping your cape, you throw it mindlessly onto the marble casket and face him once more, this time focusing on Thrain instead of the horrors hiding behind his back. A second of silence. Then another. With unblinking eyes, you unapologetically stare at Thrain as if you were seeing him for the first time in your life. And when you address him at last, there is a foreboding sense of finality laced into your tone, “Commander, I wish to formally dismiss you from your duties. You and your platoon may leave this place for good.”

Thrain expected as much. It is evident in the way you sent all those dear to you away long before the ground started shaking. It’s not even a bit surprising now that everything is done you are trying to push him away as well. And Thrain is a knight first and foremost, he was taught to never question any orders and follow them with no complaints even if it is only death that waits him when it’s all over. Yet here you are, relieving Thrain of his duty so he can preserve his life. A life that is not of equal value to that of a queen. A life that to you is far more precious than that of your own self.

Hands crossed over his chest, Thrain rewrites fate of this world for the worst, “I am afraid I must decline your offer, my lady.”

It is not something Thrain says after weighing all his options, but something that happens on its own, with not much thought yet with all the urgency of the collapsing ground below your feet. Your death would mark the loss of the Plane of Fólkvangr, and with the world as he knew it no longer existing, there is no point in preserving his life if the souls in his restless heart have no place to return to.

“That is not a suggestion, that is an order, Sentinel Knight.” Your voice is firm and icy, leaving no room for arguments. “Abandon Khaenri’ah, there is no hope left here.”

Only it is not an argument, never was and never will be. Thrain is a man of honor before he is a soldier, or a knight, or even something as primitive as a simple human. Abandoning you to fight on your own means abandoning the code of honor. Abandoning his beliefs means abandoning the memories of those whose will Thrain is carrying with him wherever he goes. And you are right, people like you and him are not allowed to forget.

“I am afraid I cannot do that, my lady.” Thrain declines once more, this time more deadpan than the last.

You huff, exasperated, accusatory finger pressed against the metal armor of his chest plate, right where his heart is. “Why, of all times, it is now that you decide to be difficult with me, Thrain?”

“I have never been exceptionally easy for you to deal with, my lady.” It is not the best of ideas to prolong this conversation. The world is quaking, the crimson skies burn with celestial blight, and your game of chess has finally come to its end. You always knew something that others didn’t, and you still hold something up your sleeve even with all your cards spread on the table. And if this something is your third death, then this time around it would be not as lonely as those two that came before. “Nobody should ever die alone.”

“Nobody will die.” You snap, knuckles knocking against the metal with a thud that oddly resembles drums. “You will live to fight another day.”

Your lies, as impressive as they usually are, fall flat this time around. Thrain reaches for your hand; some lines have long been blurred enough for it to seem like the only appropriate thing to do. Even with the leather separating your skin, you are freezing. Colder than you have ever been, as doomed as the time he saw you for the first time: dripping blood and diamonds, with no future ahead of you except the one that spells your death date in the slowly fading stars.

Somewhere on the mainland an explosion convulses the realm just as he lifts the palm of your hand to press a chaste kiss on top of the black leather covering it, “I never thought you for a liar.”

“Then you have never thought of me enough.” A joke, as amusing as it could have been at any other time, is still a lie no matter what. “Please don’t make this harder for me.”

And Thrain is sure he should have thought of you a bit less than he did, it would have been more appropriate that way. It would not have gotten him here, however, so Thrain cannot regret the thoughts that crossed his mind in those long five years of knowing you.

A woman of no shortcomings, you never weep. Yet as you hesitantly lean against his chest, face once again hidden from the world you love more than life itself, Thrain can’t help but wrap his arm around your shoulders carefully. Allowing you a moment of weakness before your final endeavor of resilience may be the only thing he can offer you, but what is that if not his duty?

Your breathing is erratic, you shiver every time you hear another slab of ground collapse into abyss, yet you never shed a tear. You move away from him on your own, only when some warmth seeped into your bones, and the sorrow on your face is so unbounded, Thrain finally understands why you hide yourself so. You’ve finally given up.

“What is our next course of action?” It’s just you, Thrain and the platoon he ordered to stay back to protect you, not trusting a single person from the royal guard after the reveal of Dainsleif’s betrayal. It is nowhere near enough to protect everyone, but neither does he expect to do so. Defeat is inevitable; now it is simply the matter of how you meet your end.

You frown, still clearly apprehensive about his disobedience, yet answer anyway, “I will cleanse as much of abyssal corruption as my body can allow. Then I shall engage the demon gods. So you must leave.”

The desperation in your voice is almost enough to convince him. Were Thrain anyone else, he probably would have abided by your final wish. He isn’t, so he doesn’t. With countless souls in the crevices of his modified heart, he met death face to face more times than he can count. He isn’t afraid of dying once more, this time by your side. Maybe this way you all can reach the Plane of Fólkvangr together.

“Put your trust in me to watch your back.” Thrain wonders if anyone ever told you that you have done well with what you were given. Whether your bloodied efforts and sleepless nights were appreciated. If someone ever reminded you that there is more to life than that tall wall of ice you have built to separate yourself from this world. If so, they did a poor job. If not, then he shall be the first. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Arms limp at your sides, your mismatched eyes still begging him to leave, “What kind of queen would I be, willingly letting her people walk into a decade long plan of treachery instead of shouldering it all by herself?”

You don’t get it, but Thrain can’t truly blame you for it. He too, is used to perceiving his life as duty. For those like you and him, who are strong, it is easier to embrace the burden than let another, weaker person, carry it for you. But he wasn’t born into a lie and neither did he choose to live in it willingly, Thrain knows how to trust his people. You, despite all your efforts, never truly learned how. And that is precisely why you couldn’t see Dainsleif’s true intentions. For you never really trusted him, so you never truly knew him. And he took full advantage of it.

“The one which knew her people stood with her till the very end.” The answer is simple, and even if you think your people despise you now for letting the skies catch fire, Thrain knows it to be false. “A human one.”

“I am a weapon.” You defend your lies with teeth bared and winds raging.

“You are a woman.” Thrain’s truth is as harsh as the cold radiating off your body. “You loved him, and he betrayed you.”

Shaking diamonds of your pupils, you take a guarded step back. You must realize who he is talking about, because your manic laughter forces all the air out of your lungs until tears pool in the corners of your eyes. “Oh, how scandalous.” You muse, a teasing lull to your vowels, “You have learned all about court drama, haven’t you?”

“Only what you taught me.” And you taught him a lot, so Alice has no way to cling to his poor choice of words. Assured Gold can never hold anything against him even with his life being all but in the palm of her brilliant hand. You’ve blinded Vedrfolnir and colored Thrain just the right shade of royal grey for Surtalogi to find him unappealing. You may have dragged him into the life of danger far greater than even that of a demon god, but you have never left him to fend for himself with only the voices of the dead ringing in his ears. That alone is worth a lot more to Thrain than you could ever truly grasp. “I will stay. Whether you want it or not. That’s my duty, not as the Commander but as your trusted friend.”

“I asked you to make things easier for me, not to complicate them even more.” You sigh, heavy and breathless, then you close your eyes. When you gaze at him once more, Thrain knows things will never be the same again. “Those of us who have already escaped will see the sun; those who remained will meet their forever end under the Crimson Moon.” Whatever you decide to do next, it won’t change the outcome of the game you’re playing. Death is unavoidable. Yet as you extend your hand to him, Thrain can’t help but hope. And hope is a thing far too misleading. “Come, my friend, the nation only falls when the last of its people is dead. Khaenri’ah will live in their memories.”

The six eyes follow your every move as you step out of the crypts. Not even once do you spare the Shade of Death a glance. Head held high, you move ahead to your final resting place. And as the ground beneath his feet trembles with god-made quakes, Thrain crosses the line once more.

“What has she done?” A question so innocent in nature, it could tear the veil of sin all over again.

“Complicated things.” The crimson of celestial retribution clings to your body as if it met someone it dearly missed. You welcome it into the Blade of Fólkvangr, the sharpened edge pointed at the skies, “And I am about to exploit that.”

The horizon burns with a peculiar kind of flame Thrain has never seen before. You march there with conviction of someone who has nothing to lose. The transparent crown above your head is shimmering with the glow of a thousand stars. When he notices the protection of your unwavering will is extended to him as well, it is already too late.

It is the last time Thrain thinks of death as a punishment.

La Innamorata masks her true intentions even under the watchful eyes of those most ignorant of the truth.

A lot can change in 500 years, yet nothing can uproot your masterfully disguised sorrows. There is something hopelessly disheartening in the way Thrain, too, learns to hide the truth behind the most mundane of conversations.

Although it is only Thrain and Saga who seem to be exempt from volunteer work, recently you’ve taken a liking to forcing the Harbingers to do some meaningless manual labor.

The old man Alberich is tasked with carving some chess pieces; a pointless thing it seems to be as you never end up satisfied with the finished project. The nameless puppet, rescued from the grasp of the crazed Doctor, is forced to look after the stray cat you took in on a whim one day. Zandik himself, is exiled into his lab with a pile of your journals.

Even now Rosalyne is rearranging the bookshelves in the precise way you instructed her to; she is rightfully confused about your ever-growing collection of fairytales but never dares to complain. Peruere, the unwilling recruit in the place of late Crucabena, is trying to tend to your flowers although her success rate isn’t all that high. Artificially made they may be, yet they die as any other. Although you don’t look all that burdened by the loss of your hard work.

“They died today.” You state absentmindedly, bringing his attention from the empty flowerpots back to you. “The winter is particularly harsh this year.”

Peruere throws you a quick glance, most likely the culprit behind the wilted flowers. The girl, as much of a blank slate as she may seem, is extremely sensitive in the most disconnected of ways. A survivor of the Crimson Moon dynasty; she’s young, misguided, and extremely powerful. A combination which you favor and are not afraid to use to your advantage. She may not be young enough for you to raise into the perfect heir to your ideals, but she is old enough to understand that those who have nothing to lose are the most terrifying.

In Thain’s opinion, you seem to baby her a little too much. But then again, isn’t love both one’s strongest weapon and their greatest weakness?

“Your sorrow wilts those flowers, my friend.” He plays along, Peruere’s shoulders relax just enough for her to not be stone stiff under the pressure of failure.

“I do not weep for that which I do not yearn for.” You examine the black obsidian pawn in your hands – one of Alberich’s creations that you deemed not suitable enough – and finally finish setting up the board. “And I am not particularly attached to windwheel asters, Thrain.”

“That is not what I meant, and you know it, [Name].” Thrain takes it as his cue to make a move, carefully taking the white marble piece in his hand. “What happened in Natlan that made you return empty-handed?”

From the other side of your office, Rosalyne is watching your reflection in the mirror. For as long as Thrain knew her, she was always a fan of gossip. Something like this definitely caught her eye, and despite it not being an official discussion meant for her to hear, you indulge her in it. Something tells Thrain that you pity the woman. Something, if true, won’t surprise him one bit. Considering she became what she is now as a direct cause of Teyvat’s meddling with Khaenri’ahn practices long abandoned even by those strong enough to withstand them, you must feel responsible for her in a way. Which always spells trouble.

If you aren’t careful, your soft spot for humanity might just be the end of you. It was once. It will happen again.

As if proving his point, you give Thrain a pointed look. “We are better than those who took our home away from us.”

Or what would have been a pointed look if he could actually see your face at all. No diamonds or tulles, just ancient moon's remnants and the divine nail rabble melted together into a mask you almost never take off. Not that Thrain himself is any different. Ronova’s wrath latched onto the two of you for reasons he can never dare bring up. What is the point of rubbing salt on the wounds most tender?

“I am well aware.” The words come out a little more deadpan than he intended, you pretend like you don’t notice. “That doesn’t explain your oppressive melancholy.” Rosalyne’s skeptical brow is hard to miss, but she cannot see you the way Thrain does. And it’s only natural for humanity to question what they don’t understand. “Does her way of dealing with this hinder your plans?”

You sigh, a little hopelessness lingering in your breath. “She is a good woman, Thrain.”

Despite it being your words, Thrain doubts the validity of such claims, even if he never truly met the Lady of Fire. He, however, witnessed the scorched inteyvat fields and the utter devastation of Natlan’s terrain, completely abandoned by its human god in favor of committing pointless act of genocide. A good soldier should never question orders, a better one would never lift a weapon against those who cannot protect themselves. All in the matter of perspective, yet you never truly tried to convince each other to change your mind.

“Your unconditional love for humanity utterly blinds you.” Thrain indulges in a bad habit of reminding you of your flaws. Things that pose a clear distinction between the divine weapon you wish to be and the stubborn human that you are. It’s just as entertaining as it is necessary, and if nobody else wishes to extend such kindness, then Thrain shall be the first to do so. “Not that you can see much as is.”

You huff, half annoyed and half amused, “I liked you more when you remained tongue-tied and lost around me.”

“You mustn’t lie.” He chastises you. “Peruere might think it’s okay to be dishonest.” At the mention of her name the girl – long abandoned the flowers in favor of the terrarium full of poisonous spiders – lifts her head to look over her shoulder at you.

“She already does.” You counter with a light smile tugging on the corners of your lips. “Let that child breathe.”

“Will you answer me, or should I pry it out of you again?” The scandalized expression on usually stony face of Rosalyne is almost as delightful as the day you received those from the royal maids in the palace. If only it were that simple even now.

A tired shake of your head and strain to your jaw, you finally speak, “Their ley lines are in a terrible shape, way worse than we initially thought.”

Not seeing anything of worth to observe, Peruere returns to her spiders. With no more gossip for her to feed on, Rosalyne resumes her task. Thrain knows better than to remain on the surface level. You must have found no alternatives to whatever it was you were looking in the ley lines, and with his own journeys proving fruitless, you have finally exhausted your options. You never grieve that which you do not hold close to your heart. Yet somehow it doesn’t pacify his worries. How heart-wrenching it must be, discarding such a burdensome task on someone else’s shoulders just to give everything up to a gamble with fate in the process.

“This makes them easy to access, although there is no way for an ordinary human to restore them naturally unless a divine miracle occurs...” The directions are clear, and the confirmation is there even when it is not. The game ends with a checkmate. Your obsidian king cornered with no way of recovering, just like you planned it to. Natlan must be truly following Khaenri’ah into abyss. “Not that we need to worry about it right now.” The pieces rearrange themselves; the game begins anew. “There are more pressing matters on our board, my dear friend.”

“Which is?” A foolish question. One that can move mountains in its wake.

“We are about to enter the era of change.” You smile, replacing the bishop to king’s left with a shining golden piece. “In ten years’ time, the fourth descender will awaken.”

A divine miracle indeed. Yet not the one you are looking for.

[Name] Einherjar is the embodiment of humanity’s will to transcend the limits of this world.

You are not a particularly sociable person but when it’s beneficial for you, you have a way of making people trust you. Thrain doesn’t know much about your history with Haborym, but she seems to believe that you will help her out free of charge. Something that is simply impossible. Being born into a thousand-year-old deception made a liar out of you, Thrain needs to accept it eventually. And he did so a long time ago, only hoping you haven’t been too dishonest with him. Not everyone has as much insight on the inner workings of your mind however, so they tend to trust your lies as if they were the only truth they’ve ever known.

“I don’t usually question your decisions, especially considering stuff like this, but we do not have much time.” Xilonen’s ears twitch, tail swaying impatiently behind her. “She won’t be quick enough to install the barrier. Even with the Waypoints it takes ages, Mavuika.” Albeit not to such a dire extent, she too, just like you, is distrustful of everything. In a way it’s a good thing, especially for the people of Natlan. Right now, however, there is simply no time for doubt.

Opposite of her companion, Mavuika believes you a little bit too much, “Trust her.”

Once again, a frown crosses Xilonen’s face, “You can’t blame me for being apprehensive. She’s a fatua–”

Mavuika interrupts her before Xilonen can finish her sentence, “Do you trust me?”

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Xilonen gives up her pointless fight, “Yes, Mavuika. I do.”

The Lady of Fire sees it too, somehow pleased to win this stubbornness contest, “Then continue with your tasks as planned.”

Despite it being a proper waste of time and breath, this conversation served as a good distraction from the fact that Xilonen’s doubts, in fact, had merit. Thrain trusts you because he knows you and what you are capable of. Mavuika’s convictions stand on shaky ground at best, yet even with sky corrupted by the tumor of abyss, she still believes you will carry out your self-imposed task as planned.

“It is never a matter of time but of human will.” Thrain reminds it to himself more than he intends to explain it to the rest of the group. “We shall aid you as promised but you must trust her.”

Xilonen’s frown deepens even more, a little sliver of disgust clinging to the corners of her mouth, “I never asked for your opinion, Harbinger. You–” her rant is put on hold by another earthquake, and she lifts her head to the sky where the swirling depth of abyss is looming over the horizon. Only Xilonen doesn’t find what she expects to, “What in Xbalanque’s name is she doing?!”

The ground trembles with each step you take closer to Gosoythoth, until you stand face to face with the imposing abyssal eye. As if imagined the quaking stops, you look over your shoulder and though Thrain knows you cannot see them from all the way up, it still seems like you do. Or at the very least you can hear him.

“Don’t worry about me.” Your voice is a distant echo that only those under your protection can hear. Then you turn away, outstretched hand itching closer to the tumor until almost all of your arm is swallowed by the dark blue matter. “Carry on as planned.”

Despite his better judgment and more out of habit than necessity, Thrain nods, and goes on to relay the message, “She said to proceed.” As skeptical as always, Xilonen purses her lips in contemplation. “I shall depart at once. Lady Brighella should be at her assigned location already. Despite what you think of us Fatui, we do not wish ill upon you. At the very least not us. I cannot speak for the likes of the Doctor.”

Leaving no room for arguments, Thrain leaves to continue the fight that does not belong to him but to those who he’s carrying in his heart. Not long after, the sun of Mavuika’s doing lights up the sky and casts a blinding glow upon the people with a promise of protection. You stand, still and unwavering, even when the abyssal corruption starts to slowly creep up your arm and latch itself into the rest of your body. Whatever you want to do, Thrain doesn’t know. Sometimes even he is left in the dark about your schemes.

In a way, it’s better for you to be up there than on the ground. The battle is too reminiscent of the fall. Thoughts clouded, spirit restless, there is way more at stake right now than when it was just the two of you and your almost failed trick to turn the tables on divinity. Now it’s countless souls in his heart and the lives lost before his eyes; the past not lived, and the future not yet dreamt. The mark of the sun brightens; for the first time in a long while Thrain catches himself on the thought of treacherous doubt. The favor of your will may be unmoving yet purifying abyssal corruption has always weakened you more than you dare admit. This loss might spell the end of all things as he knew them.

“[Name], you must get down at once.” A whisper that may be lost along the wind, but it is enough for you to hear. The battle seems to put itself on hold for a moment. Even the creatures of abyssal mimicry freeze in place, watching the sky as it readies itself for the third death of the white comet.

“Just a little more.” Desperation never truly suited you, but Thrain knew more of you than to think of you as anything other than shamelessly desperate. “Just a second more.” Even Mavuika’s warnings of an upcoming attack on Gosoythoth are lost on you as well. “This body matters not, so fire at will.”

Traveler – the descender you have waited so long for, is searching for a way to change your mind. There is none. Not when it’s your whose will they’re trying to shake. Your voice is deafening in the silence brought by death. It’s clearer than it has ever been, even back home where you were the strongest. So much so, that even those who cannot possibly hear you cover their ears.

Mavuika must have heard you too, as the glow of fire blinds his vision. Her trust in you to survive this is misplaced, Thrain decides then. He is not the one to doubt your ambition, but Thrain is sure to question Ronova’s hatred. What is stopping her from tricking you into complacency just to remove you from the equation? Not much, yet your love for humanity is not a learned trait but the one you inherited with your mother’s blood. So should he trust the one who cursed you all to care?

“With my own two hands I shall carve the new dawn of humanity…” Your breath stutters as the sky cracks open. “And let your light awaken the destiny of your own forging…”

It’s quiet as the flames slowly die out, only to reveal the shattered plates of the fake sky. You are nowhere in sight; the only visible thing is the corpse of the moon scattered around behind the firmament. To his relief, your blessing is still hanging over his head, so Thrain dares not lose hope.

White noise in his ears, your heavy breathing is rippling at the edges of his mind with the drums of someone’s erratic heartbeat. Mavuika is hesitant to descend from her spot, the residue flames flickering as she carefully approaches the breach to glance inside the vastness of that which is forbidden. She never gets a chance to gaze upon the darkness beyond the false sky, the glow of starlight almost blinding her completely. Thrain watches the woman turn away suddenly, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow until the radiance subsides enough to not burn her eyes.

“To transcend the limits and descend upon this world with the power of my own will…” Everywhere, all at once, your voice is the sea engulfing the manmade cities of days long gone. “Mo–”

Shaken, the Lady of Fire extends her hand for you to take, you never get the chance to do so. The crown above your head is flickering in and out of existence; a small step in her direction, you fail to find the foothold in thin air. Something dimly glowing all around you, you tumble to the ground with the trail of shimmering ice following your descent. Without hesitation, Haborym abandons everything to catch you.

Whatever happens next is undetermined. But against all odds, the white comet was reborn once more.

His dear friend drowns in guilt like in the sea of stars.

Drop by drop, it sinks you deeper to the bottom. Yet with lungs full of shimmering moonlight water, you stand your ground. Ronova doesn’t appear to appreciate your efforts. She didn’t enjoy your wits 500 years ago and she definitely doesn’t enjoy the irony right now as well. It must sting, the idea of being outsmarted by someone so insignificant. So much so, in fact, that she casts her gaze at you the moment she finds nothing else to say to refuse Yohualtecuhtin’s decision to continue serving humanity even in the wake of destruction.

“The wayward daughter of flowers, what have you schemed this time?” Her fury quakes the ruins of Ochkanatlan, the descender’s worried eyes never leaving you all the while.

With your back turned to him, Thrain cannot tell your expression, yet something in your voice is painting a particularly smug curve of your lips, “Are you telling me all those eyes of yours are for naught?”

The Shade of Death still doesn’t get the humor. “Do not be smart with me, child.” Or maybe she is still coming to terms with the fact that for the third time in her long, pathetically restricted life, she has been outsmarted by a mere human. And two of those are your doing.

“I am always smart, not just when you’re around.” You wave her off in a manner that has Haborym questioning your sanity. Evident by the light flickering in her dull eyes for the first time since she and the Traveler returned from the Night Kingdom. It seems walking out of this with her life intact was not enough to return her will to fight, but your reckless distaste of divinity is just barely enough to ignite a spark. “Your eyesight must truly be losing its sharpness, Ronova.” You point at your mask, the dull thumping of leather against metal resonates through the ruins. “Don’t you remember when I said that with these very hands of mine, I shall forge humanity’s new destiny?”

Your cleverness is lost on the ruler of death, her omniscient gaze seemingly closer than it was before your shameless provocations, “Your will is as weak as that of an ant.”

Arms crossed over your chest, you let out a humorless chuckle, “You underestimate the evolution of human spirit, Shining Shade of Death.”

“Have you any shame, child?” Scandalized sneer may not be visible to the human eye, but even in this form Thrain could clearly picture the appalled expression on Ronova’s face.

“No.” Deadpan and straight to the point, you turn your back on the divine which abandoned you first. “I have no right to interfere with the expression of human will. Especially right now.”

“As defiant as always.” The ground shakes. The crimson skies almost seem like they’re bleeding. “And to think immortality taught you absolutely nothing.”

Ronova acts like that curse she placed upon his people was closer to Celestia’s gracious blessing than the greatest punishment for the betrayal which most were not aware of. Divinity was always a little bit delusional, and despite his disdain for the Shade of Death, Thrain almost pities her entire existence. Immortal and shackled, she is forever forced to watch over the rules of the world she despises.

This freedom to choose your own fate must fill her entire being with envy. And what is the best way to deal with something that you can never possess, if not take it away from those who are lucky enough to have it? And what is a greater punishment than having all the time in the world, yet not being able to do anything with it? Thrain can’t think of any. Neither can Ronova, herself.

“Do what you must, Yohualtecuhtin.” Not quite resigning, Ronova gives up her fight. Cornered with by her own rules and with no loopholes to use against you and him, she must endure yet another triumph of humanity over the laws of the gods. “This world is of no interest to me now.”

She lingers. Looming and unwanted, watching his every move. Even when Thrain gets down on one knee before you, hand over his heart, the feeling of Ronova’s many eyes watching his back never leaves. You are stiff, rigid fingers gripping your own forearms as if you are trying your best to keep yourself anchored in this dream. Even right now, Thrain cannot see your face. It’s truly a shame, he almost forgot what your eyes look like. If only the memories of you and him from 500 years ago were as fresh as the last moments of those who died yesterday.

“May I request to be relieved of my duty, Your Majesty?” It’s simply an obligation. A necessary pleasantry to sell the centuries old lie, yet Thrain is almost taken aback by how his own voice is laced with the bittersweet finality of a last meeting between… whoever the two of you are.

“You may.” You nod, looking straight ahead and never at him. “You’ve done well, Commander. May inteyvat guide you.”

“It has, and it will.” Thrain can admit that you were right, in a sense. Despite never making it easy for you, he sure knew how to complicate things when it mattered the most. “Farewell, my lady.”

You say nothing. Just step away and stare at the void of death while it stares back at you. Until the glaciers cover the ruins and the glow of the stars dies completely, with only the crimson of sin clinging to the tips of your fingers. Until the omnipresent daze of death leaves this doomed world to never witness it go up in flames but to return to its last embers flickering in the dark. Until the one whose will can rival the world grazes your mortal flesh and it falls apart under his careful touch.

The brightest morning star calls out to you in the most tender of ways. Hand on your shoulder, he is ignored in lieu of your unwavering devotion to the void. The long-lived shaman, Citlali, shakes her head in some sort of almost-disappointment and insists on leaving you be. It’s for the better if they do, yet Traveler’s hesitation to abandon you in the height of your most bitter loneliness makes him unwilling to walk away. Ororon, always the outsider even in his own domain, advises Traveler to listen in his usual politely shameless fashion; yet when his words change nothing, the young man hastily hides behind Citlali, his hood tugged over his eyes.

It’s admirable in a way, Traveler’s devotion to those he deems his friends. Yet sometimes the worst thing one can do is to meddle with matters they cannot resolve. Even Mavuika sees it, tugging the golden-haired heir away from you. He is almost ready to give up when you finally break your silence. All eyes on you, you finally abandon the void to let it fester on its own.

“Have I ever told you how much I love humanity?” You ask.

“500 years ago. You did.” Mavuika’s brows furrow, wandering gaze searching for something she will never find. “What is this about?”

“Our will to strive forward in this never-ending dream is truly the most precious thing.” You continue, disregarding her question. Human or not, you never planned on answering any, and thus you are not about to start. Be it Furina, or Mavuika, or even Bronya herself who questions you. “That’s why I admire you, Mavuika. The power of human will is shining especially bright in you.” The Lady of Fire doesn’t get it, even from his temporary realm of the evernight, Thrain still understands you more than most. “That being said, even if life slumbers peacefully with the knowledge that it will eventually wake up and face reality, some get complacent. You, too, are not exempt from delusions of grandeur. I guess it just proves how human you truly are. Makes it all the harder for me to stay rational.”

“What are you talking about?” A careful step back. A guarded one as well, Mavuika may not truly comprehend it, but her body reacts to danger before she can even force it to. “[Name]?”

You move forwards, the crimson pools under your feet in the shade of alchemical Rubedo. The one which served the heavens yet the one which was never truly the final stage of the magnum opus Khaenri’ah was always striving for. Discarded for the golden glow of Citrinitas, Rhinedottir tried to replicate the power of the unrivaled will, yet even with half of your soul ripped away from your body and forced upon Thrain’s unsuspecting heart, she still failed to do so, leaving only mayhem of stardust in her wake.

And now that the omniscient is finally blinded by its own prison of light; now that the Blade of Fólkvangr can never cut through time and space ever again; now that you’ve given it all up for Thrain to return it to the ley lines, weakened enough to be successfully tempered with; now that everything of true value is guarded by Thrain’s own ambition and Yohualtecuhtin’s devotion to serving humanity, nothing that remains in this world can stop the crimson moon from engulfing your body in all-corrupting flame. And so, your flesh is forever swallowed by the eclipse’s shade, awaiting the day the white comet dies for the fourth time.

“Haborym.” The pleasantries are no more. Humanity is done negotiating with the gods, and no compromise can be accomplished. “It was truly a miracle that you walked out of this with your life intact. Yet while you get to save your life and your people future, I have lost one of my most trusted men.”

You’ve lost way more than just one man. The freezing cold of the glowing stars abandoned you once and for all; there is no way for you to return to how things used to be. From this moment onwards the Plane of Fólkvangr can never exist again. All of homeland’s memory is gone, sacrificed for the dream of the future that is yet to be dreamt and what is left of it in Thrain’s heart must find solace in the afterlife of the foreign land. Mavuika does not know this, she can never know this. And this alone makes the exchange as unfair as the contract between mortals and the divine.

“The exchange is nowhere near being fair,” Despite your efforts with Gosoythoth proving fruitful, you cannot hear him now that Thrain abandoned his eternal life in a pursuit of the favor of the dead, but it still feels like you do. “And no good deed ever goes unpunished.”

“Fatui always collect their debts.” Mavuika agrees solemnly, yet she’s quick to refuse you, “I’m sorry, unless you wish to duel me in the arena, I don't think I can give you what you wish for.”

“I fear you are mistaken, Kiongozi Mavuika.” Names have power. Titles mean nothing except the ink spilled carelessly over the parchment. The crimson seeps from your tear ducts, running down your cheeks in such potency it almost seems black. It drips on the white silks of your blouse, soaking in and spreading all over the fabric like blood stains. “I don't blame you. Being a human occupying a heavenly throne, you forget where you stand. Yohualtecuhtin did not lie. God or not, your life is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. It is not with your own efforts that you won, but with the unshakable will standing by your side.”

Betrayal flickers in Mavuika’s eyes. History tends to run in cycles, and it is only natural for the betrayed to deceive the one who trusts them the most, “After all we’ve been through together, you're threatening me?”

“Just because my subordinate is a righteous person, it does not make me one.” You state, the crimson smeared over your skin seems to spread all around you like a contagious disease.

All unyielding flames, the Lady of Fire steels her resolve, “If we were to fight, you would lose your life.”

“Ego the size of the sun. It suits you, Haborym.” One step forward, two steps back. Traveler, apprehensive and cautious, reaches for his blade. Old and weathered, that thing is still sharp only due to his will. Hesitant to use it against you, Traveler is still weighing all his possibilities. The choice, however, has never been his even when he makes up his mind to interfere. Firm grip on Traveler’s cape, Ororon tugs him back to where Citlali is waiting. The woman, disheartened and oddly silent, simply shakes her head.

Mavuika, for all of her talk, still refuses to draw her weapon against you. Crimson is the stone all around you, crimson is the sky above your heads, bleeding is the heart that cannot ever find peace. Your feet never truly touch the ground when you move, and when you stop at the precipice, the crimson slates pave you a path right into the void. The fall is inevitable, but so is the descent.

You ask, the crimson pathway under the two of you shifts and morphs into a staircase. Finally, eye to eye with your first betrayal, you remove the mask from your face. It slips from your grasp, and you let it fall to the ground, to remain forever lost in the city which became its own grave. Mavuika’s face contorts into a pained expression yet never once does she divert her gaze. Deluded and delusional, she remains a faithful friend even in the wake of a collapsing world.

With the only truth you are willing to grant Mavuika no longer being yours alone, you lean down to whisper in her ear, “What can a human god do against a divine weapon?”

You move away before she can do it for you, although her hand catches yours before you can put any more distance between the two of you. “I truly pity you, [Name].”

“You shouldn't waste your sorrows on the likes of me.” You mutter, letting her intertwine your fingers together. A second, maybe more. When Mavuika lets you go, you are uncharacteristically hesitant to walk away. “Thank you. And please don't hold it against him and do not condemn yourself for your weakness. You are only human, and he knew nothing of my schemes. It would have been too exhausting to explain a plan dating 500 years back.”

Held up in the air only by your own will, the Lady of Fire lifts her head to the sky, “Ronova, she called you–” A stutter to her breath, you do not let her ask any questions. The crimson of Khaenri’ahn sins stains the golden brown of Mavuika’s skin. You wipe it carefully with your own sleeve until it’s gone as if it never existed.

“Natlan will be safer without it, Mavuika.” Your hands drop limply by your sides; the crimson morphs once more and you leave her standing there alone amidst the bloodied sea of wilted inteyvat flowers. “Besides, I am not the only one pulling strings from the shadows. Right, Aether?”

At the mention of his true name, the golden-haired traveler almost falls over the edge. Whoever you are talking about, he most likely understands it very well but all his desire to know more is cut at the root by a steady hand on his shoulder. Mavuika, casting one final glance your way, heads for the stairs that will take her down and away from the ruins of Ochkanatlan. With no choice but to follow, Traveler decides to ask you about it another time, not knowing that there won’t ever be one.

The crimson turns to stone, it cracks and breaks, and the harsh winds carry the dust away from the Throne of the Primal Fire. The silks are still soaked, and your cheeks are still wet when you drop yourself on the top of the stairs, right next to the throne which will serve as Thrain’s temporary resting place. His mind and soul may be disconnected from the mortal flesh, yet the phantom bite of chill grazes him still when you lean your head against his knee.

“I wonder if you still think me human even now, or have you given up on me at last…” Your whisper should be lost in the void, yet it still reaches its destination.

Cradled in the palm of your hand is the pyro gnosis. The corpse sizzles, glowing and warm, awaiting with bated breath the moment you deliver it to Bronya’s chess board where it finally reunites with the rest of its body. Only Thrain knows better than to believe it will ever leave your possession.

[Name] Einherjar trusts no one, not even herself. So when the other six parts of the corpse appear from the thin air, circling your palm with a magnetic pull that forces the pieces apart, Thrain is not even a bit shaken. You drop them to the ground too carelessly for something you so painstakingly hunted all this time, mismatched eyes forever scarred by abyss refusing to look at the remains any more than necessary.

“If I were a better person, I would’ve found another solution. I am not, so here we are.” Voice strained with emotion, your lashes drip with starlight. You do not weep for that which you do not yearn for, yet with the way tears dilute the crimson staining the skin of your face, it is hard for a heart to not ache in return. “But aren’t you proud of me, Thrain? For finally relying on someone else? It only took me 500 or so odd years…”

Swallowing harshly, you wipe your face clean with the same sleeve you cleansed the baleful blood from Mavuika and dart to your feet. Knee perched on the throne and one hand on his shoulder, you lift the helmet and place it carefully next to your feet. Then you lean down impossibly close. So close, one would be able to feel the warmth of breath on their skin. Neither of you is truly breathing, however, so the only thing that retains any warmth is the palm of your hand in which you held the pyro gnosis.

“You’ve waited a long while for me, so take your time. All the time you need. It’s my turn to wait.” Ear pressed right over his heart, you hear nothing. No heartbeat and no echoes, the void is the only thing that remains constant. “And when it’s over, I will welcome you back into the remnants of the old world with open arms.” Somehow the knowledge of this being just a beginning does not quench your misery, in turn, your tears grow only stronger. “But I am sure you know that already. You were always good at seeing me…”

The wind picks up again. The ashes and dust floating in the air serve as a reminder that the Thousand Winds of Time follow your every endeavor with a blessing which Death would never grant you. You shiver, the stained fabric of your glove slides off your hand with ease. Winds pick it up and carry it somewhere far away and you will never go searching for it. Your fingers swipe along the surface of your bottom lip, and then you do the same for him, fleeting touch yearning to linger for more than allowed. The phantom cold has never felt more like home than in that moment.

You distance yourself with a bitter chuckle, stained sleeve covering your face from the world, “How scandalous, some court ladies would have been devastated…”

Thrain is sure it would have been the case, yet there is no way of proving you right by causing outrage in the royal court of your memories. Fate was cruel, and it continues to prove to be the worst kind of tyrant even when you rebel against it.

“I’ve always–” You interrupt yourself, shaking your head to remove whatever improper thoughts crossed your mind. As if it could get any more inappropriate. “Never mind. It can wait for when I see you again.” Then you place the helmet back and gather the scattered gnoses, hiding them back in the Blade of Fólkvangr for safekeeping. “Till we meet again under the kinder moon, my heart and I.”

Thrain is aware this is your final farewell. You turn around and vanish to never come back to him despite your tear-stricken promise. His beloved is a distrustful liar, and when he sees you at last, you are a white comet descending upon the flaming remains of this old world. Burning bright to unite humanity in hatred just to die by the Holy Blade through your chest and the nails through your limbs.

This new world better be worth living with your blood staining his hands.

Thrain will decide when he gets there. For now, the white comet smiles just as beautifully as the day he lost her.

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano x you

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