Chapter Text
“Ever worry that it might be ruined?
And does it make you wanna cry?
When you’re out there doing what you’re doing
Are you just getting by?”
“Seven hells, Flins!”
The knightly code fell on deaf ears as Varka leaped from the chair to the bed where the fae sat, the swoosh! of Anemo already in the palm of his hand, ready to dispel the flames.
“I am alright,” Flins was fast to answer, meeting his stormy eyes.
“Don’t give me that!” Varka protested, an ugly crease between his brows.
“I promised you honesty,” Flins insisted, his voice unnaturally peaceful despite the pain. “It’s like Columbina said; our powers are very much alike. When our control wanes due to us experiencing overwhelming emotions, our power is exposed, leaking out like blood from an open wound.”
Varka listened, gradually drawing his hand back. The flames dancing around Flins were not violent, and this was not Starsand Shoal over again. The knight huffed with relief. Progress.
“So you are overwhelmed. I can only imagine how bad it is. What happened just now?”
“Mm. Memories. Most unpleasant, but bearable. Thank you for being here. Do not fear my flames. On my word, they will not hurt you.”
Varka nodded, his features softening slowly, and the glow of Anemo faded. He’d invaded Flins’s personal space solely to shield him from the potential danger, but said danger lingered no more. Yet, despite the false alarm having passed, Varka forgot to move away. Flins himself did not seem bothered by it. The very same bed that used to be a physical boundary barely the night prior was inconsequential now; they could be sitting on a bench or on the floor, all the same.
“There is much you need to know,” Flins broke the silence. “I’m at a loss as to where to start.”
“Then let me take the lead,” Varka said, naturally slipping into his lifetime-long role. “Columbina told me your Abyssal wound won’t heal completely. She didn’t dwell on it too much, though, maybe because she was still protecting your secret?”
“Yes, and she gave me a choice,” Flins emphasized, unconsciously copying the knight’s body language, sitting before him like the reflection in a mirror. “My mind’s made up. I know what I need to do.” As he spoke, it dawned on him that Varka wasn’t demanding the details of his meeting with Columbina. A small, soft breath escaped him. “I’ve overstayed my welcome here. Would you accompany me home?”
“It can’t wait till tomorrow morning?” Varka asked, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “Before you say anything, it’s not about me being tired, but you.”
“Mm,” Flins replied instead of his signature ‘thank you.’ “It will be a challenge, yes, mostly because I won’t be able to rest inside my lantern and have you carry me all the way, like the chivalrous knight you are. A shame, I must say.”
“Huh?! That’s what you’re hung up about? Get real!”
“Oh, the predicament is quite real, I assure you. I can no longer make use of my… fiery… form, because I’d be almost immediately exposing myself to the Abyss’s influence. So you see, in my selfishness I gave you the second reason first. I expressed my own humble wish to… receive your act of kindness.”
“You’d trust me with your lantern?” was all Varka could say.
“I believe I already have. However, this time it would be a novel experience for me, as I had previously been unconscious while you gently had me in your grasp.”
I’d have you in my grasp alright, but damn your morbid sense of humor! You can’t just bring that up and pair it with–
“Something wrong, Varka?”
“No? No! Hahahaha, don’t mind me. I was thinking of the itinerary. Yeah. We can go as soon as you’re ready.”
“Very well. Then let us be on our way,” Flins said, rising to his feet with minimal discomfort. “One more thing. Earlier, I asked Illuga to join us. It will be easier for me to explain once we reach our destination. I hope that’s alright with you?”
“Alright? It’s great news!” Varka flashed his contagious smile. “We gotta bring some snacks at least, since it’s story time! Neh, just kidding,” he waved his hand, standing up as well. “Happy to see you so willing to share this not only with me, but him too.”
“Mm, it’s new territory,” Flins admitted, “but I’m not exploring it all by my own. I should confer with Demyan first about my departure–”
“No,” Varka interjected. “Nefer will cover that. Don’t trouble yourself with the small details. And let’s not leave the poor lad waiting.”
“Indeed. I’d say he’s the one who needs rest the most. I can barely convince him now and then to take it easy.”
“Hmm, where did I hear that before?” Varka asked in an exaggerated, humorous tone. “Sounds awfully familiar.”
Flins shot daggers at him with his looks alone, but soon enough his lips curled up in contentment. Self-conscious for a brief moment, he brough a hand to his heart, where the Abyssal energy lay still, but ran deep.
“If we head out now, we might make it by nightfall, given I’ll inevitably slow us down. Lauma might beat us there.”
Varka took a few seconds to realize the subtlety with which the fae had dodged his remark. Ah, some old habits die hard, indeed.
“Lauma too? Oh.”
“I can tell what you’re thinking about. Rest assured that I don’t blame you.”
“Yeah, well, I had a choice. And not too much time,” Varka went on. “Terrible combination, if you ask me. To keep your secret or your life.”
“Thank you for choosing as you did,” Flins said. “My story goes on praise be to it. I asked Lauma to redecorate Final Night Cemetery when and how she sees fit. I wanted to share this with you.”
“Redecorate a graveyard? Look, I get it, the Abyss might be doing things to your brain, but how does that help you in any way?”
“It does. Not directly, but even I will be able to benefit from it. As soon as Columbina advised me to make haste, I knew my journey towards reclaiming my true self starts there.”
“Same as hers started in the plaza on Moon-Prayer Night,” Varka followed. “It’s beginning to make sense for me too. A little, heh. Let us be off then.”
Opening the door of the humble room that had sheltered him for a while, Flins felt the shadow of helplessness creeping up behind him, and to his chagrin, it was one he could not ward off. However, he heard footsteps catching up with him, closer, closer still, and the shadow pitifully vanished as fast as it had appeared. Only Flins’s smile remained.
“Varka. I’m glad you’re with me on this journey.”
~**~
“What about us?
What about all the times you said you had the answers?
What about us?
What about all the broken happy ever afters?
What about us?
What about all the plans that ended in disaster?
What about love? What about trust?
What about us?"
For a fae who had primarily concerned himself with hibernation, Flins was not entirely idle, especially when it came to guarding his secrets, or guiding lost souls at dead of night. What had changed in the span of days prior was merely the method of concealment; if, long before the Abyssal outbreak, all Flins needed to do was tactfully take his leave when meddlesome people invaded his privacy, recently he had to up his game: tell a story (not a lie), but leave it unfinished, watch the interlocutor’s face contort with excitement and frustration altogether because of the masterfully placed cliffhanger, dance around the conversation, retreat when time was due, but seek out his companions once more (preferably make use of a Wild Hunt threat while at it, as a solid excuse).
In essence, while the complexity of his social interactions demanded more effort for him to keep his ancestry a mystery, he nonetheless would admit that it wasn’t so bad. It did not annoy him, it did not drain him of energy. On the contrary, he’d feel pleasantly energized after exchanging a word or two with the whiz-kid and her robot “for domestic application.” He’d stay silent but not distant while Nefer and Lauma would take up their little game of dominance, time and time again, blissfully unaware of the entertainment they provided him with.
Lately, he’d dare to smile more often. Not for show, not to look more human, but because he felt like it. Futile to lie to himself; he had grown fond of those people. And, curious thing, these people welcomed him in their weird, chaotic, but honest circle. What had started as pure utility, now almost seemed like… a found family? The Rächer of Solnari was no more, so naturally Flins had assumed his time with Columbina’s retinue had ended. A group which has fulfilled its goal is meant to dissolve. Conveniently then, he’d retreat.
It was only now that he realized the error of his judgment. Now, as Varka and Illuga fitted their stride with his own, falling in rhythm with him. Now, as he wasn’t making the all too familiar journey to the lighthouse on his own, but in the pleasant company of friends. Almost, almost… he could forget about his woes for a while, as the wind awakened, whirling leaves around, reminding him of the oath he took so many decades ago.
Having left the Barrowmoss Barrens behind them, the three entered the Nothing Passage, as Varka had previously recommended they avoid the steep cliffs on the shore and the mountainous path above the gorge, since Flins’s mobility was – for the foreseeable future – too modest for leaping or swimming. Worse yet, in the event of an ambush, they would inevitably be one man short of combat power. It came as no surprise that Flins had protested somewhat at the start of their pilgrimage, claiming he could still manage a small jump or dispose of a benign threat, but forced to endure the united front of Varka and Illuga, he eventually raised the peace banner with a nervous chuckle.
The sinister aura of the passage that cut right through the mountain brought all three men to somber silence. There, the outflow of kuuvahki was chaotic, causing blue and red lights to paint the cold walls of stone in senseless patterns, even the very sand they stepped on. It almost felt as if they were moving in the outer space of Teyvat; there was a certain beauty to the place, one that bode on the sublime itself. But oh! how uncanny.
The fact that a Wild Hunt outbreak manifested out of thin air almost caused them no concern in the first few seconds of its emergence – it was hardly a surprise, as the humanoid, headless monsters seemed to be one with the ambiance of the Nothing Passage. However, they did spell danger for the group.
“I’ll carve us a path,” Varka said, sounding rather bored than startled.
“Don’t underestimate them,” Flins advised. “They’re small fry, but they have strength in numbers.”
Between the recklessly brave foot that Varka had stomped ahead and Flins, who had obediently fallen back, Illuga hesitated, while the Wilderness Exiles marched forth, stupefyingly slow, but surely.
“Leave the front to me,” Varka instructed as he prepared his twin claymores. “You guard the rear.”
“We’ll deal with them faster if we work together!” Illuga offered, in truth not bearing the thought of leaving a comrade to fight alone.
“Speed, huh? No problem, can be arranged!” Varka snickered, looking over his shoulder. On the other, one giant weapon was already propped, imbued with restless Anemo power. “Challenge accepted. I’ll be so quick you won’t know what happened.” He stared down the Wild Hunt, daring them to approach, recognizing the thrill of battle taking over his body. He welcomed it with a deep breath. I could really blow off some steam right about now! Gone with the wind he was.
“Don’t fret,” Flins said, meeting Illuga’s eyes. “He’s a fine leader just like you. He can hold his own.”
“That’s– not the point!” the young man beat once in the sand with his spear, obviously displeased with having to dismiss it.
A moderate distance ahead, the Grand Master’s claymores had hit true, swings and slashes resounding like the eye of the storm. His annoyed cries could be heard, exploding now and then as if he were the bellowing thunder amidst that storm. Blasted Wild Hunt! First you make me leave my home behind, then you CLANG! tear this land asunder WHOOSH! now you’ve hurt someone very dear to me BANG! WHAM! I’ve had ENOUGH! SHREAD! SMASH! BOOM!
“That almost looks… personal,” Illuga commented.
“If it brings you any comfort, he put you in charge of a noble task.”
“Flins, don’t get me wrong, I’d protect you to my last breath, but– ah, I’m sorry. I hope that didn’t sound too weird. You know what I mean, right?”
The fae could only smile, pleased to find himself in the familiar territory of Illuga’s tidal wave of worry, concealed – sometimes not subtly at all – by anger. He’d been dancing around those flashes of anger as if they were the lightning in the sky, whereas he were an agile hawk, adept at making swift, sharp turns. Nevertheless, he had welcomed the change in his ways; he wished not to taunt the young man any longer.
“You once confronted me head-on regarding my non-human nature,” Flins said instead. “I admit, I did not count on you and Varka to solve the puzzle of my enigmas so meticulously. At first I thought you were digging into my past for answers solely. I was wrong.”
His fellow Lightkeeper blinked once, then some more, faster, as a new emotion dawned on his face. Flins beheld it like a much-awaited sunrise. Hmm, it suits you even better than your signature scintillating fury.
“Huh? Y-You… I’m sorry, I just didn’t see that coming.”
“Neither did I, honestly. I’m learning, same as you are. Based on my observations so far, you express your distress through anger, be it in speech or in fast-paced combat. I – because I can experience distress too – used to hide it in forms of retreat, whether silence or physical distance.”
Illuga stared him down, his eyes flickering briefly downwards to his Abyssal wound, the clamor of combat echoing from afar – a stark reminder of reality slamming on the door of their temporary bubble of peace.
“It’s my fault,” he said, shoulders drawn and head low. “I couldn’t see your distress and took your avoidance as strategic cliffhangers, meant to ensure I would come back some other time. In a way, you were… maintaining the relationship to the best of your capabilities. Maybe fairly out of your comfort zone, which still means a lot to me.”
“Huh,” Flins let out an astonished breath, “and to think I’d expected to escape your seasoned eyes! You are not at fault, my friend, on the contrary – you saw right through me. How shortsighted of me indeed to think I’d trick an ascending master strategist!”
“Hey, stop putting me on pedestals!” Illuga snapped, and somewhere ahead Varka seemed to echo his anger, venting it at a poor unfortunate headless ghoul.
“Oh. Oh my,” Flins retreated, eyes wide open. “I’ve fallen back into my old habits, haven’t I? Please, let me fix that.”
“Okay, this is new,” Illuga nodded, more to himself than to his colleague.
“You know now what I am.”
“You were unusually specific earlier at the Flagship.”
“One of the first endeavors to change my ways, yes. And though by constitution I am harder to kill, I must confess–”
“Say no more,” Illuga stopped him, his voice shaking. He felt constricting guilt for cutting Flins off, especially when Flins had willingly put the barriers down. “No. Sorry. I want to listen. I will.”
“But now is not a good time, isn’t it?” the fae followed gently.
“About your current condition. I only know what mister Varka told me. And I didn’t bring the issue up at the Flagship because I would have rather listened to your other story. Thank you for telling me the truth, by the way. At least one truth which I could take.”
“So I’m lead to believe this one is too much for you?”
“Mm,” Illuga said, checking over his shoulder, checking over Flins’s shoulder – checking everywhere but not the revelation in front of him. “It’s hardly my call to make, but I think it’s too much for the Grand Master too.”
Is that why he charged the Wild Hunt like that? Ah, my dear sir knight.
“I see,” he told his colleague. “Thank you for this. Perhaps now you can understand my position better, as I feared to entrust my conundrum to you and Varka not because of the reaction you might have, but out of… guilt and shame for making you lift my burdens and bear them alongside me.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I want to find the strength to listen to everything you have to say. Give me just a little more time to… to process all this. Don’t be scared that you’re overwhelming us. It’s not you, Flins, but the situation itself. He’s gone over there to strike back at the Abyss because of what the Abyss did to you. That’s the common enemy, that’s the source of our shared burdens. Not you. Never you.” Flins breathed out, and it almost felt like a heavy part of his worries was scattered to the winds, suddenly weightless, insignificant. In front of him, Illuga struggled to keep his smile, but for now it leaned too much towards a grimace. “Let us feel worry and hurt with you,” he insisted. “It’s not cruel, it’s trust. And you’ve more than earned ours.”
Oh, little nightingale. How beautiful your song. But do you yourself hear it? Would you heed your own words?
“I… promise to take your advice,” Flins said, nodding in earnest, “instead of awkwardly and annoyingly delivering my gratitude.”
“TAKE THAT YOU SACK OF ROTTEN WORMS!” the North Wind in human form roared somewhere into the distance. “I’LL PUT YOU INTO EARTH FASTER THAN–” swoosh! and the laments of the ghouls were music tickling his ears. “Barbatos can tune his lyre!”
“Mister Varka sure is something, huh?” Illuga mused, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the battle.
“I can’t help but wonder whether it is I whom he’d rather beat to a pulp.”
“Flins! What gives?”
“If I may make a joke to lighten the mood. He’s very angry with me, indeed. You are too. Hence, woe is me. The Abyss is a puny foe between you two.”
“Hey, don’t joke with that!” Illuga admonished, but couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “The only beating you’ll take from us will be a full-scale Mandragora assault.”
It was Flins’s turn to freeze in time and space, eyes drinking Illuga’s form, brows faded in his hairline. Before he could inquire further, however, a cloud of purple slithered like a frenzied snake towards him. For once in his century-long life, the fae could only stand and watch the danger, instead of taking action against it.
“SLIPPERY SON OF A BITCH GET BACK HERE!” Varka’s cry pierced the sky, but he was too far away to close the distance in time.
Firmly planting himself in front of Flins, Illuga raised his lantern at the Abyss, the yellow light cleaving through its mist. He was quick to connect the dots; one cunning monster had managed to evade Varka’s onslaught and must have been drawn by the residue in Flins’s body. Misery loves company.
“Begone, shadow of darkness!” Illuga shouted before lunging at it, spear in hand.
Its sharp point was caught in the fierce jaws of a Rifthound, which slipped through the purple cloud surrounding it like a shield. Standing his ground, Illuga brandished the spear, but the beast wrestled with him despite the black ooze dripping from its mouth, as if having been struck by a weapon did little to subdue it. On the contrary, it looked enraged. With one hand Illuga still held the lantern straight into the beast’s eyes, which snarled, blinded by the blessed light of the Lightkeepers, but it was not enough. Sharp fangs dug into the wood of the spear, and Illuga all but snarled back at it as he heard the weapon starting to splinter.
“Together now!” Flins instructed, courage mustered.
He gripped Illuga’s spear with his own right hand, ignoring the pained protest of his heart. Purple mist emanated from it, as if answering the call of the Abyss before them. Seldom did the two meet on the battlefield, since their tasks had them patrolling remote areas of Nod-Krai, but in that moment, their movements synchronized with fluid ease; the more violently the Rifthound struggled with the sharp end in its mouth, the stronger Flins and Illuga held the spear unyielding. It. Would. Not. Break.
“Go to hell, rabid dog!” came Varka’s scream as he drove one claymore into the creature’s spine. He’d reached them at last.
The Rifthound bellowed, its elongated body twitching madly when a second claymore cut it clean in half. Yet, could it part with them without leaving one final taste of its curse? Taking advantage of one split second in which the light from Illuga’s lantern missed it, the creature morphed into a purple cloud, which drew Flins in like a magnet. Precisely as blue and red kuuvahki attract one another.
“Lantern, now!” Varka screamed once more, his throat parched and sore.
Time froze, as if the Doctor had captured them again in another twisted experiment. All Varka could see was Flins dropping to one knee, corruption flowing out of his heart, pooling on the ground. He leaned in, giving into gravity, and just before his body could make contact with Flins’s, the gust of Anemo was heard, protecting Varka from any risk of being contaminated by the Abyss. Not a second later, Illuga directed the light at their embraced forms.
“Keep your distance,” Flins almost wheezed through the pain, his conscience focused on Varka and Varka alone. “It… kills.”
Stubborn as always, Varka merely tightened his arms around the fae. His mind was racing. He didn’t even realize he was truly holding Flins like that.
“Kuuvahki. You need kuuvahki,” he said, repeating the word like in a trance.
“You’re up, Aedon!” Illuga ordered, releasing the Torchforger’s sacred messenger bird. “I’m not sure,” he explained, meeting Varka’s shimmering eyes, “but it’s the best shot I’ve got.”
Few times in his life Flins had experienced… bliss… such as this. For Aedon’s power felt like a ray of moonlight cast by Columbina – smaller, of course, but it carried the same kindness. A miracle medicine. The little nightingale circled around him, singing, healing, sustaining life, and Varka had a mind to pull back from the embrace to make room for it. Soon, Flins could breathe again without feeling his chest ripping apart. It was only then that he noticed Varka, staring right at him, holding him by the shoulders. With Aedon swirling and chirping around them, the situation stole a smile from the wounded Lightkeeper.
“It did not spread to you,” was all he could say.
Varka watched until his eyes hurt from the concentration. He gave no reply for a while, until he himself believed there was no more purple filth flowing out of his fair fae.
“Wanna switch teams? By the might of Anemo, be welcome to the gang!” he laughed, throwing his head back, desperate to hide behind the humor. “It’s not too late, Barbatos is quite the generous guy. I’ll put in some good words for you.”
“Is that true, mister Varka?” Illuga finally seized the chance to chime in. “Anemo energy can keep the Abyss at bay?”
“Watch and learn, ha! The power of example, right before your very eyes.”
“Whoa! That sounds like an indispensable resource for us Ratniki. I’ll have to remember to be on the lookout for new recruits with Anemo Moon Wheels. Hmm… Ah, a shame. Miss Jahoda already has a job.”
“Marvelous,” Flins whispered. “I’ve met Aedon before, but I never imagined he’d bear such a radiant part of Columbina’s blessing. Thank you, little one.” He held out a slim finger, on which the nightingale perched gently. “And thank you, too. I am one lucky fae to have you two by my side. Unfortunately, my good knight, I don’t suppose I can switch sides, even though the might of Anemo looks like a force to be reckoned with, indeed. I’ll stick to my Electro Moon Wheel,” he gave an exaggerated smile, the very muscles of his cheeks shivering under the weight of the panic he’d lived through.
“But your true form is fire,” Illuga observed. “And you can occasionally call down lightning. Mystifying be the ways of the fae!”
“Yeah, well, my offer still stands,” Varka went on. “We should stand up too, no? Hahahaha!”
The captain watched, suddenly feeling out of place, as the two rose awkwardly, as if their legs would still give way. The giggles faded into jokes, which faded into words of praise, which in turn closed the circle. To break the cycle, resourceful and crafty Illuga seized yet another chance, and asked about Flins’s condition.
“The pain lingers, but it’s bearable,” Flins said, still clutching his heart.
It was all the captain needed to hear. He flicked his wrist, issuing a command to his loyal, kuuvahki-brimming bird:
“Alright, Aedon. You can do better. Purge it all.”
“NO! No no no, don’t!” Varka screeched as if he feared for his own life, flashbacks of Columbina’s first attempt fresh in his mind. Without thinking, he grasped the captain’s hand, then forcefully pulled. As the one in mention grunted in pain, Aedon’s attention was immediately drawn to him instead. It flew over in a sphere of gold dust, chirping his distress, brandishing his beak at Varka. “Hey! Sorry, but get your angry bird off me!”
It took a while for the whole commotion to settle.
“He is right, Illuga. We cannot heal all of it at once,” Flins eventually said. “That will have to do for now, it did ease the symptoms. Worry not.”
“That’s like telling me not to breathe,” the young man frowned, “especially after something like this.”
“The good news is, we now know that we can rely on angry bird here to contain the Abyssal wound,” Varka noticed, always counting his resources first. It suddenly occurred to him that he’d make a splendidly efficient team with Illuga after all, who, conversely, always counted potential threats and shortcomings first.
“His name is Aedon, thank you very much,” Illuga fumed. “And you nearly popped my hand out of my wrist!”
“Listen first, then take action. My lesson for you today.”
“Ha! You speak from experience? Well, my lesson for you today is healthy communication! No, scratch that. For both of you! Starting now! Stop drinking each other’s looks and listen to me. We’re sitting ducks here. Move out! We can talk along the way.”
The older men acquiesced at once. In silent agreement, Varka lent Illuga a sliver of Anemo, enough to protect him from coming in contact with the Abyss, as they each wove an arm around Flins, not bothered by the height difference or other insignificant details. Varka to the left, Illuga to the right – a bulwark of companionship, and… maybe something much more powerful. Flins bit his tongue and let himself be supported, as walking truly felt like torture now. The three fell in rhythm once more, steadily leaving the sinister Nothing Passage behind them.
~**~
“Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame.
Where there is a flame, someone’s bound to get burned.
But just because it burns doesn’t mean you’re gonna die.
You’ve gotta get up and try, try, try.”
Final Night Cemetery, one of the few places in Nod-Krai where life had stagnated. A humble resting place for the restless souls, its lighthouse – a proud, radiant spike, tearing open the navy night’s veil. A small island of modest life in the vast and certain ocean of death. The currents of time had long not touched its shores.
“Gentlemen,” Flins spoke as they climbed the slope leading to the gravestones, “here we are. Under normal circumstances, I’d extend my courtesy and offer you some food and drinks, but alas–”
“Offer us peace of mind for a change, by doing what you have to,” Varka said as he retreated his arm, most probably displeased with the journey having reached its end. It meant he no longer had a solid excuse to keep holding the fae.
“Yeah, what he said,” Illuga agreed, the sheen of Anemo vanishing from him.
“Very well then. I’ll be but a minute,” Flins recoiled at the front of opposition which had united again against him.
“Take your time,” Varka said, scanning their surroundings. The breeze itself felt different in that desolate, barren, and nearly all forsaken place. Used with surveying the environment by the touch, the scent, as well as the taste of the wind, Varka inwardly concluded this was not only a land of death; the air was devoid of rot or decay, but even worse. Death itself is eventually followed by life. Here, time feels... off. A similar phenomenon to that of Mare Jivari? Barbatos might want to look into this.
More familiar with the place than the knight, Illuga simply sat on the grass of a peculiar blue color, leaving a comfortable distance between himself and Flins, who had walked farther ahead, face to face at last with that which beckoned his return. The starting point of his new life… and the crowning end of the previous one.
“I need but tap into my power,” he said seemingly to no one, but he was aware of Varka and Illuga’s presence. Within earshot, not too close, not too far. “Just a little will do… to– mhm! sustain me for a few days, at least.”
Both men behind him had so many questions. At first, they kept silent watch over their fae friend who reached out his hand towards the grand monument. From the back, Varka couldn’t see, but Illuga, who had chosen to stay on the side, caught sight of Flins’s lips moving. If he were speaking, the young captain heard nothing.
Then, the proud, tall stone which had weathered time and tear shone with a mystical, blue light – one so unlike any of them had ever seen. The ancient script lit up, as if sentient, as if answering Flins’s call. Were it any other day, Flins would have received it serene and pleased, but when the fire – his fire – rose from deep beneath the earth, the breath was cut short in his throat. He staggered. No great fire can breathe without air. He was reaching for that which was his, but it felt wrong, too distant, unnaturally unfamiliar. Malicious.
As if the power, forsaken and forgotten throughout the centuries, no longer recognized its master.
Illuga bolted to his feet at once. He didn’t take the sight of fire too well, especially when said fire, animated by a will of its own, seemed to be acting hostile towards Flins. Ever vigilant, he waited, ready to move not a second later than needed. Only now could he hear the chant, real and true, fragmented by stutters, as well as sounds of… pain.
“No! Why do you reject me?” the fae lamented, his trembling hand surrendering to gravity. “Please,” he whispered, humble before the solemn stone. “Remember me. I am Kyryll Azure–”
Pain. He fell before his own grave.
Illuga bolted, arm stretched out for Flins like a lifeline, but upon seeing wild, blue fire bursting forth, swirling like a tornado around his friend, on instinct he froze in place a mere heartbeat – enough to miss his chance to reach Flins.
Fear. The terror of the past. Fire had taken everything from him. There was no time for Illuga to convince himself with logic that this, here, was different. He missed. Failed. As rage stirred and swelled in his breast, swift movement broke through the chaos. No battle cry. No slur or swear. The wind awakened, its bite soft and sharp altogether. Illuga breathed it in and held it – no smoke, no deathly stench, no destruction.
Protected by Anemo, one firm but friendly hand landed on the fae’s shoulder.
“Get up, Flins. This is your power,” Varka spoke loudly enough to cover the noise of the firestorm and that of his own gale. “Leave a dog unfed and unloved, you’ll walk in on a brutal beast upon your return. That’s where you went astray. Now you’ll have to deal with the consequences, but it can be reclaimed. So take it. Tame it.” If those were tears that Flins cried, no one could tell – for he only poured flame after frenzied flame out of his ghostly-blue eyes. “Learn to love it again.”
Love. His legacy. His downfall.
Love had built, sustained, and made prosperous a beautiful land of gentle snow.
Love had demolished it all.
…No. Not love. The dark side of it – its twisted and perverted enemy. Hatred.
Love-freedom, hatred-tyranny. Locked in their damned dances of death.
The memory that had awakened at the Flagship now spoke once more to Flins, birthed and blessed by blazing truth:
‘Survive. Go now, that you may rekindle your fire elsewhere, in the dawning future. Love prevails over revenge.’
~**~
“We are problems that want to be solved.
We are children that need to be loved.”
The citadel of Piramida came into view yonder the fog – a sacred beacon in Nod-Krai’s long night.
Having rowed the three of them all the way across, Varka’s arms were shivering as he got out of the boat, but ever the paragon of protection, he didn’t let that show when he subtly let Illuga and Flins take the lead. Conveniently behind them, he could observe, grasp the thin thread of control he had left, and recover his strength.
After the cemetery incident, revelations and decisions fell like rain. And for once, Varka himself became the storm, which left a speechless Illuga prisoner to his own trauma, and an overwhelmed Flins, knelt not in surrender, but in quiet admiration of that storm.
Harsh words were hurled like knives. Heads whipped to the side in anger or avoidance towards truthful remarks. Fists, aimed at stone, earth, even at the air’s emptiness. Stories told. Ears perked, hearts wide open. Gasps and grief-filled sobs. The peril of death imminent, unearthed and placed in the very center of their glitching – but functioning – triangle. Silence. Honesty then, taking the form of motivational talk. Hands offered. Shoulders to weep on. A ray of moonlight breaking through the dark clouds, the grass murmuring under the caress of the breeze.
The land itself bowed to the sanctity of the bonds tightened there.
Now, having learned of Flins’s race against time to redeem himself, Illuga had chosen determination instead of worry – although it had taken him a while to adjust, naturally. Varka had commented briefly on Lauma’s absence – “no deer in sight, for now,” to be more precise – to which Flins merely nodded, certain she would keep her word. Perhaps it had been meant for him to leave, so that in the near future Lauma could present him with the full surprise of a home reborn.
Yes, he would believe. He’d live to see it done. The voice which had awakened beckoned him too.
But oh! how the memory ate and tore at his back, and no amount of kuuvahki could soothe that pain!
Still, he’d stepped forward, accompanied by Varka, accompanied by Illuga. Darkness was descending, evening slipping more and more under the wing of night. Oath lanterns, dotting the pathway like gleaming landmarks. Piramida, perched atop its foundation of stone – a bastion of life, soaring above the chasm of chaos. The lull of nature.
“Okay, guys, here we are,” Illuga said, ready to part with the group as per their agreement. He’d hand in his report to the Starshyna, then travel to Cliffwatch Camp – his noble endeavor, victorious against the Abyss – to check in with his squad. As for the fae, he’d agreed to follow the knight to the Favonius Keep and rest there, claiming once more that the power he’d borrowed from his grave would sustain him for the coming days. “It’s been quite the journey, but we stuck to each other through thick and thin.”
“We’ve had our ups and downs,” Flins added.
“Like all hero stories do!” Varka finished, one fist raised to signal victory. “And here we are, huh?”
As they went about their merry chatter – on which Flins spared them the lengthy definition – the nearby bushes rustled once, then twice. Three sharp focuses converged at once on the source of the noise, only to find a colony of Mandragoras.
“AHA!” Varka laughed, pointing his index at them. “Right on time, right on time! Enter stage right! Illuga, you’re not a child anymore, no? Surely you can extend your curfew a bit.”
“Curfew?!” the captain frowned, leaning forward in faux annoyance. “I’ll have you know, not even during my first night watches did old man Nikita ever give me one!”
“Oh? So you’re in?” Varka wiggled his eyebrows at him. “Remember the plan?”
“My report can wait. I need this!”
Puzzled between the two, Flins looked and looked and looked, finding no evident answers, eventually understanding this must have been an inside joke. His old self would have resigned with dignity, struggling not to receive permission to join them. But did he not learn that he can keep up observing while also participating?
“Might I inquire about the plan?” he tried, one hand graciously extending in anticipation.
The Grand Master held the thought, like a balloon afloat, careful not to let the air out quite yet. All of Flins’s attention was currently on him, so they had to pull it off. He checked with Illuga, discreetly. A blink from the other man conveyed the message. They had this one chance.
“Inquire about my ass, you scorched out fossil!” Varka released the monster of a laugh, as Illuga rapidly stuck one of his feet between Flins’s, then aimed for the shin, kicking good. “And have a seat while at it too, ha! Oh, yeah, the bigger they are, the harder they fall!” he timed the remark with Flins’s unexpected impact with the ground, then grabbed a fleeing – at least, attempting to – Mandragora.
“Stay where you are,” Illuga threatened a fire-wielding, six hundred year-old fae, currently splayed out at his mercy. “I could only dream of this moment.”
To sell the theatrics, he grinned as he pointed the blunt end of his spear at Flins, making sure there would be no escape for him. Meanwhile, in the distance, Varka readied his shot.
“Has the Abyss taken you too, young master?!” Flins joined the show, eyes brilliant and pleading. “What is the meaning of this vile scheme?! I am in shock, no–”
CLING! Kuuvahki pounced on his head, not hard enough to hurt, but ridiculously funny, like a poke in the ribs. He inhaled sharply. Above him, Illuga’s evil grin – forever a nightmare to haunt him.
“Reloading!” Varka announced from whatever place he chose as hideout, most likely on the hunt for another poor unfortunate critter. “Hold down the fort!”
“Roger!” Illuga replied, faster than the command came. “Look at you, sir Flins, you seem out of shape. Take a rest, would you?”
“You’re making it impossible for me. My sorrow remains, young master. You of all people to blindside me like that…”
“To topple you as if you’re not so unapproachable after all, huh?”
As much as he feigned complete surrender and vulnerability, Flins made no real attempt to get up. He turned his head to the left, towards the bushes, then shouted his accusation:
“And you, Grand Master, where be thy knighthood? Dropped it on the way? Exchanged it for a trick so childish and outrageous as this?”
“Nah, dumped it willingly,” the reply echoed, then came the warning: “Brace for contact!”
Right in the nick of time, Illuga leaned backwards just so, making room for the volley of Mandragoras. Two at once for this particular shot. CLING! CLING! The target was hit, sounds rising like hellfire out of it.
“Ugh, to be prohibited from using Manifest Flame, I wallow in woe!
“We’re equally matched, now,” Illuga said. “It’s only fair we get to stand a chance against you, sir Flins.”
“Fair? Pray tell, what about any of this is fai– OW!”
“Haha! Runt of the litter, not to be underestimated!” the knight beamed with the glory of conquest, blatantly shaking his wrist in midair after yet another successful hit.
“That one hurt my feelings,” Flins moaned, then swiftly gritted his teeth. “Varka! Count. Your. Days.”
“Oh?” the one in mentioned asked, lips pursed in surprise, fingers at the ready. “Okay! One and two and three and four/ Five and six don’t mind the door.”
While the fae stared in confusion, Illuga couldn’t contain his laughter. The spear was dismissed so he could grasps his sides, laughing until it hurt. All throughout that moment of merriment and reprieve, Flins never once considered running away, or even getting up.
“Seven, eight to us so shout/ Nine and ten… uhhh, how did it go from there? Hey, my good lad, care to refresh my memory?”
“Mister Varka, you jest. Surely you remember. It’s… a suggestive phrase,” he giggled, one fist to his mouth.
The knight racked his brain, ruffling his hair as well.
“Nine and ten are making out, yeah! Good for them, good, good! What the hell, we’re all grown men here. Pull yourself together, captain, it’s your turn. Up and at ’im!”
“What do you mean ‘his turn’?!” Flins shouted, all intricate layers of barriers down at last. “Haven’t I indulged your wicked entertainment long enough?”
“His,” Illuga grinned once more, face dark with the thrill of payback. He heard the fae’s little gulp and snickered. “You have my recipe, mister Varka, yes? Dinner is in your hands tonight. I’ll take some very important leisure time for myself.”
“We might as well be eating roots, then,” Flins mirrored the grin. “Fortunately, my sustenance is not dependent on regular food. That being said, happy starving, gentlemen.”
Silence stretched unpleasant for Varka, which spelled danger. He gave a long whistle of awe, then turned on his heel to improvise a campfire, whistling a tune reminiscent of Mondstadt.
“Brought it on yourself, buddy. Don’t call for no knights in shining armor. Nuh-uh!”
Barely had he finished when Illuga jumped at Flins like a predator gone berserk, one hand fisting his large collar, the other catching a scrambling Mandragora with deathly accuracy.
“Mercy, young master!” the plea staggered, soundless.
CLING! The creature bounced off of his head, but wasn’t given a break, caught again by that deft, trained hand. Illuga seethed:
“The next time CLING! you refuse my help while in serious danger CLING! while waltzing around matters of great import CLING! while going up against a freaking artificial god CLING! while almost dying before informing me first CLING! I’ll make you drown in all the water you’ve ever given me CLING! and if it were to pose a risk to your whimsical fae fire, I’ll dance the night away on your grave to ensure CLING! you don’t get a breath’s rest!”
“Oi! Barbatos-blessed beer, a more beautiful slur I’ve yet to hear,” Varka told himself, peacefully chopping some vegetables for their soup.
“I’m sorry! My sorrow is a boundless ocean for your anger to quench! I’m so sorry, my most gracious and benevolent–”
“Can it! Now you’ve truly invited my wrath! There’s plenty more of these critters for you!”
“I daresay it’s… a grave situation,” Flins flashed his teeth, but the plump Mandragora falling square on his face not a second later – the umpteenth time – turned out his lights.
~**~
The one true moon of Teyvat was shining brightly in a cloudless sky – a fond witness of companionship cherished. The small clearing that was the threshold to Dreadshade Mire had been abundant in laughter like never before, a colony of Mandragoras still scrambling for dear life, and making a run for it through the Silver Fir and Hazelnut trees. Of course, they had been allowed to.
For Illuga’s ‘very important leisure time’ had long ended, having made Flins laugh until his sides were sore. Varka had obviously been the lead voice, joining in the fun until he’d almost forgotten about the unresolved pressure in the back of his neck. No matter. At the very least, their game of payback had alleviated a great deal of the griefs they all carried – more or less silently. Illuga had extended a friendly arm to Flins, which served both as an unyielding anchor and as a measure of his honesty; the fear of the game being over had crept inside his heart. What would they do from here on? How much time was there left? As he took his hand, Flins could not help but feel the same. However, this was part of their newly established rules – no more hiding, no more running from that which was truth.
The soup was warm, creamy, satisfactorily seasoned as per Illuga’s instructions, Varka proudly holding up his thumb after a first taste-test, nodding to himself and humming with pleasure.
“Not bad at all if I say so myself! It’s quite edible. Sit down, lad, this here is your portion.” Before the young Ratnik got the chance to speak, a big, open palm rose in his face like a looming wall. “No ifs ands and buts about it. Hop to it. As for you, our beaten to a pulp, sulking fae…”
“To not spoil this most joyous evening, I will partake,” Flins said, leaving a wide-eyed Varka and a mouth-agape Illuga at a loss for words.
“For real? Like, really, really eat? The human way?” the knight asked when he was once again able to think.
“As human as I can be,” Flins chuckled in his signature soft, subtle way. “Fret not, I believe I have familiarized myself with the motions after all these decades. I daresay I can by now pass as an ordinary man with minimal effort.”
“Ordinary? You?” Illuga challenged. “Please.”
“Oh, but that doesn’t mean other more perceptive and… caring… humans might see right through my disguise,” Flins followed, reaching for an empty bowl. “I admit I used to find the feeling quite unsettling, therefore I labored even more to keep up the pretense. But here with you, my friends…”
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, hoping his actions would speak on his behalf. Sitting next to Varka, he helped himself with a small amount of soup, brought the bowl to his mouth, then mentally uttered some words of encouragement in fae tongue. As he tilted the bowl just so, the liquid breached his lips.
“All good so far,” Illuga chimed in, watching intently as if Flins eating were a sight that only revealed itself once in five full moon eclipses. With a smirk, Flins went a step further, and when the soup finally entered his mouth, he stilled all of a sudden, eyes lit up in surprise. “Now you’re supposed to swallow it,” Illuga said, amused by the nature of the instructions warranted.
Nothing ventured, Flins thought as he did as told. His taste buds sang, unfamiliar with that sensation. At last, with a loud gulp, the deed was done. It took great will of mind for him not to make a face as the soup washed down his peculiar system. Merely an arm’s reach by his side, the knight had been silent, but the playful luster of his eyes spoke much of his intentions.
“Honesty is our ground rule, is it not?” Flins said, laying the bowl on the grass. “Well, gentlemen, that was mildly above the average human food I’ve ever dared to taste, and mind you, on all previous occasions I was coerced into doing so for the sake of protecting my identity.”
Mid?! Varka screamed internally. You darned peckish flame!
So all those rations I’ve brought night after freaking night– Illuga’s train of thought was abruptly halted by white fury.
“Oh! But I immensely enjoy the time we spend together here, at this humble camp. Do entertain me further while I extend my thanks to our cook,” Flins carried on, turning his body fully towards Varka. “If I might offer some feedback, my good sir knight, considering this was so promptly prepared, without proper cooking equipment, with only as much as the environment provided, I am impressed.”
“He’s easy to impress,” Illuga remarked bluntly, definitely not taking the bait.
‘His good’ sir knight, the Grand Master pondered, smiling to himself. What did you know, I’m moving up in the world.
“I beg to differ,” Flins insisted. “I am one fickle fae alright, restless as the fire burning in my lantern here. However, my standards are indeed lofty and steadfast.”
For a while, only the sound of flickering flames underneath the cooking pot filled the silence. Now, Flins was adept in the art of exercising patience, yet, for once, it did not suit his liking.
“Strange,” Illuga spoke in a hushed tone, eyes downcast. “You’ve given us quite the revelation about your true self, but why is it that I’m feeling even more confused?” Next to him, Varka hummed in agreement. “Can it be because that would imply… you’ve been lying to us? And, no, I’m not upset about that! You had your reasons. Everyone does. More so an ancient fae– wait, I’m not saying you’re old, although, heh, you are. No, I’m upset about… Who are you now, Flins? It seems as though we’re meeting now for the first time. And calling yourself restless? Almost nothing you do gives it away. How did you achieve that finesse in pretense?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
In the seconds that followed, the three exchanged curious looks, enacting the ritual hinted by Illuga; it was there and then that they truly met each other – the storm that could either divide for good, or strengthen bonds like never before.
“Pepper,” Varka said all of a sudden, having finished his soup, instantly becoming a peculiar target for both Lightkeepers. “Think I overdid it. There’s an inferno in my mouth, ugh!”
“Is that so? Interesting, because to me, this is what saved the dish.”
“Here’s the part where you offer him a glass of water,” Illuga chuckled. “I know it too well.”
“Then you should also remember the part where I remind you I do not carry water with me. Although it’s turning into a habit these days, as I serendipitously run into you more often.”
“Oh em gee, Flins! Water is not only for angry people! Don’t tell me you only carry it with you in case you find me, let’s say, a bit on edge. The thought alone enrages me–”
“Illuga, man, nerves can wait!” Varka cut him off, hopelessly fanning himself, eyes red, already teary. “I’m dying here.”
“Don’t use his trigger word,” Flins lamented, three fingers on his forehead to support it in a dramatic display. A futile warning, since the younger Lightkeeper rose to his feet at once, rummaging for a flask. Flins snickered at the sight. “Ah, checkmate for me it is. I’ll have to change tactics, since you’ve learned to carry your own water.”
Illuga shot him a stare, but by then Varka was making all sorts of sounds, bordering on painful, while still passing as amusing.
“Why did you sprinkle so much pepper on it in the first place, huh?”
“I don’t know! Must have slipped my hand!”
“You were too distracted by me beating the lights out of Flins?”
“Wait what no? ’Course not. That’s far from the point!”
“I will politely refrain myself from commenting on that previous phrasing,” the fae spoke over their heated exchange.
“I mean, how were you able to eat it? Don’t tell me you’re another supernatural being!”
“I can eat some spicy food,” Illuga explained, “but maybe what really happened is that you didn’t stir it enough, which resulted in you ending up with a part of soup richer in pepper than the rest.”
“Right! Right-o! Stir. I can stir. Sure.” I’d rather stir something else while beating the lights out of Flins myself. No, no, not ‘beat.’ Gotta think that through. “Nevermind, I’ll be fine.”
“Forgive my intrusion, but I must object to your portrayal of–”
“Fine?! Then pray tell why you made it sound like you were actually dying?!” Illuga shouted, eyes struck by lightning.
“M’bad! M’bad, lad! Cool it, now. I’ll live,” Varka laughed. “Next time we meet, I’ll stir properly.” Hopefully without making a mess, huh. Welp, can’t be helped sometimes! “I propose we give a name to this game of ours! Let’s go with ‘Fae Down! Raining Raging Mandragoras’!”
“That’s a thing?” Illuga copied his laughter, anger gone like a snuffed-out flame. “Now we’re doing this regularly? Well, who am I to decline! Although, I suggest we work on the name a bit. Hmm, ‘Man versus Mandragora: Full-scale Assault’ sounds less… revealing.”
“Alliteration, check. Descriptive, check. Spoiler-free, check. I like it,” Varka approved. “Next round to be announced soon!”
“Alas, blissfully ignored,” Flins said, face beaming with a kind light as he simply let himself be. Never a dull moment among humanity. Ah, correction – in the company of the right humans for me.