The Statue of You

Good morning, afternoon, and evening. I hope you have your pants on tight after the previous chapter... now, let's go with the most important episode for me, the true imagination of this fanfic; nothing would have been possible if not for… that infamous scene.

Honestly, my hands are sweating over what I'm about to do, but as always, I am not a compassionate person when it comes to showing the lowest points of the characters I write. This is one of many.

Healing or progress is not linear when Capitano arrives in Natlan; the hatred or his complicated feelings are there. What is the difference then?

That he doesn't plan to escape or flee to the eternal winters of Snezhnaya again. Deep down, he knows that there is no salvation if he stays with the Tsaritsa; 500 years should have made it clear that it was never like that, remaining in the same limbo. Here, Capitano shows the facet he suppressed for years; here, everything he wanted to bury is released, both here and in the sequel. It doesn't matter if he falls or not, if he is consistent or not, that is the idea; human beings are not consistent with their own progress, they repeat mistakes, their thoughts remain the same, and that is okay. The change is simple: He does not plan to escape to Snezhnaya, no matter how much his mind tells him to.

Everything he told Tartaglia is easier said than done. This is a rollercoaster.

To what point has that Thrain been suppressed or buried?

How far is he willing to go to not see that Thrain was always there?

We will find out. Enjoy every paragraph I narrate; things are going to get freaky.

SaraCHan87

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun only leaves him blinder than he ever gave it credit for in all the visits he made to these hot lands.

He is covered in pieces of frozen metal down to his ankles; he has barely disembarked, somehow those rays pierce through him and he pulls away at the slightest contact, hidden in the shade. He can already confirm how awake and conscious he is of everything, unlike his other visits.

Yes, he has visited the nation, only for missions ordered by the Tsaritsa or his own personal ones… but each of them is now a storm in which he has no memorable memory; in each one, there was only indifference, like being in impostor lands that are not yours. He seemed like a stranger in front of crowds that did not recognize him, where everyone has moved on and he would indiscriminately stand there to contemplate. There was no beauty to admire, no one to visit; the new structures did not cause him any astonishment.

Most of what Capitano did was fulfill his objectives and leave without remorse, without any sadness or impression to tie him down.

It was ridiculous now that he thought about it; he was welcomed when he had lost everything, and that was how he treated Natlan since he left.

Well, that was how things were; he left so that his past self would die before the ice in his heart… now that same heart brings him back where everything burns like the first time.

It’s truly returning: the cry of the seagulls when the ship docks at the port, the flowers dancing before the tenderest morning, the happy workers who give their best every day to work and provide the best lives for their families. Children who fight to be the best warriors and run around the food stalls.

Indifference is not on his side, only the impact of something he let die… memories of the past come to him, of easy and agitated moments, of defeats and songs in the night air, of tasty meals until falling asleep in bed. He sees those familiar faces…

Only to blink and see that they are not there. Everyone is continuing with their lives, and he stands before the idea of appreciating everything around him like a child before a new world, but it is not.

And so it feels… How ridiculous… to feel again… this nation will be my downfall…

What is the difference between yesterday and today?

Perhaps… that something dangerous awoke within him, and he no longer has the intention of hiding in an ice castle again. Where he can see the warm beauty of this nation that both the Archon and I wanted to protect so long ago. The enchanted landscapes, the Saurians and their children playing between the sea, sky, and earth, the people…

Lives it in his skin now; how much he has forgotten… that this nation is so alive when she was by his side…

Finally savors what it is to return to where he came from and not have any excuse to escape. He is laughing at himself in mockery; so much that proliferated in not returning, now everything is something else.

Because there is a real and living motive for why he returns. Of a ghost that begged a goddess to stay, a promise that an Archon promised him 500 years ago, a reality that is here and leaves him in a bad spot in many ways. Mocks that redhead, getting angrier with himself because the effect of his hatred is not as strong as he wants it to be.

Came to settle things, and it goes so badly in his head when he sees the locals, those smiles, talking about the Archon who will fight for the gnosis again after so long. She is everywhere now, has nowhere to hide, and he hates her. They can be seen having ice cream years ago with Hine, fighting side by side in the war…

Everything is coming back, shakes aggressively, cannot take it all at once… give him a break, please…

All the good and the bad of his memories attack him and his mask covers what he licks from his lips… doesn’t want to recognize this now… he does not want to know the drops that fall from his eyes, those stupid frozen tears now taste like soft warmth that he cannot tolerate, wiping them off immediately.

The pain only destroys him for what he left behind; everything happens at the same time that is overwhelmed. Asks one of his men to bring him a chair and water.

- Are you okay, Captain? Do you want us to bring you something else? - A worried subordinate asks him.

Capitano denies softly, swallowing the fresh water, counting again and again to ten. He cannot fall apart in front of his men now; they are barely arriving, this in itself is suspicious, he has not seen the Archon face-to-face as Childe told him, and he is already losing his composure a little. He looks at his subordinate and nods firmly, the one he believes is his.

- I am fine now. It must be the heat; it doesn't matter right now. Let's go to the camp; I will need the updated situation report when we arrive - Orders without wavering, not accepting no for an answer.

- Yes, sir!

They have asked him if he wants transport, a Yumkasaur, or a horse; he denied all of that, wanting to go slowly… needs to see what he lost and familiarize himself again…

- No, we will walk. A trotting trip will put us in the situation. Anything you notice, put it in the report. Tell my men who are around the tribes to say the situation of the Abyss and how they have contained it. Have them come to the camp immediately if they are not there - Delegates orders, being fulfilled just as he asks, that is good, he needs this.

Despite the Fatui's reputation, several look at them with mistrust, but given the missions to destroy Abyssal hordes and other aid the Fatui have provided here, he has gained a bit of the trust and familiarity of others. They are warm and welcoming; when they see the Captain pass by on the road, they give him the best food, answering questions about how the day-to-day is so far facing the Abyss.

Doesn’t feel that he deserves that food and the rest, but just like in the past, the locals are stubborn and insistent, and the man can do nothing but accept and eat sitting next to his men. The first bites produce something… damn, could not avoid it and ate until the last piece, how long has it been since he ate Tatacos, his favorite… how many centuries has it been since he enjoyed Natlan's food, the taste is just as he remembers.

A dark-skinned soldier named Rafael, a Pyro Fatui Skirmisher, a good prisoner guard who watches the subordinates who commit a serious fault or treason under Capitano's orders, who eats by his side, could not help but comment in a low voice - "The Captain is going to finish all the Tatacos in one bite, we should be careful haha"

That stops Capitano, but Rafael does not notice, but his friend next to him does - "Rafael, don't talk and eat!" - Says his friend in a furious whisper, who is another Geo Fatui Skirmisher.

Rafael retracts and guiltily apologizes for making that comment to his leader. The black-haired man is silent while stares at his Tataco about to be finished. Murmurs in a low voice to the Fatui Skirmisher - "It's fine, Rafael… it's been a while since I ate this"

- Really? Not even on your visits here? - Asks a bit surprised and genuine.

The Captain truly doesn’t trust himself to talk about that, only nods in silence. Rafael is fascinated in some way without knowing anything about the conflict in his boss, and without thinking, gives him his last Tataco - "If you want, you can eat mine, I'm already full" - Smiles without problems; his friend next to him can only hit his head and call him an idiot in a whisper at this.

Capitano swallows his food, looking at that offered Tataco, the temptation gets the best of him, perhaps will regret it later, but hears his own stomach roar, and growling, carefully takes Rafael's, thanking him in silence. Ignores the argument that the two Fatui Skirmishers are having, concentrated on the comforting taste of the food.

Spits in silence and fury at what he is doing, what promised not to do, but everything is so treacherous now; eats and moans at the delicious bite. Says nothing more while giving the order to continue the trip, seeing the landscape at sunset when they arrive at the Camp, still savors the spicy sauce on his tongue, believing that the centuries would have taken away his tolerance for spice… and it was not so…

Doesn’t admit more than he should, his eyes… they become soft seeing everything while the cool wind makes his hair fly, one last thought before returning to the cold of Capitano in his tent.

How beautiful… is this landscape.

The command tent was a colossal structure, reinforced to withstand the hot winds and dust of Natlan, but inside the atmosphere was as dense and icy as a Snezhnaya blizzard. Capitano stood before the map table, arms crossed over his armored chest, listening to the reports in absolute silence that made his subordinates nervous.

- The Abyss has increased its forces on the borders - reported one of the commanders, pointing to several points on the map of Abyssal Attacks from past years and their recent increase – “Our soldiers who have operated in the shadows infiltrating under your orders have followed your guidelines of direct support to defend the nation and any secret information we may have. The attacks have been hard; the protection that the Archon left 500 years ago has finally ended”

Capitano didn’t move. The dark mask revealed nothing, but beneath the metal his star-like eyes were fixed on the technical reports. They spoke of new technologies developed by the possible Archon to mobilize armies, an engineering that he didn’t know five centuries ago.

The infiltrated soldiers have secretly eliminated a good number of abyssal points that the warriors still have not discovered who it was. The man in his visits has been part of that personally, he still remembers driving his sword into the neck of those Hilichurls.

Then, a local subordinate stepped forward with a paper in hand.

- Captain, the Pilgrimage Tournament has undergone a change of plans - Said the soldier with a trembling voice – “The Ancient Archon, Mavuika, had to postpone the date due to an urgent abyssal attack in the tribes of the Children of Echoes and Scions of the Canopy. She had to intervene personally with her warriors”

- When will be the exact date? - Asked Capitano. His voice was a blade of ice that cut through the air.

- February 14, sir.

The room was plunged into a deathly silence. The soldier continued quickly, trying to fill the void.

- Because the enemies are invisible and the attacks constant, it cannot be postponed further. It’s the closest date to select the new order of warriors, choose the new Archon and obtain the Gnosis. It is vital for the salvation plan.

Upon hearing that name and that date, his heart contracted with a painful force. Under the table, he subtly gripped the report, crumpling the paper.

- February 14? - He thought with a bitterness that burned his throat – “Of all the possible dates, she had chosen the day of love and friendship to hold a war tournament? Could she not celebrate anything without duty poisoning it all? Does she want to mock the date... in which we confessed our feelings?”

More memories struck him with the violence of a hurricane: the Throne of the Sacred Flame, her revealing her 500-year plan at the last minute, him fighting to hold her back, the roar of the statue breaking and his own exile.

Darkness returned, more violent than ever – “You might have changed in everything and nothing at the same time... you are still just as much a slave to your duty. How weak you are, Archon” - His mind screamed at him to turn around and return to the cold of Snezhnaya, but the pain of what was lost kept him anchored to the floor of Natlan. It was too late to flee.

Amidst the murmurs of the soldiers, a recently recruited Cryo Legionnaire leaned toward his companion, a Cryo Cicin Mage, with a triumphant smile.

- This is the perfect opportunity - Whispered the Legionnaire – “Our Captain should steal the Gnosis while that Archon is distracted with her tournament. It would be a masterstroke for the Tsaritsa”

The murmurs stopped abruptly. The dark-haired man whose hearing was as sharp as his instinct, hardened his posture.

- No - Sentenced with a firmness that made the stakes of the tent vibrate.

The Legionnaire was stunned. Capitano stood up slowly, looming over the table with dangerous sharpness.

- I have heard enough - Sweeping the room with his gaze – “We will continue to safeguard the nation and wait for the next abyssal attack. But let it be clear: we are not going to steal the Gnosis in this event, nor will we launch a surprise attack. I have never attacked anyone from behind and I will not start now. If I am to obtain the Gnosis, it will be in direct combat between the Ancient Archon and me”

Stared at the newly arrived Legionnaire from Snezhnaya, ensuring his words sank in deep.

- For those new to these lands, I will repeat it once: beyond our mission, Natlan is a priority. If the Abyss advances here, it will destroy everything, including the Gnosis. Don’t forget who the true enemy is for Her Majesty apart from the Heavenly Principles. What happens in Natlan will be everyone's problem.

The veterans nodded with devotion, but the Cryo Legionnaire kept a silence charged with icy fury despite nodding and smiling, not understanding why his idol wasted such an advantage. Then, the Cicin Mage raised her hand with a feigned innocence that hid a pinch of doubt and malicious discomfort at not going for the gnosis at once but above all....what to do with the ancient Archon...

- Captain... How will our soldiers' treatment be toward the Ancient Archon if she wins the tournament?

The question was daring, almost rude. Rafael, the soldier who had eaten with him before, gritted his teeth indignantly, but the First Harbinger answered before anyone could react.

- Nothing improper will be done. Act with neutrality and follow the mission - Said Capitano, although inside the memories of 500 years ago devoured him. That peaceful walk a moment ago felt like a distant lie – “In the end, don't worry about her. In the Tsaritsa's new system, whatever happens between the warriors and the Fatui, whether they collaborate or not, she’s part of the old….and the old has no place in this world”

How cold...how cruel...

It was a cruel phrase, a verbal stab that he threw into the air hoping that the ghost of the redhead would hear it. However, in the depths of his being, the horror at his own words from that dead man destroys his head again, but he silenced it violently.

- The session is over. Withdraw.

The soldiers left in silence. Rafael left with a heavy heart, confused by the coldness of his leader, while the Cryo Mage walked away with a twisted smile at that last phrase. The room remained deserted. He stayed alone, knitting his brows with a fury he could not stop, wondering in the oppression of the silence if this trip would have any end.

If everything he said to Childe... Is there still something left of that man from 500 years ago? Hates being completely powerless against this war against himself, for once, would like things to be easier...Why did he have to tell his subordinate that?

Because it is the truth...it has to be...

No, I do not regret...

The disgust is so deep that it leaves a mark on the table.

…………………..

Do you want to leave?

No.

In the end the thing is clear, he does not plan to return to the frozen lands...whether he finds the end he has to achieve.

Suddenly, a spy called at the entrance of the tent.

- Captain, I bring the information you requested - Announced the subordinate from the outside.

- Come in immediately - Ordered without moving from his position.

The Pyro Agent entered with a firm step and headed directly toward him, extending a sealed envelope that contained the fruit of years of clandestine research.

- Several of our contacts have finished translating the prophecy you ordered to investigate, sir.

- Perfect. You can withdraw. Rest - Sentenced the First Harbinger with an icy brevity.

The Agent nodded with respect and disappeared in a brief burst of flames, leaving behind only the smell of ash and smoke. He lowered his gaze toward the envelope. Let out a long and heavy sigh; it was not his body that was exhausted, even though it was barely the first day back in Natlan, but his soul that dragged the weight of five centuries.

During his previous visits to the nation of fire, he had been in charge of moving invisible threads. He knew that the key to his torment resided in that prophecy she mentioned before leaving; the ancient pact between the Archon Xbalanque and Ronova, the Shade of Death. It was the foundation upon which Natlan rose, but also the madness of the loss. It seemed a cruel mockery to him that she had never revealed the exact conditions for the salvation of the nation to be effective, beyond the obvious sacrifice.

Obtaining this translation had been an odyssey of years. That archaic language was a secret kept under lock and key by the shamans of the Masters of the Night-Wind and the successor Archons. It had taken studying versions, verifying manuscripts, and bribing with money, favors, and a good threatening sword in one or another of the connoisseurs of tradition to finally have the truth in his hands.

Opened the envelope with an almost ceremonial slowness. His gloved fingers extracted the scrolls and began to travel the lines.

In Snezhnaya, Capitano avoided mirrors as if they were cursed despite having one in the bathroom. If he crossed paths with one in his quarters, ended up breaking it or fleeing from his own reflection; could not stand to see the mask because he knew that underneath was the face of a man who felt like a stranger to himself, even though he practiced a little to remain looking, it’s so difficult...he already takes into account what happened in the bathroom. Now, in the solitude of the tent his forehead wrinkled under the helmet upon reading the content. His breathing stopped, the air became heavy in his lungs upon reaching a certain specific condition... one that involved him, if she...

A Déjà Vu invaded him, a bitter premonition of what would happen when he was in front of the Archon, demanded that she look him in the eyes, Will she have enough guts to reveal what he does not want to understand, what he does not want to validate after suffering 500 years.

- Why? - Whispered to no one.

He is a fool. The content of the parchment gave him the answer, but his mind refused to accept it. So much that she has professed that no one fought alone...that she trusted others...that she trusted him...

Liar.

The rage began to mix with a devastating sorrow – “Sacrificing yourself was really your only solution?”

This sacrifice was ne-

NO! IT NEVER WAS AND WILL BE!

CAPI-!

SHUT UP!!!

…………………

……….

Screamed in the tent alone...at least...he is happy that no one saw him.

He is so stupid for not being able to handle the magnitude of what he had just read. His mind wanted to erase the information, he desperately wished to stop suffering, but his body betrayed him, crouching under the weight of a truth he could not carry. He took a hand to his eyes, hidden behind the visor, feeling not only his own weight, but the weight of the person he professes to hate.

Was it really hate? He wanted it to be. Its hate, It has to be! He wanted to forget what she hid from him for five hundred years; what she kept quiet to be the leader of a nation while he rotted in exile because of her stupid cowardice.

But at that moment...

Capitano disappeared. The First Harbinger vanished into the mist because he could not take it anymore.

Only Thrain remained...for a moment that remained before the coldness of Capitano returned.

I deny it...I deny everything...

Thrain just wanted to cry. Lay back on his camp cot, looking at the ceiling of the tent with fixed and dry eyes. He did not shed a single drop; the cold of Snezhnaya seemed to have frozen even his tear ducts even in warm lands. He stayed there, motionless in the gloom, feeling incredibly tired.

Very... very tired.

The sun of Natlan is not the same as that of Snezhnaya; that one not only illuminates but beats even five centuries later. Still lives the heat on his neck, the bustle of the people and the aroma of toasted cocoa that floats in the air. Everything around him was a chaos of colors, balloons shaped like saurians, couples holding hands and the bustle of a Valentine’s Day that, for some reason, felt more vibrant than ever.

He never understood why Mavuika announced this celebration despite the war, Valentine’s Day was celebrated in a normal way without it being a national holiday...Why now?

Thrain exhales, feeling the cold sweat of nervousness. His fingers close tightly over the small gift. Still remembers the disaster in the kitchen, the first failed attempt where Hine confused the salt with the sugar. But the final result is there, a small offering for the woman who has invaded his thoughts. Everyone knows it; Mrs. Haumia throws hints at him every time she sees him, and Tanok observes him with that mixture of severity and acceptance that only a father possesses.

- Are you going to keep squeezing that box until the chocolate turns into dust, brother? - Hine’s voice brings him back to reality. She walks by his side, amused, enjoying his nervousness.

- I’m fine, Hine. I just... this outing to go well - Adjusting his grip on the small package. Still remembers yesterday’s disaster with salt instead of sugar and they almost ruined everything.

- Mom already considers you one more son, and dad... well, he hasn’t kicked you out of the house yet, so that is a victory - Jokes, giving him a push with her shoulder – “Look at her! She is already there”

At the foot of the Archon’s statue, in the heart of the stadium, a spot of fire stirs. It is her.

- THRAAAINN! HINE! HERE I AM! - Mavuika waves her hand with an energy that would disarm any army. She runs towards them without caring about protocol, dressed in her combat bodysuit and her metallic shoulder pads that shine under the sun. Not even today does she take off her armor.

The little orange pumpkin gives him a violent push from behind.

- Hine! - He protests stumbling.

- Do something with your life and confess! - She yells at him with a mischievous smile – “This day is yours, don’t ruin it! Luck! I’ll kick you both if you don’t resolve those ridiculous lovesick looks that you have given me like a stone in my shoe for not doing anything! Byeeeeee!”

Before he can protest, the girl slips into the crowd, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing. He is left alone, advancing towards the redhead who is coming at full speed. The Archon in her enthusiasm, does not see a protruding stone and trips.

Reacts by instinct, extending his arms and catching her before she touches the ground. Remains suspended in his arms, with her face just a few centimeters from his.

Both are ignited, a deep red decorating their cheeks. Mavuika lets out a nervous laugh while he helps her straighten up.

Mavuika sees that Hine will not accompany them, god...her little sister helped them so much.

- Thanks... - Laughing nervously while she fixes her hair – “This day took me a long time to plan. I wanted it to be a free afternoon for us so...” - She bites her lip, cutting off the sentence – “It doesn’t matter! Let’s go!”

Snatches his hand and drags him away from the crowd. Her fingers interlace with a firmness that makes Thrain’s pulse accelerate. They run, laugh, dodge food stalls until the noise of the city fades.

The ground vanishes under his feet, but doesn’t care. He could do nothing to stop it, and the bitterest truth is that he did not want to do it. Abandons himself to the whirlwind of the memory, letting his consciousness sink into the magnetism of that hand that squeezes his with a force that promises eternity.

They run and chase each other, if they had met before they would be children whose feet would guide them towards the other regardless of the time it took for one to arrive.

Arrived at the foot of the great tree gasping, with their lungs burning from the laughter and the unbridled race. Mavuika leaned against the rough bark, trying to catch her breath while her golden eyes shone with a playful intensity. Thrain watched her, captivated by how the light filtered through the leaves danced over her armor, making her look like a deity descended just for him.

- You almost left me behind, Archon - Joked, private and with no one to look at him strangely before such a serious man, resting his hands on his knees while trying to calm the beating of his heart – “Is that a new combat tactic or did you just want to see me suffer a little under this sun?”

The redhead let out a crystalline laugh and straightened up, drying a drop of sweat from the forehead with the back of her gloved hand.

- If you can’t keep up with a "simple" race, Thrain, I am seriously worried about our next training - Winking at him with a confidence that always disarmed him.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed; the lightness of the joke evaporated to give way to a sweet tension charged with electricity. She searched for something behind her metallic cape, avoiding the Sentinel’s gaze for the first time all afternoon.

- Here - Said suddenly, extending a box wrapped in bluish paper, decorated with a clumsiness that he found extremely adorable – “My mother taught me yesterday, I thought I screwed up when I confused the salt with the sugar, but mom saved me...I hope you like it” - She confessed, with her cheeks turning a deep carmine.

He remained frozen, with his gaze fixed on the small package that she held with a mixture of pride and shyness. The surprise illuminated his face upon understanding that the fear of not being reciprocated was a shadow that both had been carrying in silence.

- You... cooking for me? - Whispered feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the weather of Natlan – “I hope it’s not a strategic poisoning attempt, because if it is, it has worked; my heart already stopped” - Added recovering his usual charisma to hide his nervousness.

The redhead let out a nervous giggle and gave him a playful push on the shoulder, urging him to accept the gift once and for all.

Thrain, with trembling hands that didn’t correspond to those of a warrior, took out from his own bag the box he had prepared with Hine.

- Well, it seems that we both had the same "dangerous" idea - Handing him the chocolates that had cost him so much effort.

She took the box as if it were the greatest and most sacred treasure of the entire nation, holding it against her chest with absolute devotion.

- Hine almost made me put salt instead of sugar in it too, so if you bite one and it tastes like the sea, you already know who to blame - Scratching the back of his neck.

Looked at the sweets and then at him, with a tenderness that made the outside world disappear completely, leaving only the rustle of the leaves.

- Then... - Murmured, taking a step towards her, feeling that the air became dense and charged with unfulfilled promises.

- Then... - She repeated in a gentle voice, shortening the distance until their armors brushed with a slight metallic clinking – “Does this mean that the great Thrain has been defeated by a box of sweets and a stubborn Archon?” - Asked, challenging him with a smile.

- It means that I surrender to you, Mavuika. There is no battle I want to win if the prize is not you - Responded with a sincerity that cut off her breath.

Mavuika could only stare at him in silence, her face softens, a bravery that springs from her hands when raises them before – “Then I suppose...that you and I are the sun and the moon found after so much silence...Thrain”

Pulled him towards her, holding him by the straps of his shoulder pad, forcing to lower his head so that their breaths mixed.

The first kiss was a collision of clumsiness and contained desire, a clash of teeth and noses that made them laugh softly against the other’s lips.

But the second... the second was the explosion of a volcano, the latent fire of a young warrior who had lost everything, was released suddenly.

The chocolates fell to the ground, forgotten in the grass, while he surrounded her waist with a possessive force that knew no limits. There was no delicacy in that grip, only the primal need to feel her. Pressed her against the trunk of the tree, devouring with a passion that burned him inside, feeling that the sun of Natlan had moved into his own chest, threatening to melt them into a single being of fire and ice.

The woman let out small guttural sounds, moans of surprise and surrender that made the man’s mind cloud over, dragging him into an abyss of desire. His hands sank into her burning hair, pulling gently while their tongues met with a feverish desperation, a wet and deep dance that took their breath away. The excitement grew uncontrollable, a burning tide that he could not repress.

Wanted her to feel him, wanted her to know the effect she had on him. Pressed her even closer, leaving no space, so that she would perceive against her abdomen the erection that was rising with force under the fabric of his pants, pushing with an unmistakable hardness. The message was clear, undeniable, burning.

- Ah! - Mavuika let out a small cry of surprise, a sharp exhalation that drowned on her lips, separating just a few centimeters. Her eyes were wide open, fixed on his, and her face lit up like a live ember, tinted with a red that surpassed the sun of Natlan.

Stopped, with erratic breathing, his heart hammering against his ribs with brutal violence. Looked at her with a mixture of unbridled desire and a sudden fear of having crossed a line, of having ruined the purity of that moment. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t move, only observed him with those golden solar eyes and then, slowly, a smile was drawn on her lips.

A red, wet and vibrant smile that confirmed to him, without words, that she desired that heat as much as he did, that the fire that consumed was reciprocated with the same intensity. Took her in his arms again, with a sudden tenderness that contrasted with the fierceness of his previous embrace.

Kissed again and again, losing the notion of time, until their lips were swollen.

They returned to Mavuika’s house hours later, walking with a calm slowness, holding hands and without caring who might see them.

Hine waited for them with a triumphant smile, one that said – “I told you so” - While Mavuika’s parents watched them with a silent blessing.

And for all the perdition that is the world, life and himself... stops, from the heat that did not stop, doubting his own memory when he wanted her to feel his hardness..

No…

………………….

- Why?....Why? - The whisper escaped his lips in the present, breaking the spell.

………………….

The sun of Natlan goes out suddenly. The aroma of cocoa disappears, replaced by the rancid smell of the canvas of his tent. Thrain screams in the silence of his mind the name that is forbidden to pronounce. He wakes up with a jolt, with agitated breathing and a hand suspended in the air, trying to reach a warmth that no longer exists.

Remains motionless under his heavy weight, feeling a freezing horror running down his spine. He was right. The memory of the heat was not real; under the sheets of his cot, his body has reacted to the lie of his memory. His penis is still raised inside, hard and throbbing, painful and uncomfortable, pre-cum coming out at the tip.

Everything goes blank, his mouth opens and closes. Gets up carefully; the silence of the night offers him no comfort.

- Why? - Repeated again, with his voice broken by self-contempt – “Why...? Why...?”

He was dirty. Sought comfort in a memory that now seemed like a betrayal to him. She had ruined the purity of that day with her silence of five hundred years, her stupid cowardice of dying alone and putting duty above everything. But his heart, treacherous and tired, didn’t want to let go of the memory.

Let himself fall back onto the cot again, defeated by his own weakness. In the end, exhaustion was stronger than rage and sank back into sleep.

Dreamed of the sun burning his skin, with those lips that his mind called bitter years ago, they still tasted as sweet as the first Valentine’s Day.

It’s a guilty pleasure.

An addiction that could not stop and that in the darkness he refused to acknowledge. To leave his standing annoyance in solitude, with the gram of dignity that he doubts will serve at this point.

Repressed again. Guilty because that gram of happiness is what makes him sleep peacefully for once.

In the shadows of the nation, kills the Abyssals that approach the tribes, as brutal as... and the order to his men is clear, shots and blood running through the grass, the laughter of those monsters who still have the audacity to mock while he drives his sword into them again and again.

As much as he wants to remain hidden, with all these missions and battles, the inhabitants will take notice and spread rumors that the Fatui are here, it must have been evident at the port when he arrived, it is inevitable…simply…

He was not ready to see her even in the distance.

…..He does not want to give an opinion on what he read last night, touching his own lips from the memory of Valentine’s Day, at least his erection is gone…besides…

Tomorrow…is the Pilgrimage.

……………….

Finished with the day, the mission and containment of the Abyss is going well, a short victory that at least his heart can grasp as happy…but it’s not enough…

Needs…air…

Needs strength…to face her.

……….

He is already having more regrets than victories…

Only knows one place where he can grasp strength. Against everything his own mind screaming at him to stop. But silences it again.

His feet lead him far away, walks the path he walked on his visits, always returning like an indifferent ghost, with rage, watching the sunset, waiting for something, for someone he doesn’t name. Everything was blocked so wouldn’t remember how it felt before the tree he sits by, the soft grass and hearing the waves in the distance, the flowers swaying carefully. And it hits him…it hits again…

The indifference of sitting in this same place is gone and doesn’t recognize why, he knows but stays silent.

All those memories, the good ones, the bad ones…and there he sees himself, like a fool who failed to prevent that light from leaving, again not being able to retain the people he wanted to be there. It was already night again and far from any person. Doesn’t think of anything else, perhaps what he left behind…but with everything that was inside his heart is present.

That he is back. That he will see that Archon, of her stupid and naive promise, that he will not return to Snezhnaya until their weapons clash, that she sees what her decision did, whatever has to happen between them. It’s a fact.

But…relaxes, sinning again by leaning against the tree and not leaving immediately, wonders what his parents must be thinking of Capitano and the Archon of him, they must be crazy about the man he became, a turbulent journey where again his own emotions are clear and doubtful at the same time.

A rage and hate that will return when he looks at her.

But now just wants to recompose, he doesn’t think, silent while the leaves fly. Something close to the peace grabs before the storm arrives. Must fulfill his promise to Childe to look at her even for seconds. And before a Harbinger like him…he knows he will look at her, it doesn’t matter, because doesn’t want to see her nor anyone in a mirror again.

Almost falls asleep, waking up without being…rushed, he should be but no, truly what peace that he knows will end, for once didn’t care about that carelessness.

Before the moon above him, his hands move to his sword and illuminates the ground with frost, using his hands to dig and there it is…

The cup that broke 500 years ago.

The pieces still remain there; takes the pieces…

Destroys all of it with his ice power. Leaving nothing of that cup. He finds no contempt in what he did, still remembers on the visits bringing a cup of coffee with milk, only to blow all that up and leave those indifferent cups among the Fatui kitchen, but that buried one is special.

Because it meant that…his soul kept waiting.

There is no point in waiting anymore.

Because she is here.

Leaves feeling light although, a certain tremor of tomorrow that was approaching.

Because the promise will be present again in the stadium.

500 years seeing her again.

…………………………

The architecture of the mind is a labyrinth of mirrors where most human beings walk blindly, ignoring the gears that move them until their last breath extinguishes their light.

There is the arrogant belief that we possess total control, that we choose which thoughts to allow, how to react to tragedy, or which memories to invoke in the penumbra. But consciousness is a thin veil; beneath it, the repressed beats with a force that knows no reason.

There is a breaking point where the mind ceases to obey the individual, especially when they have spent centuries neglecting the existence of what they carry inside, refusing to acknowledge their own cracks so as not to finish breaking. They fight and contradict, that is where one cannot trust to be someone stable.

The past and the present cease to be parallel lines to collide head-on. Experiences it now, while takes shelter in the penumbra of a room in the stadium. Has paid for that space of isolation together with his men, seeking that no foreign gaze from Natlan profanes the fragility that feels boiling under his armor and the Fatui present in the Stadium.

The Valentine’s Day decorations upon arriving at the Stadium, those balloons and ribbons that once evoked sweetness, now seem like mute reminders of a life that cannot return without betraying himself again in dreams, suffocated by the metallic clamor of swords and the thirsty cry of a crowd that celebrates its millenary culture of war.

Not even by crossing his arms with the habitual military rigidity does he manage to contain the tremor that runs through his extremities. Upon observing the contenders in the arena, Natlan throws its own history in his face like a slap of fire.

Sees himself again in every clash of steel, every gasp of fatigue; he remembers that familiar fire that allowed to rise again and again, unstoppable, until the enemy was just dust at his feet. The Sacred Flames invite him to combat again, awakening a ghostly craving in muscles, a need to descend and demonstrate to this nation that the Sentinel has not died, but has mutated into something much darker.

When the chosen ones finally appear and the air is saturated with expectation, Capitano’s breathing stops completely. Presses his forearms against his chest as if were a granite statue trying to contain an internal tide of stone and mud.

Then…

A gust of scorching heat cuts the atmosphere and crimson hair, so alive that it seems made of pure energy, hits the air while she advances before her people.

…………………..Oh…………………….

The screams of the crowd are not normal; a physical force, a roar that shakes the structure of the stadium and which almost is grateful for, because that deafening noise is a dull balm for the chaos that reigns in his head. The amount of mental strength for this encounter is not enough to protect him from the heat of the reunion.

An explosion of igneous particles converges towards the throne, and from among that hell of light arises a figure that defies time. The sound of a heel hitting the stone floor resonates in his ears with more force than any broadsword. Everything inside the Harbinger goes blank. A pain that destroys, an agony that feels as if his soul were being ripped from the floor downwards, leaves him breathless.

Under the mask his mouth opens intermittently, looking for air that suddenly seems to have disappeared from the world. The promise that she made to him five hundred years ago returns to resonate in his temples with the power of thunder.

Never, in a thousand lives that lived could confuse that Archon with any other woman. Is a sun that has decided to land on earth and torture him once more, illuminated and radiant as never dared to imagine in his most feverish dreams.

Mavuika addresses her people as the definitive leader who has returned from the Throne of the Primordial Fire, and the energy is so vast that doesn’t use the Gnosis in her chest so much to claim her place in combat, continues to be the force to reckon with in the entire nation, with or without a gnosis her enemies have no chance. The seriousness while fighting is a dance of brutality and precision that leaves him petrified, seeing how each participant falls at her feet without remedy.

Her solar greatsword is an extension of a will that has continued alive for five centuries, Capitano observes the blood that runs down the corner of her lips and the wounds on the skin, with horror and admiration that nothing of that stops her.

When the victory is absolute and the Gnosis healing her body in a flash of power, raises her fist to the sky. The roar of the stadium is religious, a massive adoration to the goddess who has returned to save them from darkness.

Her smile... oh…her smile.

That smile is what ends up short-circuiting him.

Her ignited hair shines with the same intensity as the Sacred Flame, and when she raises her arms before her people, He sees in her a sun that leaves no space for shadows, except for his, which extends vast and invisible from his private room. Can only be strong so as not to fall.

That voice that he had not heard in five hundred years, buried under the ice of Snezhnaya, statues and broken mirrors, shakes the very foundations when she begins to speak with an authority that admits no reply.

- Those who have doubted me only bury themselves under the embers of my will - Proclaims Mavuika, and her voice reaches Capitano like a whisper direct to the heart – “Before you there is nothing but a human who has returned so that Natlan sees the end of the darkness, of a pending wound that still festers. Here I am to stay again and so that the sun makes the shadows vanish”

Extends her hand forward; a gesture loaded with a warmth so nostalgic and powerful that the man almost betrays himself again. For a second his body leans forward, the irrational impulse of wanting to take that hand for himself, responding to the call of the sun.

- Haborym, Archon of Natlan... but for many who are no longer here, in the name of everyone, me, Mavuika, warrior of this nation that has seen me born and die, I ask that you have in your heart the fury to fight one more time by my side. No one fights alone because...

Pauses. Her golden eyes search desperately among the crowd, scanning the faces with a rapidity that denotes a personal search. For a fleeting instant, a deep and devastating sadness is shown on the face upon not finding that Sentinel among her people. A darkness that silences in solitude since everything of hers began, the demons that she silences.

But regains composure immediately and a war cry sets the air on fire again.

- I HAVE RETURNED!

The stadium trembles under the cheers.

- HABORYM!

- MAVUIKA!

- OUR PATRON HAS ARRIVED!

A subordinate, prey to nervousness, breaks the silence in the room.

- Sir... - Whispers the soldier – “Are you going to do something about the Gnosis?”

Capitano does not respond. Rafael can only look at his boss without understanding what is happening but notices that he does not want them to speak to him about the increase in the cold, silences the other with a cutting gesture. No one dares to mention the oppressive silence of the First Harbinger.

The inner river overflows; the ghost man who inhabits him fights to free himself, to scream his blackness against her splendor. However, remains there motionless, while the warmth of the Archon burns him inside and out. The words die in his throat, leaving only a broken whisper that barely escapes lips like a lament, grabbing his heart that palpitates.

- You returned... you returned... five hundred years later... and you returned.

The sun before the cheers still looks for the moon, even when she returned from the Throne could only see her house in ruins, her family is gone…Has Thrain not returned? Does not say what hurts her and the scars carries, only smiles and celebrates with the people, hoping that someone doesn’t start a scandal so that everyone doubts and turns against her. Nor having time to look for him outside the Stadium on Valentine’s Day.

The boot of a black knight turns to the exit with his men when the show ends, leaving the room in silence just as the Archon left it 500 years ago. But that the heat only leaves him naked and something else that grows aggressively and forbidden like that memory.

How beautiful is Valentine’s Day…

When the Sun and the Moon were in the same place again…but the wounds only continue to drag them to devour them again, a line that fights to be left clear, breaking again and again.

From love to hate there is a step, everything comes to light in an unbearable way, a line that is erased only to remain an image that he does not recognize. He cannot stop…

He…can take no more.

……………….

……….

THAT SAME NIGHT…

The streets of the Stadium are empty at nightfall, the celebration of the Archon’s victory and Valentine’s Day started quite early and people are already exhausted enough to go home. The shops are closing and those who remain are there to clean up. The crickets are the only company that a drunkard around there might have.

Mavuika’s Statue, the same one from the past Valentine’s is still intact, beautiful and holding the fire of a nation that promised to return.

And the staggering footsteps of armor are a clear witness that the lonely streets and the Statue that watches in silence the night are not as alone as they seem. They are slowing like a sheet dragging.

Those footsteps stop near the Statue.

The man drinks his last gulp of butterbeer, without stopping looking at the statue, licking his lips with tension and a bored attitude, lets out a small chuckle at the face of his subordinates at the inn they stayed at when they invited him to drink, they have never seen their boss drink, thinking was going to decline the invitation as he always did in Snezhnaya or they haven’t seen him drink being with Tartaglia, only to see him swallow the butterbeer so calmly.

That says a lot about how he is a vital example for his soldiers, it’s not typical of him to exaggerate with drink, he is not irresponsible, he likes to be sane and be someone well prepared for any eventuality, to say that he likes to drink would not be correct, only does it out of courtesy, because at least it produced something to distract himself with but maybe it makes him feel more relaxed and to want to spend time without thinking about the weight of his existence.

That this was the exception of not being an exemplary being, lost count and has a lot to think about.

His soldiers have already gone to sleep and in truth wanted to be alone from what happened today, walking through the streets, closing his heart against any sight of a redhead in the street.

Only to find the Statue, the feet moving on their own towards it. Knows there are statues all over Natlan but it seems like a cruel joke, destroyed one into pieces in the past, finding himself with another one leaves with the bitter taste of butter. Just like the real Archon, this one has not changed an appendage, same marble, same pose, hair falling down, sitting holding the Pyro in her hand, a work of art by the best sculptor there could be.

The indifference is different from the past, as if were not the one looking at it, neither does he know why decided among all things to approach when his hatred for these statues is as clear as day, mocks with his gaze, as if it were real even though it is not, if he had the courage to do the same with the real one...but he only wants to say the things he could not with the other, at least not now.

The body is hot from so much drinking and something else forbidden that does not dare to name, nor since that night at the Zhar-Ptitsa Tavern has he gone so far. The cold is nonexistent to save him at this point…does not care; he does not want to care.

Walks slowly, from one side to the other while watches her from top to bottom.

He doesn’t miss her.

He doesn’t love her.

He doesn’t desire her.

Caresses the platform softly, furrowing his brows when repeats with fury what he feels for the Statue, for her.

She is not beautiful as he remembers her.

She is not dazzling.

She is not pretty in her own way.

She is not any of those things.

She is pure marble.

He hates her.

He loathes her.

He never waited for her for 500 years.

No one fights alone? What a liar she is.

She sacrificed herself for Natlan alone.

How does she dare?

He doesn’t miss her.

He doesn’t love her.

He doesn’t desire her.

No.

And no.

Mocking when his hoarse tone sounds, letting out a dry laugh that tasted like gall and butterbeer.

- Look at yourself... - Muttered, pointing with a finger at the impassive face of the statue – “So quiet. How familiar this silence is to me, isn’t it? It’s exactly the same one you left me with five hundred years ago”

Took one more step closer, losing his balance for an instant before resting a heavy hand on the base of the monument. Eyes, hidden behind the emptiness of his mask, roamed the carved features with a cruel intensity.

- Are you happy, Archon? - Snapped at it, voice rising in tone charged with an anger that alcohol only managed to sharpen – “Is this the result you wanted? Look at me well. Look at what I became while you slept in your own sacrifice. You left me alone in a darkness that you cannot even imagine and now you expect me to celebrate your return with the rest of your people. If we talk about nerve, you would carry the head”

Mocked with an erratic gesture, circling the statue as if he expected the stone to react, for the marble to crack before the poison of his words. Desperate for an answer, for a sign that the pain that devoured him could be heard, only responded to with another silence just like 500 years ago.

- Five hundred years of shadows for a day of glory…absolute shit - Continued, becoming dangerously low and hoarse – “What a waste of life. What a waste of us. You think yourself a savior, but you are just a coward who chose to leave instead of facing your people, your parents, your sister….me”

For a moment the silence of the statue returned to him exactly the same cold that he felt the day she left for the Throne of the Primordial Fire. That silence, instead of pushing him away, acted like a cursed magnet that dragged him toward the center of his pain, climbing his own agony until he was at the height of her sitting face.

Thoughts were going a thousand miles an hour, an amalgam of hatred and fragmented memories of Valentine’s Day that made his blood boil under his armor.

Should stop, his logical mind screamed at him that it was only inanimate stone, but the volcanic heat of his chest no longer knew reason, nor mental limits of a lost battle.

Extended a trembling hand, stripped of his habitual firmness, and for the first time in five centuries, did not use his strength to destroy the monument that represented his loss. Instead, wrapped the cheek of the statue with his fingers, caressing the marble with a tenderness so heartbreaking that the air itself seemed to become dense around his touch.

- I don’t miss you – Whispered, solemn and broken for an instant – “I haven’t thought of you for a single second in all this time. You are nothing to me... just a ghost that refuses to die. I didn’t love you for 500 years, I never desired you for an instant while being alone…never”

The statue did not respond. Leaned in closer, everything became blurry, the smoke of the night came out of his mouth like the breath of a pressure cooker about to explode, fogging the cold stone. His fingers sank into the contour of the marble face, holding her with desperation.

- Look at me... please, look at me one more time - Begged in a thread of voice, the trace of his will crumbling before the memory of her golden eyes, seeing her again – “If you don’t know now... if you don’t understand what these years have done to me...”

Gets comfortable, one knee between her stomach, the breath stops on the face of the statue.

- I will show you what I am made of. I will show you what I became to survive your absence…let me show you – Grabs her cheeks with delicacy, murmurs until he gets lost in his daydream – “Let me show you…how I have fallen into my own perdition”

The environment inside his own armor was unbearable, a pressure of steam and desire that threatened to burst its metallic seams. Imagined that she sighed against him, that the stone yielded to his agony and became willing flesh. With time stopped and his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged animal…

Finally…he closed the distance between the stone and him.

There was no turning back…

Since he returned to Natlan there would be no compassion before the ghost of Thrain to return to claim what corresponds to the time lost in the cold of his own prison.

…………………..

……….

Kissed her softly at first, with a tenderness that he only allowed himself to feel in the absolute clandestinity of the night, letting a heavy sigh get lost in the empty street. Moves his lips against the cold marble, in drunken delirium, the stone begins to feel strangely warm, the fire of Natlan responds to his caress. Stopped for a moment to admire her up close, feeling that she was soft in his arms.

Wanted her to see what he was really made of; to savor every gram of the bitterness he had accumulated in her absence.

Kissed her again,

And then another.

Losing the notion of reality. The kiss became deep, charged with an urgency that defied the logic of the cold metal, while he repeated again and again the name that the next morning he would deny with all his soul – “Mavuika...”

Clung to the marble with a possessive force, devouring those stone lips as if in that cold contact he could find the spark of life he was missing. There was no delicacy, only the brute need of a man who has died a thousand times in solitude.

- Mavuika... - Moaned against the statue. Under the armor, his own heat was suffocating him. In delirium the stone face softened and she returned his gaze with the same passion that was burning in red and blasphemy.

What blasphemy….how far a foolish Fatui Harbinger has fallen.

Not wanting to recognize the image of him in the mirror that he has broken.

Becoming armed to fall again.

It was a sick pleasure, an addiction that made him tremble while the heart finished breaking.

The kisses are a confession of everything had kept quiet. Begging for an answer that his imagination gave him for the end of deep hunger. The smoke of his agitated breathing enveloped the marble face.

- Tell me you know it’s me - Whispered, biting the stone lip.

Separated just a few centimeters, gasping, with the hands still squeezing the statue’s face. A man cut into pieces in the shadows by the trail of light that is Mavuika.

- Tomorrow I will be your enemy again - Sentenced brokenly – “Maybe I will hide again behind the mask and the ice” - Puts his forehead on the cold stone – “But tonight... tonight you are mine and I am the man who did not stop waiting for you”

A tomorrow that he will surely regret. But today…

The stone is gentle when turns his lips on the ceramic, delicate and hungry, a cat licking its last supper carefully before dying.

The metal of his armor screeches against the effigy while swears to hear the moans of Mavuika, a forbidden melody that incites him to continue – “You’re so beautiful, even out of my reach” - Murmurs in a hoarse voice, kissing every feature of the sculpted face.

Following her line down the straight neck, begging for pure flesh so it’s real. Before going down towards the robe and the stone veil. His hands run over the marble curves with veneration, licking the surface of something pulsing the boiling blood of the Archon.

He wants to give her more.

He wants to give himself more.

Each moan he lets out is an offering to the woman who left him behind.

A great wounded animal, seeking heat in a mausoleum, descending along the body of the statue with a devotion that borders on madness if he saw himself sane – “Tell me you feel me, Mavuika, that you still remember this day as ours sometime” - Whispers against the stone, while heavy breathing fogs the polished material.

Upon noticing that the sitting position of the statue prevents him from reaching where desire claims him, he stops, looking into the empty eyes with an intensity – “Do you let me? Will you open yourself for your Sentinel this time?” - Asks, and in the echo of his mind, the Archon’s voice answers him with a "yes" charged with the same surrender of that Valentine’s Day in his memory, what it would have been at that moment.

Invoking ice in his claw, squeezes and scratches the marble, creating a raw and deep hole near the intimate area of the effigy. The pieces of stone fall to the ground with a crash that seems like the applause of demons, leaving the path free of an uncomfortable fact that if it were seen by someone it would already be evident, a fact that the next morning he will quiet.

That Capitano would return to drag and kill him again for this abominable betrayal, and Thrain Christensen doesn’t want to reason with him for anything in this paradise that he has dug for so long in the dungeon.

Without losing a second, returns to kiss the path downwards, finally reaching the opening he has carved with his own hands.

Grips the waist of the statue with a force that would make the bones creak if they were flesh, bringing his mouth to the hole to give a deep and wet lick.

Mavuika moans with sensitivity, a sound that drives him crazy and makes him mock with a predatory smile – “You should be more sincere with me, my sun; your body has always spoken much more clearly than your stupid sacrifices” - Rasps, amused.

They say that Alcohol shows you a side that one would not normally show before others, this is undoubtedly the case.

His mouth salivates when removes her with his hand and descends…

Deeper and deeper into his own darkness, his own truth.

Enters the hole with his tongue, exploring the roughness of the stone that tastes like sweet and honey, like training sweat, a campfire, innocent sunflowers waking up in summer, like food he didn’t think he would consume more than he should, penetrating her with rhythmic movements.

Grunts fill the night; no one believed those sounds came from a man everyone respected.

Sucks on his palate the taste of fire and sunflowers that imagines in Mavuika, moaning with an intensity that makes him tremble. The environment inside the armor is a hell, a pressure of steam and desire that finally makes him come with a suffocated shout.

That she explodes in pleasure from being freed from her chains, seeing a world she has not known. A world where maybe masks are taken off.

Stops for a moment, gasping, with his eyes fixed on the effigy that now seems more alive than ever. Kisses her lips again, caressing the marble breasts with a tenderness that contrasts with the violence of his previous acts.

- I want you to feel good, I want you to know that no one will desire you in hell like I do - He murmurs, while the hands move with furious urgency towards his own pants – “..Mavuika..”

With a liberating grunt, sheds the garment, letting his member.

Charged with 500 years of repression, its freed before the Archon’s gaze – “Do you like what you see, Mavuika? The monster you created?” - Asks with a loving filth, stroking himself with force while letting out grunts of pure pleasure at the touch of touching himself without the shadow of hatred, repression and Capitano. The friction against his own skin makes him gasp, feeling the heat of the night embrace his nakedness.

Approaches the breasts of the statue, shaking his cock between them, seeking a friction that makes him feel close to the heart of the woman who has that empty gnosis. The hips move with a hypnotic rhythm between the marble tits, moaning directly into the figure’s ear while gets comfortable. Holds the statue’s head firmly, accelerating the movement before the minutes he counts, feeling how a white drop begins to bathe the decorated stone.

Stops abruptly, with his face inflamed by heat and drunkenness, looking at her with a mockery charged with a twisted affection.

- I would love to continue here, but it’s not where I plan to finish tonight there, Mavu… - Whispers an intimate nickname that he could not say in the past, kissing her lips with a softness that promises an imminent storm. His fingers seek the entrance himself carved, opening it, preparing it.

One finger.

Two fingers.

Three fingers.

Four fingers.

All being absorbed with fascinating admiration of his sweet sun, so red until the air is nonexistent for her.

Breathes like charcoal, looking at the beautiful disaster in his hands.

Strong and sensitive before the human collapsed in his arms…

This is what he has desired most.

Is it….so hard for her to understand?

For himself to understand that?

A tear that he cannot identify what is tightened from himself.

Thrain wipes it away gently…or perhaps Mavuika’s hand cleans him to continue without regrets for once.

Positions his large and throbbing cock at the entrance of the marble hole, looking at the impassive face of Mavuika with a devotion that terrifies the most faithful – “It will hurt a little, sun…but to be united at last... is the only thing I have desired since I saw you leave” - Confesses in a whisper.

His cock throbs before the hot entrance of Mavuika, gentle and hungry.

With a slow and decided push, begins to enter the statue, clinging to the marble neck as if it were his only anchor in the world. Because at this moment it is.

A deep moan escapes his throat when feels the imaginary heat of the cavity envelop him, kissing the Archon’s lips while goes in centimeter by centimeter.

Trembles like a child taking refuge in the strongest winters of his soul.

Every fiber of his being vibrates when he reaches the bottom, letting out a guttural grunt of triumph and agony at finally feeling inside her. He stops for a moment to catch his air, feeling like a disaster of raw flesh under the moonlight, but more liberated than ever.

- Mavuika... - Moans her name with a mixture of love and filth that pulls the pure air of Natlan into mud. Surrounds the waist of the redhead with his arm, securing his position.

So warm, so gentle and sweet…

Perfectly he can die right there.

Mavuika…

Mavu…

I can’t breathe…I’m going to die.

And revive again.

Begins to move with a tortuous slowness, getting used to the rubbing of the stone. Whispers phrases to the empty wind of the streets, that he only wants to resonate in the redhead.

He is a madman.

He is crazy.

Is that weird now?

Does it surprise anyone else?

It shouldn’t.

It shouldn’t anymore.

He can’t stop.

Not anymore.

The rhythm of his hips accelerates, and the empty stadium becomes the only witness to the sound of his thrusts crashing against the sacred marble.

The slaps a blasphemy that Celestia, the Fatui and Capitano would condemn him to the stake for.

Thrain buries his head in the statue’s neck, kissing the stone while the sound of penetration becomes a delicious music in his ears. Of the absolute disaster of his Mavuika, red, losing her words every second, not being able to have anything coherent to say.

There is nothing coherent to talk about while being united.

Only her name for once.

Thrain.

THRAIN!

How good. how good it feels...HMN Tsarista I-!

Adores the moans from the lips of Mavuika, moving with a brutality that is pure desire, wanting her to enjoy this liberation as much as he does.

- Ah…ah, mnh…mn…ha… - Moans with more force when he feels his cock is adoring every corner of that cunt, marking a rhythm that seeks the sensitive point of his own delirium. Feels eternal in that space, letting her feel how he has desired her in every night of cold in Snezhnaya.

His cock seems to set on fire; the rhythm becomes an uncontrolled frenzy that makes his armor hit rhythmically.

He can’t anymore.

HE CAN’T ANYMORE!

- I’m coming, Mavuika... UGH! – His hips lose rhythm, looks her in the eyes, touching their foreheads in sweat and sex – “Do you want this?...Ha..ha Let me come inside you, please…Mnn!”

Destroyed.

Breathless.

Everything falls.

She cannot pronounce a word, only repeat his name.

Nodding frantically.

He can only be fascinated hypnotized and laugh.

Broken when the rhythm is paralyzing, there is no logic in his laughter.

Only the humidity and the prison being freed, of the animal that buried itself inside him…of Thrain, oh Thrain…

- Take it a-all – Stronger are his thrusts – “Ah, AH! It is all yours MNN!” - In a frenzy of passion and alcohol. His body tenses, the hands dig into Mavuika with superhuman force, and his name comes out of his lips like a final prayer before judgment.

MAVUIKA!

UGH!

He screams her name in an explosion of white.

Paralyzed on her hip, suffering a short circuit in his brain, the pain of his cook is abundant from so much time without being normal…releasing everything repressed even when tries to move his hips in her hole.

His semen floods her cunt, burying itself deeply in the heart of the stone. Continues giving spasmodic thrusts, emptying himself completely of centuries, moaning with her in a synchrony that not a drop of his essence remains.

And after…

Nothing.

………………

……..

Silence falls again over the streets of the Stadium, heavy and dense, while he remains motionless, united to the Archon.

Let’s out heavy air, his forehead still on the other, breathing with difficulty, pain, disorientation and dizzy. Caresses her to calm her. Losing the notion of time between both, a strange relaxation and sleepiness settle in him, laughing softly, kissing the forehead of Mavuika, his eyes lost and blurry. He has never felt so tired.

Why can’t he stay like this forever?

His lips touching her forehead…they wake him up again.

He stops.

Cold. Without movement…nothing.

His eyes open slowly, the drunkenness of his mirage ends for a second, the acceptable hour to return to sanity in the time sufficient that his sight are like plates when he backs away and looks at the Archon in his arms, the cold returns to his body to leave him alone again…Capitano blinks again and again, his hair on his forehead falls but not even that stops the shock of his own frozen skin.

He blinks again and again, the smile of Mavuika disappears.

…………….What have I done?...............

Only the mockery of reality remains giving him a cold bucket in the streets of Natlan.

The stone gaze returns the gesture to him. The same nothingness, the same contemplative silence. His dreams ended, everything remains in ashes.

But worse.

The stone reflected under the moon returns the image of the sin, of everything he has hidden until it was too much, until it overflowed in the Statue he claimed to hate, in the person he claimed not to desire.

And above all…of that man he denied being him…

He is there…he was always there.

Of a Harbinger who has fallen so deep that he cannot reconcile with the past, of what he has promised so much not to do, How can he have something with a statue? What happened to the real one?

He has done this to her…

He has glorified the statue.

Everything was a circus…everything he said…what he has fought…everything…

……………

Why?

Covers his clothes with horror, with disgust, of what was done to her that he did not have the courage to do to the real one. Of a fool, of the absolute fool for believing that it would be a rock but in reality he only overflows in his sinking.

That he is human.

That he is Thrain Christensen.

And he cannot do anything about it.

There is no one by his side that the person who was always alive of what he always wanted him to be, there is no one at his back to point out that he…of returning to this nation to save what he could not in Khaenri’ah, of those he has seen in the mirror, of her…Of the man who looks wanting Capitano to take his hand, who has always been Thrain.

- Thrain…

- Get lost…

Thrain looks at him angry and sad, wanting to approach until he was pushed abruptly, of that look of vitriol in the Knight that locks him in the prison again.

- WHAT DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND A FUCKING WORD OF WHAT I’M SAYING?!! GET LOST!! I SAID GET LOST AND DON’T COME BACK AGAIN!! – He screams at him through the bars, holding his head between both hands, shaking desperately – “This never happened!”

- It did happen!

- NO! I NEVER LOVED HER! I NEVER DID THIS!

- THRA-!

- DON’T CALL ME THRAIN AGAIN!! – He lowers his head, hilarious in the darkness where the radiance points to him, closing his heart once more – “THRAIN IS PART OF THE OLD LIKE THAT ARCHON! YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN HERE AFTER 500 YEARS! WHY IM SLAVE TO YOU?!.....get lost…” – Whispers sobbing.

- ……………………. – The Sentinel only looks at him with that same compassion, frozen in grabbing his cheek. The Harbinger gets none of that shit.

- GET LOST!!!

- ……………………… - Thrain’s look is complicated, he closes his eyes with solemnity and sorrow.

Everything fades.

Alone in the past streets of a Valentine’s Day between thorns of dead flowers.

Remaining the Statue and him.

Everything seemed to lack meaning, what he did never happened.

He is not Thrain.

Continues shaking his head, his winter returns inside him, but the damage remains, no, he shouldn’t look at the statue like that, Where is the hatred when he needs it?!

Only his thoughts and the cold are there. Does not open his mouth to apologize, what blasphemy, to ask for forgiveness to a statue, Who the hell is he?

His head hurts, thinks he is going to vomit…

His face changes in many ways but his eyes wrinkle in sadness, he does not forgive as something more than guilt originates when seeing her, he should kick it like in the past, destroy it like the other fell.

He shuts up and ignores how he caresses her cold cheek one last time, he denied that he fixed any dirt or sweat fallen on the stone, he forgets with tearing when he cleans the hole he has made with a towel, taking out all his semen, picking up the shattered pieces to assemble it again.

He lowers his head, not wanting to look at her, he cannot…

She is part of the old-

Shut up.

……….

Just shut up.

……………

Looks to the sides, does not know what miracle he has had so that no one was around, only the crickets accompany him.

Caresses the platform, just like in the past does not look at the statue when he staggers away. Slow and stopping at moments. Half turns to the Archon but pinches himself to not do it. Denies everything. Nothing has happened.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

His feet lead him to the bathtub, the water runs down his body, lowering his head so that the water cleans the filth, sits down and puts the hands on the face before the mask that is gone, maneuvering softly.

Closing himself once more, nothing has happened.

It hurts.

Buries it again, erases that woman’s name alive again, of the ghosts, of his purpose in Natlan.

It hurts…it hurts…

It hurts…

………..

……

Morning arrives, his head hurts, his memories blurry.

But the weight of Valentine’s Day and that statue remains in his frozen heart. There was only a soft whisper of Thrain that he forgets upon falling asleep…

………..

……

“Liar”

Good morning Captain, I hope this letter finds you well.

Dottore has continued with his experiments and other missions as if he were biting your helmet from the confrontation you had. I can still hear certain rumors in the hallways that he has had to make a punching bag of you to vent, I think it has worked since he is more sadistic and meticulous, now he has his sights on Nodkrai for another mission, the usual. If I were you, I wouldn't trust him much.

The girls are fine, Sandrone invited me because she saw me - “Too much of a wet fox for my sight, come here, we have cookies and stop worrying, the Captain will be strong” - Well, I would like to believe that crazy woman, but with what happened that night... I just hope Natlan hasn't been a stir for you, you haven't communicated since you arrived, so it's better if I act and deliver this letter to you.

As for me?

………….

Strange…

Everything we have talked about has made me think, you know? These days I have been relaxed, even Arlecchino was a little surprised that I haven't accepted too many dangerous missions as I was used to. It's still boring without you to fight but well, I can't do anything more than trust that whatever you are fighting for is valuable.

Some things I used to do I also left aside.

Maybe it’s good in a way, just trust the process, although I imagine I’ll fall to fighting with an imbecile drunk who doesn't behave well with people, leave it to me, these fists aren't for cooking and kicking customers who don't pay their debts, hehehe.

Regarding Morax…

……………….

I must think about it. I hope you understand.

Mentally preparing myself to go there.

But if you are successful in Natlan.

I won't hold back and I will go to where that old Archon has stalled my heart.

So…

How has it gone for you in Natlan?

Have you achieved anything with the Gnosis?

Has nothing happened to you these days?

Have you seen the Archon of Natlan face to face?

Have you found the man you left behind?

Did the Archon return? Were you able to face her? Have you told her what you feel?

If this makes you uncomfortable, I won’t say anything else. I’m sorry.

You revealed to me that night that you and I are not what we claim to be. Even if everything seems impossible to you, you always find a way out, if you have no way out, here is your favorite colleague to help.

Please Captain, I know you won't see me making this expression, but I am so grateful for what you did for me. I really mean it. You are the best, maybe it doesn't look like that, but it is the truth.

If something has happened, you know that Snezhnaya is just a boat ride away, but if you decide not to return…

I can't do anything but accept it, because you fought against Dottore for that mission, because I know you are a human warrior who doesn't give up until getting what you want, to continue on the final path you tread, whatever the end may be.

It’s a bit embarrassing to say, but you have saved me, you are my hope and I cannot thank you enough…

I just hope to remind you, what you told me when leaving.

“Don't end up staring at a corner like I did centuries ago”

I just hope you don't regret your decision, if you want someone to talk to you have me. Continue on your path no matter how narrow and meaningless it is, in the end you will find the light, right?

I will wait for your message, See you Captain!

Childe, alias “Tartaglia”

- ELEVENTH OF THE FATUI HARBINGERS –

Capitano holds onto the edge of his desk. The letter from Tartaglia rests between his fingers, wrinkled by the pressure of a hand. The camp has returned to calm after the noon deployment, and while the birds seek shelter for the night, he can only stay there, staring at the paper with obsessive fixation.

- ...Shit… - Lets out in a hoarse whisper, the only word he has been able to articulate in hours.

His memories of the night before are a fog, but his mind, damnably lucid despite the alcohol, begins to reconstruct the events with ruthless clarity, or enough to know What happened last night.

Upon reading the letter, almost spits out his tea. The irony hits him in the stomach.

What is he supposed to say to Tartaglia? The sincerity of the Eleventh is an unbearable weight; Childe knows his darkness, but not even in his nightmares would he imagine the level to which his mentor has fallen.

The questions in the letter are sharp blades. There is no malice in them, and that is what has him most fucked up. Laughs bitterly, a dry chuckle that dies in his throat upon remembering the advice he gave the young man before leaving – “No end up staring at a corner like I did centuries ago” - Murmurs.

Tsarista…he feels like a fucking fool. The silence in the tent becomes oppressive, loaded with a guilt he cannot share with anyone.

Squeezes the paper gently, as if he feared breaking the last shred of faith someone has in him. Looks toward the moon beginning to appear and curses his own luck. How beautiful this journey is, returning to the place of his origin only to remember that he remains as a pathetic human, well, whatever this is. With a furrowed brow, presses the bridge of his nose. Has come so far, he is so close to his goals, and yet, he has never felt so lost.

Breathes deeply, trying to inflate lungs that feel full of dust. Leaves the tent with a canvas bag over his shoulder, seeking the fresh air of the night so as not to suffocate. His feet, almost by their own will, guide him along paths he knows by heart. Crosses the undergrowth, pushes aside the branches of the trees, and, under the silver light, reaches the place where everything broke five hundred years ago.

- You are still in that state... just as I left you - Says in a monotonous voice, almost a greeting to an old enemy.

In front of him lie the remains of the statue he himself destroyed centuries ago. The pieces are scattered across the grass, devoured by time; some have turned to ash or are mistreated by moss, but the head remains on the platform. It’s incredible that no one has repaired the monument, that even her own people have abandoned it to oblivion. Does not mock; the sight only deepens his melancholy.

Stands still, imagining that the stone watches him with the same contempt. Clenches his fists, but the impulse to destroy what remains fades, replaced by something he does not know how to name.

With a patience that does not belong to him, Capitano begins to collect the pieces. One by one he places them in the bag with a delicacy, taking care that the rubbing of the marble does not damage the sculpted features further.

A pang of guilt while holding her face between his hands. Cleans the dirt from her lips and stone eyes with his thumb, finding her strangely perfect despite the damage. Shakes his head, pushing away the thoughts that tormented him the night before, and puts the head in the bag. The way back is silent, the weight of the rubble hitting rhythmically against his hip.

Back in the tent, heads to the desk. Opens a drawer and takes out a package wrapped in frost that has accompanied him from Natlan to Snezhnaya: the letters and the fire necklace of the Archon's family, memories of a life he swore to protect. Stays in a sepulchral silence before closing the drawer with a dry thud. Grunts exhausted by the weight of his own history, and hides the bag with the remains under his bed.

Strips off his armor, feeling the cold of the air on his sweaty skin. Lies down and closes his eyes, sinking finally into a heavy, image-less sleep.

Tomorrow he will have to be the Captain again; he will have to make decisions and move forward. But for now, in the darkness, only a man trying to pick up the pieces of something that perhaps no longer has a fix.

20 DAYS LATER.

Twenty days later, the cold has settled again under his armor, a necessary barrier to contain the fire that almost consumes him. The activities of the Fatui are under the watchful eye of the Archon, and that is exactly what he seeks: That she notices him, that the confrontation is inevitable. He does not plan to turn back.

- You what? - Rafael asked him, not being sure he had heard him right.

- You heard loud and clear. You will watch the camp with your squad - Capitano repeated with a voice that cut the air like ice – “You will inform the rest that I am going to the stadium to see the Archon”

- Alone, boss?

- Yes.

Rafael remained silent, nodding slowly to the order. The air felt heavy, charged with static electricity that made his skin crawl.

- Will you speak regarding the Gnosis with her?

- Yes.

Liar.

The Skirmisher stared at him; it was almost impossible to read his captain, but after ten years under his command, Rafael knew that the sudden cold in the environment meant that nothing was what it seemed and that it was nothing good. Knew he should not inquire further.

- Will you be okay at the stadium?

- Yes.

Fucking Liar.

The subordinate let out a contained sigh, feeling how the environment became uncomfortable and crushing.

- Its fine, boss. I will inform the rest... good luck on your journey.

Capitano nodded while the other retreated. Only then did he let his hands join on the desk, squeezing them with a force that sought to silence the trembling. Stood up with a calculated slowness, keeping his head forward and his gaze icy. Wanted to believe that Thrain was finally dead. Repeated it to himself like a mantra, lying to himself again and again while left the camp towards the red sunset of Natlan.

He has not planned an official meeting. Does not look at the people who move aside in his path when arrives at the Stadium, much less does he allow himself to look away toward the other statue. For him, it no longer exists. Only the present exists, the metal of his mask and the woman of fire up ahead.

The Archon is with her back turned talking with one of her warriors, not being busy, it seems perfect to him. Those who were there went on alert with their weapons raised pointing at Capitano.

- A FATUI HARBINGER!

- SO THE RUMORS WERE TRUE!

Some more gathered, Capitano doesn’t care about their spears or threats, passes slowly by a spear that points to his chest, his cold gaze fixed on her.

Waited so long that everything is surreal. If it were otherwise, this meeting would be planned, they would be hugging. Forces out of himself that desire to grab her by the arms, everything he has missed her, kissing her, shaking her until leaving her crazy for her fucking decision.

But no.

It’s not something she deserves for everything she has done.

Do I forgive her?

…………………

It doesn't matter.

That ghost screams for him to stop, but continues moving forward more. He does not stop to return to where he came from, it’s no longer the statue he is looking at, it’s her.

Time slows down through his eyes, if it were Thrain he would laugh softly at the expression of surprise when they look into each other's eyes, so bright…

And insufferable.

Mavuika feels she is about to cry, would have liked that smile when seeing him, how She moves in small steps to seeing the man.

To the man she looked at with pity before leaving.

His frozen darkness returns to look at that woman like a stranger, Who does she think she is to put that expression as if she were not the culprit? How despicable.

This is not the Captain who should act like a gentleman.

…………

Hehe…

Tremendous stupidity.

The redhead represses her tears of joy, her smile is broken, trembling and full of so many emotions from seeing him, the silence in the stadium was confusing, not knowing how to react to this encounter.

She advances softly, her hand rises toward his cheek, an underlying tone of relief and sob.

- Thra-

- ………………………………… - The brutal silence stops her, as if almost crushing an ant so it does not move. The tone devoid of traces of Thrain – “I have come for a fight, Archon. Names are a lack of respect, especially for you” – Capitano doesn’t stop, cold and with nothing that jumps the storm inside him.

The Stadium goes frozen.

The Archon stops; her face feels the whip. Wrinkles, the sadness on her shoulders is invisible even to the Harbinger. Not finding how to speak to him. She cannot speak…

- You have nothing to say to me?

- ……………. – She stays silent, not a single word worth saying.

- Fine, let's end this.

- Who do you think you are to talk to her like that?! - A warrior is offended furiously before him.

Capitano mocks, crossing his arms – “It would be a good thing to ask her about this encounter in her face. But I have matters to deal with your Archon. Whatever happens between us is no one's business. Is she not brave enough to face me?”

Winter has never felt so close.

Mavuika is quiet with her fists clenched. Tightening her teeth to not fall before that icy gaze in the darkness, of her own guilt.

- !!?

- HEY, WHAT-!

- STOP!

The warriors stop before the detention of their leader. With so many questions of what is happening. But Mavuika shakes her head, raising her gaze.

The two remain in the tension and the loss. Her mouth opens, but she is silent. Eyes that feared the obvious of this encounter, that he does not see her with those same eyes in the last 500 years, the centuries that she was absent, of what she did…

She knows it and says nothing, accepting the coldness of the other's heart.

Inside that angers him more, not understanding why as many times.

Stands firm, a tone with the weight of a thousand suns for 500 years – “Excuse me the lack of respect. Are you looking for a fight with me? Don’t worry, I am not busy at this moment to start one today”

- Archon-?!

- Please, do not worry about me. He is right – Raises her eyes toward him, chokes her apologies, drowns her feelings, because he doesn’t deserve that after leaving these 500 years for her plan…she knows it and continues forward with her leader's cape to a new and ignorant people of the history between them – “We have matters between us to abide for a long time. Don’t interrupt us, between warrior’s weapons speak more than us.

- But-!

- It will be fine – Sounds reassuring, glad that the collapse is not seen before this encounter, what it would have been – “Leave the stadium alone, this is a private duel. I don’t want anyone to interrupt this duel, understood? It’s an order – Finishes without letting others test that order, she had to use that tone because if not her people would not comply if she were soft.

Many remain silent, conflicted, many looks pass in the environment, questions remain unanswered, perhaps they will not be answered. A leader warrior breaks the silence to give instructions and everyone moves away; residents and other personnel vacate the stadium. Leaving both to look at each other eternally while the public leaves.

Mavuika cannot sustain his gaze, turning away at moments before the discomfort, wanting to say everything, but knowing that she has nothing to reach Capitano she discards it. Forces herself not to walk away from the man she loves…that she still loves.

But that the other doesn’t see her in that way anymore, falling her heart into pieces.

- About 20 minutes will pass until everyone leaves…we have to wait a little longer and the stadium is ours – Says Mavuika before the long silence – “We will see each other in a few moments, feel free to wait in the stadium, or whe-wherever you want” – She screams furiously at being cut off, god how uncomfortable.

Capitano is silent.

Silences his body to not hug her and erase that sadness; he silences all types of alarms to not do what he is doing. This is the reality he does not plan to hide.

An encounter made of past wounds and chains on their bodies for a long time, the difference between them is that Capitano doesn’t plan to stay quiet before what the other did and his pain for the consequences.

The Archon swallow’s saliva, breathing to have strength, her feet barely move to reach him.

And he backs away.

If she were not someone strong, the redhead would collapse right there from this pain. It is clear: He does not want her to get close, not anymore.

- Thra-

He does not see her, cannot see those eyes, how he is truly hearing her name come out after so much absence. He cannot with this.

Doesn’t give her time to finish that name that would heal something of him so much.

He leaves, to another place that is not in the same one as the Archon, waiting for that longed combat.

Mavuika raises her hand desperately, moaning at having nothing good to say, also silent at the weight of everything, seeing how the man leaves until the others finish leaving…the stadium remains more alone while she moves back to the other side of the entrance, the shadow protects her from gazes and lies down tired and finished.

As she has been since she started 500 years being the Archon, everything remaining the same as it has gone by her duty, by her fear, by her demons, no one is there because everyone is dead. Even surrounded by people yesterday and today…

She is alone.

Just like him.

This encounter is inevitable, everything they carry with them is.

Falls little by little to the ground, her solar eyes empty of all warmth and hope of fixing things.

On the other side of where she is in the same shadows, Capitano is sitting in the same darkness, his hand covers his face, everything he is trying to close and cannot…of Mavuika's face…and he cannot.

Silent.

Everyone is silent.

500 years seeing each other again between wounds and ghosts that do not die.

When they look at each other again, both silence what they have wanted to tell the other so much for a long time, truths that cannot come to light now, an uncertain future they don’t know how to face.

When they raise their weapons and clash, only the pain remains of what could be an encounter between lovers if those walls crumbled. Maybe it’s not today.

Maybe not tomorrow to be able to speak from the scars, from their own biases, what they have never been able to be brave in telling…

But…

Just like fire and ice meet.

From a last look before we see each other again.

Pain is not indifferent to anyone. And from that storm in the end will come the light and the future they have wanted to fight for so much.

It’s only a matter of patience, time, stumbles and collapses.

I only know it will be so.

In the end, hope is the last thing lost.

Right?

………………….

………….

Notes:

………………………..

Where do I start?

We have a lot to talk about.

This is undoubtedly a challenging chapter that I had to write, more than anything because of writing Thrain, and like you all, I was left devastated by all this tragedy. This is a necessary story to understand Thrain and his fucking journey of ups and downs now that he is back in Natlan. Don't have much hope for him to evolve in this story, that would be the sequel.

I invite you to read at this link that I leave here for you to enjoy: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63624289/chapters/163073083

Now, let's get to the important part: This story is important to be able to understand what is happening in the other's mind when Mavuika is not the protagonist. Despite the sequel, the first chapters or other moments are from Mavuika's point of view, firmly believing that Thrain hates her, something that is clarified to be much more than that when we see it in the chapters I dedicate to him, when they are together, and in this story dedicated to him.

This prequel that I put out is to have another way of thinking about the scenes of the sequel, giving context and improving what you once understood.

And oh, it's too much, very fucked up. Am I surprised that he behaves like this?

No, it's logical, it's what had to happen.

And that makes me think. I started reading the whole story of the sequel again to ask myself this question before writing this prequel and to answer the doubt that some of you might have had:

Did Thrain already know about the prophecy?

Yes. I realize that the other fanfic doesn't say that he already knew about the prophecy, but it didn't confirm the opposite either. My own text is clear and confusing in that part about whether he knew the prophecy or not; incredibly, I didn't touch on that topic at the time, explicitly saying “Yes, I already knew about the prophecy,” it must be that I was busy with other things.

So why does he behave like this?

Simple, he already knows about the prophecy as he found in this chapter, but he doesn't do it from a healthy point of view. Or by grounding himself to listen the other person. Does it from the scars, from what he suffered during these 500 years of absence; he is not made now to be calm, rational, or to understand the actions of Mavuika, of himself and to sit down and talk.

We are talking about someone who is not mentally prepared, calm, or ready to move forward after repressing so much for 500 years in the face of hatred, resentment, self-deception, denial, and more regarding what he suffered, from Khaenri’ah, from his loved ones who left, from Natlan, the abyss, and Mavuika. We are not talking about someone who doesn't have time to stop to resolve things in a healthy way, to be sincere without fighting everyone and himself.

If he somehow senses the pain or the reason for Mavuika's behavior or not, believe me, he doesn't do it from a moderately sane mentality, doesn't do it like in the sequel when everything finally falls into place to move forward; how much has he had to go through in silence, reflecting and having enough strength to be with Mavuika without resentment being in every interaction? How many ups and downs without us knowing did he have to go through to be where he is and not leave for Snezhnaya?.

Denial, fury, sexual and emotional repression, seeing things that aren't there, hypocrisy, cruelty, lies, self-deceptions, taking one step forward and eight steps back, self-hatred, derangement, uncomfortable silences, lack of sincerity, everything you can imagine is there and I'm not afraid to hide it, much less romanticize it, one has to respect the characters and be raw about what they go through without minimizing it or mocking them so they don't express themselves.

Since he arrived in Natlan he has had everything except a place to escape. A progress that we should all applaud because he had everything to not go to Natlan, to accept Childe's proposal and not go there... but he didn't, even if he deceives himself and another move happens, he knows within that Snezhnaya hasn't helped him solve the problem, that he sees ghosts, that seeing a redhead makes him want to jump off a cliff, if everything is going to explode so he can stumble and evolve he had to go to Natlan regardless of how many ups and downs he suffered, he doesn't return until he decides how this story ends.

I'll be honest with you, this could perfectly be the last chapter, but no, too much depression of 34,000 words. I am going to add one more chapter, above all an epilogue to conclude this fanfic, it won't be that long.

Without further ado, see you in the epilogue.

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The Statue of You

SaraCHan87

Chapter 3: 500 Years Seeing You Again

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