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Azhdaha's existence is dreamlike. He fades in and out of awareness, lacking the power to assume any kind of corporeal form. The shard of crystal containing his soul is all he is, and it is the last barrier keeping him from dissipating into the darkness.

There is no light in this world. The shadows grow ever thicker, beckoning to him in sibilant whispers and extending creeping tendrils that cover more of him with every breath. It summons to mind tales of a realm beyond his memory, where his brethren reigned supreme in the darkness.

And yet, for all that vishaps thrive in the shadows, the Lord of Vishaps still dreams of light. The shadow erodes his will, but he finds himself clinging to the last remnants of awareness he still has. He clings to the hope of that light's return. Though the memories are yellowed with age, he can still recall long years spent slumbering alone beneath the earth, shrouded in familiar darkness. Endless, empty centuries until that light brightened his interminable eternity.

Now, that same light pierces the shadows — surrounds him in familiar protectiveness as it pulls him out of the mud, freeing him from the grasp of its clinging tendrils.

When the last thread snaps, he feels warmth for the first time in forever.

Gentle fingers wrap firmly around his container, sending a pulse of resonance through the crystal. "I thought it was you." The voice is little more than a whisper, trembling faintly, and Azhdaha's sluggish mind struggles to hold on to the faint shards of memory that the voice summons. They keep slipping through his fingers, just out of reach, his senses struggling to regain their function after long years of disuse. Though Azhdaha no longer possesses eyes in this form, the gift of sight he received so long ago still perceives the kaleidoscope of colours and light that assault his vision, and he strains to make sense of them. "Such a flawless piece of archaic stone, preserved so perfectly over all these years…"

The soft touch to his container makes his soul shiver with how tender it is. As if it's afraid he'll shatter. "To think that a shard of you remained here in the darkness all this time," the voice murmurs. "Alone, in the murk."

Azhdaha feels the warm gust of air just a second before the moment of contact — the unmistakable sensation of a kiss, bringing forth a flood of memories that take away the breath he doesn't have.

This is the light in the darkness he's longed for. The one who gave him the gift of sight.

As the fog over his vision clears, Azhdaha finds himself staring into achingly familiar golden eyes. He feels a momentary sensation of loss as the lips draw away, until a face he knows all too well comes into view. As if sensing their eyes meeting, Morax's lips lift — but while the smile brings with it a rush of warmth, Azhdaha's worry surges as he sees the trail of blood at the corner of Morax's mouth.

What price did Morax pay to draw him out of the Chasm's murky shadows?

"You're safe now. I won't let the darkness claim you." Despite the hint of strain causing his voice to quiver, Morax's tone is firm and resolute. He draws the stone close, settling it against his chest. A flicker of regret passes Azhdaha's mind when Morax lets go, but the steady thrum that replaces the warmth of Morax's fingers banishes it. The rhythm is even more intimate than resonance —

Morax's heartbeat.

"I won't let you be alone anymore, Retuo."

The journey out of the Chasm's depths is slow and halting. Morax's progress is constantly impeded by unfriendly terrain, and in this form, there is nothing Azhdaha can do to help him. The dark, bubbling mud is thick here, sometimes covering entire passages from floor to ceiling, leaving Morax no choice but to pass through it.

Though Azhdaha is unable to see Morax's expression from this angle, he can hear the laboured rhythm of Morax's breathing. It's far more strained than the exertion would have demanded of him, and he doesn't have to wonder why. The Chasm's anomalies would never have been able to affect Morax back in his days as the Geo Archon, but as he is now — almost human, without his Gnosis — its consequences are evident.

Morax's cough is getting worse and worse. Each fit lasts a little longer, leaves him a little more winded. He can't even support himself against the walls, covered as they are with the dark muck; the mud underfoot clings to him, making each step a struggle. Though Morax tries to block the worst of it with shields, the darkness eats through them so rapidly he keeps having to replace them, over and over again. Azhdaha can tell how much it's wearing him down from the rapid beat of his heart.

And yet, despite the pain that he's suffering, Morax keeps up a steady flow of one-sided conversation. "This is the first time I've ventured so deep into the Chasm in centuries. The traveller asked me if I could share my knowledge, and I offered to accompany them, knowing the risks it could pose to someone unfamiliar with its depths… the Qixing may not be happy with my involvement, I suppose, considering what happened to the seal. But I find that it was worth it, personally."

Gentle fingers caress Azhdaha's container. "After all, if I hadn't come here, I wouldn't have found — "

Morax's monologue is put to an untimely end by another coughing fit, this one harsh enough to make him stumble. He falls heavily against the wall, and Azhdaha hears him suck in a sharp gasp of pain as he collides with the corrosive mud. Morax brings up a shield, but it's too late; the muck's damage is done, its dark tendrils sinking into him. It leaves behind no visible wounds, doesn't even destroy the fabric of Morax's sleeve, but Azhdaha knows just how much it burns.

Even so, Morax doesn't even flinch, merely grits his teeth and struggles upright again to continue his slow trudge through the mud. The few moments of silence, filled only by the harsh sound of Morax's breathing, are a stark reminder of how helpless Azhdaha is in this form.

He can't even offer Morax a few words of comfort, let alone support him in his journey.

It's a couple of seconds before Morax speaks again, so quiet that it's barely audible over the bubbling muck. "…Have you really been alone in this darkness, all this time?"

Azhdaha may not have heard him if he wasn't settled against Morax's chest, but from here, he can hear every word. "I never imagined that a shard of you was left behind after our battle. After I — sealed you — " Morax's voice cracks, and Azhdaha feels the echo of his pain in the broken note. "I… I was too much of a coward to come back here. I should have searched. I should never have left you behind. I'm sorry."

Azhdaha desperately wants to tell him that it's alright; that Morax doesn't need to seek his forgiveness when it was Azhdaha's rampage that set off this chain of events. That he was the one who'd hurt Morax first and forced Morax's hand. Now that Azhdaha has regained his awareness, he is nothing but humbled and thankful to still be in Morax's care. Morax showed him the light once, and even now, he is the one who keeps the shadows at bay — the golden shield that surrounds his container shines brightly enough to glow in the darkness, wrapping Azhdaha up in protective warmth.

Since Morax pulled him out of the muck, not one drop of mud has touched Azhdaha's surface.

"I'm sorry… I didn't find you earlier." Morax's whispered apology is interrupted by another fit of coughing, painfully harsh in the still air. When Morax draws his trembling hand away from his mouth, his glove is stained; even though the fabric is too dark to show the colour, Azhdaha knows it has to be blood. "I… never thought…"

Morax trails off, running out of breath, and Azhdaha's very being aches. He longs so badly to do something — anything — to help, but here he is: close enough to touch, yet unable to comfort. All he can do is try to simulate the echo of a heartbeat against Morax's chest, keeping up a steady rhythm, if only to prove that he's here and listening. He doesn't know if Morax will notice, but it's the best he can manage.

Morax has fallen silent now, evidently no longer able to split his focus between the perilous trail upwards and the conversation Azhdaha can't even participate in. He uses his spear to carve out as much of a path as he can make through the mud, bringing up shields to protect against the worst of its corrosion. But there is nothing he can do about the fumes in the air, their toxic presence plaguing Morax with painful coughing fits that his shields are useless against. Azhdaha doesn't see the blood, but he hears when it drips onto the ground to be swallowed up by the dark mud.

Still, Morax never wavers, pushing through the mud with the stubborn determination that Azhdaha knows so well. Even in his guise as a human, Morax's skill in traversing the treacherous terrain is admirable. If not for the situation they were in, Azhdaha would even have found it attractive; he's always loved seeing Morax at work, after all. But now, helpless to aid Morax in his endeavour, all Azhdaha can do is pray that the ordeal will be over soon.

It takes far too long for Azhdaha's liking, but after what feels like hours, the path starts to level out. The mud isn't quite as thick here either, offering something of a reprieve, if a brief one. Azhdaha can see the path sloping downwards again up ahead, back into the muddy depths. For now, though, Morax at least has a chance to catch his breath. Azhdaha is glad when Morax settles down for a moment of rest, echoing Morax's sigh of relief in his heart.

The silence isn't as oppressive this time. Morax's heartbeat is starting to calm, his breath evening out as well. Reassured, Azhdaha would have been content to simply bask in Morax's warmth in silence, but he perks up when Morax speaks again, voice low and contemplative. "In hindsight, the first sign that there were shards of your soul slumbering beyond the seal occurred shortly after I encountered you as Kun Jun. After you… were sealed away again, I felt a shift in the archaic stone that you gifted me. Caught up in my grief as I was, I failed to realise the implications, but I realise now that the part of your soul that left his body must have entered the stones you gifted to me and the traveller."

Azhdaha once again feels warmth covering him as Morax cradles the stone close. "That was what allowed me to find you," Morax whispers.

Morax pauses, taken by another spell of coughs. It lasts altogether too long, and this time Azhdaha does see the blood — dripping down through Morax's fingers, streaking his pale skin. It takes Morax longer to catch his breath afterwards, his pain evident in every strained inhale and exhale. Azhdaha longs to hold him, to comfort him and keep him safe until the pain has passed, but in the state he's in… Morax is the one who bears the burden of protection.

There's a rough, hoarse note to Morax's voice when he next speaks, an edge of pain he can't conceal. "The deeper we ventured into the Chasm, the more I realised what I'd been too blind to see. That there was still part of you I could save."

Morax's words are heavy with regret that Azhdaha longs to absolve him of. There is nothing you need to be sorry for. Azhdaha can't express the sentiment in his current form, and so instead he changes the rhythm of his resonance, pulsing in long, slow beats in Morax's grip. Morax's fingers flutter around him before grasping tighter.

"Can you hear me?" Morax asks the question as if he doesn't dare to believe it. Azhdaha longs to give him a firm answer, but the best he can manage is a few strong beats, more powerful than passive resonance could be. He prays that it will be enough for Morax to feel his presence.

"I… I can feel you, Retuo." Morax's breath catches as he clutches Azhdaha's vessel, holding it against his heart. "You're still here. You're listening."

Azhdaha repeats the same few beats, as much of an answer as he can manage. But it's enough — Morax lets out a rough noise, as if words have failed him, but Azhdaha can feel his heartbeat speeding up.

"I'm sorry, Retuo. I'm sorry I couldn't — that I — " To hear the usually-effusive Morax struggle with his words is both worrisome and oddly endearing at the same time, especially when he gives up and just huffs out a frustrated little sigh instead. Azhdaha would have smiled if he'd been able to. In lieu of that, he slows his rhythm to a slower, more soothing cadence, trying his best to tell Morax what he can't say: it's alright. There's nothing to forgive.

Morax's smile is sweet to see, and when he leans down to once again press his lips to the surface of the crystal, Azhdaha wishes he could sink into the gentleness of that touch. "I won't let the Chasm's darkness take you again," Morax says softly, lips still brushing the stone. "I may not be able to guard against erosion, but that… that, I can do."

Rather than tucking the stone back into his chest pocket, Morax keeps Azhdaha's container gripped in his hands as he leans back. Azhdaha watches fondly as Morax closes his eyes, murmuring, "Just a moment, first…"

You can take as long as you need, Azhdaha answers, even though Morax can't hear him.

Morax slips easily into slumber, worn down by his taxing journey. In between watching over his sleep and listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, Azhdaha allows his mind to wander. His thoughts keep returning to the words that Morax had said earlier: the part of your soul that left his body must have entered the stones you gifted to me and the traveller…

Truthfully, Azhdaha cannot recall that which Morax speaks of. The name 'Kun Jun' is foreign to him, and he recalls no traveller; the last thing he remembers is his battle with Morax, and the sorrow upon Morax's face as he was sealed away.

But it seems that, while this shard of him slumbered in the darkness, some other part of him had encountered Morax. And from what Morax said… it's closer than Azhdaha imagined.

Though his abilities are limited in his current form, Azhdaha does his best to reach out, trying to search for this other shard of himself. His soul should be one; it should be whole, and this need should surmount the paltry barriers of his container. He strains, calling out, desperately seeking any hint of his other self's existence until —

Right there.

The answering call is faint, as if this other part of him has been deep in slumber, but it's there. It's just as Morax said. A spark of hope lighting up in his heart, Azhdaha reaches out, balking against the constraints of his tiny vessel. If he just reaches out a little further, if he can get an answer, if he can only — !

The connection is a sharp jolt to Azhdaha's awareness, flooding him with sudden sensation and memory that steals away all other thoughts. Though his instincts reel back at the deluge of images that rush into his mind, he forces himself to take them in, although they threaten to drown out his consciousness.

Azhdaha has managed to cling to his sense of self, however faint, for centuries in the mud. Compared to that, this can pose no threat to him.

There are enough memories, new and old, that he knows he would never be able to look through all of them before Morax wakes up. Instead, he settles on what he feels to be the freshest of them all: that which the other shard of him had witnessed, if not processed, as Morax descended into the Chasm.

The memory is blurry at first. Azhdaha can only hear brief snatches of the conversation going on overhead; Morax is speaking, and Azhdaha strains to catch what he says. "…Shining… where… reaction? The mud…"

Something touches him, and a voice both familiar and unfamiliar filters into Azhdaha's senses. "Gift… Kun Jun."

Somehow, hearing the name again is a trigger, filling in the gaps in Azhdaha's memory. Kun Jun… he remembers now. It's the name of the man he once possessed for a time, in his struggle to thwart the other half of himself. When he'd returned Kun Jun's body to him, his exhausted soul had settled into slumber within the archaic stones that he'd gifted to the traveller and to Morax — or to Zhongli, as he'd called himself then.

As if the realisation was the clarity he needed, the fog lifts, allowing Azhdaha to take in the scene before him. He has two different perspectives, from the two stones that he gifted. The stone that the traveller holds allows him to look upon Zhongli; he cuts a different figure than Morax did, dressed in a sharp suit rather than austere robes, but in the end he's still the same man in Azhdaha's eyes. The same golden-amber eyes; the same timbre to his voice as he says, "The stones are reacting to something in the Chasm. You said that you had found low-quality archaic stones along the surface, correct?"

"Mm. I handed them over to the coordinator here, Muning, so I don't have any on hand right now, but he said they were causing some problems in Huishan Hall. People trying to pass them off as the real deal, that sort of thing." This time, Azhdaha recognises the voice that answers Zhongli to be the traveller's. Though their time together was short, Azhdaha can feel the regard that the other part of himself felt for this youth. "What do you think? I haven't explored past this point — the mud looks pretty deep, and it's not showing any signs of receding yet. I can't see an immediate source either, so it probably won't be easy to purify. But maybe there's something there."

"It's worth investigating." Zhongli's gaze is still lingering on the dark mud, his wariness evident. The glow of the archaic stone in his hand isn't nearly bright enough to light up the darkness; the scene is lit by a makeshift lantern of some kind held by the traveller, its radiance so brilliant that Azhdaha is sure it could push back even the Chasm's shadows. "Stay alert. Something seems to be different about the mud here."

"What's different about it? It looks the same as the rest of the stinky stuff we've seen…" The traveller's floating companion is the one who replies this time, and a name slides into Azhdaha's mind — Paimon.

"It may look the same, but I sense that it may be even more difficult to deal with. As the traveller said, its source is unclear; we may have to trek through this mud for some time to reach it, and as I understand, doing so may snuff out the Lumenstone Adjuvant's light. I'm unsure if its energy will last long enough for us to reach the source." Zhongli glances over at the traveller's lamp. "Keep an eye on it."

Nodding in assent, the traveller takes their first cautious step into the mud. Almost instantly, the lamp flickers; as its light grows dimmer, Azhdaha feels the familiar feeling of encroaching darkness creeping over him, draining away his power. This mud… it's even more aggressive than the murk that he'd been submerged in for years. Hungrier, is the only way Azhdaha can describe it. Gritting his teeth in the face of his instinct to flinch back, Azhdaha forces himself to continue watching. Even though he's only witnessing a memory, he can acutely feel how his power had started to waver, as though he was about to —

"Stop!" Zhongli's voice is sharp and commanding, immediately halting the traveller's steps. "Don't go any further. The stones are — we need to get out of this mud!"

The traveller doesn't waste any time protesting. Even as they're turning back, the mud seems almost to chase them, clinging tendrils refusing to let go until Zhongli physically severs them with his spear. They're both breathless by the time they get out of reach, finding safe haven by a tiny pool of glowing light; the mud seems unwilling to approach it, reluctantly receding after several long, tense moments.

The ensuing silence is thick with tension as both Zhongli and the traveller catch their breath. Paimon is white with fear, and even Azhdaha feels shaken by the experience, despite only witnessing it as a memory. "Guess there really is something different about this mud," the traveller finally says after a moment, laughing weakly as if trying to lighten the atmosphere. "We've never been chased like that before."

"They were not chasing us," Zhongli answers gravely. "Their target was the stones." His fingers tighten around Azhdaha's crystal container. "For one reason or another, it seems that the mud finds them rather… enticing."

For once, that's a question Azhdaha can answer. The mud senses the shards of his soul within the stones; after attempting to devour him unsuccessfully for so many years, Azhdaha can only surmise that it must be eager to swallow up any other part of him that it can find. Still, even though Zhongli may not be sure of the true reason behind the mud's aggression, from the look on his face… Azhdaha feels that he has a suspicion.

"I can recharge the Adjuvant here and we can try again?" the traveller suggests. Zhongli shakes his head decisively, eyes fixed on the dark mud just beyond the light's reach.

"No, you should stay here. We can't bring the stones any further. The darkness…" Zhongli trails off, glancing down at the stone in his hand. Though Azhdaha knows Zhongli can't see him, it's as if their eyes connected for a brief moment, and his heart twists. Zhongli's expression is steely and his shoulders are upright, not betraying so much as a hint of his pain, but Azhdaha can already see the visible toll that the short struggle through the mud has taken on him. He feels it in the faint tremble of Zhongli's grip around him and the carefully-controlled rhythm of Zhongli's breathing.

In fact, Azhdaha suspects — no, he's sure that the journey thus far has cost Zhongli even more than it did the traveller. And Azhdaha is equally sure that the traveller is unaware. Back in the day, Morax always did excel at hiding his pain from others, and he has not lost that skill as Zhongli; his facade is flawless, voice completely steady as he tells the traveller, "Recharge the Adjuvant and return to base camp. Keep the stone away from the mud, and close to the light. We can't risk it coming into further contact with the murk." Zhongli's fingers tighten around the stone one last time, as if he's reluctant to let go, but when he holds it out to the traveller his grip is back to normal. "Keep mine safe as well."

The traveller studies Zhongli for a long moment. Azhdaha wonders if they've finally noticed he's putting up a front, but it seems that Zhongli has once again successfully fooled them, as their only answer is, "If I'm keeping yours safe, does that mean you're not coming back with me?"

"That's correct." Zhongli's gaze slides back over to the winding path into the shadows, bubbling with dark mud. "I will venture further to investigate."

"Alone?" Paimon squeaks. Turning to her, Zhongli smiles. Azhdaha is sure he intends the expression as a reassurance, and it certainly wouldn't appear to be anything else to the average onlooker, but Azhdaha…

All Azhdaha can see is his sadness, and the exhaustion buried so deep beneath that he isn't sure Zhongli himself knows it's there.

"Have no fear. I know these lands well." He presses the stone into the traveller's hand, gripping it for just a second too long before letting go. Azhdaha's heart aches — Zhongli will be truly alone on this journey, and it tears at him to think of it. His mind keeps flashing back to the trail of blood at the corner of Zhongli's lips, back when Zhongli had first pulled him out of the murk.

He'd gone through so much, all by himself.

"Without the Lumenstone Adjuvant, what are you going to do about the mud?" Azhdaha isn't alone in his worry, at least. The difference between him and the traveller is that he can see how exhausted Zhongli already is, behind the perfect mask of strength Zhongli is wearing. Azhdaha hates how good he is at hiding it.

"I have my ways," Zhongli replies, and it's such a complete non-answer that Azhdaha would have objected if he'd been able to. "It's more important that you keep the Adjuvant close to the stones. Keep them safe for me."

Zhongli's priority is the safety of a pair of stones he can't even say for sure contain Azhdaha's soul. That care is what has allowed Azhdaha to find the other parts of himself, but seeing it himself has Azhdaha painfully aware of his own helplessness. Zhongli has done so much to keep him safe, yet Azhdaha can't even offer him a semblance of comfort in return.

As Zhongli steps out of the circle of the light into the darkness, the traveller calls anxiously after him, "Will you really be okay by yourself, Zhongli?"

The light catches the gold of Zhongli's eyes as he turns back to face the traveller, and his quiet smile only deepens the ache in Azhdaha's heart. He's so flawlessly beautiful like this — not a hint of weakness, as if the pain he's feeling is nothing at all.

As if by hiding his loneliness, he can pretend it doesn't exist, the same way he carried on for years.

"I've always managed in the past."

The memory screeches to an abrupt stop — no, rather, Azhdaha is jerked out of it without a moment's warning, thrust instead into a dizzying whirlwind of action. Tendrils of darkness strike at the shield around him, not even giving him a second to reorient himself before his vision is drenched in familiar darkness, cutting him off from the world once again.

After once again being bathed in the comfort of light, the darkness has instinctive fear rising in him. He's already steeling himself against the inevitable pain when bright gold flares to life around him, pushing back the shadows with sheer, insurmountable force.

"You will not have him!" Zhongli snarls, voice brimming over with fury. He slashes away the malformed limbs of shadow that dart towards him, and Azhdaha instantly realises they're aiming for him. The darkness, much like a wild animal that has just been robbed of its prey, lashes out against Zhongli with the ferocity of a predator. The air is thicker than ever with its poison, causing Zhongli to cough uncontrollably even as he fights back against its incessant attacks. Pressed to Zhongli's chest, Azhdaha can feel the erratic rhythm of Zhongli's heartbeat pulsing against him, growing ever more rapid with every second.

Zhongli's pain is visible in every breath he struggles to draw. His own blood is choking him, every harsh cough bringing up more, yet he fights unhindered by his affliction. The mud grows thicker and thicker around him, but he continues holding his ground, a protective hand clenched around Azhdaha's container. The shadows reach for Azhdaha, again and again, only to be repelled by the glowing shield around him.

I won't let the Chasm's darkness take you again.

Zhongli's promise echoes in Azhdaha's mind, overlaying the burst of coughs that rip themselves from Zhongli's throat. Zhongli barely manages to draw short, desperate gasps of air between them; his strength is starting to waver, the poison eroding it bit by bit. Though he maintains his defence, he's being pushed back. The shadows are unforgiving — Azhdaha can see them stalking the battlefield, waiting for the slightest crack in Zhongli's shield. The smallest hint of weakness they can burrow into.

Another fit of coughs wracks Zhongli's body, making him stumble forward with the force of it. His shield flickers — just for a split second — but that's all the opportunity the shadows need. Azhdaha's warning cry goes unheard as the tendril of darkness wraps itself around Zhongli's wrist, and Zhongli's broken gasp of pain hurts Azhdaha more than the shadows ever could.

Zhongli's strength is fading, another section of his shield shattering as the mud hurls itself against it; the only shield that still holds strong is the one surrounding Azhdaha's container. It's costing Zhongli more energy than he can afford, Azhdaha can tell. He will let every other shield fall before this one. Right now Azhdaha wishes, more than anything, that he wouldn't hold so fast to his promise.

Morax, please, he calls desperately, even knowing that it's useless. Morax! Focus on freeing yourself! I won't succumb to the shadows — please, if this goes on —

The shadows surge forth, smashing through the last remnants of Zhongli's barrier, and Azhdaha screams in Zhongli's place when it lashes around Zhongli's throat, cutting off his air.

"MORAX!"

The bellowed word rings out in the emptiness, and it strikes Azhdaha in a rush that he heard himself. That it wasn't just in his mind. Throwing himself against the bounds of his vessel, Azhdaha yells again, "Morax!"

Zhongli can barely speak, fingers scrabbling desperately at the strangling tendril as he chokes, but he manages to gasp out an answer: "R-Retuo…!"

Zhongli hears him. Azhdaha's voice reached him. He's no longer just a single shattered soul shard confined within a crystal. There are more pieces of him here, enough that if he just pushes — just a little farther —

The boundary shatters.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Azhdaha is adrift, unanchored energy without a vessel. Then he hears Zhongli gasp his name again, and it reminds him of all that he is — all that he wants and needs to be, to save his beloved.

Azhdaha's senses return to him in a rush as his energy coalesces into a corporeal form. His vision swirls as he stumbles forward, hissing as the mud burns his bare feet, tail lashing in an attempt to regain his balance. It's difficult adjusting to a humanoid form so quickly, but the tunnel can't fit a dragon of his original size. Gritting his teeth through the swarm of sensations bombarding his newfound body, Azhdaha focuses his attention on the shadows binding Zhongli. They've disarmed him, shadows swallowing up his spear and wrapping around his wrists and throat, suspending him in the air. Zhongli's barely clinging on to consciousness by a thread, but his eyes are still just barely open — and as Azhdaha's gaze connects with slivers of gold, it seems to infuse both of them with renewed energy.

Azhdaha barely feels the shadows burning into his skin as he cleaves through the tendrils, claws flashing. Zhongli too is grappling with them even more ferociously than ever, and Azhdaha's heart leaps when Zhongli yanks away the tendril wrapping around his throat, freeing himself from its grip. More blood spills past his lips when he coughs, but even through the glaze of pain, Zhongli's eyes are bright with determination.

The shadows are desperate to separate them, mud surging up to block Azhdaha as he hurtles towards Zhongli. Snarling, Azhdaha crushes more mud beneath his grip, roaring in fury when it attempts to cling to him. "You have no power over me!" he bellows. He is the Lord of Vishaps, and he will not cede to darkness. It should be his to command and to thrive in — the domain that his kind was born to rule —

He refuses to let it hurt his light any longer.

The mud is losing ground, starting to retreat in the face of their joint assault. This time, when Azhdaha throws himself forward, it does not stop him. Azhdaha tears at the last few tendrils restraining Zhongli, reaching forward to pull Zhongli into an embrace. Zhongli throws his arms around him in turn, holding on tightly as Azhdaha yanks him out of the mud.

They've won: remnants of the shadows still cling to them, but the murk itself is starting to recede. Zhongli's coughing hasn't abated completely, but it's not as bad as before, and his breath is starting to steady. He clings to Azhdaha, who answers him in turn by keeping him as close as he can, one hand sliding up to cradle Zhongli's head against his chest while bracing Zhongli around the waist with the other arm. Azhdaha doesn't want to let go either.

"Retuo…" Zhongli's voice has a faint note of disbelief to it, as though he still isn't quite convinced that Azhdaha is really here. Azhdaha brushes a kiss over the top of his head in answer, as soft and gentle as those Zhongli had pressed to his former container — now nothing more than a beautiful, gleaming stone.

Zhongli has taken such good care of him. Now, finally, Azhdaha can be the one to offer him comfort.

"I'm here," Azhdaha whispers, replying the question Zhongli had asked so long ago. "I'm listening." Hearing Zhongli's breath catch, Azhdaha kisses his head again. "I heard everything you said, Morax. I remember it all. This, I have not forgotten."

He's lost so many memories, and caused Zhongli so much pain as a result. But now, a little more whole than before, Azhdaha hopes to hold on to them.

Rather than replying in words, Zhongli draws back just far enough that he's able to tilt Azhdaha's head downwards. Azhdaha hadn't put any conscious thought into his human form when he'd assumed it, and it seems like he may have misjudged the scale — he towers over Zhongli, whom he knows is certainly not short in human terms. Even so, when Azhdaha bends down to press their lips together, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Zhongli is still a little short of breath, lingering pain putting a strained note in the rhythm of his breathing, but the almost impatient passion and delight to his touch sweep away the worst of Azhdaha's worries. Azhdaha may not be able to kiss Zhongli better, but he's more than happy to indulge in that joyful light shining in Zhongli's eyes — first once, then twice, then he loses count after that. Every kiss slips into another, neither of them wanting to pull away.

It's only when Azhdaha does start worrying about how breathless Zhongli is becoming that he pulls away firmly, shaking his head and trying his best not to smile at Zhongli's dissatisfied huff. "Breathe, Morax. I don't want you fainting on me," Azhdaha teases.

"I'm not about to, Retuo. You know that." Azhdaha does, it's true. Zhongli is not delicate; he's the one who saved Azhdaha first and protected him from the depths of the Chasm's darkness. But Azhdaha wants to protect Zhongli anyway. He wants to keep his light safe and close and warm.

"Indulge me." Azhdaha presses a kiss to the top of Zhongli's head, and though the angle is awkward, he catches a flicker of Zhongli's answering smile.

"If you insist." Zhongli presses in closer; he fits perfectly in Azhdaha's arms. Azhdaha might have overestimated the size of his human form, but Zhongli seems to like it from the way he leans into Azhdaha's chest. If that's the case, Azhdaha is happy to stay this size. "I didn't dream that I would be able to see you again, Retuo, much less touch you. I couldn't let the chance slip away." Zhongli's fingers curl into Azhdaha's back. "The seal…"

"It is still in place." Azhdaha's answer is instinctive. "My power is still sealed beneath the Dragon-Queller. Only my consciousness is here." Azhdaha allows his eyes to fall shut, finally taking a moment to feel out his new body. It's… much closer to human than he thought. His instincts maintained his draconian features to some extent, in the horns and tail and claws that he's used to — but in every other respect, his powers are inaccessible to him.

It matters little to him, however. He has no desire to regain the strength to hurt Liyue again. To hurt Zhongli. Arms tightening around Zhongli, Azhdaha whispers, "I never did apologise for what I did back then. For bringing so much pain upon you — "

"Your erosion is not your fault." Zhongli's protest is firm and immediate, his fingers tightening where they're pressed against Azhdaha's back. "I should have seen the signs. If I had shared my power earlier, perhaps — "

"Morax," Azhdaha interrupts gently. "You can hardly shift the blame to yourself. There's nothing you need to apologise for; you have no fault in this. Especially not for what I did after falling victim to erosion." Now endowed with the memories of the brief time he'd spent as Kun Jun, and knowing exactly the schemes his other self had attempted to execute to free himself from the seal, Azhdaha can feel nothing but regret. Erosion had worn him down into a rampage once, and years later, it had made him hurt his beloved once again. Knowing that his power and original form are sealed safely away is something of a relief.

Laying his chin on top of Zhongli's head, Azhdaha murmurs, "Thank you for saving me again. For never giving up on me. For always lighting my way."

Zhongli draws in a trembling breath, and Azhdaha is sure he feels tears on his skin. Sure enough, when Azhdaha swipes a thumb over Zhongli's cheek, it is damp. Azhdaha leans down to kiss the tears away as gently as he can, finishing off with a press of his lips to the corner of Zhongli's mouth.

"Shall we return to the surface together?" Azhdaha asks lightly. "I've missed the sun."

Though, at the very least, he has the most brilliant ray by his side.

Zhongli's smile is shaky, eyes still bright with unshed tears. He's so beautiful it makes Azhdaha ache. "I've missed you, Retuo."

The words have Azhdaha squeezing his eyes shut against tears of his own. He's missed this as well — the love they shared for so many years, before erosion made him forget it. But now… now, he remembers. Zhongli's warmth was a comfort when he was a mere stone, and now, Azhdaha can finally offer him the same.

Opening his eyes again, Azhdaha meets Zhongli's gaze, staring into the brilliant gold that brightens his world.

"I won't let you be alone anymore, Morax."