Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jean wasn’t upset. 

Kaeya watched her pace around her desk, the medals pinned to her coat flashing in the afternoon light as she rubbed her temples. He had been passing by her office when she burst into the hallway and ordered him inside. He’d been surprised: no one had seen Jean in days. It was tax season, and she’d canceled every appointment in her calendar for the next fortnight, barring all visitors as she reviewed the Knights of Favonius’ finances. Kaeya didn’t know whose job that officially was, but until it was done, she refused to show her face. 

“I’m not upset,” she’d insisted as she shut and locked the door behind her. 

Kaeya had taken one look at her disheveled hair and disagreed, but kept it to himself. He didn’t have a death wish just yet. Now, he decided that an intervention was necessary. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked as Jean circled around the desk for the umpteenth time. 

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” 

She bumped into one of the corners and sighed, dropping into a rigid wooden chair at last. Kaeya shifted in his own as she dropped her head in her hands. His mind was buzzing with the sheer number of things he still needed to take care of before the workday’s end—almost all of which he’d already forgotten—but the pressure existed nonetheless. 

“May I be dismissed?” he asked. 

Jean glanced up at him sharply. “No.” 

“Then what is it?” 

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, adopting the picture of hardline leadership. The sunlight slanted over her face, momentarily purging the deep-set bags underneath her blue eyes. Kaeya guessed that she hadn’t slept last night, and possibly the night before. 

“You’re heading to Angel’s Share for a drink this evening, right?” she asked. 

He checked the gilded clock mounted on one of the bookshelves. “If time allows.” 

The sunlight faded. Jean retrieved a stack of papers from a desk drawer and began to sort through them, refusing to meet his gaze. Kaeya read their contents upside down, a talent that he’d mastered while snooping through his brother’s journal as a child. It was as he’d expected: financial agreements, unfulfilled obligations, the occasional balance sheet. 

“Don’t go,” she said, selecting some forgotten contract from the pile. 

“Is that a direct order?” 

“No.” Jean leaned down to peer at the fine print. “But you won't like what you find there.”

Kaeya scoffed. “Is that all?” 

She finally looked up, and he immediately wished that she hadn’t. If Jean had seemed exhausted before, she was dead on her feet now. Tax season wasn’t the only thing on her mind. There was something else, something he couldn’t pinpoint, which made him uneasy. She was supposed to be the steady one. Whatever was bothering her was probably an excellent reason to avoid Angel’s Share at all costs. 

“You’re dismissed,” was all she said. 

Nervous, Kaeya closed the carved office door behind him and returned to his own quarters, where he had left his to-do list on his desk. Someone had come through while he was gone and thrown open the windows on the far wall. Dragonspine towered over the horizon beyond Mondstadt’s peaked shingle roofs, its slopes permanently white with snow. The crimson tulips Amber had planted in his barren window boxes were beginning to open. 

Tossing his cloak aside, Kaeya sat down at his desk and consulted the half sheet of paper he’d anchored underneath an inkpot that morning. To complete, he had written at the top in bold, dark letters. It was also the only thing he had written that morning. The remainder of the page was blank. Kaeya closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his fist. His memory had never been stellar, but lately it had begun feeling like a greasy spoon. Nothing stuck to it for long. 

He hadn’t left the Knights’ headquarters except on basic errands for almost a week. His skin itched with the confinement; he’d just been so busy…but with what? Kaeya blew out a long breath. For the last two months, he had been hiding his forgetfulness behind an affinity for leisure, as committed to the bit as Jean was to her front of unfaltering duty. They both knew that to break composure was to put Mondstadt itself in potential danger. Their people needed to know that all was as it seemed. It was simpler that way. 

Kaeya opened his eyes, the beginnings of a tension headache worming their way through his skull. Despite Jean’s recommendation, he desperately needed a drink. At least he would have an actual reason for his lapse in memory. He picked up his cloak from where it lay on the floor in a heap of white fur and blue silk. What Jean didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. 

---

Death After Noon. It was a fitting name for his favored drink. The afternoon sun hung high and withdrawn in the sky as Kaeya’s headache chewed away at his thoughts. What had begun as a mild irritation in his office had grown into a desire for death, though the fresh air helped. He passed through the market square, waving away vendors boasting weapons and apple tarts and bolts of cloth from their painted kiosks. They all knew him by name, though he had forgotten theirs. 

"Master Kaeya!" 

"Cavalry Captain!" 

A gleam of porcelain caught his eye: a bulbous, multi-colored vase with gold finishings and a small neck near the top. It looked infected with a fungal disease, and would look even better holding Amber's tulips once they bloomed. Kaeya would have to come back for it later. He stepped under the kiosk's canvas awning, a winning smile playing across his lips. The vendor was an old woman, almost blind, who probably had a granddaughter whose picture he could compliment for a discount. 

"How much?" Kaeya asked, tapping the vase's surface with his nail. 

"Twenty-five mora, son." The vendor clasped her bony hands to her chest as if reminiscing. "My nephew made it himself." 

"How about eighteen?" 

"Twenty-two." 

"Sold."  He reached into his pocket and retrieved a pouch of mora, offering it to her. "Could you put it on hold for me? It's a gift, and I want to surprise her." 

Amber would probably screech in horror and burn it herself. Kaeya found his smile growing. The vendor beamed with broken teeth, weighing the pouch expertly in her hand before slipping it into her dress. 

"Of course, son. Come back soon." She took his wrist and placed something cold and round in his palm. A tin picture frame, portraying a girl in a blue evening gown. "I'll tell her you came by." 

Kaeya thanked her and crossed the street, burying the girl's picture in his pocket. He would enjoy studying it while drunk.

Angel's Share stood by the city wall, its shingles freshly painted. The greenery draped along the second floor's supports hung loose, swaying lightly in the breeze, and someone had decorated the tavern door with a string of yellow bunting. Kaeya flung it open and stepped inside, inhaling the sweet, dusty smells of wine and polished wood. Table conversations ceased. Every eye turned to him, locked in a horrified trance that charged the room like a thunderstorm. Whispers rose and fell as he strode to the bar, tense with anticipation. Anticipation for what? Kaeya swallowed hard, Jean's warning echoing in his mind, and took a seat by the empty counter. 

“Where’s Charles?” he asked, though no one appeared to be listening. Charles was the usual bartender, and he hadn't missed a day in months. 

You won't like what you find there. Perhaps this was what Jean had been worried about. Perhaps Charles was on leave, and it had gutted Mondstadt's drinking culture to the point of near collapse. Kaeya glanced around the room. The patrons' attention was fixed on him, not Charles. Wine glasses and mugs of cider remained untouched on their tables, a sure sign that someone, Charles or not, was manning the bar. Perhaps Kaeya had altered his uniform distastefully or forgotten that he’d received an awful haircut last week, and that was why they were staring. He was practically the prince of Angel’s Share. Most of his salary went into drinks for the entire tavern. Everyone loved him, and they loved him even more when he was irreparably wasted. 

“What?” He tapped his fingers against the countertop, the noise hollow. “Do I have something on my face?” 

“You.” 

Kaeya’s stomach dropped. The air vanished from his lungs, strangling his next words. A high-pitched whine gathered his thoughts and ground them to ash, a single blinding storm as it filled his ears. He gripped the edge of the counter and forced his hands to remain still. 

He had not seen his brother, Diluc, in three years. If not for the silence that had fallen over Angel’s Share, he wouldn’t have believed his eyes. 

Chapter Text

He had first met Diluc in the garden where their father would be buried. 

Kaeya knew that he wasn’t supposed to be awake. The woman who’d introduced herself as the Head Housemaid, Adelinde, had made two things clear as she tucked him into bed: he was supposed to sleep, and he was not to leave the manor until Master Crepus figured out what to do with him. 

“He’s a fair man,” she’d sighed. “Too fair, perhaps.” 

Kaeya hadn’t cared whether Crepus was fair or unfair or a winged mongoose with three tails. He just wanted to go home. As he burrowed underneath the blankets, he could feel his father’s fingers digging into his shoulders, his callouses rough and blistered. This is your chance. His eyes had burned into Kaeya’s like blue flames. You are our last hope. 

Kaeya hated last things: last hopes, last goodbyes, the last glimpse of his father as he disappeared from view. He rolled over and took a shaky breath. His hair was still damp from the nighttime storm, misting his borrowed pillow. Adelinde had despaired over it for the better part of an hour, forcing him to sit by the fireplace with his head inclined toward the flames until he couldn’t bear the heat. She’d deemed it “too thin” to be dried with a towel—just like the rest of him—and hadn’t Kaeya heard of eggs and milk and fresh fruit? He was a growing boy, after all. 

They didn’t have eggs in Khaenri’ah. Nor milk. Fresh fruit of any kind was the type of dream one forgot about as soon as they woke up. That was why Kaeya and his father had left. That was why Kaeya was lying in a feather bed in a strange house, and why his father was gone. 

He sat up. The rain had stopped an hour ago, and clean moonlight washed through the curtains across the room. Adelinde had locked the window, despite his arguments that the summer air would be beneficial to his health. Kaeya slid out of bed and crept to the door, pressing his ear against the varnished wood. Nothing. He pulled it open and took a cautious step into the corridor. Still nothing. He’d made it out of the manor and halfway through the manicured garden before someone spoke from the darkness. 

“Why are you wearing my stuff?”  

Kaeya froze. He locked eyes with a boy perched on a sodden wooden bench, his knees tucked to his chest. His shaggy red hair was pulled back, and he wore pajamas identical to the set Adelinde had given Kaeya: white striped with gray. 

“Master Diluc’s,” she had explained. “He’s your age, but they might be a little big.”

“Why are you wearing my stuff?” the boy repeated. “And who are you?” 

“You’re Diluc,” Kaeya found himself saying. “Eleven years old. You live in the house, and you’re supposed to be in bed.” 

He wasn’t sure why he’d said that last part. Diluc looked unfazed. 

“You don’t live here,” he said flatly. “Give me back my clothes and leave.” 

“Adelinde said that I’m not supposed to leave the manor until Master Crepus figures out what to do with me.” 

“You’ve already left the manor,” Diluc pointed out, “and you’ve stolen my things. You’re practically a criminal.” 

“I’m not a criminal.” Kaeya stamped through the row of shrubs separating him from the bench. Their wet branches tore at his clothes, soaking his front. “I want to go home.” 

“Now you’ve ruined my shirt.” 

He scrabbled at the buttons and ripped the garment off, thrusting it into Diluc’s arms like an unwanted cat. “Fine. Take it!” 

“I don’t want it anymore.” He looked on mildly as Kaeya’s hands curled into fists. “What could my father possibly want with—ow!"

Kaeya withdrew his hand, shaking it out as a gout of blood spurted from Diluc’s nose. His entire body trembled, a cool breeze rippling over the bare skin of his back as the other boy clutched his face and groaned. Surprise and wonder and horror at his own heedlessness rushed through him all at once. 

“Alright,” he breathed. “How do I get out of here?” 

His plan failed, of course. A man had almost run over him with his horse, and had insisted on dropping him off at home to make up for it.

After he had begrudgingly apologized to Diluc regarding the state of his nose, they reached the agreement that Kaeya’s absence from the manor fulfilled both of their wishes. Kaeya wanted to go home, and Diluc wanted him gone. Every evening after dinner, they convened in Kaeya’s bedroom to discuss the latest strategy for his escape. Perhaps he might successfully convince Adelinde to leave the window open, or Diluc could steal the house keys from his father’s study. Perhaps they could pray extra hard to Barbatos in the mornings, and he would eventually whisk Kaeya away. Each plan grew more fantastical than the next, and Kaeya soon forgot that he had ever wanted to leave at all. 

He’d grown comfortable with Diluc’s solemn air of disinterest, Adelinde’s fussings, nights in his feather bed and days spent exploring the manor grounds. He’d grown comfortable with Crepus, whose appearances were always accompanied by gifts and candy and sweet grapes from the winery. Kaeya liked his reliability. When he had fallen out of an apple tree during the harvest and broken his leg, Crepus had been there. When he had startled awake after dreaming of his father’s starved face, Crepus had been there. His easy presence was like an island in the hurricane of Kaeya’s memories. When it was too much, he lightened the load. That was what his father should have done. 

Kaeya could still remember Khaenri’ah: the poisonous air, the fires, the crumbling of his people as they succumbed to their curse. As a child, he never mentioned it to Diluc or Crepus. It was better that they didn’t know. He knew that some part of him had been buried that day, either washed away with the storm or stolen by his father as he abandoned him. It didn’t matter. Crepus had found him and put him back together, which was worth more than anything. 

Of course, things had changed since then. Now, as he stared at Diluc over the bar counter, Kaeya didn’t know what to say. 

“Where’s Charles?” he managed again. 

“Get out,” Diluc said, his voice quivering. He adjusted his grip on the bottle he was holding. “Now.” 

Kaeya’s knuckles blanched as he squeezed the countertop. “I want a drink.” 

“I’m not serving you.” 

“You heard me.” His headache flared into something inhuman. “I’m a paying customer, and I want a drink.” 

“Damn it, Kaeya.” Diluc slammed the bottle down with a crash. “Don’t be difficult.” 

That was it. Head spinning, Kaeya snatched the bottle from his hand, threw him a pouch of mora, and marched out of the tavern. He gnawed the cork free and settled on one of the chairs outside, taking a deep swig. It wasn’t Death After Noon, but it would have to do. 

Jean had known. The Knights stationed throughout the city must have informed her directly of Diluc’s return. The thought dragged fissures through Kaeya’s pride. He should have known first. Jean might be Acting Grand Master, but he stood to lose the most. His head throbbed, and he took another long pull at the bottle. Perhaps someone had told him before Jean, but he’d forgotten. That could’ve been why he had disregarded her warning—some part of his brain was already aware. He would never know for sure. 

“An entire bottle already? It’s only half past three.” 

Kaeya slumped as Rosaria plunked into the chair beside him. She had discarded her conventual coif in favor of a black cloak, pulling the hood low to obscure her face. 

He handed her the bottle. “Aren’t you supposed to be at choir practice, nun?” 

She scoffed and chugged half before wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Aren’t you supposed to be on-duty, Cavalry Captain?” 

“Heretic.” 

“Scoundrel.” 

Kaeya leaned back, his head lolling to the side. “I got kicked out,” he admitted. 

“From the Knights?”

“No, you idiot.” He took the bottle back and drummed his fingers against the green glass. “The bar. And I have a headache.” 

Rosaria raised an eyebrow. “How’d you manage that?” she asked. 

Kaeya stared at the street. The luminous, yellow eyes of a stray cat peered back at him from an alleyway, and fallen leaves skittered across the cobblestones. Damn it, Kaeya. Don’t be difficult. But Kaeya wasn’t difficult. He was the most easygoing person he’d ever met. 

“Diluc’s back,” he said grimly. 

Rosaria’s eyes narrowed into fuschia slits. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that if you walk into Angel’s Share right now, you’ll see him standing at the counter.” He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I miss Charles.” 

“Alright, well.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll pray for you.” 

Kaeya looked up. “Really?” 

“No.” Rosaria sighed and stood. “Let’s get out of here. If someone tells Barbara that they saw me drinking in broad daylight, I’ll probably be excommunicated.” 

“Take the bottle.” He offered it to her. “I’m going to talk to him.” 

“Need I remind you that the last time you ‘talked,’ he nearly burnt you to a crisp?” 

“He doesn’t have his Vision. It’ll be fine.” Kaeya’s own Vision jounced against his leg as he reclined, its Cryo jewel glittering like a shard of ice. “He can’t ban me from Angel’s Share forever. Its revenue will tank.” 

“Knowing Diluc, he won’t care.” She plucked the bottle from his hand and vanished down the street. “Good luck.” 

So much for prayers. Kaeya found a comfortable position to sit in and waited. He picked at his nails. Scrubbed at a scuff mark on his boot. Tried to remember what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning and failed. Gaslit himself into thinking that he’d skipped breakfast. The sky darkened, and the sun began its final descent into the heart of the earth. Patrons flocked to Angel’s Share for the evening rush, eager to sit down after a long day at work. His friends were probably wondering where he was. Kaeya brushed off his cloak and stood. He’d come back tomorrow, right after opening.  

“I thought I told you to leave.” 

Diluc’s heavy black coat was half unbuttoned, and the empty glasses in his bag clinked against each other as he stormed past. Kaeya scowled and stuck out his leg. 

“That’s the difference between us,” he said as Diluc tripped over his ankle. “I’ve always been the one who stays.” 

Without looking up, Diluc righted himself and continued walking. “Go home.” 

Three years. Three years’ worth of questions, of blame, of waiting and making excuses and knowing better than to expect anything more. Three years since that last night. Kaeya really hated last things. 

“You owe me an explanation,” he snapped. 

Diluc didn’t look back. “I don’t owe you anything.” 

“What are you going to do? Leave town? Leave your job? Leave our friends?” 

“Go home, Kaeya.” 

“Leave me?” 

He finally whirled around, his eyes burning red. A twinge of old fear dug its nails into Kaeya’s gut. It was the look he had given him across the forest clearing when they’d last seen each other, full of anger and doubt. Kaeya still had the scars from their fight: scorched, discolored nebulae spanning his torso. Even Jean hadn’t known what to do about them. But he had never wanted them removed. They were proof that he deserved to know why, three years ago, Diluc had surrendered his Vision and disappeared from Mondstadt. 

“Look,” he began. “I—” 

“I’m trying to save you.” Diluc’s gloved hands curled into fists. It was only then that Kaeya noticed the furrow in his brows, the new worry lines etched across his pale, gaunt face. “I couldn’t save him. Just let me go.” 

The lights of the city seemed to dim, its clamor reduced to a low, dull buzz in his ears. He hadn’t seen Crepus die. He had only felt the loss and known that something was terribly, terribly wrong. By the time Ursa the Drake had been killed and he found Diluc in the midst of the smoking wreckage, it was all over. Crepus was only a body, and Kaeya was only a boy. 

He let Diluc go. He was tired of remembering. 

Chapter Text

Kaeya stared down at the package the courier had set beside the table. Much to his chagrin, sleep and breakfast hadn’t cured his headache. It pounded in triumphant circles around his mind like a winning racehorse, back and forth and back and forth. Seated across from him, Amber eyed the box eagerly. 

“What’d you get?” she asked. 

That was the problem. He had no idea. Kaeya picked up the knife he’d been using to peel an apple, slit open the lid, and peered inside. 

“Archons,” he groaned.  

The vase he bought the previous night glowered up at him, reflecting light at all the wrong angles and in all the wrong colors. Kaeya lifted it out of the box and studied the painted base. He’d paid twenty-two mora for this? 

“Have a look.” He slid it in Amber’s direction. “I’m going to put your tulips in it.” 

“Wow, thanks.” She pressed her index finger against the handle and spun it in an idle circle. “It’s very…bright.” 

Kaeya wiped the knife blade on his trousers and sliced the apple in two. He pushed half toward her and wrapped the rest in a napkin, which he slipped into his pocket for later. He needed to speak to Jean, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He could imagine her face falling as he recalled his run-in with Diluc at Angel’s Share, the sadness in her eyes shuttering behind a tight-lipped I told you so , the papers on her desk stacked like walls between them. Next to Kaeya himself, she had been Diluc’s best friend. Life wasn’t so simple anymore. 

Kaeya replaced the vase in the package and tucked it under one arm before standing. Seeing Jean could wait. What he really needed was something for his headache as soon as possible, more clinical than Barbara’s usual songs and healing prayers. 

“Where are you going?” Amber asked, sensing his dismay. 

“The laboratory. I’m hungover.” 

It wasn’t a lie. Kaeya had barely stepped into the laboratory before someone shoved a stoppered vial in his face. The liquid inside shone molten gold, as viscous as honey. Without looking up from a boiling beaker, Albedo shook the vial at him. 

“For your hangover.” 

The Knights’ Chief Alchemist stood at a counter with his back to the door, the hem of his white coat riddled with burn holes. The laboratory smelled like scorched hair, and clouds of smoke drifted between the metal sconces fastened to the high stone walls. Kaeya uncorked the vial and obediently downed the contents, slotting the emptied glass tube back into Albedo’s fist. It was sweeter than usual, but he didn’t mind. 

“Are you busy?” he asked. 

“That depends.” The beaker popped, and Albedo stepped back to finally meet his eyes. “Will it be quick?” 

“I have a headache.” 

“Yes, which I believe I just remedied.” 

It was their own old rhythm. Despite his reclusiveness, even Albedo knew of Kaeya’s frequent outings and the drunken state in which he would return from them. 

“It’s more complicated than that,” Kaeya said.  

How was he supposed to explain that though his headache had only started yesterday afternoon, he had been forgetting things for months? How was he supposed to explain that it had only been small things at first—a dropped task here, an overlooked detail there—but that now there was more on the line? How long would it be before he forgot about Diluc’s return? How many times would Kaeya rediscover his homecoming before Diluc knew something was wrong? He knew that Albedo wouldn’t be able to translate the emotional nature of his grievances, but perhaps that was for the best. Perhaps Kaeya needed someone who could treat them like problems to be solved rather than pools to drown in. The confession was already on his lips. It would only take one other person to lighten the load. 

Albedo looked at him expectantly. “I’m on a clock, Kaeya.”

Tell him. Tell someone. Anyone. 

But at the end of all things, Kaeya didn’t want to be solved. He wanted to be understood, and he knew that if he couldn’t give himself even that much, no one would. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, his mouth dry. “I’ll let you get back to work.” 

Albedo shrugged and turned back to his beaker, his silhouette illuminated by the windows on the laboratory’s far wall. “Suit yourself.”

---

Flora, the aptly named girl manning the flower stand, gave Kaeya a questioning look as he perused the labels underneath each bouquet. Windwheel aster, calla lilies. He squinted, trying to read the descriptions underneath. 

“What’s this, Captain?” she teased. “Welcome-home gift for Master Diluc?” 

“Not quite.” A loose corner of the stand’s awning flapped in the wind as Kaeya pointed toward a bundle of white, star-shaped blossoms. Cecilias. “A dozen of those, please.” 

The Ragnvindr family didn’t grow Cecilias anymore. The ornamental gardens were mostly bare, surrounded by brick walls taller than Kaeya’s head and covered in ivy, and the kitchen garden was overrun with weeds. After Diluc had left, Adelinde and the manor’s other employees had turned to managing the Dawn Winery in his stead, abandoning the infrastructure to nature and time. The house itself had crumbled into relative obscurity. 

As Kaeya picked his way up the paved slope to the property’s gates, he tried not to notice the newly broken windows and rotting beams accumulated across the manor’s façade. Some of his possessions still remained inside, like gold in a sunken chest, but he hadn’t retrieved them. Some artifacts were better lost. He adjusted his armful of Cecilias and pushed past the creaking gates, then crossed the lawn to the evergreen tree marking the corner of the yard. The grass soaked the knees of his trousers as he crouched and placed the bouquet at the tree’s base. 

“So,” he said to the tree. “He’s back.” 

The tree, as usual, didn’t answer. Bemused, the sun watched on from its perch in the sky. 

“Business at Headquarters is as usual,” he continued. “Jean is neck-deep in her tax frenzy, Rosaria’s still a truant, and Albedo is unearthing alchemy’s next huge discovery. But everyone in Mondstadt seems to know that it’s only going to be quiet for so long.” 

Somewhere deep below the damp, overgrown grass lay Crepus’ coffin. Kaeya could still feel its varnished wood, smooth underneath his gloved fingers as he lowered it into the ground. It had smelled like leather and healing herbs. He hadn’t known what the small, round leaves and yellow buds were for. Crepus was already dead, after all. 

“Ever since I showed up on your doorstep, I had tried my best to show you that I wasn’t afraid.” Kaeya swallowed the lump forming in his throat. “I’m still trying, but I don’t know who I’m trying for anymore. Maybe it’s my father and Khaenri’ah. Maybe it’s the Knights. Maybe it’s still you, somehow. All I know is they believe me, and I can’t let them down.” 

He took a shaky breath. “I can’t remember anything anymore. They slip away just as I reach for them: lists and alibis, small things. I’m worried that it’s going to be the bigger things next. I’m beginning to forget what my father looked like.” 

He could leave Khaenri’ah behind, abandon his belongings in the caverns of his childhood, but no matter what he did, Kaeya would still be walking history of his own life. He had lived as his people died, destroyed in the darkness of their own walls. He had lived as his father deserted him in the pouring rain. He had lived as Diluc bore down on him, fists blazing. He was proof that it all had happened, and that he had lived nonetheless. 

“Kaeya.” 

Kaeya’s stomach dropped. He turned around slowly, holding his breath as his brother halted at his feet. Diluc’s face was grim and withdrawn, his eyes cold. He consulted the gilded watch ticking at his wrist, one of Crepus’ favorites. 

“A buyer is touring the property in six minutes,” he said. “You should go.” 

Kaeya rose to his feet. “A buyer?” 

Diluc nodded toward the house as if he was dealing with a rude, indignant child. “Land is valuable around here, but it’d be more expensive to try and restore the place. If you have any personal effects you’d like to recover, you can come back tomorrow.” 

“You’re selling the house?” 

“Yes.” He smoothed his coat lapels. “That’s five minutes, now. Please leave.” 

“Wait.” Kaeya’s heart pounded between his ribs, almost deafening. He focused on the Cecelias at his feet, inhaling their honeyed scent, but it did little to calm him as anger rose like a tide in his chest. “Don’t you think I should have a say in this? Where are you going to live? What about Father’s grave?” 

“I’m staying at the Dawn Winery,” Diluc answered. “Both properties are legally in my name, and I will manage them and their associations as I see fit.” 

Ice ran through Kaeya’s veins, a chilly reminder of the Vision secured to his belt. “He’s not an association,” he snapped. “He’s your father, and mine, too—” 

“Did he know about your connection to Khaenri’ah?” 

The air between them was still. “Father wouldn’t have handled it like you did.” 

“I’m not so sure. My family doesn’t enjoy being lied to.” Diluc checked his watch again. “Four minutes. Remove yourself from my land, or I’ll drive you out myself.” 

“I didn’t lie to you.” 

“You kept the truth from me, which is as good as the same.” 

“What was I supposed to say?” Kaeya demanded. “That I was a spy? That if war between Mondstadt and Khaenri’ah broke out, I’d be a traitor, too?” 

“After all we’ve done for you?” The sun disappeared behind a cloud, casting them in the manor’s shadow. “Where were your people when you needed them the most? We took you in—my family, the Knights, Mondstadt itself—we cared for you when even your own father couldn’t bear to keep you by his side, and you would still abandon us for all those who abandoned you?” 

This is your chance. You are our last hope. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat, tasting the bitterness of his inner cheek, then met Diluc’s eyes. The darkness in them rivaled the Khaenriah’s black stone sky. Where were your people when you needed them most? The truth was that they needed Kaeya now more than he would ever need them again. He was a prince, a savior, free from the curse that turned them into the monsters felled by the Knights of Favonius and the immortals stuck underground. 

He had also been a child. 

“Master Diluc! The rumors of your return are true!” 

Kaeya and Diluc turned as the manor’s buyer shambled past the gate, his shoulders hunched like an insect’s as he considered the house at a distance. He was old, white-haired, and fat around the middle, which his leather belt did little to relieve. Kaeya didn’t recognize him at all. He tried to imagine the house restored under someone else’s watchful eye, the carpet lining the stairs trodden down by a stranger’s boots. 

“Master Goth,” Diluc said, his tone carefully warm. He was a businessman, after all. “Thank you for coming. I was just showing this man out.” 

“Indeed,” Kaeya added as he brushed the grass from his trousers, “this property is rich with the history of one of Mondstadt’s oldest families. In fact, Master Ragnvindr’s father is buried under this very tree.” 

Goth’s mouth fell open as he glanced at the pine. A muscle in Diluc’s jaw ticked furiously. Dead bodies tended to lower property value, after all. Kaeya elbowed him in the side and strode away, the fresh smell of Cecilias heavy in the air. If he had learned anything about Goth in the moment of knowing him, it was that he was short and ugly and tapped into the city’s rumors like a spile. By the time the week was over, everyone in Mondstadt would know of the Ragnvindr home’s special feature. At the moment, Diluc was probably livid. 

As Kaeya returned to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, he caught sight of Albedo sprinting across the training grounds in his direction. That was strange. He was sure that the one and only Chief Alchemist preferred to avoid strenuous physical activity as much as possible, with the exception of his treks into Dragonspine. 

It then occurred to him that Albedo wasn’t only running in his direction, but running toward him in particular.

“Kaeya!” 

Kaeya balked as Albedo skidded to a halt in front of him and thrust something thin and fragile into his hand. Sunshine glistened against its cylindrical glass edges, reflecting off the golden residue stuck to the bottom. He recognized it as the vial of hangover medicine he’d downed earlier. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“How do you feel?” Albedo demanded. “Is your headache gone?” 

“Well, I…” He hesitated, unsure of what to say. It was mostly gone, likely stored away in some chamber of his brain until another more inconvenient occasion. “For now, I guess. I feel better.” 

Kaeya stared as the alchemist snatched the vial away and held it to the light, studying its sparkle. His arm quivered as he lowered it and finally looked up, his blue eyes shaken and wide. 

“I gave you over twenty times the recommended dose of the wrong medicine.” He turned the vial over in his palm. “It's meant to prevent blood clots. Klee blew a hole in the lab wall two weeks ago, and we’ve been using it as rat poison ever since. I know you’re not the same size as a rodent, but—” 

“Albedo.” 

“You should be dead, and—” 

“Albedo!” 

The alchemist stopped. He was visibly shaking, his entire body trembling like a leaf. Kaeya had never seen him like this before: vulnerable, unsure, afraid. No one had, perhaps ever in the history since his creation. Something in the air was working hard to untie all the order Mondstadt had ever known. 

“Take your time,” he murmured. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” 

Albedo’s knuckles blanched as he clutched the vial tightly. “I know what you are.” 

Kaeya’s heart stopped. His chest trembled as he tried to breathe, but found that his lungs were already full. The curses that bound Khaenri’ah’s people were as fresh as blood in his mind. One of wilderness and the other of immortality. Could it be? 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Not here.” Albedo surveyed their surroundings and shook his head. “The laboratory. Now.”

Chapter Text

Diluc hated first things. 

First meetings, first fights. First deaths. He had found that while beginnings did not always preordain endings, they made them inevitable. A spark might end in candlelight or a forest fire, but something would burn nonetheless. 

Ironically enough, the first time Diluc had understood this, he’d been drowning. 

The sunlight filtering through the water had scattered the stones with blurred patches of light. The river surface stretched above him like a window of wavering glass, peering into the sky. His mind was strangely quiet. The panic that had seized him when he’d lost footing in the riverbed had diminished, reduced to a low churn beneath a shroud of disorientation. How many afternoons had he walked the two-mile stretch to the river just to watch it bend around the bank? How many times had he imagined jumping in, but abstained? 

His throat ached, his lungs nearly full, but he barely noticed them. Black spots danced languidly in the corners of his vision. Diluc closed his eyes and let himself be. 

Someone grabbed his arm, and the illusion of peace shattered. 

Diluc broke the surface, clawing at his throat as he gasped. His lungs contracted, and he choked until the water finally bubbled past his nose and lips. His sinuses burned. His hair was stuck to his forehead in dripping red clumps, and the sensation would have irritated him if he’d been any less exhausted. Sucking in a breath, he gazed up at the tree canopy arched over the bank. The leaves cast dappled shadows over his face, the air sweet and dry. He retched again, chest creaking, then lay still. His limbs trailed against the current as his savior towed him to shore. 

His savior. Diluc wrenched his wrist out of his vice-like grip. Through his streaming eyes, he watched as Kaeya halted and spun around, wheeling his arms and legs to stay afloat. 

“I’m fine,” Diluc croaked. He tried to mimic Kaeya’s movements, but only succeeded in kicking up a cloud of bubbles. 

“Can you swim?” Kaeya asked, a smug smile on his face.  

Diluc stopped treading water to push the hair from his forehead. As his kicking slowed, he felt the water close around him again. He flailed, then sputtered as his so-called brother grabbed him again. 

“Like a fish,” he managed to say. 

“Looks like I’ve just caught one.” Kaeya’s hold on him loosened, then tightened again teasingly. “Is this your first time in water deeper than your knees?” 

Diluc's face heated with embarrassment at his own helplessness. In comparison to Kaeya, he was supposed to be the seasoned veteran of everything the world threw at them. He was stronger, smarter, better accustomed to the life they now shared. Wherever Kaeya had come from, it had left him hopelessly unprepared for the basics of survival. Diluc had felt obligated to teach him every important thing: how to fold shirts so they wouldn’t crease, where Adelinde hid her stash of moon pies, which branches to avoid when climbing trees in the orchard. 

But swimming? That had been omitted from his genteel education. 

“Of course not,” Diluc lied. 

“Alright, I’m going to let go—”

“Wait!” 

Kaeya snorted. “Admit you can’t swim.” 

“I can!” 

“Okay then. Swim.” 

He let go. Diluc shut his eyes as he sank, reaching blindly through the water as it closed over his head. His hands met something long and bony, which he seized. Kaeya’s leg, hopefully. Diluc clung to it like a lifeline as Kaeya began to thrash above him, his splashing muffled as he pulled him under. He dug in his nails for good measure. Kaeya tossed and wriggled frantically, trying to extricate himself from his grasp. He twisted down and grabbed Diluc’s arms, fingers scrabbling, then wrenched his ankle upward. It did not come free. Diluc grinned. Is this your first time in water deeper than your knees? 

Then Kaeya went still. 

Diluc squeezed his leg in a wordless question. He couldn’t open his eyes, not again. His feet brushed the stones littering the riverbed. Kaeya did not stir. 

A thousand curses rushed through Diluc’s head at once. He braced his feet against the riverbed and pushed off, propelling them both to the surface in a storm of bubbles, his heart slamming in his chest. Kaeya was heavy, a dead weight crumpled over his shoulder. No. Not dead. Diluc pushed the thought from his mind and focused on kicking to the surface. His father’s voice echoed through the darkness, trailing him as he hurtled upward. 

This is Kaeya. He’ll be staying with us for the next few months. He’s about your age, but nonetheless it’s going to be our job to look after him. Will you help me? 

He’d promised he would, if only for his father’s sake. 

He emerged from the water with a cry, then buoyed Kaeya’s limp body to shore. Once they’d crossed into the shallows, Diluc floated Kaeya to the bank and rolled him onto a shaded patch of grass. There he sat, hugging his knees to his chest, shaking like a leaf. He cast an anxious glance at Kaeya’s face. What if he’d really killed him? He drew his knees in tighter and tried not to think about what his father would say.

“Well, seeing as you used me as a kickboard, it doesn’t count as swimming.” 

Diluc looked up in surprise. Kaeya was conscious, looking proud of himself and entirely unaffected by the fact that he’d been as good as dead ten seconds before. He turned onto his side, his cheek pressed against the grass. His eyes were bright with mischief. 

“I thought I’d drowned you!” 

“Luckily, I can swim.” 

Diluc had no idea how to reply. His chest swelled with an unbidden, uncomfortable something that he didn’t yet have a word for. Anger and worry, certainly, but not without guilt. Not without relief. 

Later, he had realized what it was. If Kaeya had been truly injured, the pain would have been his, too. Diluc could not hurt him, no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried. It would be like taking his own spear to the gut. It was duty in its first and final form; that is, it was love. 

These days, he hated that, too. 

Jean’s office was empty. Diluc found her in the library, sifting through a pile of papers on the wooden floor. The room was achingly familiar. Candlelight from the chandelier bathed the walls in a faint, orange glow, carpeting the staircase in flickering shadow. Diluc scanned the shelves as he passed, glimpsing the titles he had once known by heart. How many hours had he spent here, fulfilling his father’s dream for him to become a Knight? 

Jean looked up at the sound of his footsteps, then stopped when she finally saw him waiting by the stairs. A small vein bulged by her eyebrow as she fought to keep her composure. 

“My scouts told me you’d returned,” she said. “You could’ve at least warned me in advance.” 

“I could have,” Diluc agreed. “I’d like to retrieve my Vision. Where is it?” 

The look she gave him could have frozen Natlan. Diluc couldn’t help but notice how easily her face fell into the expression, as if she’d been making it more often than not. He tried to remember the girl he’d known from the functions Crepus had thrown for Mondstadt’s elite. The idealist, the winner, the most ambitious person he’d ever met. Outside of Kaeya, she’d been his best friend. Now, she seemed little more than a figurehead swamped in scrolls. 

“My scouts mentioned today that you were selling the manor,” Jean said. “And I’ve been getting reports that there is a body buried in the yard.” 

Diluc nodded. “My father’s.” 

“I don’t suppose you pointed that out to your buyers during the grand tour?” 

“Not before Kaeya beat me to it.” 

Jean’s gaze softened slightly as she selected a paper from the mound and set it aside. “I hope you two at least talked. Even after your fight, he was devastated when you left. He thought it was his fault.” 

“It was,” Diluc cut in. 

“You know that’s not true.” She sat back on her heels and surveyed the mess she’d made. “He never told me what it was—what you’d fought about. But I can tell that whatever it was hurt him, too. The person you were before you left would have never, ever let that go unhealed.” 

“People change,” he said. “Besides, who says I’m not healed?” 

“I do,” Jean answered. 

“You’re wrong.” 

She shot him an accusatory glance. “Your Vision is considered an artifact now,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s a short paperwork process you need to go through to reclaim it. I would have my secretary draft the documents for you now, but it’s tax season, and I need all the help I can get. You’ll have to wait.” 

“How long?” Diluc asked. 

“A week?” Jean didn’t sound sure. “Maybe ten days. Business ones.” 

He folded his arms. “I’m not going to wait ten business days to regain ownership of my own Vision.” 

“What’s the rush? It’ll give you time to readjust. Find a routine. Tie up some loose ends before it’s too late.” 

“My ends are tied.” 

“Well, so are my hands, at least in this matter.” Jean swept the papers into a neater pile and looked up at him again. Some light had returned to her eyes, but not much. “Rules are rules. Sorry.” 

“That’s alright,” Diluc said, even though it wasn’t. He hesitated, then added, “I did miss you, you know.” 

At least that last part was true. The corners of Jean’s lips turned up as she managed a ghost of a smile. “I missed you, too.” 

She wasn’t angry. She did not resent his leaving, not like Kaeya did. Diluc closed the library door and released a breath. Kaeya had no idea what forces lay beyond Mondstadt’s walls. It was both a blessing and a curse, a disillusionment that was better left untouched. 

“Captain.” 

Diluc turned around. The Chief Alchemist was staring at him from across the hallway, his arms folded over his narrow chest. He looked like he’d been waiting.

“Albedo,” Diluc said haltingly. “Hello.” 

“There’s no time for pleasantries.” Albedo motioned for him to follow as he set off down the corridor, his white coat billowing. “We need to talk.” 

Diluc started after him, jogging to catch up. “About what?” 

“Come on.” 

Albedo shoved open a door to their right and slipped through. Diluc caught it before it closed and followed suit. The room they’d entered was small and cramped, lined with crates of paint cans and empty canvases. The day’s last sunlight slanted in through the far window, illuminating a pair of wooden stools in the center of the space. One was vacant, the other occupied by the last person Diluc wanted to see. By his side, Albedo not-so-subtly locked the door. 

Kaeya refused to look at him. “What does he have to do with this?” he asked Albedo. 

The alchemist dropped his keys into his coat pocket. “You said he knows your secret.” 

“So?” 

“You made this seem urgent,” Diluc interrupted. “I’d hate to have wasted my time coming here.” 

Albedo crossed the room and took a seat on the empty stool. “After the Cataclysm, most Khaenri’ahns were transfigured into monsters,” he said. “The pure-blooded minority was cursed with immortality.” 

“So I’m told,” said Diluc. “Though I suppose only one of their moles would know for certain.” 

Kaeya’s hands curled into fists. “He knows, Diluc. About everything.” 

“And it’s a good thing I figured it out.” Albedo steepled his fingers in his lap. “In this world, immortality is not without its shortcomings. A condition called erosion, for example, is one of the many ways it can wear away at its host.” 

He swallowed hard and continued. “After I inadvertently poisoned you this morning—” 

Diluc couldn’t ignore the incendiary stab in his gut. “You poisoned him?” 

“On accident. That’s how I learned of his immortality. Erosion is a serious issue. It’s best to catch its manifestations early to allow for future damage control.” 

Kaeya hooked his heels on one of his stool’s rungs. His knee bounced erratically, as if charged with nervous energy. Sweat glittered on his brow. Telling Albedo couldn’t have been easy, Diluc’s conscience pointed out. The first time he had told anyone, he’d nearly been killed. A chill crept down Diluc’s back at the memory of their crossed blades. 

He truly hated first things. 

“I keep forgetting,” Kaeya said at last. His knuckles blanched as he squeezed the edge of his seat. “What I had for breakfast. If I had breakfast at all. My past purchases. It sounds stupid to say out loud.” 

Diluc snorted. “Yes, it does.” 

“But it’s getting worse than that,” he went on. “I’ll forget what my duties are. I’ve been doing the same job for three years, and sometimes I can’t remember what it is or what it means to me.” 

“So you’re a little unmoored. That’s nothing new.” 

“There’s a reason why it’s called erosion,” Albedo said. “It takes time. Little by little, your memories fade. The function of memory itself is that it enables humans to learn. Without it, you’re stuck. Stagnant. Immortal.” 

“I haven’t told anyone about it,” Kaeya murmured. 

“If erosion takes that much time, I don’t see why it’s such a pressing concern,” said Diluc. “It’s early in the process, and there’s no stopping it. This is his problem.” 

Albedo whirled around to face him. Something had shifted in his expression, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and cold. “This is neither a mishap nor an unfortunate side effect, Captain. He’s sick. And as his only family, whose problem is it if not yours?” 

Even Kaeya seemed taken aback at the alchemist’s sudden outburst. Albedo shrank back in his seat, then glanced out the window as Diluc leaned against the door. He felt like a scolded child, but his point still stood. Despite the reality of his homecoming, the stubborn reminder of his father’s words, and the sense of duty he couldn’t quite shake, Kaeya had made it clear that they were not family and never had been. What had taken him a few seconds to confess to Albedo had taken him an entire childhood and their father’s death to tell Diluc. It wasn’t fair. He should have known. His father should have known. They’d earned the right.

Diluc nodded toward the doorknob. “Let me go. I want nothing to do with this.” 

The room held its breath for a moment. Then Kaeya watched in silence as Albedo slid off his stool to unlock the door. His face had gone pale, his gaze far away. It probably lingered with his true people as it had all his life, lost in the wretchedness and suffering of Khaenri’ah. Diluc could not forgive him. Kaeya would forget before he ever had the chance, and perhaps even after. How well had Diluc ever known him? How could he trust him again, knowing that he might be hiding anything? 

The door opened, and Albedo stepped away. Diluc swept past him and did not look back. 

Three years ago, he had been let down by everyone he had ever cared for. His hero-worship of his father had crumbled at his murder. His confidence in the Knights had been betrayed by those who tried to cover the incident. And Kaeya. Kaeya, whom he’d resisted and learned and sought to love. Kaeya, his father’s greatest gift and parting promise. 

It’s going to be our job to look after him. Will you help me?

Kaeya, his final failure. Diluc adjusted his coat and kept walking.

Chapter Text

The troubled nun was back. Or, as Diluc referred to her in private, the bitch with the veil. 

Maybe she had never left. Maybe she preferred hiding out at Angel’s Share instead of attending mass. Maybe she had spent each day of his absence kicked back at the bar, accumulating a tab that was worth more than his father’s whole estate. Nevertheless, the moment Diluc began to entertain thoughts of closing up that night was also the moment Rosaria decided to get the party started.

Heart hammering in his chest, Diluc turned and vanished as bright, spirited music rose from the bar. The storeroom was dusty and marginally more peaceful, but he could still hear Venti’s lewd song choice as it rang through the air. Someone dimmed the lights, casting long shadows over the walls. Rosaria crowed something in triumph, which was followed by a general cheer. 

Diluc braced a hand against a rack of wine bottles and forced himself to breathe. He just wanted to go home. This couldn’t be his father’s legacy. It was far too loud. 

“Ragnvindr!” someone barked from the tavern. It was probably Rosaria. “Come out and pour us a drink!” 

Diluc didn’t like the sound of us. He missed Charles dreadfully. 

“One moment!” he called, and seized a bottle in each fist. The action invigorated him enough to stroll back to the bar, summoning the last remnants of his energy. “What’ll it be tonight?” 

Nearby, Venti belted a string of obscenities and strummed frenetically at his lyre. He wore Rosaria’s cowl tied around his neck like a scarf. It did not give off the roguish effect he thought it did. 

Perched atop the counter, her face red and shining like a cherub’s, Rosaria seemed to register Diluc’s disgust. 

“Don’t look so pinched,” she slurred. “It’s just the lyrics of the song.” 

“Get off my counter,” said Diluc. 

She scowled and hopped to the ground, grabbing a barstool seat for balance. “Forget the drink. Just gimme the bottles.” 

He handed them to her unopened. “Whose tab?”

“Cavalry Captain’s. Bastard.” 

Despite himself, Diluc snickered. “What’d he do now?” 

“No. You’re the bastard.” Rosaria popped open a bottle with impossible finesse and slammed the cork down in front of him. Though her movements were slow and languid, they packed a sobering amount of force. “It’s just his tab.” 

She took a long swig and turned back to the crowd, riling them up like an orchestra conductor as Venti reached the final chorus. Diluc ignored them and excused himself to consult the tavern’s log book. He ducked behind the counter and dragged it out: a huge, leather-bound volume stuffed with records of every customer Angel’s Share had ever served. 

An entire chapter could have been dedicated to Kaeya Alberich and the many who had opened tabs under his name. The numbers swam before Diluc’s eyes, a sea of faded ink and decadence. He tried to picture his baby brother tabletop-dancing with Venti and stopped himself. Of course Kaeya would dance with Venti on top of a table. The night’s activities had Kaeya written all over it. 

A pit formed in Diluc’s stomach. Kaeya would have been present tonight if not for the day’s events. He felt an odd sense of guilt at the thought. 

The lights dimmed even further. The crowd became a mass of writhing silhouettes, purple and midnight blue in the darkness. Venti’s singing faded into the background, an indiscriminate roar of agitation and excitement. Diluc returned the log book behind the bar and wiped the counter with a rag. 

He knows, Diluc. About everything. 

Albedo was a coworker, within Kaeya’s orbit by mere circumstance. Yet he knew the secret that had been kept from Diluc’s family for two decades, and it had only taken seconds for Kaeya to tell him. Was it that easy to fess up the second time, when your sanity was on the line? 

Diluc scrubbed furious circles into the counter. He wasn’t angry. The rag squeaked as he attacked a sticky spot with vigor. Albedo knew. Albedo had only known Kaeya for a few years, but he knew. And worst of all, as his fellow Knight, Albedo had remained stoically and dutifully calm at the news. He had not been alarmed by the implications of Kaeya’s loyalties. He had swept aside the history and zeroed in on the problem at hand, the erosion diagnosis. It was hardly human, but that was Albedo for you. 

The music swelled, and Diluc realized that he had worn a hole in the rag. Perhaps he could admit that he was a little angry. Human or not, Albedo was a scientist. It was his nature to pursue conclusion, rather than dwelling on theory. His reaction had been reasonable given the fact that he had no skin in the game. He was an impartial observer to the wreck that was Kaeya Alberich. 

Diluc felt his anger subside like a dissolving wave. He tossed the ruined rag aside and tried to look like he was happy to be back, existing in that raucous moment. Then someone splintered a chair, and he snapped back into focus. 

Once he had finished chewing out the perpetrator (who fled with tears in his eyes), Venti caught his shoulder. Diluc turned around in surprise, prying off his sticky fingers. One of Venti’s braids had come undone, spilling short, dark curls over his shoulder. He had removed Rosaria’s cowl from his neck and now wore it as a makeshift sash. 

“Diluc,” he blurted, waving an empty tankard. “Hey. More.” 

Diluc shrugged. “Sure. It’s on Alberich.” 

“Bless that guy.” Venti giggled, a high-pitched, wild sound. “Oh wait, I just did. I can do that. Hey, listen up, okay?” 

“What?” 

“You’ve got to see him.” 

Diluc pretended not to understand. “Who?” 

“You know who.” Clumsily, Venti followed him to the bar, where he draped himself over a stool. “You have to see him.” 

“I have. Four times.” 

“No, but you’re not seeing him.” 

Diluc regarded him with cool pity, marshalling his emotions as they clamored in his chest. There was no point in reasoning with drunk people. There wasn’t even a point in listening to them. He passed Venti a new drink and folded his arms. 

“I’ve seen all that I need to see. Don’t worry about me.” 

“Oh, come off it. No one’s worried about you. ” Venti wrapped his pale hands around the glass and squeezed, his gaze bright and intense. “It’s him I’m worried about. He’s unwell.” 

Diluc’s eyes narrowed. Surely Kaeya hadn’t told everyone about the erosion. It was a topic covered in thorns, one that required understanding of his status as a Khaenri’ahn. It was founded on a secret that had torn their family apart indefinitely. Diluc still had the scars, physical remnants of it marring his skin. This was different from telling Albedo. Venti wasn’t an extraordinary scientist. He was Kaeya’s favorite drinking buddy. He couldn’t help at all. 

“He visits your father’s grave every week,” Venti continued, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “He doesn’t tell anyone about it, just disappears in between meetings to sit there and cry. No one in their right mind does things like that—hey, are you still listening to me?” 

He gaped at Diluc, who drew back as if he had been stung. Ice churned in his stomach. He could feel it crawling over his body like the roots of a tree, pinning him to the ground, breathing down his neck. Each of his breaths felt punched out, dangerously uneven. His baby brother, crying. He recalled how unsteady Kaeya had seemed at the gravesite, how quick he had been to anger. Guilt roiled in his gut as he remembered how curt he had been in response. 

Remove yourself from my land, or I’ll drive you out. 

He hadn’t known. He could have never guessed it. Had Kaeya been crying when Diluc approached him? Had he been about to? 

Diluc wrung his hands, unsure of what to say. As far as he knew, Kaeya hadn’t cried since they were twelve years old, when he had shoved Diluc down some stairs in a fit of rage. It hadn’t even been the whole flight, just four or five. Just enough to scare him. But guilt had swallowed Kaeya in a second. He’d taken one glance at Diluc, curled up at the foot of the staircase, and promptly burst into tears. 

Even Diluc, bruised and aching, hadn’t cried that day. But Kaeya had, because Kaeya felt everything—every joy, every pain, every regret—a thousandfold, and how couldn’t Diluc have known? It should have hit him the moment he looked into Kaeya’s eyes after three years of separation. 

“You are listening,” Venti said sadly. He took a deep sip of his drink, his energy drained. Then he hiccupped. “I think I’ve said too much. But if anyone should know, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

He was right. Venti, drunk to the point of pain, was right. 

“How do you know all this?” Diluc asked, his mask perilously close to breaking. 

“Oh, I followed him once. I saw everything. Hey, Diluc?” 

“Yes?” 

“Good to have you back.” 

He thought Venti might have actually meant it. Some part of him hoped that he did. All Diluc could really think about was Kaeya. He didn’t trust him, and he certainly had not forgiven him. Sometimes he hated him. But he could not ignore him, no matter how hard he tried or how badly he wanted to. That was the problem with siblings. There could never just be apathy. Diluc liked apathy. There was protection in it, safety in the distance it enabled. 

He had returned to Mondstadt anyway. 

All of this, then, was partially his fault. If Diluc had stayed away, the wound might have closed. The scars might have faded. The secret might have remained hidden. 

Kaeya’s memories might have eroded enough to erase his presence, scrubbing away the idea that Diluc had ever left or existed at all. He would have forgotten where their father’s grave was, and he would have never ventured there again. He would have decayed quietly, finding peace in the silence of his mind. 

But he couldn’t, not anymore. Not with Diluc’s omnipresence, hovering around the Knights, managing the estate, working evenings at Angel’s Share. Diluc was Kaeya’s constant reminder of who he was, where he did or did not belong. He was the ball and chain weighing him down. 

“Ragnvindr!” 

Harsh with alcohol, Rosaria’s voice dragged Diluc from his spiral. He was almost grateful for it before she slid something onto the counter, one of the bottles from the storeroom. 

“You lying prick,” she snapped. “It’s only a quarter full.” 

“It’s on Alberich’s tab,” Diluc replied, jaw tightening at the mention of his brother. “What does it matter?” 

“Stop calling him that.” Rosaria nudged the faulty bottle toward him, her brow furrowed. “His name is Kaeya, you coward.” 

“You call me by my last name.” 

“That’s because you’re unworthy.” 

Bitch, Diluc thought to himself, bitch with the veil. “Venti is using your cowl to wipe up his vomit,” he said instead.

Rosaria just stared at him as if she could set him on fire with her gaze alone. “I hate you,” she said, her voice strained. “He won’t hate you, because he can’t bring himself to. So I will.” 

Could he blame her? Diluc forced a chuckle. “I can live with that.” 

The following afternoon, at lunch, Adelinde placed an envelope by Diluc’s plate. She stepped back cautiously, as if it might explode. Diluc shot her a curious glance and picked it up. 

“It’s from Master Goth,” she explained as he tore it open. “It’s addressed as urgent.” 

Goth? Diluc scanned the letter, eyes flicking over the page. He could sense Adelinde hovering a few feet away, clearly eager to know what Goth had written. Diluc thought that Kaeya had scared him away from buying the manor at the mention of Crepus’ grave. Apparently not. 

“He’s making an offer on the house,” Diluc murmured. “A good offer.” 

Adelinde inhaled sharply. “Then will you…?” 

“What, take him up on it?” 

Sighing, he folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. His thoughts were more tangled than they had ever been, ensnared by the sheer stress of his homecoming. Mondstadt could never weather change quietly. The elders were obliged to gossip, the shopkeepers never failed to talk. Even the Knights were guilty. Combined with the recent rumor that there were bodies (plural) buried in the Ragnvindrs’ front yard, it was a miracle that Diluc hadn’t changed his mind and vanished again. 

The logical thing to do would be to accept Goth’s offer immediately. Every neuron in Diluc’s brain was urging him to do so, tempting him with money and, more importantly, one less thing to worry about. Kaeya would never be able to visit the grave ever again, on account of trespassing. He could have some part of his peace. After the previous night’s events, Diluc felt like he owed him at least that. He hated the suffocation of debt, but it persisted nonetheless. There was no reason to proceed otherwise. He had to accept the offer. 

But some selfish voice in his head told him to hesitate. He didn’t need the money, and he had everything under control for now. Diluc pictured Goth and his terrible posture, and how disconcerting it was in contrast to his pride. He imagined Goth’s voice filling the halls of his childhood home, Goth slouching in his father’s seat. It felt perverse. It felt like a betrayal: to Crepus, to Adelinde, to Kaeya, to everyone who had lived in that house before tragedy struck. It felt like he was betraying himself. 

He was so tired. For all of his fortune, he couldn’t even afford himself a nap. 

“Adelinde?” he said. He knew she was still there, waiting for his answer. 

“Yes, Master Diluc?” 

“Please let Master Goth know that I will return his correspondence as soon as I am well.” 

“Is something wrong?” she asked. 

Yes, terribly. “No,” said Diluc, “but would you also notify my secretary to cancel my meetings for the rest of the day?” 

Adelinde seemed to wilt. “You never cancel your meetings, sir.” 

“I am today. Charles will take care of Angel’s Share, and Connor will manage the Winery in my stead.” He tried to smile, if only to assuage her worry. “You should take the day off, too.” 

“You’ve just returned, I couldn’t—”

“Yes, you could,” Diluc interrupted. “I can take care of myself.” 

Adelinde looked at him doubtfully, and he couldn’t blame her. She had wiped the blood from his chin when he’d lost his first tooth, baked each of his birthday cakes, held him as he cried over his father. When he had left, she had helped him pack his bags, tears in her eyes. She’d watched him grow up, and she of all people had earned the right to judge his actions. Diluc couldn’t imagine the hell he had put her through. 

Finally, Adelinde relented. “If you insist, sir.” 

In her absence, Diluc crawled into bed, pulling his blanket tight under his chin. He loosed a long breath and stared at the ceiling, his arms limp. Sleep. Where the hell was it? He rolled onto his side, shutting his eyes. Waves of blue and orange swirled behind his eyelids, and his pillow was uncomfortably warm beneath his head. Time dragged on into oblivion. Diluc decided that he could no longer tolerate his pillow and flipped it, then glimpsed the clock. Five minutes had passed. 

Diluc sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He had lasted five minutes. That was good enough. Throwing his blanket aside, he hurried out the door and downstairs, pausing only to reach for his coat. The few servants on duty shot him questioning looks as he passed, no doubt to relay to Adelinde later. Diluc didn’t care. He shoved his arms into the sleeves and stumbled into the bright afternoon sun. 

Hey, Kaeya. Sorry I drove you away the other day, but business is business. I didn’t know you were crying. You weren’t leaving, and I couldn’t just let you sit there. 

Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about the other day. I didn’t know you were crying. I did what I needed to do.  

Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about the other day. 

The last option sounded acceptable. While it was curt, it was the sort of apology Diluc himself would appreciate. It was to the point, and most importantly, free of excuses. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he rounded the street corner, chanting the words in his head. 

Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about the other day. Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about the other day. Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about the other day. Hey, Kaeya. Sorry about —

“Ragnvindr!” 

Startled, Diluc stopped in his tracks as Rosaria barreled down the sidewalk toward him. Halting, she braced her hands on her knees, her face crimson as she gasped for breath. What did she want now? Before Diluc could open his mouth to respond, she cut him off.

“It’s Kaeya. We can’t find him anywhere.”