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Chapter Text

The most momentous occasion in both of their lives starts with a knife.

~

Shenhe

The first thing Shenhe does every morning is pull the dagger out from under her pillow. Holding it up to the rays of early morning sunlight streaming through the window, she watches as it gleams in white and gold, the symbols carved into the hilt glinting between her fingers.

The knife belonged to her mother. She left it to Shenhe in her will, hoping that her daughter would one day follow in her footsteps and become a great exorcist. Shenhe has not yet been taught how to use it, but she always carries it with her regardless. It is her prized possession, and all she has left of her mother.

And what of her father? All she had, until recently, was a fading image of him: letters from his travels, that decreased in frequency the longer they were apart. Shenhe had almost forgotten the harsh line of his jaw and the bump in his nose by the time he returned, only a few days ago - and now all she has of him is a hollow shell.

He isn’t himself anymore. She is only six - too young to remember what he was like before her mother’s illness descended upon their family like a black cloud, dark and suffocating - but she knows he was full of life. He smiled a lot, back then. Now, it’s been so long since she saw that look upon his face that Shenhe can’t help but wonder if she dreamt it.

She finds him in his study, poring over an old, leather-bound tome, his forehead creased in concentration. He has rarely left this room since his return, and those wrinkles seldom disappear. Shenhe didn’t think it was possible to age a decade in less than a year, until she saw the weariness etched into every line of her father’s face.

He sees her before she can say “good morning”, and she smiles when his face lights up, basking in the odd familiarity of his expression. It feels… different, somehow, in a way that she can’t place, but all that matters is that he’s happy.

How long has it been since he was happy?

“Shenhe,” he says, his voice rasping in his throat. “Good, good, you’re finally awake. Baba has a surprise for you!”

Shenhe gasps in delight. A surprise? It’s been a challenge to get her father to hold a conversation with her, let alone have a whole surprise prepared just for her - but then again, she thinks, maybe that was because he was preparing something stupendous, to make up for all the months he was away.

He leads her out of their village, cradling the leather-bound book in one hand and holding Shenhe’s palm in the other. They walk until the path disappears beneath their feet, the vegetation unkempt and overgrown, before they arrive at the mouth of a cave. The entrance yawns wide before them, inviting them into a space so deep and so dark, Shenhe thinks a perpetual night might really exist.

“What are we doing here, baba?” she asks, huddling close to him. A spider scuttles along the far wall, and she eyes it warily.

She doesn’t expect an answer - she’s been asking him where they’re going throughout the trek here, and his responses have been nothing short of vague and indecipherable - but this time he says, “I can finally do it. I’m going to bring her back.”

“You mean mama?” she asks - who else could it be? - but as she says it, she knows it can’t be true. She remembers the way her life dissolved into turmoil after her mother’s body fell still and her father disappeared. She had stayed with Uncle Mingjun and, with a world of pain in his eyes, he had explained what death was, and how it had arrived at her mother’s doorstep prematurely.

Shenhe knew, then, that she was never coming back. Uncle Mingjun said so himself, and he would never lie to her.

Her father shocks her by saying “yes”, his voice laced with the desperation of a madman. Shenhe startles as he drops her hand and flips open the book, rifling through it until he comes to a bookmarked section, the pages wrinkled with overuse. She can only watch, mystified yet uneasy, as he pulls various materials from his bag and begins setting them up. Even as a sense of foreboding creeps over her, Shenhe can’t help but wonder: is it possible?

If their family can banish evil spirits from the mortal realm, can they also bring good ones back?

Uncle Mingjun isn’t an exorcist, she realises. He isn’t even really her uncle. So how would he know what can and can’t be done?

“Shenhe, baobei,” her father says, after several minutes have passed and he seems satisfied with his setup. “You won’t see me again after this - but she’ll be back, and she’ll need you to tell her everything that happened, okay? Make her smile for me, and… tell her I love her. Tell her she deserves the world.”

Shenhe nods, trying her hardest to keep up. The world is spinning in her disbelief, her father’s face warping before her very eyes. She’s never seen this expression before - is it sorrow? Desperation? Excitement, even?

And why won’t she see him again?

“...And take her home. You remember the way, don’t you?” He’s still talking, but Shenhe is hardly hearing any of it.

She nods again, just to placate him. He hasn’t looked this alive in years.

(She doesn’t actually remember the way home, through that maze of overgrown plants and invisible pathways, but she doesn’t want to disappoint him now.)

Satisfied, her father returns his attention to the book and begins chanting, his voice low. The words falling from his lips are unintelligible; Shenhe recognises the lilting, melodic tones of their mother tongue, but none of the phrases are familiar.

The wind picks up, then, whisking through the cave, swirling the dirt at Shenhe’s feet. Goosebumps prickle her skin, so she wraps her arms around herself. Her palms are cold, her fingertips drenched in ice.

“Baba?” she whispers. The air reeks of blood and decay.

He doesn’t respond; Shenhe isn’t sure whether she’s imagining it, but his eyes seem to be glowing red, throwing traces of crimson and scarlet across his cheekbones. His voice is getting louder, roaring over the shriek of the wind, the syllables echoing between cold stone walls. Shenhe throws an arm over her face as dust and dirt swirl around her, the wind growing impossibly strong, a storm beginning to form in the confines of the cave.

“Baba!” she tries again, louder this time, but she can’t even hear herself think. The air is getting thicker, humidity pressing up against her lungs, her breaths like honey in her throat.

They aren’t alone anymore.

There’s a… presence, leaking out of the ground at her father’s feet, all oozing shadow and suffocating darkness, crackling with menace. It rears upwards, its body shimmering ethereally, as though it takes up both an impossible amount of space and none at all. It looks at once like a solid wall of rock and a cascade of water, but the way the storm throws dust and gravel right through its body suggests it is nothing more than a mere shadow, a stain in the fabric of reality. Shenhe feels disoriented and dizzy just looking at it, so she presses her palms against her eyes, willing the world to stop spinning.

Her father is saying something, but the wind is still roaring like static in her ears, making her head pound. Shenhe takes a few deep breaths, counting seconds the way Uncle Mingjun taught her to when she would jolt awake in the middle of the night, those untouchable terrors once again plaguing her subconscious. Most nights, she’d relive the moment the last drop of life drained from her mother’s body. Other nights… well, those were somehow worse, in a way that Shenhe couldn’t even put into words.

And when she opens her eyes, the roaring wind having finally subsided, she comes face-to-face with something that looks like it was ripped straight from one of her worst nightmares.

It isn’t just a black mass anymore. The edges of its form ripple, hazy in the darkness, and Shenhe can feel evil rolling off of it in waves, so strong she can almost taste it. Its maw gapes wide before her, its mouth filled with rows and rows of sharp teeth. It has too many teeth, and too many eyes, its sclera as red as blood.

This is the creature that will bring her mother back?

It is so… ugly, so disturbingly grotesque that Shenhe can’t tear her gaze away. And neither, it seems, can the monster take its eyes off of her. It stares at her, unblinking, those inhuman eyes gleaming with a demonic sense of hunger. A cold shiver runs up Shenhe’s spine, prickling and chilly, as though the monster has dug its claws beneath her skin.

She can’t tell if she’s frozen by terror or by resolve. This almost feels like a battle of the wills - as though she and the monster are daring each other to look away first. At the same time, she feels almost paralysed, locked in place by that steely, blood-red gaze. She is so absorbed in their silent warfare that she almost doesn’t realise her father is speaking to the beast.

“My wife,” he’s saying. “You have to bring her back, please. I’ll exchange my life for hers. A soul for a soul, as is custom.”

The demon is silent for a long moment. Its eyes are still locked on Shenhe.

Finally, it shakes its head, and points one jagged claw in her direction. “The child,” it growls, and its voice seems to echo from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The low hum of it reverberates through Shenhe’s bones, aching in the base of her skull. “She bears… the curse of calamity.” It speaks slowly, deliberately, as though forming the words takes enormous effort. “I want her soul.”

“No!” Shenhe’s father snaps, but something is warring in the troubled waters of his eyes. “You’re lying. My daughter isn’t cursed.”

“Oh, but she is,” the monster says, delight thrumming through the sonorous husk of its voice. “Don’t you know? Our fates… are written by the stars, and hers… her fate…” It pauses, and the air shifts around them, as though it is taking deep, shuddering breaths. Shenhe can see worry working its way into the lines of her father’s face. “Her fate… is to wreak devastation… wherever she goes. Hers will be a life of loneliness… and nothingness.”

Shenhe’s blood turns to ice at the same moment her father’s face drops. The monster’s eyes seem to crinkle at the edges, the ghost of a smile forming on its shapeless mouth.

“Baba?” Shenhe whimpers, finally finding her voice through the paralysing fear. Her father doesn’t respond - in fact, he doesn’t even move, his face frozen in…

Shenhe swallows thickly. She can’t read that emotion, and she isn’t sure she wants to.

“Indeed… your daughter may just be the reason… your wife passed prematurely,” the monster continues gleefully. “Weren’t you aware?”

“Lies!” Shenhe’s father snaps, but she can tell by the rough edges of his voice that he isn’t sure what to believe anymore. “You’re lying. You have to be lying.”

“The stars… don’t lie, mortal fool.”

Shenhe suddenly feels like she’s drowning. The air is too thick, and her lungs feel at once impossibly full and hopelessly empty. The low hum of the monster’s voice fades into white noise, and the edges of the cave blur as her eyes prickle.

Even as everything fades out around her, Shenhe feels one thing in perfect clarity: the way her heart shatters into a million tiny pieces, the same way it did the day her mother died.

She didn’t think it could break any more than that.

~

Rosaria

Rosaria fumbles to catch the knife, her fingers so cold they can hardly move. She adjusts her grip on it, the worn leather of the hilt soft against her palm. The blade trembles in her hands like a leaf in the wind, but she isn’t sure if it’s because of the frigid cold or the terror.

The bandit who tossed her the dagger - Serle - is still talking as he pulls out a knife of his own.

“Fleeing makes you a traitor,” he growls, “and traitors can only earn their freedom through victory in combat.”

Rosaria swallows thickly. She knows this ritual - prisoners of the bandit gang are forced to fight one of the gang’s finest until either one of them dies. If the prisoner emerges the victor, they can choose to either flee into the howling wind and bitter cold of the mountains, or take a place among the bandit gang.

The prisoner is never the victor, though. Rosaria can’t remember the number of times she’s watched the bandits brutally slay innocent people, their knives slicing through flesh like butter, until the prisoner’s body is no longer recognisable and the snow is soaked with blood. It always looks like someone has carved a wound into nature itself.

She never expected to find herself in this position.

All she had wanted was a warm meal. Even something as simple as a solid roof over her head would have been enough. In her desperation, she had fled from the bandit camp, thinking she had snuck out unnoticed, and dashed away as quickly as her freezing legs could take her.

She knew it was a risk to run away. But it was just as much of a risk to stay, where the bitter mountain cold chewed through her clothes, chilling her down to her bones, and where her stomach was always hollow with hunger.

~

“Give me that!”

“No, snow-brains, it’s mine!”

“Who’re you calling snow-brains, stick-insect?”

“Hey!”

Rosaria huffs indignantly as Tanner pries the small bread roll from her fingers. It’s a poor excuse for food, the crust stiff with cold and the insides hard and stale, but it’s better than nothing.

Anything is better than nothing, but somehow ‘nothing’ is all Rosaria ever finds herself eating. She can only watch, furious, as Tanner pulls the bread roll apart, stuffing one half in his mouth and chewing obnoxiously.

“That isn’t fair!” Rosaria whines. “I haven’t had anything but berries to eat for the past three days. Can’t I even have the tiniest bit?”

“Psh. Berries are already more than you deserve,” Tanner sneers. “Serle should’ve burnt you along with the rest of your village.”

“I wish you got burned!”

“And don’t you remember the rules?” Tanner continues, ignoring her. “Only the strongest of the gang members get food. You’re not even a gang member, let alone a strong one, so what makes you think you’re more deserving of this bread than I am?”

Rosaria’s stomach growls, providing her answer for her. Even so, she knows that hunger isn’t a good enough excuse. Everyone is hungry here.

She turns away despondently, flopping back into the snow. She almost doesn’t notice the chill of it seeping in through her clothes; the hunger is already too much to bear.

~

She leaves when the hunger grows into a writhing mass behind her ribs, as pointed and deadly as a weapon. It pierces her lungs and the hollow cavity of her stomach, leaving her hunched over in pain, nausea swimming through her skull.

The same pain is etched into the faces of everyone in the bandit gang. This winter has hit them particularly hard; even the snow foxes and wild boars have disappeared between the snow-capped cliffs. Plants wilt beneath heavy, oppressive layers of white, and the frigid wind never lets up in its relentless attacks. Rosaria can count her own ribs.

~

Red.

What a beautiful colour. What a disgusting colour.

Rosaria sees red in the blood-soaked sunset, in that delicate, fragile time between day and night when the sky turns to fire, staining the backs of her eyelids scarlet. Dragonspine is a patchwork of land at once cold and treacherous, unyielding to human life, and yet it somehow makes space for such brilliant beauty.

She sees red in the villages they ransack, when she watches humble cottages go up in flames, crimson tongues lapping at the smoke-tinged sky. She sees it in the prisoners’ emaciated bodies, when they fall to the ground with a wet thud, their faces streaked in furious shades of red. She feels it, too, in the stickiness coating her palms when she skins wild boars and lays their pelts out to dry. She’s in dire need of a new winter coat.

She tastes it, in the hard collision of Tanner’s fist against her jaw, when he knocks her back into the snow and steals her hard-earned food from right under her nose. She spits a sticky glob of red into the snow at his feet and hopes, silently, that he one day falls off a cliff.

Or wouldn’t it be better, so much better, if she could find the strength to make him taste the iron tang of scarlet instead?

~

She flees, because no matter how much she tries to harden herself to it, the bloodshed still makes her heart hurt. She is already being taught how to kill - Serle has shown her how to wield a knife, and pointed out all the weak spots on the human body, leaving her to commit them to memory - but no amount of practice seems to make the senseless murders more acceptable. She sees a vengeful vermilion whenever she looks at people like Tanner, with his bloodied knuckles and permanent sneer, but the others…

Rosaria’s parents burned alive in a boiling sea of crimson and scarlet. Those colours still make bile rise in her throat.

~

This time, she can’t tell if the pain stems from hunger, frostbite, or the long hours of hard labour she’s forced to endure.

She rubs her hands together, hoping in vain that they’ll warm up. The calluses staining her palms sting at the contact. A small, partially rusted knife rests in the snow beside her, the blade caked with blood and fur. Tanner caught a wild boar today, and Rosaria was told to skin it, cut it up and cook it. Tomorrow she will split her fingers sewing the pelts she’s collected into a new cloak for Serle.

His eyes have been growing filmy, and his breaths are starting to rattle in his chest. Rosaria worries about him, with his ash-grey hair and age-wearied face. This winter has hit him the hardest of all, so Rosaria makes sure to take good care of him, but she isn’t sure how much longer she can stand to numb her aching hands in the snow at the end of every long day. She isn’t sure what’s going to get her first - the frostbite, or infection?

~

Serle said he’d taken her from a mountain village.

Rosaria has always harboured mixed feelings about it all. He is the man who saved her life; the one who convinced the bandit gang to keep her around. He is the one who raised her.

But if he and the rest of the gang hadn’t touched her former village at all…

Usually, she pushes such thoughts away. There is no point dwelling on what could have been; her village, and every trace of her real family, has already been turned to dust. She can’t remember her father’s eyes or her mother’s smile - she barely even remembers the house she was supposed to grow up in. Whatever her life could have been like in her birthplace, it is nothing more than a distant dream.

But this time, she allows herself to imagine a homely village, a different timeline. She holds the thoughts in front of her like a candle, guiding her as she stumbles through the snow, the sun washing the pine trees in fire as it begins to set. Because if a life like that was ever a possibility… maybe she still has a chance. Maybe she can find another village, another kindly smile and warm embrace. If she can spend even one night without worrying where her next meal is coming from, then–

“Rosaria!”

No. No…

She tries to run faster, but the snow is too thick, icy claws pulling at her ragged boots and biting at the skin of her legs. She zig-zags through the pine trees, trying to lose him in the lengthening shadows.

Any chance she has of escaping dissipates when she trips on the edge of a stone, barely peeking through the snow, and sprawls face-first into the ground. Her nose and cheeks sting with the cold, but nothing is worse than the terror, shooting through her veins like lightning.

“How dare you,” Serle growls, one rough, calloused hand wrapping around her wrist and pulling her to her feet. She stumbles back as he lets go, and the next thing she knows, he is tossing her a knife.

~

And now she’s here, standing across from the man who raised her with a knife in her hand and fear in her heart.

“Well, come on then! Kill me, and you can leave this place,” Serle says, sounding far too jovial. “I’m long in the tooth now, while you’ve got youth on your side. You can do this, can’t ya?”

Rosaria hates that he sounds like he’s joking - like death is just a game of cat and mouse. Even as she cycles through the list of tendons to hit to knock someone out or paralyse their legs, she knows she doesn’t stand a chance. She’s only six years old and barely a third of Serle’s height; even the knife he tossed her looks enormous in her youthful hands. He could kill her in an instant, but instead he’s toying with her, pulling her along like a puppet with broken strings.

She swallows heavily, glancing behind Serle to see several other members of the gang peering through the snow-dusted pines, their faces swathed in evening shadow. Rosaria swallows the bile rising in her throat; not only is she going to die a shameful death at the hands of the closest thing she’s got to a father, but now there’s an audience, too?

Her hands are shaking now, but she draws in a deep breath, forcing her thundering heart to slow down. Today, the last string holding that broken puppet up is going to snap, and Rosaria is going to die.

Chapter Text

They both brush shoulders with death that day, before the cold draws them into its embrace.

~

Shenhe
She bears the curse of calamity.

Her fate is to wreak devastation wherever she goes. Hers will be a life of loneliness and nothingness.

Indeed… Your daughter may just be the reason your wife passed prematurely.

The demon’s words echo in Shenhe’s mind, over and over again, every word deepening the chasm that has just opened up within her chest.

And yet, nothing distresses her more than the way her father’s eyes harden, shock and hurt written into every line of his face. He stares at her for a long moment, lips twitching as he tries to form words, but nothing comes. Shenhe is almost thankful for the tears that brim at her eyes, blurring her vision, and for the static that rings in her ears.

The silence lasts for far too long. Shenhe’s head aches with it, the deafening quiet, that agonising wait.

Finally, her father speaks.

“You are a cursed child,” he says softly, disbelievingly, his voice thick with more emotions than Shenhe can comprehend. She wipes away that torrent of tears so she can see him, and immediately regrets it.

She has never seen a man look more broken. He looms over her, but his figure seems small, his shoulders hunched and shaking. He stares blankly at the cave wall for a long moment, one white-knuckled hand gripping his face, as though holding his head in a vice grip will make this horrid revelation make more sense.

When he turns back to her, he moves his hand to point accusingly at her.

“You are a cursed child,” he says again, and there is more conviction behind the words this time, even though each syllable trembles in his mouth. “Your life brings nothing but disaster to us all.” He hesitates for a long moment, his eyes troubled, before he seems to come to a decision. “At least if you die… I can bring her back.”

And then he’s turning away, he’s leaving, his body silhouetted by the dappled rays of sunlight outside the cave, and he isn’t looking back.

“Baba!” Shenhe screams, so panicked and desperate that it rubs her throat raw. She reaches out for him, but his steps don’t falter. “Baba!”

She tries to run after him, but something damp yet incorporeal wraps around her ankle, pulling her back down to the ground. She slams her chin against cold dirt and stone, feeling the impact rattle through her teeth.

She forces out one final scream, but it’s already too late. Her father has disappeared, and the monster’s shadow-dark form is advancing on her, tendrils of cold creeping up her legs and around her wrists.

~

Rosaria
The solar plexus, liver, side of the neck, back of the knees…

Serle’s voice rings in her head as Rosaria faces off against him. This is the man who taught her to fight; now, she will use his own advice to kill him.

Or, more accurately, attempt to kill him. She will almost certainly die trying.

He lunges first; Rosaria reacts clumsily, barely raising her own knife in time to deflect his blow. The harsh clang of metal on metal resounds through the clearing, and Rosaria feels the impact shudder through her arms as she stumbles backwards.

“Sharpen your reflexes,” Serle says gruffly, before swinging his arm again. Rosaria is quicker this time, more prepared, so when their knives clash, she is able to hold her ground.

Serle regards her for a moment, something akin to pride or satisfaction gleaming in the depths of his eyes. It makes Rosaria’s stomach turn.

She takes that opportunity to dart towards him, aiming to deal a savage blow to his leg. She knows rushing into this fight would be foolish - she has to wear him down, exhaust him, make it harder for him to land a hit on her before she can truly gain the upper hand.

Realistically, she knows it’s probably all just wishful thinking. She’s nothing more than a hungry, tired little kid who barely understands how to wield the knife in her hands - how could she possibly hope to last long enough to even have a chance?

Even as she thinks this, the part of her that drove her to flee in the first place - the part that wants desperately to survive, to make something out of this miserable life - knows she still has to try. She refuses to die without putting up a good fight.

She doesn’t quite reach Serle’s legs before she feels the hard impact of a boot to the stomach. The force of it sends her flying sideways into the snow, leaving her breathless and wheezing.

“This is poor form, Rosaria,” Serle says, sounding almost… pitiful. “I thought I taught you better than this.”

She blinks hazily, the snow-dusted canopy blurring before her eyes. She sees a humanoid shape come into view, backlit by the crimson sky. Serle - and he’s raising his knife, the blade burning in the dying sunlight.

Rosaria can’t tell if she’s imagining it, but his eyes seem to swim with something akin to sadness.

She doesn’t spend too long thinking about it. Instead, she throws herself to the side as Serle plunges his knife downwards, and it sinks into the snow behind her back.

“That’s more like it!” Serle exclaims.

Rosaria barely hears him. Even though her vision is still swimming and her lungs ache, she pushes herself up and launches herself onto Serle’s back. She winds her arms around his neck in a chokehold as he stumbles upright, unbalanced by the added weight.

She isn’t strong enough to do any real damage, but Serle still wheezes, his throat straining behind her twig-like arms. He staggers backwards, toppling over and crushing Rosaria beneath him. The powdery snow softens most of the impact, but she still hears something crack.

“Get - get off,” she hisses. “I can’t breathe!”

Serle doesn’t respond. He’s coughing, and it’s a grating, phlegmy sound, reverberating through his chest. Rosaria feels it in her bones.

She couldn’t possibly have caused that, could she?

Refusing to waste too much time thinking about it, Rosaria twists the knife in her hands and aims it, to the best of her abilities - she’s still being crushed, her lungs aching for air - at Serle’s neck. He becomes aware of it the moment before the blade touches his skin and, choking back another cough, roughly throws Rosaria’s hand aside before rolling to his feet.

“Well played,” he says gruffly. Clearing his throat, he spits a mouthful of phlegm into the snow.

Rosaria forces herself back to her feet. Every muscle and bone in her body aches dully, and she can still feel the sting of fresh snow against her back. Even so, she doesn’t give herself even a second of respite before she throws herself at Serle again, the knife pointed straight at his heart.

She overestimates how distracted he is. Serle reacts before Rosaria can even process what’s happening, and the sharp clang of their blades meeting echoes through the clearing once again. With a deft flick of his wrist, Serle twists the dagger out of Rosaria’s hand, sending it flying.

“Playing dirty, are we?” he huffs. “So you did learn a thing or two from me after all.”

Rosaria frowns, ignoring him. She can’t tell whether his constant stream of comments are supposed to be encouraging or distracting - although, if she’s being honest, they’re succeeding on both fronts. Glancing over her shoulder, she spots her knife, the blade buried hilt-deep in a mound of snow. It’s too far for her to get without leaving herself open for attack. Her mind spins through Serle’s lessons, and it doesn’t take her long to come to a decision.

The solar plexus, liver, side of the neck, back of the knees…

He takes a step towards her and she drops to her stomach, ducking under his blade and sliding through the snow between his legs. He doesn’t even have the time to respond before she pops up behind him, slamming her fists into the backs of his knees. With a grunt, he topples forward, landing on his palms.

Rosaria scrambles to her feet, fighting to reach her dagger before Serle can get back up. Her wrist complains as she folds her fingers around the hilt - she must have hurt it when Serle wrenched the knife out of her grip - but she ignores it, trudging back through the snow towards him.

Something in her stomach twists, unsettled, when she looks at him. He hasn’t moved - he’s still on his hands and knees in the snow, and he’s coughing again, his chest rattling with the force of it.

Well. It’s now or never, I guess. Rosaria tries her hardest to ignore the twinge of sadness in her heart. She clambers onto Serle’s back, raising the knife above him, counting his ribs in her head. All she needs to do is plunge the knife between two bones, and this will all be over.

That’s all she needs to do. One swift action. It’ll be quick, painless.

Move your hands, Rosaria, stop shaking, stop it–

She hesitates too long. With a grunt of effort, Serle pushes himself upwards, and a shocked Rosaria topples backwards into the snow. Her head is spinning, and she doesn’t gather her thoughts in time to respond before Serle is looming over her again, the cool steel of his knife reflected in his eyes.

His eyes… did they always look like that?

Rosaria can’t tell if it’s just the purplish light of dusk, or if there really is a sickly film over Serle’s pupils. But she doesn’t have the time to think about it, not now, not when he’s raising one arm above his head, that sharp blade pointed right at Rosaria’s heart–

In one swift movement, she tucks her legs in and kicks, slamming her heels into Serle’s ribs.

He splutters, falling backwards, his breaths rasping through his throat. Rosaria scrambles to her feet, ignoring how her body shrieks in complaint.

Wear him down. Exhaust him.

It’s almost over.

Serle wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, and it’s only then that Rosaria sees the splatters of blood and phlegm in the snow. Her stomach churns.

Serle has been under the weather for weeks, but Rosaria hadn’t realised it had been this bad. She’d made him a new boar-pelt cloak, and everyone made sure he was the first to eat a full serving of food… had none of that helped?

Her eyes linger on him for a moment, her heart twisting in anguish.

And then she lunges.

Serle is choking back a cough, his breaths rattling in his chest, and Rosaria seizes the moment to slam the hilt of her knife into his solar plexus. He gasps wetly, stumbling for a second before falling to his knees, wheezing.

The solar plexus. One strike, and the fight is yours. Serle’s voice echoes in Rosaria’s head. Hurts like hell, and stops your opponent from breathing. Those few seconds are all you need.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers aloud.

This time, she won’t hesitate.

~

Shenhe
Shenhe remembers the day her mother died in perfect clarity.

Her mother had been bedridden for weeks, and Shenhe had taken to sitting at her bedside for several hours a day, talking to her, keeping her company.

“Mama,” she said one afternoon, sitting in a pool of sunlight on the floor of her mother’s bedroom. “Mama, I drew you a picture.”

The only response her mother offered her was a long, slow exhale.

“Can I show it to you?”

A twitch of those stiff fingers, perpetually cold at the fingertips. Another slight sigh. Shenhe held the picture up in front of those half-closed eyes.

“See, mama, that’s us, when you’re all better and you’ll take me to exorcise my first ever spirit.” She moved her finger across the page. “And that’s us after we do the best-est exorcism ever. We’ll have noodles for dinner, with a heart-shaped egg on top, just the way we like them.”

The ghost of a smile flickered across her mother’s face. Her chest fluttered, her breaths rasping in her throat. Shenhe drew her hands back, hugging the picture against her chest as she watched her mother sigh, one last time.

She tore the picture up that night. There was no point in keeping a reminder of things that would never come true.

Now, Shenhe tears one arm free of the monster’s grip and reaches for her mother’s dagger. She has carried it with her every day for more than a year - and today, she finally has a chance to use it.

With her brute force alone, she slashes through the tendrils of shadow around her other arm before cutting both her legs loose and stumbling away. Her skin still prickles with goosebumps, even after freeing herself from the monster’s clutches. It leers at her, simultaneously irritated and amused, a mouthful of jagged teeth poised to swallow her whole. Its face is an ugly mess of deep black and brilliant red, its features distorted by the sheet of liquid Shenhe can’t quite blink away.

Your fault.

Her hands shake. She can’t keep the dagger pointed straight.

She died because of you.

All those hours spent by her mother’s bedside, talking to her, drawing pictures for her - were they only killing her faster?

“Come on, little one,” the demon growls at her, its voice reverberating through the rocks beneath her feet. “Stop fighting. Surrender to me. You have… nothing left to live for.”

No, Shenhe thinks, but she isn’t sure why. The demon is right, after all. She’s lost everything. Even Uncle Mingjun wouldn’t look at her the same, if he knew the truth about her.

It doesn’t matter. Shenhe may have nothing left to live for, but if the roiling, red-hot fire within her is any indication, she isn’t ready to die - not yet. She wipes away her tears before tightening her grip around her mother’s dagger, bracing herself to meet the monster’s wrath. She might lose this fight, but one thing is for sure: she isn’t going to let herself be easy prey.

She stares it square in the eye as it rears up to its full height, looming over her in all its horrifying majesty. The wind picks up around it, bits of dust and gravel pelting Shenhe’s skin and whipping through her hair. The air smells faintly of blood and decay and… something different.

Shenhe pauses. That scent…

It smells like fresh rain in the summertime; like a basket full of mountain herbs; like powdered kisses and clean-cut spring grass, warm and sweet and homely.

It smells like her mother.

Shenhe thinks she must be dreaming. Either that, or the monster has already killed her, and her mother’s spirit has come to take her home.

And then the knife begins to faintly glow.

Shenhe almost drops it in surprise. Pale blue light spills from the gaps between her fingers as the symbols carved into the dagger’s hilt light up in shades of sapphire and sky, as clear and as bright as a summer’s day. Shenhe tightens her grip around the dagger, and that’s when she feels it: her mother’s presence, fighting alongside her.

“Mama,” she whispers, voice soft with disbelief.

It’s okay, my child. I’m here. Her voice seems to echo from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

If this is a dream, Shenhe isn’t sure if it’s the cruelest or most wonderful thing to happen to her. And if it’s not… then maybe she has a fighting chance after all.

The scent of summertime and wild mountain herbs wreaths around Shenhe as her mother speaks again.

Shenhe, baobei… you cannot imagine how much I’ve missed you.

“I’ve missed you too, mama,” Shenhe murmurs, swallowing around the lump in her throat. It’s better than crying - she can’t cry, not now, not when she has a monster to keep her eyes on. It hasn’t moved yet; it’s still scrutinising her, features scrunched in an unreadable expression. Shenhe wonders if it can see her mother’s spirit.

I have lived many years, and seen much of the world, her mother continues. I could never ask your life for mine. Not when you still have so much to live for.

Do I? Shenhe thinks, but she doesn’t argue. If her mother says so, then it must be true.

Even through that veil of doubt, the most selfish part of her knows that Shenhe would never really give up her own life, even if it meant bringing back her mother.

And that’s when it all breaks loose.

She isn’t sure what, exactly, tears the dam in two. Maybe it’s her anger at the world for abandoning her - or maybe it’s her anger at herself, for being someone so worth abandoning. Maybe it’s the way her grief comes pouring back with such intensity that it almost brings her to her knees. Or maybe it’s that selfish, almost greedy will to survive, that desire to believe her mother is right, and that she still has something to live for.

Whatever it is, it unleashes the most repulsive beast Shenhe has ever encountered. The blackened evil, festering within her, frees itself of its chains and rears its ugly head, roaring so loudly that the sound of it seems to echo in the cavity of Shenhe’s chest. Her knuckles turn white around the dagger, her veins surging with pure, unbridled power, the likes of which she’s never felt before. It is darker than a moonless night and untameable as a raging fire. It blazes through her, turning her blood to pure electricity.

It brings forth the most inhuman, animalistic scream Shenhe has ever released. She isn’t in pain, but somehow feels like she’s burning alive and freezing to death at the same time. Her vision blurs at the edges, fading in and out of shades of grey and bright red.

She howls, overcome by it, until her throat is hoarse. When her gaze solidifies again, she realises the beast has inched closer, tendrils of shadow snaking towards her. Its eyes are alight with the thrill of the hunt.

Shenhe doesn’t hesitate. With the power of her mother’s presence and her own festering evil blazing at her fingertips, she lunges at the monster, the tip of her heirloom dagger pointed straight at its heart.

It swats her away with one clawed hand, as though batting away a pesky fly. Its palm alone is bigger than her entire body.

Shenhe is not deterred. She is buzzing with electricity, and the calamitous urges within her hunger for destruction, every fibre of her being alive with the anticipation of it. She doesn’t even feel the impact as she slams into the cave wall, nor does she feel the breath get knocked out of her.

She doesn’t need air. Not when she feels like this. She is blazing with so much power, her lungs might as well be filled with the purest oxygen.

That animalistic scream tears through her lips again as she throws herself back at the monster. The smell of fresh rain and clean-cut grass wreaths around her as she plunges the knife into its back, relishing in the way the very ground beneath them seems to shudder with its pain. The dagger blazes a brilliant blue, the light tearing through the masses of darkness that form the monster’s body.

“How dare you!” it shrieks, rearing upwards in a torrent of shadows and dust. Shenhe tumbles off of it, landing ungracefully on her back. “Such insolence will not be tolerated!” Its form heaves as it seems to suck in a deep breath. “Why won’t you just die?”

It surges towards her, its maw gaping open, rows and rows of yellowed teeth gleaming in the half-light. Shenhe reacts instinctively, rolling off to the side and watching as the monster slams its head into the ground.

It seems unperturbed by this - within moments, its form has righted itself, and it lunges again, its eyes alight with utter fury.

Those unbound urges pulse through Shenhe’s veins with every beat of her heart. The monster will not be stopped so easily - but neither will she.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria doesn’t remember the day she lost everything.

Not clearly, anyways.

She remembers the haze of red and orange, like autumn if it could leave scars. She remembers the heat, the way her own tears felt cool against her red-raw skin.

She doesn’t remember the blood.

But she does remember warm, calloused hands, picking her up, her tiny body swaddled in a blanket. She remembers a rough voice, gravelly at the edges, so deep and rumbling she could feel it in her chest.

She remembers being carried out of the autumn fire, the cool sting of wind on her cheek as she slipped into a dreamless slumber.

Her hands tremble as the images slip in and out of her mind, scarlet and vermilion blazing behind her eyes. The man who carried her out of the fire - the man that protected her, that spared her life - is the same man that now kneels helplessly before her, gasping and wheezing for breath.

“Kill me.”

His voice is hoarse, rough with pain, and so quiet that Rosaria can hardly hear it through the blood pounding in her ears. She presses the tip of the knife against Serle’s back, willing her hands to stop shaking, begging herself to pluck up the courage to push the blade between his bones. She can’t hesitate. Not this time.

Serle coughs raggedly. “Kill me,” he whispers again, “and prove your worth to them.” He draws in a shuddering breath. “Or do you not have the guts to do it?”

Rosaria swallows thickly. This is the man who raised her - the man who taught her everything she knows. This man is the only reason she’s still alive.

Do not hesitate.

She plunges the knife cleanly into his back.

~

Shenhe
The battle between Shenhe and the monster rages for several days and nights.

In all that time, she has not had any food or water. If it weren’t for her mother’s presence beside her, and the calamitous urges boiling through her veins, she would long since be dead.

The monster isn’t far from its grave either. Its form has shrunk considerably, after Shenhe’s glowing blade tore through those masses of shadow over and over again. Now, it writhes in a corner of the cave, hissing and spitting angrily, a fire still burning in its blood-red eyes even as its form trembles weakly.

This fight has always been locked in a stalemate, neither opponent able to keep the upper hand for long. Now, it feels like they are just waiting to see who dies first.

Shenhe is lying on the ground, her blood still pulsing with a furious evil, but her body is starting to give up on her. She scrubs a hand down her face and immediately regrets it; her skin is sticky with half-dried blood, but rough with clinging bits of dirt and dust.

Get up. Just keep fighting for a little longer, Shenhe tells herself. It’s nearly over.

The festering evil within her seems to hiss in agreement, frothing beneath her skin, urging her onwards. She somehow manages to haul herself to her feet, even though every bone and muscle in her body shrieks in pain whenever she moves. Her vision is blurry with exhaustion.

Still, she forces herself to walk towards the monster, limping heavily. She feels as though she could collapse at any moment.

No. You can’t give up. Not now.

She grits her teeth, pushing herself through the pain.

You can’t let it take your soul.

Shenhe sucks in a deep breath as the beast within her surges forward once again. The calamitous energy crashes against her lungs and heart, crawling up her throat, exploding through her veins. She knows what it wants, and she knows she wants it too.

She has something to prove. She is the most despicable creature here, the one frothing with the most insatiable evil. She is the powerful, cruel one: the one who will bring an end to the monster that dared to try and take her life.

The knife in her hands is still glowing blue, fuelled by her mother’s spirit. As she walks towards the demon, it hisses and spits at her like a dying fire, baring rows and rows of sharp teeth. It may be smaller now, but Shenhe can still see the danger reflected in its eyes.

She levels a fierce glare at it as she raises her arms, plunging the glowing knife into its back. However, this time, it doesn’t merely slice through shadow: light explodes out of the blade, a blue so bright it’s almost blinding. Shenhe recoils, taking a step backwards and dropping the knife to throw one hand over her face. Her skin prickles with cold as she is blasted with a torrent of frigid air.

When the light fades, Shenhe opens her eyes to see an explosion of ice. It covers the entire corner of the cave, a sheet of glistening silver-blue that stretches from floor to ceiling. And beneath it is the monster, its form fractured into motionless pools of shadow, blank eyes rolled back in its formless skull. It is as good as dead.

Shenhe stares at it in disbelief. Did Ido that?

She stoops to collect her mother’s knife. It still pulsates with a faint blue light, and lying next to it is… a stone?

Mystified, Shenhe picks it up. The stone is a cool, clear blue, the image of a snowflake shimmering within it. It seems to radiate with power.

A Vision.

Shenhe turns it over in her hands, admiring it.

My Vision.

This was the final piece of the puzzle - the last thing she needed to well and truly claim her victory over the demon.

A wave of exhaustion suddenly crashes over her as she crouches there, and she slumps backwards, clutching her Vision in one hand and her mother’s knife in the other. Lying beside the monster’s remains, she feels the adrenaline of the fight seep out of her, dissipating into the ice-covered ground beneath her.

“I did it, mama,” she says quietly, her voice heavy with tiredness. “I won.” It takes some effort for her to raise her arm, putting the crystalline stone back in her line of sight. “Look, I have a Vision now.”

I’m so proud of you, Shenhe. The echo of her mother’s voice is distant now, quieter, and when Shenhe looks over at her knife, she sees that the sky-blue glow is fading. I love you so much.

This is the first - and last - exorcism they will ever perform together. The dagger’s light sputters out as those final words resound through the cavern, and that familiar scent of fresh rain and mountain herbs slowly dissipates, until she can taste only dampness and decay in the stale air.

She coughs weakly. Was it always so dark in here…? She’s fighting to keep her eyes open, fighting to stop every muscle in her body from feeling like molasses, fighting to ignore the way her stomach aches with hunger and her throat cries out for water. It hits her all at once as the monster within her retreats back into hiding too, leaving her well and truly alone.

Except… through the haze of her blurring vision, Shenhe sees movement. The light dances as a shadow passes through it, and Shenhe thinks she can make out a long, elegant neck and glowing eyes.

The last thing she remembers before everything fades to black is the warmth of feathers, so soft and downy she’s sure she must already have died.

~

Rosaria
Blood.

Oh, Archons.

There is so much blood, and–

A faint blue glow?

It spills from the cracks between Rosaria’s fingers, illuminating the gruesome scene in a shade of eerie silvery-blue like condensed moonlight. And it is freezing, so cold that Rosaria feels like she’s just buried her arms in deep snow. She steps back, every muscle in her body shaking in a sickening combination of pain, exhaustion and shock, and opens her hands.

Resting in her palms is a cool blue stone, the image of a snowflake gleaming within it. Rosaria can feel the power, the energy, thrumming from its surface, like electricity beneath her skin.

“No fucking way!” someone yells from the sidelines. Tanner, maybe, but Rosaria’s head feels like it’s been filled with water, so it’s hard to tell. She’d genuinely forgotten about her audience until now.

After the outburst, hushed, disbelieving chatter breaks out among the bystanders, but Rosaria pays them no mind. Instead, she turns the crystalline stone over in her hands, watching how it catches the dying sunlight.

This is a Vision. This is her Vision.

I don’t deserve this, Rosaria thinks, her throat tight with guilt. She looks over at Serle’s body, slumped over in the snow, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. He looks so… small, so frail, all the life-force drained from his body with one brutal strike. Rosaria’s knife is still sticking out of his back, a thin sheet of ice spreading from the hilt across the plane of his shoulders.

Why would the gods reward her for this?

She falls to her knees, letting the Vision drop into the snow beside her, and buries her face in her hands. They provide no comfort; her skin is still so cold, she feels like she could freeze her own eyelashes off.

A moment later, she hears soft footfalls through the snow before a hand lands on her shoulder. She doesn’t move - she doesn’t want to move, not yet. She still hasn’t processed what’s happened.

The person nudges her. “Rosaria,” a voice says, before its owner pushes at her shoulder again. “Rosaria.”

As tempted as she is to tell them to go away, Rosaria removes her hands from her face and sits up straight, meeting their eyes over her shoulder. She’s surprised when she realises who it is: Codi, one of Serle’s closest confidants (former closest confidants, her brain cruelly reminds her), who rarely used to pay Rosaria any mind. They always seemed like one of the people who wondered why Serle even saved her in the first place.

They manage a smile - it’s crooked, and a little too sharp, but Rosaria can tell they’re trying - and poke her shoulder. “You did it, kid. You’re officially a member of the gang now. That is… if you want to stay.” They look pointedly at the snow-dusted forests around them, as if to say you'd be an idiot to refuse.

Oh. That’s right. She won the battle. She has the authority, now, to choose where she wants to go next.

“I’ll stay,” she mumbles, her throat hoarse.

“Good, good.” Codi crouches down beside her, fishing her Vision out of the snow. “It’ll be nice to have someone with one of these on our side. And don’t you worry, we’ll help you learn how to use it.”

Rosaria's stomach turns, but she just nods and lets Codi help her to her feet. They keep a hand on her shoulder as they lead her out of the clearing.

“You lot! Get over here and start cleaning up. We’ll hold a ceremony for Serle soon - I’ve just gotta get our newest recruit back to camp and settled first.” Codi waves over a few of the younger bandits, leaving them to deal with Serle’s body.

His body. Rosaria still can’t believe that he’s dead. Tonight, the bandit gang will mourn their loss and bury him in the snow, and by morning, it’ll be like he was never one of them at all.

The group of younger bandits regard Rosaria with something akin to suspicion as they pass her. She sees Tanner in their midst, who shoots her a particularly dirty look before whispering something to the boy beside him. Rosaria’s skin crawls, and she turns away, pretending she doesn’t hear the other boy scoff.

“Ignore them,” Codi says, and it's almost as if they can read Rosaria’s mind. “They’re just jealous.” They’re still holding Rosaria’s Vision, and they wave it now, as though it is a medallion - a mark of her achievements. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re better off now. I’ll miss Serle, but you and I both know he was starting to wither. You’ll do more with this thing” - they wave her Vision around again - “than he could now, at his age… and you eat less, too. Archons, that man had a bottomless stomach.”

Their words make bile rise in Rosaria’s throat. Her impression of Codi was that they were one of Serle’s closest friends - how could they brush off his death so easily?

Codi keeps talking on the walk back, clearly trying to comfort Rosaria but not doing a particularly good job of it. She listens passively, the words sliding through her brain like sludge. All she can think about is the way Serle’s body slumped over in the snow, his skin turning pale as all the life drained out of it… and the ice, that blistering ice, crackling across the gaping wound in his back.

“Anyways!” Codi startles Rosaria back into the present by clapping her on the shoulder and almost making her fall over. “Have a seat. I think we’ve got some soup left.”

Rosaria does as she’s told, sitting on a nearby tree stump and folding her arms over her knees. Now that she’s stopped fighting, the chill is catching up with her.

Codi seems to notice this, because a moment later, they’re back with half a bowl of soup and a blanket. Rosaria takes them wordlessly.

She holds the bowl in her hands for a long moment, waiting for her hands to warm up, as Codi crouches beside her and reaches over to fiddle with the waistband of her pants. Rosaria startles at their proximity, but forces herself to relax when she realises they’re just affixing her Vision to her hip.

She doesn’t want it there - she doesn’t want to look at it at all, nor be reminded of what she went through to get it - but she can’t complain. She would have to be crazy to throw away a Vision, wouldn’t she?

“There you go.” Codi leans back, satisfied with their work. “Welcome to the gang, kiddo.” They smile at her again, and it’s just as off-putting as it was the first time. Rosaria tries to smile back, but it’s wobbly and uncertain, and she’s sure it looks more like a grimace than anything else.

It’s good enough for Codi, though, who gets up to corral the rest of the gang, and leaves Rosaria to her own devices.

She sits on the tree stump and stares listlessly into her soup. It’s warm and smells of fresh meat, but despite her hunger, she can’t bring herself to drink any of it. Her stomach is a roiling mess, at once aching with emptiness and churning with the memory of what she’s done.

And the fact that Serle let her do it.

She supposes she should be grateful - it could’ve been her, lying in the clearing and bleeding out into the snow - but every time she thinks about the way he whispered for her to kill him, it leaves her feeling sick to her stomach.

As she sits there, watching her own sad reflection ripple in her half-bowl of soup, a quiet question creeps into her mind.

Could Serle have harboured genuine affection for her, a child he stole so arbitrarily?

And did he really go into that fight knowing he wouldn’t live to see the next sunrise?

Did he really love me enough to let me replace him?

Chapter Text

Violence.

You can wear it close to your heart, binding it in strands of scarlet; or you can soak your hands in it, until your vision turns red.

~

Shenhe
This is the fifth time Shenhe has watched the sun rise over the sea of clouds.

It’s beautiful, really. The sun blazes in a hundred shades of tangerine and gold, turning the clouds into a river of fire. The sky lightens slowly, softly, midnight blue bleeding into violet, blush-pink and orange. It’s peaceful, perfect.

Shenhe sits beneath this brilliant view, feeling anything but peace.

Instead, her soul is roiling, a heavy black thunderstorm behind her ribs. The wind is bitterly cold this high up, but Shenhe hardly feels it. The cold runs through her veins now, after all - the Vision sitting at her hip is proof enough. It thrums with power, reminding Shenhe of every horrible thing she has become.

Or… every horrible thing she always was, really.

An enormous deer had read her soul the day she arrived here, and rather than assuage her, the reading had only confirmed her worst fears. The deer had frowned, almost sympathetically (at least, that was what Shenhe assumed his expression was) and told her she bore the fate of both the “solitary star” and “disastrous evil” - and that she would suffer for a lifetime from intense homicidal urges.

In short, everything the monster in the cave had said was true.

Shenhe swallows the lump in her throat as the memory resurfaces, stinging like a reopened wound. She has already cycled through the demon’s words in her head enough times to have them memorised, but no amount of repetition could possibly numb the pain they cause her. And whenever she ruminates on the soul reading, she feels that wound in her heart cut a little deeper, revealing the horrific darkness that lies within.

Now that it has been unleashed, Shenhe isn’t sure how to tame it. She has spent the last few days sitting on the mountainside, her hands trembling with destructive energy. The more upset she is, the more she feels it well up within her, but she isn’t sure how to turn any of it off. The constant anguish is almost too much to bear.

She has considered jumping.

Would it really be such a loss, if the world were freed from someone with a constitution as dark and deadly as hers?

But even as she thinks about it, she knows she couldn’t take that leap. Not after the days and nights she fought just to stay alive. Not after feeling her mother’s spirit beside her, guiding her. Not after performing her first exorcism with her mother’s knife, which she still wears at her hip.

Not after the way that snow-white crane rescued her from the darkness, cradling her in feathers and warmth. Not after she returned, time and time again, to wordlessly bring Shenhe food and water. It can hardly be considered sustenance - even though the water is cool and clean, the ‘food’ is little more than bunches of bitter medicinal herbs - but it still means something to Shenhe.

It means that somebody wants her to stay alive.

Somebody thinks she’s worthy of it.

Shenhe doesn’t actually know whether or not to trust the crane - Cloud Retainer - or her fellow “illuminated beasts”. Those inhuman eyes remind Shenhe of the demon in the cavern: the glowing scarlet pupils, the sharp-toothed maw. How can she be sure that these creatures aren’t just like it?

She pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. Without them, she would be left to fend for herself - and so far, the beasts have not lifted talon nor hoof against her. For the most part, they leave her to bask in solitude, and Shenhe is grateful for it. After all, she knows how dangerous she is now. She wants to stay away from them, from everyone, because she has no idea what she’ll do if her emotions get the better of her again.

She thinks back to those lonely days at her mother’s bedside and she knows that she has no choice but to stay away. What if she brings another person she loves to their deathbed? What if the beast within her emerges again, forcing her to tear them apart?

Shuddering, Shenhe swallows thickly and forces her hands to stop shaking. It is still roiling away within her, that beast.

“Child,” a voice rings out from behind her, and Shenhe startles. Whirling around, she finds herself face-to-face with Cloud Retainer, who is standing several paces away. There is something in her mouth - something small and pale, that glitters softly in the sunlight.

Shenhe inclines her head ever-so-slightly to show that she’s listening. She instinctively shuffles back when Cloud Retainer steps closer, so the crane simply stops and deposits whatever it is she’s carrying on the rocks at her feet.

“One has brought you a sacred comb of white jade.” Her beak doesn’t move at all when she speaks. It’s uncanny; Shenhe feels a shiver run up her spine. “It would be one’s honour to take you under one’s wing… so, should you wish to sever your ties with the mortal world and become one’s apprentice, brush your hair thrice with this comb.”

She nudges it closer with one talon. Shenhe simply stares at her, unmoving. Don’t come closer, her eyes say. You shouldn’t want me.

“One does not mind what your fate is,” Cloud Retainer says in response to this silent message. “Rather, one will help you learn to control your homicidal instincts… if you let her, of course.” Her eyes dip to the knife at Shenhe’s waist. “And if you wish, one can help you learn to wield the knife you carry, too.”

Shenhe’s hand finds the hilt of the dagger, but she doesn’t draw it.

“Yes, that one,” Cloud Retainer confirms, sounding amused.

A long moment of silence ensues as Shenhe lowers her gaze in thought, her hand still hovering over the dagger. Finally, Cloud Retainer dips her head in a nod, opening her wings.

“One shall await your decision,” she says, before she takes off, her silhouette vanishing against the rising sun.

Once she has disappeared, Shenhe crawls across the rocks to examine the comb. It’s a beautiful, ornate thing: carved from the finest white jade, it glitters like diamonds in the sunlight. The curved handle, engraved with mystical symbols Shenhe cannot read, sits comfortably in her palm. She turns it over in her hands repeatedly, examining it from every angle, acquainting herself with the delicate weight of it.

As she scrutinises the comb, Shenhe ruminates on Cloud Retainer’s words, debating whether or not to run the delicate piece of white jade through her hair.

One does not mind what your fate is.

Tendrils of calamity curl up Shenhe’s throat. She’s just being nice, the beast whispers behind her teeth. She doesn’t know what we’re really capable of.

She said she’d help me learn to control you, Shenhe argues.

Do you really think I can be tamed?

Shenhe drags a fingertip over the teeth of the comb, feeling them dig into her skin. The monster writhes deep in her chest, black smoke curling in her lungs, sparks of red behind her pupils. She gives it no response.

Instead, her hand finds the dagger again, and she runs her fingers along the familiar symbols carved into the hilt.

One can help you learn to wield the knife you carry, too.

She remembers the way light spilled out from between her fingers, the blade glowing like blue fire, iridescent. She remembers the scent of fresh rain and mountain herbs, how it clouded her lungs, giving her the strength to keep fighting. She remembers the sweet taste of victory - her first exorcism.

It is the closest she has felt to her mother in… far too long.

In one swift movement, she pulls the comb through her hair.

Chills run down her spine, gooseflesh erupting over her skin. She ignores the calamitous beast’s cries for her to stop. When she pulls a lock of her hair over her shoulder, she is startled to see strands of white floating in it, as cool as mountain snow.

Don’t you dare, her monster snarls as she raises the comb again. You don’t deserve their help. You’ll kill them the same way you killed your own mother.

The words sting. Shenhe drags the comb through her hair, watching as those dark strands turn frosty.

You cannot tame me!

I can try.

She pulls the comb through her hair, all the way from root to tip, one final time.

~

Rosaria
It has been five days since Rosaria touched a knife.

After she’d cleaned the rusted dagger, she left it at the foot of her bedroll, and it has stayed there ever since. She can’t bring herself to look at it, let alone touch it again; whenever she does, she is immediately reminded of the blood that spilled through Serle’s shirt, the ice that crackled over his back, and the way he slumped lifelessly into the snow.

She is six years old, and she has blood on her hands. Rosaria never thought she’d see Serle die - not Serle, a powerhouse among the bandits, who at once seemed wiser than the sun and younger than fresh snow. She never thought she’d be the one to kill him.

It has been different since he died. The bandit gang is disorganised and temperamental without Serle’s guidance; tensions are high between people vying for his position and those that say such a position never existed. And there have been whispers, sideward glances - all about Rosaria, about the Vision at her hip, the lifelessness in her eyes. She hasn’t even tried to channel her Cryo powers yet, and they can’t understand why.

Of course they wouldn’t, Rosaria thinks. They’re here because they love the bloodshed, the fighting, the brutality. Rosaria is here because she had no choice.

“Hey, stick-insect!”

Rosaria glances up tiredly to find Tanner leering down at her. He’s only three years older than her and just as spindly, but he already looms over her, his legs seeming too long for his own body.

“What do you want?”

“Emil said I can have your food if you don’t get off your ass and start being useful.”

“Emil isn’t the boss!”

“He is now,” Tanner sneers at her.

“Since when? If anyone should be the boss, it’s Codi, you poophead.”

Rosaria might be biased - Codi is one of the few bandits who has been nice to her since Serle’s death (even though they seem to be getting to their wit’s end, too) - but they were also the closest thing Serle had to a second-in-command before he died. Rosaria doesn’t see why the leadership of the gang is even an argument.

“Who’re you calling a poophead, buttface?” With a rush of anger, Tanner slams the heel of his hand into Rosaria’s shoulder, shoving her off the tree stump she’s sitting on and into the snow.

“Hey!”

“That’s what you get for trying to be a smartass,” he snaps, storming around the tree stump to kick her in the side. As she rolls over, curling up in pain, the cold blue of her Vision catches the light, and Tanner bends to snatch it off of her. “I can’t believe you got one of these. What could the gods possibly see in someone as stupid as you?”

Rosaria groans, but she doesn’t argue. That’s one point she agrees with, even though she’d never admit it to Tanner. She doesn’t think she deserves the gods’ favour - all she did was kill somebody she looked up to. What’s there to praise?

“We’d be so much better off if I got this. It’s such a waste with you,” Tanner says, half to himself, as he hooks the Vision onto his waistband. “Imagine all the things I could do if I could control the ice and snow!”

Rosaria doesn’t protest as he draws his knife and starts swinging it around, trying in vain to channel the powers of her Vision. After several failed attempts, a crease begins to form between his brows, his lips curling into a scowl.

“No!” he shrieks, growing increasingly frustrated. “It must be a mistake that they gave it to you. It has to be! This dumb thing” - he rips the Vision off of his clothes - “is useless with you!”

In a fit of rage, he hurls the stone at Rosaria, who cowers into herself as it bounces off her hip and lands in the snow. She lies there for a long moment, feeling the chill creep under her skin, listening as Tanner’s footsteps fade away.

Is he wrong, though? She wonders quietly. The gods must have made a mistake. They must have. I don’t deserve this.

As far as Rosaria is concerned, Tanner doesn’t either, but that isn’t the point.

I don’t deserve this, she tells herself again.

Over the last few days, she has repeated those words like a mantra. She is sure it is the truth - after all, nobody has told her otherwise.

“Hey. Kid.”

Rosaria feels something gently nudge her foot. She glances upwards, meeting Codi’s cool brown eyes. They loom over her, their face shrouded in shadow, enough that Rosaria can’t quite measure exactly how disappointed they are in her.

After all, she didn’t defend herself. She let Tanner push her around, steal her Vision and then hit her with it. And she’s still lying in the snow after the fact.

Codi crouches down beside her, picking up her Vision and tossing it from one hand to the other. Rosaria sits up, knowing she won’t get Codi off her back unless she hears them out.

“So. Not an impressive fight you put up back there.” Their expression is unreadable.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to get off your ass and start doing something about it.”

Rosaria shrinks under their stare. They watch her for a long moment before their shoulders slump in a sigh, some of the harsh lines disappearing from their face. They press the Vision back into Rosaria’s hand.

“Look, kid. I understand your hesitation. Losing Serle hasn’t been easy for any of us, and that was a rough first fight for you. You’re allowed to feel bad about it. But you’re a member of this gang now, and that means you need to do your part. You can’t just sit here and be a deadweight. Do you really think those bastards want to take care of you?” As they say it, they jab a thumb over their shoulder, indicating the other members of the gang.

Rosaria shakes her head slowly. Even Codi didn’t bat an eyelid at her until recently.

“That’s right,” Codi continues. “Most of ’em don’t give a flying fuck about anyone but themselves. So if you really want to stick around, you’ve got to prove you’re worth the food and resources.”

“Okay,” Rosaria whispers, her voice croaky and hoarse. She knows they’re right: she may be struggling, but so are the rest of the bandits. She has no right to spend hours on end sitting here sulking.

“Atta girl.” Codi claps her on the shoulder. “Come on, then. Why don’t you try out that Vision with me?”

~

Shenhe
A year later, Shenhe has settled into a familiar routine.

Every morning, she wakes up and re-ties her ropes, around her back and over her shoulders, tightening them for the day ahead. Afterwards, she plaits her hair, knotting a neat red bow around it with her Vision in the centre.

The ropes were a gift from the adepti. They are the colour of blood and woven with adeptal magic; Shenhe can feel them binding not only her body, but her very soul, forcing down those calamitous urges that so often threaten to overwhelm her.

She steps into the pre-dawn chill, the sky as grey as a dove’s wing, scattered with the last persistent stars. The air is sweet, this high in the mountains.

As she stands, watching the first hint of sunlight peek over the horizon, she finds herself ruminating on the days when she first arrived here: those tentative days after combing her hair white, when she was still trying desperately to find her footing.

~

It has only been a few days with the ropes, and Shenhe is at war with herself.

She isn’t used to the mountain chill; Cloud Retainer makes her rise before the sun, when the grass is still pale with frost and the air rakes claws across her skin. Early morning training is supposed to be good for her, although she can’t imagine why.

She isn’t used to the bitter mountain herbs she is given to eat. She misses her mother’s noodles more than ever, but Cloud Retainer says she needs to free her mind of mortal desire in order to truly make progress. (A part of Shenhe thinks that she is simply unwilling to admit that she doesn’t know how to make noodles.)

Worst of all, she isn’t used to the ropes. They are tight around not just her body, but around her very soul. Shenhe feels too big for her skin; like a bird waiting to emerge from a shell that won’t crack. She feels trapped.

No, she tells herself. My curse is trapped. And it has to stay that way.

She wants to believe it, but no matter how many times she repeats the words to herself, a part of her still wants to throw off the shackles and run wild.

“Shenhe. Your mind is wandering.”

Cloud Retainer’s voice is commanding, like a crack of thunder through the storm in Shenhe’s skull. She opens her eyes to look at her mentor - she still isn’t used to being tutored by a giant crane, either, and often finds herself staring in disbelief.

Cloud Retainer sighs. “You need to keep your eyes closed, child.”

“I’m sorry.” She dutifully shuts them again.

“Now, one shall breathe with you. Focus on your lungs - on the way they expand and contract, over and over again. If your mind wanders, bring it back to your breathing…”

Shenhe hardly notices when Cloud Retainer’s voice disappears into the back of her mind, and tendrils of darkness creep up to replace it. They fill her head, her heart, her lungs, making restless shivers break out across her skin. In this moment, she would rather be doing anything but sitting here motionless, with little to focus on but her own breathing.

Rather, she wants to tear something apart. She wants to shatter something with a year’s worth of her anguish; wants the world to feel her anger.

No, she tells herself. I can’t. She has to wrangle the beast. She has to find a way to feel human again.

That will never happen, it whispers cruelly in her mind.

Shenhe tells it that it has already served its purpose. It helped her kill the soul-eating demon, and now she doesn’t need it anymore. Cloud Retainer is going to teach her to become an exorcist, after all - and exorcists are supposed to rid the world of evil spirits, not harbour one of their own.

Help you? The beast within her scoffs incredulously. I didn’t help you kill the monster, Shenhe.

I am you.

I am everything you hate, and all that you are.

It takes all of Shenhe’s power to hold back a scream. She is supposed to be meditating - supposed to be learning to quiet her mind and spirit, to ground herself, to feel her own power flowing through her veins and not let it overwhelm her. But every time she is forced to confront it, it becomes harder to restrain.

You cannot control me, Shenhe.

I am with you whether you like it or not.

You never meant to kill your own mother… but did you ever get a choice?

The ropes are tight, far too tight. Shenhe’s soul is overflowing in them, squeezing through the cracks, darkness pouring through her mind and body. She wants at once to tear them off and tighten them, to let her soul scream and forcibly silence it. She wants until she isn’t even sure what she wants, and then the pain erupting in her chest tears through her throat in an anguished, sky-splitting scream.

Something cracks and splinters. The entire world seems to fall still for a moment before the thundering sound of crumbling stone and toppling trees fills the air. Shenhe’s eyes fly open, her body dropping its meditative stance in her fright.

The first thing she sees is Cloud Retainer, her expression unreadable. The second thing she sees is an enormous crater.

She is sitting in the middle of it. Dirt and debris surround her; the air is still thick with dust. The trees at the edge of the clearing have toppled over; Cloud Retainer stands between two of them, her feathers brown with dust and rubble.

“Oh, dear child,” she says, sounding more amused than annoyed. “One has quite a lot of work to do with you, it seems.”

~

A flutter of feathers heralds Cloud Retainer’s arrival. She dips her head in greeting as she lands; Shenhe nods respectfully in response.

Today, there is a question on Shenhe’s tongue. Her chest is tight with apprehension as she follows her mentor down a secluded path; she hopes, desperately, that Cloud Retainer will say yes this time, even though that persistent twinge of doubt insists that she won’t.

“One feels that you are tense today,” Cloud Retainer remarks after several minutes of silence.

“I - well, I have a question, Master.”

“What is it?”

“When can I start learning the exorcist arts, just like you promised?”

She has been waiting for a year. Every day, she keeps that heirloom knife strapped to her leg, waiting for the moment she will make it burn blue again. Cloud Retainer has taught her to meditate, to control the powers granted to her by her Vision, and even how to wield a polearm with all the elegance of an immortal crane, but she still has not yet uttered a word about exorcism.

“Shenhe, child.” Cloud Retainer’s voice is patient. “One cannot teach you to tame other spirits before you’ve even learned to tame your own.”

But I have, Shenhe thinks indignantly. She has made marked improvement over the last year - sure, she still topples a tree or two, but she’s in control for the most part.

When they reach their training clearing, Cloud Retainer assumes a meditative position, waiting for Shenhe to follow suit. She does so wordlessly, tucking her feet beneath her and resting her hands on her knees.

Cloud Retainer does not need to voice the instructions aloud anymore - Shenhe has long since memorised their meditative routine. In this silence, punctuated only by the rustling of the canopy and the soft huff of her breath, the monstrous part of Shenhe often rears its ugly head, reminding her of the disastrous fate she has been cursed with. Now, though, she is ready: she braces for it each time she settles into counting the cycle of her breaths, meeting it in a fighting stance.

Her red ropes are snug around her shoulders. They fit far more comfortably now, shielding her from the calamitous urges that so often threaten to overwhelm her. The monster in her soul writhes in the restraint, but it cannot break free anymore.

You are a part of me, Shenhe acknowledges, feeling violence bury its thorns in her chest. And that is why I can control you.

That is why I will control you.

Her heart has hardened over the past year. Her ropes pull at every heartbeat, holding back the emotions that would help the monster break loose, while the icy chill of her Vision creeps through her veins and carves frost between her ribs.

Most importantly, she has accepted the contract of fate that binds her to calamity. She stares it in the eye, letting all its ruinous evil flood her soul. She is one with it, with the violence and destruction.

She matches the slow pace of Cloud Retainer’s breathing as they meditate, and feels calmness slowly wash over her like a lazy mountain breeze. She is present. She is at peace.

She is the master of her beast.

~

Rosaria
“Hey, kid. Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

“Excellent.” Codi flashes one of their signature crooked smiles, tossing Rosaria her spear. She catches it deftly, the weight of it as familiar to her now as the back of her own hand.

It has been a year since she formally started training with Codi. Under their guidance, she finally feels like she’s finding her place in the bandit gang: she catches her share of food, helps carry resources when they hike long distances to a new campsite, and she can put up a good fight, too.

Today, she follows Codi into the light of a frosty morning, the crisp air stinging against her nose. Subconsciously, she pulls her boar-skin cloak tighter, remembering a morning just like this, right after Tanner had stormed away and Codi had helped her out of the snow.

~

Codi tosses her a spear, and she fumbles to catch it. It slips through her fingers and into the snow, the blade narrowly missing her foot.

“Tsk. Gonna have to work on that, kid.”

“Y-yes, sorry.” Rosaria scrambles to pick up the weapon and run after Codi, who has already begun striding away to a nearby clearing. It’s eerily similar to the place where Serle died - Rosaria thanks the archons that Codi chose a different space. She doesn’t think she could stomach seeing that clearing again.

“So.” Codi reaches out to tap Rosaria’s Vision with the tip of their spear. “Let’s start with this, shall we? Have you tried using it since you got it?”

Rosaria shakes her head. Thinking about it makes her feel sick to the stomach; all she can see in her mind’s eye is the way ice spread over Serle’s back, freezing his own blood to his skin.

“...pretend you’re a snowstorm, a hurricane, with the power to flatten a city. Draw that power into your weapon. …Rosaria? Are you listening?”

Rosaria snaps to attention. “I am. Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.”

“Sorry.”

Codi sighs. “How much of that did you get?”

“I have to… pretend I’m a storm?”

“Eh, close enough.” They shrug, before dropping into a battle stance. “Come at me. Hit me with everything you’ve got, little hurricane.”

Rosaria shuffles awkwardly into a battle stance of her own, trying to remember all the snowstorms she’s lived through. They were… cold, disgustingly so, with winds fierce enough to bowl her over and the sting of snow on her cheeks. The treetops rattled. The sky was grey.

That’s me, Rosaria tries to tell herself. I have to do that.

Even as she thinks it, Rosaria knows it isn’t working. It feels clunky, awkward, and most of all, untrue. She doesn’t want to be like a storm.

So when she lunges at Codi, it’s half-hearted at best, and nothing much happens by way of ice and snow.

“Yeesh. You’ve gotta get into it, kid. You move like a dead lizard.”

Rosaria stares at the ground, biting back another apology.

“Okay, we’ll try something else,” Codi continues, after a long moment of silence. “This time, think about someone who makes you horribly, ferociously angry. Picture yourself summoning the wrath of the gods to beat them into the ground.”

An image of Tanner’s taunting sneer immediately appears in Rosaria’s mind: the way he knocked her to the ground and stole her Vision. The way he threw it at her like it was garbage before storming away.

The way he always stole her food. That disgusting attitude, the cruel jokes, the teasing…

Oh, how she would love to make him see red.

With years of pent-up fury boiling beneath her skin, Rosaria lunges, her spear outstretched. With a loud clang, Codi’s weapon meets hers, effortlessly blocking her blow. Their eyes gleam in the watery sunlight, alive with the thrill of sparring, but disappointment lingers at the edges of their face. Rosaria takes a step back, all too aware of the utter lack of Cryo energy around them.

Codi watches her for a long moment, their gaze careful, calculating. They almost seem to be sizing her up; Rosaria tries her hardest not to shrink beneath their stare. When they finally speak, the words are slow and measured, purposeful.

“If you could have stopped us,” they say, “from destroying your home village… what would you have done?”

Rosaria pictures the night she can’t quite remember, but can never fully forget. She thinks about the heat of the fire, the way it blistered against her skin, leaving her feeling red and raw. She remembers the scarlet stripes of blood, the hot sting of cruelty. It is all warm, too warm, her memories blazing with the strength to reduce an entire forest to ashes.

She draws a deep breath, forcing her hands to stop trembling. If she had been able to fight that night…

Crystalline blue fills her mind. The cool kiss of snow: of blistering storms and frostbite, of untameable wilds, the full force of nature. She wants to coat her memories in ice, to quench the flames beneath her own frigid heart. She wants to send glacial daggers through the skulls of everyone who dared lay a finger on the life that she could have had.

In that moment, her form disappears into a puff of cold air, leaving nothing but frigid snowflakes in her wake. She pictures herself as a gust of icy wind, dancing between tongues of flame, burying them beneath the force of her retribution. In her mind’s eye, she sees a village, untouched by blood and fire.

She reappears in a burst of cold blue light behind Codi.

“I would have destroyed you,” Rosaria whispers, her voice hoarse and low, the edge of her polearm held dangerously close to their neck.

They smile, unperturbed.

“Good,” they say simply. “That’s what I like to hear.”

~

The morning is frigid, the snow hard beneath Rosaria’s boots. It crunches with every step, the worn-out soles of her shoes slipping slightly on it. Codi walks purposefully ahead of her, and Rosaria rushes to keep up.

They do their stretches first. Rosaria remembers asking Codi why they even bother, since there’s never time to stretch before a real fight. She understands it now: the importance of staying fit and limbre, and avoiding injuries where possible. (She pulled a muscle in her thigh one morning, and vowed never to let it happen again as she limped shamefully back to the campsite.) Now, she and Codi stretch together every morning, warming up before they train. The movements have become routine; Rosaria doesn’t need to spare a single glance at Codi in order to keep time with them.

“Excellent.” Codi stands back up to their full height, their eyes gleaming as they draw their polearm with a flourish. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Rosaria responds, brandishing her own weapon.

She has become quite adept at wielding polearms over the past year. She prefers them to knives and daggers, which feel too brutish for her liking. The deadly grace of a polearm suits her just fine.

Deadly. Rosaria has really grown into the word as of late. Codi has not only taught her how to defend herself, but also how to kill with ruthless efficiency. Her eyes have been washed in red, and she finds she doesn’t mind the colour as much anymore.

It does still hurt, just a little, when she thinks of crimson flames and the deep vermilion of Serle’s blood on her hands. But Rosaria is older now, colder now, and she would never admit to that internal pain. Not in front of Codi, and certainly not in front of the other bandits, who are finally starting to look at her with some semblance of respect.

She snaps to attention when Codi lunges at her, barely raising her own weapon in time to meet them head-on. Codi pushes more forcefully, sending Rosaria stumbling back a few steps.

“Never let down your guard,” they remind her brusquely. “I’m already going easy on you, kid. Don’t make me go any easier.”

“You won’t have to,” Rosaria promises, adjusting her grip on her polearm. Her eyes are fixed on Codi as she draws a few deep breaths. She tastes the cold on her tongue, feels it sting against her nose, and lets that coldness spill through every pore.

She is one with the cold now. She feels the chill kiss her frozen heart: she has hardened it over the past year, freezing it over until it feels like even her blood has turned to pure ice. Until nothing can hurt her anymore.

She is cold enough to be cruel. Cold enough to be deadly.

In a burst of snowflakes and cold air, she disappears. A split second later, she materialises behind Codi, who has already whirled around. They know all of Rosaria’s tricks by now.

Even so, their eyes gleam with satisfaction, an impressed smirk curling their lip. “Very nice,” they say approvingly.

“Was that better?”

“Plenty. Your aim was dead-on this time.” They push the tip of Rosaria’s spear away from their throat. “I’d better watch my back, huh?”

“Yeah, you’d better,” Rosaria agrees, grinning proudly despite herself. She channels that familiar coldness and teleports again, popping up on Codi’s other side. “You never know where I’ll strike from!”

She is no longer the miserable, scared child she was a year ago. She is cold and cunning now, her smile edged with cruelty. She has become one with the wintry mountainside, with the endless ice and snow.

Chapter Text

The day brings someone you’ll always remember.

Rosaria
“Codi? I’m going hunting.”

They make a noncommittal noise in response - they’re preoccupied, setting up a new campsite - but the acknowledgement is enough for Rosaria, who turns on her heel and disappears into the brush.

She is nine years old now, and has carved out a space for herself amongst the bandits. She is still the youngest by several years, and the disparity often makes her feel out of place, but nobody questions her worth anymore. Not with the Vision at her hip and the deadly gleam of her spear.

With such tools at her disposal, Rosaria feels no fear at exploring unfamiliar landscapes. The terrain here is certainly different from what she is used to, but it’s not unenjoyable. Though she is still surrounded by steep, unforgiving cliffs and harsh rocky ledges, the air is warmer, sweeter even - she can smell the grass, see the delicate flowers breaking through the spring-soft soil. For once in her life, she feels overdressed.

The bandits are here chasing treasure. One of them heard tell of Liyue’s ‘adeptal abodes’ - mystical domains haunted by fantastical beasts, and filled to the brim with many centuries’ worth of riches. Rosaria thought it all sounded too good to be true, but none of the other bandits were about to turn up such an opportunity.

There’s a sudden rustling in the undergrowth, and she snaps to attention.

There. A flash of russet fur between the leaves. It takes Rosaria a moment to register what it is: a small fox, but with summer-red fur in place of the wintry white-blue of Dragonspine’s foxes. It looks rounder, meatier than the foxes she’s used to hunting - it will certainly make a fine meal, if she can catch it.

She drops into a hunter’s crouch, her spear held at the ready. Without a group around her, she must rely on stealth and the element of surprise—

“Hey! You!”

Rosaria leaps to her feet, immediately falling into a fighting stance. The fox, alarmed, disappears into the brush, and Rosaria inwardly curses the loss.

She has something - someone - else to focus on now. Standing opposite her is a girl about her age, with snow-white hair and a cold, almost deadly gleam in her eyes. Red ropes adorn her body atop gorgeous, flowing garments of black, white and gold. She is holding a polearm, and Rosaria instantly takes note of two important details: first, that the girl’s weapon is of a far higher calibre than her own; and second, that she holds it like she knows exactly what to do with it.

“What are you doing here?” the strange girl asks, her voice cool and emotionless. She holds her spear at the ready - one swift movement, and the blade will be at Rosaria’s throat.

~

Shenhe
“Relax,” the girl with silk-flower eyes says, her gaze never leaving Shenhe’s. The unwavering contact is incredibly disconcerting - when was the last time Shenhe stared into another mortal’s eyes for this long? - but she doesn’t want to risk looking away. “I just want some food.”

Shenhe watches her for a long moment, trying to read her face, but the girl’s expression doesn’t shift. She keeps her spear at the ready, just in case.

“You were going to eat that crimson fox?”

She could be a hunter, Shenhe supposes; she’s dressed from head to toe in an inconspicuous black, her garments slightly tattered at the edges, as if she’s spent days or weeks running through the wilderness. But… no hunter would bother travelling this far out for meat. And besides, she’s only a child - she hardly looks older than Shenhe, who rarely sees children out here, even among larger groups of travellers. To see a child hunting alone seems unfathomable.

“Well, duh. What else am I supposed to eat, grass?”

Archons above. Shenhe can’t read this mortal at all. What is the meaning of the sharp edge to her tone? Why is she narrowing her eyes like that? The rational half of Shenhe is screaming danger while the more curious, lonely side wills her to keep the conversation going.

“Yes,” she says, fishing around in a satchel at her waist and producing a bunch of qingxin flowers. “If you’re hungry, please eat these. My master is meditating and is not to be disturbed by your… fox-chasing.”

While Shenhe has never seen hunters around here, she has seen other travellers, but they often kept rations on them - rations that reminded Shenhe of a life long-gone, so she would quickly look away. Never before has she met someone who wanted to eat wild fox, except the occasional group of hilichurls.

This girl looks nothing like a hilichurl, though. In fact, she looks rather like Shenhe: she has the same gangly build, with limbs she hasn’t quite grown into and a weapon that looks far too big for her. And there’s a sky-blue stone strapped to her hip - a Cryo Vision, exactly like Shenhe’s. She’s peering down at the flowers in Shenhe’s hand, her expression scrunched in confusion.

“You’re not serious,” she says bluntly, meeting Shenhe’s gaze again. Her eyes are a delicate pink, but they are piercing, white pupils carving right through Shenhe’s soul.

“I am,” Shenhe mumbles. “I eat these every day.”

The girl barks out a laugh. Taken aback, Shenhe withdraws her hand, clutching the bitter flowers to her chest. She makes a mental note to ask Cloud Retainer for tips on understanding mortals - she’s spent far too long away for anything she’d learned in her early years to be applicable anymore.

“You are ridiculous,” the girl says, a smile still pulling at her lips even after her laughter subsides. “There’s no way you survive on flowers.”

“I do,” Shenhe murmurs, but the girl ignores her, still talking.

“I have a proposition. Why don’t you put that away” - she pushes Shenhe’s spear aside with the back of one hand - “and we go and hunt together. You owe me a fox, after scaring that last one off… and I’ll let you try some real food.”

Shenhe shoves the qingxin flowers back in her satchel, feeling oddly embarrassed, as she considers the girl’s suggestion. She knows what she should be doing: she should chase this stranger away without a second thought, and make sure she never comes back. But she just doesn’t want to. It has been years since she’s seen, let alone interacted with, another mortal child her age. Despite her awkwardness and confusion, a part of Shenhe is far too curious - and selfish - to let the girl go just yet. Maybe it’s the sparkle in those petal-pink eyes, or the casual quirk of her lips. Whatever it is, this feels like an opportunity - like a moment not to be wasted.

~

Rosaria
“Okay,” the girl says quietly, hiding behind a curtain of snowy hair. She’s hesitant - timid, almost - and Rosaria is unnerved by the sudden change in character. Everything about her still feels distant, edged in coldness, but her demeanour has gone from the harsh spikes of a Cryo slime’s shield to something more like a melting ice cube. “But we have to be quiet. My master is not to be disturbed.”

“Sure, sure, I can work with that.” Rosaria lowers her spear, and the girl mirrors her movements. “So, what’s your name?”

“Shenhe.”

“Cool. I’m Rosaria.” She turns abruptly on her heel, heading deeper into the lush forestry. “Come on. The fox ran this way - there’ll probably be more nearby.”

“Okay.”

Rosaria glances over her shoulder, still wary of the fact that Shenhe could potentially attack her. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Should I?”

The bandit gang is always practically exploding with noise, between the constant roughhousing and making plans for the division of resources and their travel routes. Rosaria rarely speaks up, but she never needs to; now, the silence behind her is almost unnerving.

“I mean, you don’t have to…”

“I always thought silence was a necessary component of the hunt,” Shenhe interrupts bluntly.

Rosaria narrows her eyes, unsure whether to be offended. Shenhe’s gaze is as cool as ever, her tone completely level, free of malice. In fact, every word that has slipped out of her mouth has seemed so practised, she almost sounds robotic. Rosaria isn’t sure what to make of it, so she just hums in agreement - Shenhe isn’t wrong, after all.

They wander through the undergrowth in silence after that. Shenhe always stays a few paces behind Rosaria, as though she is wary of getting too close. Rosaria slows down and speeds up experimentally, and Shenhe always moves in perfect time with her so that the gap between them never changes. It’s… odd, to say the least, but Rosaria doesn’t question it. At least she’ll have more time to react if Shenhe attacks her.

Eventually, they find a fox, pawing through some leaves at the base of a tree. Rosaria crouches, motioning for Shenhe to drop down beside her; she does, but maintains the distance between them.

Rosaria can only stare at her, dumbfounded. How are they supposed to come up with an attack strategy if Shenhe can’t even hear her? In any other situation, Rosaria would use hunting signals, but she has no idea if Shenhe is familiar with any of them (which she probably isn’t, given she is somehow surviving on a diet of flowers).

Come closer, Rosaria gestures frantically with her hands. If they don’t hurry, they might lose the fox, but Shenhe just shakes her head and stays where she is.

It takes a minute of Rosaria becoming increasingly frustrated at Shenhe’s stubbornness before she gives up. Stifling a long-suffering sigh, she makes a series of gestures that she hopes are obvious before she gets up and moves away. Even if Shenhe misunderstands or messes up, Rosaria has enough faith in her own hunting skills - and if that fails too, then she’ll just have to stay out longer.

Miraculously, Shenhe gets into place, and Rosaria makes a final gesture through the bushes. A moment later, a swathe of red, white and gold bursts through the undergrowth, running straight for the fox. It startles, twisting away to sprint in a blind panic towards Rosaria’s hiding place.

She draws in a deep breath, the scent of fresh grass and flowers filling her lungs, even as her mind wanders elsewhere. Behind her eyes, she sees the blinding white of fresh snow, the watery blue of the sky and dark, storm-heavy clouds on the horizon. Coldness creeps up her throat as her body vanishes into a burst of frigid air.

A moment later, she reappears behind the fox, striking it with the deadly force of a hurricane. It topples over with a pained squeal, its legs falling limp beneath it, the light going out behind its eyes. Ice crackles over the scruff of its neck.

“Impressive,” Shenhe says from behind her. “How did you learn to teleport like that?”

“Just a skill I picked up,” Rosaria replies, unable to stop pride from spilling into her voice. She doesn’t look up from where she’s fiddling with the fox’s body. “...With a little help from my mentor, of course.”

“I see. My master is helping me understand how to wield my powers, too.”

“You talk a lot about this ‘master’ of yours,” Rosaria says carefully as she stands, slinging the fox over her shoulder. “What’s that all ab– hey! Why are you still standing so far away?”

~

Shenhe
Shenhe blinks, taken aback. Rosaria had turned around, and her expression of quiet satisfaction was almost instantly replaced with something akin to fire. Shenhe recoils beneath the heat of it.

“I’m sorry, I–”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Rosaria continues, her tone edged in something cold and sharp. “You stayed far behind me the entire walk here, and then you wouldn’t even stand close enough for me to explain the plan to you, and now you’re still all the way over there! Archons above, I’m not diseased or anything. If you didn’t want to come, you could’ve just said so.”

Shenhe’s heart twists. She hadn’t counted on Rosaria taking it personally - she was just trying to protect her, to stay far enough away that the curse wouldn’t reach her. The adepti are safe around her calamitous energy, but she hasn’t been this close to another mortal since the last time she saw her father. She doesn’t know what her presence might do to them.

Tendrils of darkness lap at her throat as Rosaria stares her down. Shenhe blinks back tears, swallowing her emotions, forcing them back far enough that they cannot reach her.

She thought she had a handle on her curse, on the cloud of calamity that was always hanging over her head. But no matter how hard she tried, she still somehow managed to hurt Rosaria. The pain is so clearly there, laced through the anger in her voice, painted into the hard-edged gleam of her eyes.

“Are you crying?”

“No! No, I’m not.” Shenhe wipes her eyes with the back of one hand. “Don’t look at me.”

Cloud Retainer has always been right. It isn’t safe for her to be around mortals - not yet. Maybe not ever. The thought alone pierces through Shenhe’s heart like a knife.

She thinks back to the day she changed her own life forever: that morning she sat atop the mountains, when she dragged the jade comb through her hair until it blossomed in strands of brilliant white. Cloud Retainer said that doing so would sever her ties with the mortal world, but Shenhe hadn’t felt the effects of it quite so palpably until now.

Rosaria is the closest thing to a friend she’s made since her hair turned white, and Shenhe has already lost her.

She looks up through blurry eyes when Rosaria draws a shaky breath. Her expression has shifted again - her eyes are downcast now, her lips still pulled into a frown, but it’s… softer, this time. Discomfort, Shenhe realises after a moment, and then wonders whether this or her anger is worse. Both expressions flood her heart with guilt.

“Uh… I’m sorry?” Rosaria mumbles awkwardly. “I didn’t mean - I just - I thought you might’ve liked me.”

At that, Shenhe finally finds her voice again.

“I do,” she murmurs, peering through a curtain of white hair. “I do like you. I just… I was just trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Rosaria says incredulously. “From what?”

“From me.”

Rosaria’s eyes widen ever so slightly, her hand drifting towards her polearm. “So you were going to kill me.”

“No! Not intentionally.”

“...What.” Rosaria stares at her dubiously.

Shenhe feels her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. The words aren’t coming out right - in fact, they’re not coming out at all. Instead, they stick in her throat like honey, her tongue dissolving into sand.

“I…” she picks at her ropes, feeling the satisfying snap of the fibres against her skin. “It’s because - because I carry the curse of calamity.” The words feel brittle and rough in her mouth. “If you get too close to me, I… bad things will happen.”

“What, like bad luck?” Rosaria rolls her eyes. “I don’t care about any of that stuff. Besides, my life was never that great to begin with.”

It’s more than just bad luck, Shenhe thinks, but she bites her tongue. Instead, pulled forward by her own fascination, she asks, “it wasn’t? Did you… want to talk about it?”

“I - uh, sure,” Rosaria stammers, seemingly surprised by the question. “It’s a long story, though…”

“That’s alright,” Shenhe replies. “I’ve got time.”

~

With that, they settle into the grass and talk until the darkening sky forces them to part ways once more. They talk until Shenhe has learned enough of Rosaria’s life that she feels like a sister; until Shenhe has bared her own soul in return.

Rosaria, Rosaria, Rosaria. Shenhe says her name over and over in her head, marvelling at it as she walks back up the mountain. It’s a pretty name, unlike anything she’s heard before; it reminds her of the brilliant pink of wild roses, the whisper of a gentle lullaby. It’s a lovely name, soft on her lips as she murmurs it under her breath.

The person who wears it is just as lovely, Shenhe thinks. Despite a hard, brash exterior, there is softness in her eyes - those eyes like dewdrops on flower petals, that Shenhe cannot get out of her head. Her eyes are sharp and attentive, and so beautifully human. Shenhe never realised how much she missed looking into eyes like her own. She feels so much less alone, now.

Most of all, Shenhe cannot stop thinking about the confidence and self-assurance Rosaria exudes despite a life marred by tragedy. Distantly, she wonders if Rosaria, too, was born under misaligned stars; perhaps those same stars eventually brought them together. Their chance meeting already feels too good to be true - Shenhe had never met anyone else she could even begin to empathise with, and then the world gave her Rosaria.

Shenhe wishes to be more like her. She isn’t cursed, not like Shenhe is, and has nothing to blame her misfortunes on but bad luck. Even so, she charges forward into a snowstorm of hardship, finding every way to survive in a world that seems like it wants her dead. Shenhe wishes she could have such courage. Instead, she hides obediently behind red ropes and in adeptal abodes, isolating herself, spending each and every day reminding herself how much of a danger she is to human society.

She told Rosaria as much, her cheeks burning with shame. And even after learning about Shenhe’s curse, her ropes, the very calamity burning in her soul, Rosaria chose to stay.

~

Rosaria
That evening, Rosaria sits close to the campfire, watching tendrils of flame dance in the fox’s glassy eyes. The sky is purple with dusk, the first stars appearing over the horizon and bringing with them a wintry chill. It feels like home.

More than that, though, it reminds her of hair like moonlight and eyes like the break of dawn. It reminds her of the best day she’s ever had.

Shenhe. She’s been on Rosaria’s mind all afternoon. Talking to her… it was the closest Rosaria had ever felt to being understood. The bandits know tragedy, but they have hardened themselves to it; as much as Rosaria tries to be like them, there is still a part of her heart that stays soft.

And Shenhe? Shenhe is soft from skin to bone. Her ropes are the only thing hardening that weary heart, forcing her to stand stiff against the lashing storm that is her life. Rosaria heard it, in the quiet monotone of her voice: there was sadness there, lurking beneath the binding of the ropes. There was despair, loss, isolation. All the things Rosaria has long since become familiar with.

They have both persevered against all odds. Rosaria fiddles with the Vision at her hip; Shenhe has one too, a brilliant blue medallion, symbols of their survivability. Rosaria had mentioned it earlier that afternoon, as they reclined in the shade of a tree, the wild grass cool against their legs.

“‘Immortal crane,’” Shenhe had said, after a moment of silence. “My name - it means ‘immortal crane.’ Sometimes I think it’s destiny.”

Rosaria pictures a crane in her mind, and decides that it suits Shenhe, from its wintry feathers to the delicate grace with which it carries itself.

And immortal?

Rosaria believes it. She thinks Shenhe could survive anything.

~

“Will I see you again?”

Shenhe’s eyes betray her vulnerability, even as her voice remains level. Her hand has shifted ever so slightly, drifting towards Rosaria, as though it wants to pull her back.

“Yeah, I was going to ask if you could meet me here tonight,” Rosaria replies. “I still owe you some food, remember?”

“Ah. Yes.” Shenhe’s lips curve into a soft smile, so small that Rosaria would have missed it if she weren’t looking for it. “Some ‘real food’, as you say.”

“Well, it is. You can’t just live on flowers. Doesn’t it get boring?”

Her eyes become wistful, then. “It does… but the choice is not mine to make. I miss my mother’s noodles.” She pauses for a moment, lost in her recollection. “My master says I cannot indulge in the pleasantries of the mortal world, for fear it would hinder my training.”

Pleasantries. Hinder. Shenhe talks so funny. It’s… endearing. She’s unlike any human Rosaria has ever met.

“Eh, forget what your master thinks. You can make an exception just this once.” Rosaria shoots her a playful grin, and even though Shenhe’s eyes say I can’t, she returns the expression with a gentle smile.

“...Alright,” she agrees, after a long moment. “Just this once.”

~

Rosaria eats her serving of fox meat quickly. Nobody notices when she cuts it in half, wrapping the untouched side in cloth before she tucks it in her pocket.

Chapter Text

The night brings someone you’ll miss forever.

~

Rosaria
Night one: starlight and secrets.

As Rosaria slips out of the bushes, she is already counting the days in her head, willing time to move slower. When she leaves, it will be too soon.

“Hey,” she says, offering Shenhe a dazzling grin as she pushes her hood back, shaking out dishevelled maroon hair.

“Hello,” Shenhe murmurs, her eyes wide, shining like precious gems in the darkness. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve been trying to get away all night.” She huffs out a soft sigh, thinking back to the evening at the campsite. “I swear, the other travellers just don’t sleep.”

“Oh.” Shenhe is still watching her with those brilliant eyes. “I’m glad you made it.”

“I am too.” Rosaria fishes around in her pocket, pulling out a small bundle of wrapped cloth. “This is for you.”

Their fingers brush when she passes it to Shenhe, who stiffens, but does not move away.

“Thank you,” she says, cradling it in her hands. “Before I eat it… there is a place I’d like to take you.”

Rosaria’s brows rise with intrigue. “Lead the way.”

She follows Shenhe to a maze between soaring cliffs, where enormous roots and tangled vines spill out from between jagged rocks. The air is heady with the scent of mint and fresh foliage; Rosaria peers up between a canopy of red and gold at the distant stars, twinkling coldly back at her. Fireflies dart across ferns and mossy stones, gleaming like eyes in the darkness.

Eventually, Shenhe ducks into a tunnel beneath the rock, where a hole in the roof allows moonlight to spill through, dappling the ground in silver. When she turns to look back at Rosaria, the light catches in her iridescent eyes and moon-pale hair, her fair skin pearlescent in the dark of the tunnel. She looks ethereal; like a fragment of a distant dream.

“This is one of my favourite places,” Shenhe says, craning her neck to peer through the skylight. “Nobody will find us here.”

“Good,” Rosaria murmurs, and she means it. If the bandit gang found Shenhe, they would not hesitate to take her prisoner, if they didn’t kill her first. And Shenhe’s mentor… Shenhe has divulged very little about her, but Rosaria has heard enough to know that she is not someone to be messed with. “Now, come on, you’ve gotta try the fox before it’s completely cold.”

She takes a seat in the grass just below the skylight. Shenhe settles delicately beside her, folding her legs beneath herself. She is, as always, coldly picturesque, her posture stiff and impersonable.

However, this time, she is sitting right beside Rosaria, close enough to touch. That practised formality is difficult to break, but the slope of her shoulders and spine are softer now than when Rosaria first met her. Pride fills Rosaria’s chest when she notices - it has taken years for the bandit gang to warm up to her, but Shenhe has grown comfortable in her presence in only a day.

“My master will be furious if she finds out about this,” Shenhe comments as she unwraps the chunk of fox meat. She does not touch it; instead, she leaves it unwrapped in the centre of the cloth, and simply stares at it.

“Who said she needed to know?” Rosaria asks, her eyes glinting with mischief. Shenhe looks over, then, and her expression shifts into a tiny smile.

“I suppose it is as you said earlier. I can make an exception–”

“‘Just this once,’” Rosaria chimes in, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah, exactly! That’s the spirit.”

Hesitantly, Shenhe picks up the chunk of meat. She seems to study it for a moment before she takes a small bite, her brows knitting slightly as she chews.

“Well?” Rosaria asks after a brief silence. “What do you think?”

~

Shenhe
Shenhe is not sure what to think, at first. After years of eating nothing but flowers, the taste and texture of the fox are so jarring she almost spits it out. It’s… tough, and difficult to chew, her teeth catching on bits of fat and gristle. It tastes smoky and wild; in fact, the taste of it is so strong it almost overwhelms her. Even so, it is a nice respite from the bitterness of the herbs Shenhe is used to, so she chews slowly, savouring the unfamiliar flavour.

“...It’s good,” she says finally, if only to appease Rosaria.

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Rosaria responds, watching her curiously. She doesn’t seem to be offended; her eyes are sparkling, and when she smiles, a talon in Shenhe’s chest loosens.

“No, I quite like it,” Shenhe assures her. “It’s unfamiliar, that’s all.”

“Right, right, of course. It’s a pretty big change from eating flowers, huh.”

“Exactly.”

There is a moment of silence before Rosaria shifts to lie down in the grass, crossing her legs at the ankles and pillowing her arms beneath her head. Moonlight falls across her face in lovely spots of silver. Shenhe can’t help but think that she looks so much more innocent like this, as though the watery light has washed away a lifetime of sorrow. She looks completely relaxed, her eyes half-closed, her features soft with peacefulness.

“Are you going to join me, or are you just going to stare?” Rosaria quips, cracking open one eye to look back at Shenhe.

Heat rises to the tips of Shenhe’s ears. Silently, she lies back in the grass, resting her hands on her chest and subconsciously counting as it rises and falls. One, two. Three, four. Just like Cloud Retainer taught her.

“I have a question,” Rosaria says, breaking the silence. “If you could have any food in the world, right now, what would you want?”

“My mother’s noodles,” Shenhe says automatically. “I miss them. I miss her.” Her hand finds her Vision; she wears it where she used to keep her mother’s knife. She leaves the knife in Cloud Retainer’s abode nowadays, right beside her jade comb, for fear that something will happen to it.

“Tell me about her,” Rosaria suggests. “I never got to know my mum, so… I’d like to hear about yours. If that’s okay.”

“Of course.” Shenhe pauses, thinking back to the years before the sacrifice, before she became aware of the evil lurking beneath her skin. It is a time she seldom revisits, but… she feels safe enough here, with Rosaria, to look back. “She was lovely. Always so cheerful, and so determined to do good in the world, because she loved everything and everyone in it. She took up exorcism to protect people… I rarely saw her in action, but baba said she was wonderful. I don’t remember much from before her sickness, but I know she was full of life, because it hurt so much to watch it disappear.”

Rosaria is quiet for a long moment as she takes it in. Finally, she says, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to lose her.”

“It was my fault,” Shenhe admits, her voice quiet, crumbling at the edges. It’s been years, but that wound still feels fresh.

There is a rustle of grass as Rosaria whips her head around to look Shenhe in the eyes. Shenhe shrinks under her stare; all of a sudden, Rosaria’s expression has taken on the intensity of a wildfire.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I told you. I’m cursed. I make bad things happen to the people around me. I’m the reason my mother died. You shouldn’t–”

“Shenhe, you were, like, five.” Rosaria’s eyes glisten; is that sadness? “Didn’t you say it was some lame-ass demon who told you you were cursed? Why would you even listen to anything it had to say?”

Lame-ass. Shenhe has never heard that term before, but it sounds derogatory, so she decides she likes it.

“Yes, but my mentor had someone do a soul-reading after she rescued me, and it turned out everything the demon said was true,” she explains. The darkness in her soul is stirring again, awoken by the bitter memories. “I still think it’s unsafe for you to be this close–”

“Shenhe.” Rosaria grabs her wrist as she starts to move away. “I told you. I don’t care about that. Besides… don’t your ropes keep it at bay anyways?”

“Not entirely.” Shenhe’s eyes drop to the floor. She can still feel that calamitous energy, stirring beneath her skin. She doesn’t know enough to know whether its presence is still as dangerous as it used to be.

“Well, what about your mentor? If she’s fine, I’ll be fine too. You worry too much, Shenhe.”

“I worry because I have to,” Shenhe replies. “My mentor… she, uh, used magic to protect herself. You don’t have that.”

“Alright, well, look. If I get a little screwed over just ’cause I spent time with you, then so be it. It’s not like I have anything to lose.” Rosaria pauses, her eyes silver in the moonlight, sharp and intense. “I would rather suffer for hanging out with you than spend every waking moment with… the other travellers.”

Shenhe has heard enough about the group of travellers that adopted Rosaria to know what she means. She forces her muscles to relax, even as her heart rattles against her ribcage, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird. Rosaria withdraws her hand, but Shenhe doesn’t move.

“You know, for what it’s worth,” Rosaria says quietly, when it becomes apparent Shenhe has nothing to say, “I think your mum would’ve appreciated every moment she got to spend with you, curse or no curse.”

Hot tears prick at the back of Shenhe’s eyes. The beast paces beneath her skin, struggling against the red ropes’ restraint.

“Thank you,” she says. “But can - can we talk about something else?”

“Yeah. Of course. Sorry.”

Silence. Shenhe sits down again, hugging her knees close to her chest. She looks through tear-damp eyes at Rosaria, who offers her a small, apologetic smile when their eyes meet.

“It’s my turn to ask you,” Shenhe says, her voice still wobbling slightly. “If - if you could eat any food, right now, what would it be?”

Rosaria wrinkles her nose in thought. “Honestly, I’d eat anything, if I could eat it in a cosy house, with a fireplace and a sturdy roof over my head,” she says eventually. “I think I’d like… hm. I’d want a whole roast chicken, all to myself. Complete with seasoning and gravy, with lots of fresh vegetables on the side. I’d eat it all, right then and there.”

“Could you really eat that much?”

“I think so. I’d be making up for a lifetime of skipped meals.” She sighs, sounding almost wistful, and shifts her gaze back to the skylight.

“One day you’ll get that meal, I know it.” Shenhe lies back down beside her, her eyes turned towards the stars. “One day, when you finish travelling, you’ll get to settle down somewhere nice, and eat as many roast chickens as you’d like.”

“One day,” Rosaria murmurs, but she doesn’t sound like she believes it.

At least it’s a possibility for her, Shenhe thinks, tracing constellations with her eyes. Her own fate has already been written out in the stars: a life of loneliness and devastation.

But… maybe that’s not all there is to it. Shenhe turns her head to look at Rosaria, whose pale skin is outlined by the moon.

She is not so lonely, now.

~

Rosaria
Night two: a dance of ice and snow, wild and free.

The rustle of light footsteps in grass. The silvery-white of moon-touched hair. Iridescent eyes, aglow in the darkness.

There.

Rosaria draws in a deep breath, tasting spring flowers and crisp night air on her tongue. She envisions snowflakes, icicles, a torrent of white and blue–

“Boo!”

She pops up behind Shenhe in a burst of cold air. Shenhe startles before whirling around, releasing a guttural sound - something between a scream and a snarl, wild and animalistic. Her weapon is at Rosaria’s throat in an instant.

Rosaria raises her hands defensively. “Sheesh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you that badly.”

Shenhe blinks, and her eyes seem to focus again. She stares at Rosaria for a long moment, as though she is still coming to her senses.

“Oh. It’s you,” she finally says, lowering her spear. “Please don’t do that again.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” Rosaria assures her, still replaying that shriek over and over in her head. Was that Shenhe’s curse? She stares at the girl across from her, trying to reconcile those brilliant eyes and delicate smile with the inhuman scream she let out. How much power is hiding behind those red ropes?

“Rosaria? Are you alright?”

She shakes herself out of a stupor. Shenhe is still herself: she is simply a child caught in the crosswires of bad luck, just like Rosaria. And, curse or no curse, she is Rosaria’s friend.

“I’m great. What about you?” Rosaria elbows her playfully. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

Her tone is lighthearted and joking, but Shenhe still frowns.

“I’m sorry I gave you that impression,” she says. “I am very pleased to see you… I would just prefer not to be scared, next time.”

“Duly noted.”

“I am curious, though,” Shenhe continues, “how did you learn to teleport like that? It’s an elemental ability, right?”

“You got it.” Rosaria flicks the Vision at her hip. “Hey, do you wanna try? Maybe I could teach you.”

“I’d love that,” Shenhe agrees, her eyes shining.

~

Shenhe
A soft breeze whispers through russet leaves. The grass stirs at Shenhe’s feet. She closes her eyes, and draws a deep breath in; the air is sweet with the scent of fresh flowers, and cool with the late-night chill.

According to Rosaria, she not only has to think about ice and snow, but also has to embody them; to take winter itself by the reins and bind herself to it. In her mind’s eye, she conjures images of the snowfall on the peaks of Mount Aocang, when the days are short and the nights unforgiving. The snow may be brutal to much natural life, but in Shenhe’s memories, it is beautiful. She remembers the mornings when Cloud Retainer would meditate as snow gathered in her feathers, making her look comically fluffy. She remembers catching snowflakes in her hands and watching them melt, reminding her that her skin still burns with a mortal warmth. She remembers training beneath the snowfall, when Cloud Retainer taught her to hold her balance, even on the surface of an icy lake.

The snow on Mount Aocang has always been gorgeous.

And, with that thought, she summons the power of her Vision and rushes forward in a flurry of cold air and frosty talismans, moving so quickly her feet seem to hover above the ground. At her back, she feels the ghostly presence of her Cryo avatar - a manifestation of her powers that the adepti had taught her to summon. It surges forward beside her, following her like a shadow, before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. The talismans dissolve a moment later, leaving an icy chill against her skin.

“Did I do it?” she asks, glancing over at Rosaria. She’s standing much closer now - with a start, Shenhe realises just how far the movement took her. She smooths down her clothes, forcing herself not to move away; Rosaria doesn’t care that you’re cursed, she reminds herself.

It is still so hard to believe. The curse had reared its ugly head earlier, revealing every fragment of darkness beneath Shenhe’s skin in that inhuman scream. She had expected Rosaria to leave after that - to run away, as far from Shenhe as possible, and never come back.

But she didn’t. She stayed, and she’s still here now, standing right there. It doesn’t feel real.

“...Shenhe? Are you listening?”

“What?”

Rosaria snickers. “Welcome back,” she says wryly. “I was just saying, even though you didn’t quite teleport, that was still awesome.”

A spark of pride flickers in Shenhe’s chest. It is dulled by the ropes around her soul, but it is pride nonetheless, and she basks in the quiet warmth of it.

~

Rosaria
Night three: the last grains of sand in the hourglass.

“You heading out again?” Codi glances up from where they are polishing a spear in the firelight. Rosaria stops, her heart beating a fraction too quickly.

“Yeah,” she says. “Just enjoying the, uh… landscape.”

“Enjoy it while you can. The raid’s tomorrow.” Codi returns their gaze to the spear in their hand, completely casual, as though their words haven’t just ripped a hole straight through Rosaria’s chest.

“Tomorrow?” her voice is small. “I thought–”

“Mhm, Tanner found a very promising lead. This time tomorrow we’ll be outta here, with more gold than we know what to do with.” A grin alights on their face, but Rosaria can’t find it in herself to share any of their excitement.

She ducks out of the camp and runs through the forest, watching the waning moon through the lush canopy of trees. Every second it rises further is another second she’s losing.

She skids to a halt a short distance from her meeting place with Shenhe, breathing raggedly. Through the bushes and ferns, she can see a head of hair like liquid moonlight; Shenhe is already here, waiting patiently, her face turned towards the sky.

And when Rosaria pushes her way through the undergrowth, those iridescent eyes snap towards her, wrinkling ever so slightly at the edges when Shenhe breaks into a gentle smile.

Shenhe is not a very expressive person, Rosaria has noticed. But she always smiles when she sees Rosaria.

Rosaria knows she’s going to miss it. For her entire life, Rosaria has either been treated as a burden or an asset; never as a friend. But Shenhe - Shenhe smiles at her like they are best friends. Like she actually wants her around, for more than just odd jobs or the use of her Vision. None of that matters, with Shenhe. All that matters is that Rosaria is here.

She won’t be, not for much longer. Here, in this moonlit forest, where fireflies dance between scarlet bushes and sun-gold trees, and a spring-sweet breeze travels between soaring cliffs. But when Rosaria looks at the soft smile on Shenhe’s face, she finds the words sticking in her throat. She can’t break the news, not yet. She wants to enjoy this final night with her best friend without the shadow of her departure hanging over them.

“I’d like to see the stars,” she finally blurts out, after she has been uncomfortably silent for so long Shenhe’s expression has morphed into something more like confusion.

“Alright, wh–”

“Come on.” Rosaria wastes no time in grabbing Shenhe’s hand and leading her to a nearby tree. She scrambles into the lower branches, waiting for Shenhe to follow suit before she climbs higher. They climb until the leaves thin out, revealing a patchwork of stars.

There is nothing like watching the stars in Dragonspine, where the night sky seems endless and the clouds are replaced by the brilliant pinks and greens of the aurora borealis. It is nature’s greatest masterpiece.

But in this moment, Rosaria knows she would trade every midnight in Dragonspine for this one alone, because tonight, she is sitting under the stars with Shenhe.

“You are quieter today,” Shenhe observes after they have talked for a while. She scans Rosaria’s face, her expression inscrutable.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“What are you thinking about?”

I’m leaving tomorrow. “There’s no aurora borealis in Liyue.”

Shenhe blinks curiously, her eyes never leaving Rosaria’s face. “Aurora borealis?”

“They’re like glowing stripes in the sky,” Rosaria explains. “You should come visit me in Dragonspine sometime. I’ll show you them in person.”

“You still live in Dragonspine? I thought you were a traveller.”

“I am. We don’t stay at one campsite for long, but we usually stay within Dragonspine’s borders.”

“Oh. What brought you out here?”

“...Just a rumour.”

Shenhe’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “A rumour?” she echoes, her voice veiled in something akin to suspicion.

Rosaria gives her an odd look. “Yeah, some dumb story about treasure in the mountains. Why?”

“I was just curious.” Shenhe’s tone has returned to being as cool and level as ever, and Rosaria wonders if her misgivings were simply imagined. She has been distracted, after all.

Three nights. Three nights is all they’ve had. It feels so cruel, for the world to give her Shenhe - her first and only friend - and then rip her away just as quickly. Going back to Dragonspine and spending every freezing day in only the bandits’ company feels even more intolerable now.

“Hey,” Rosaria says, after the silence has stretched out for a little too long. “Wanna do something fun?”

“Of course. What would you like to do?”

Rosaria hasn’t thought that far ahead - she is simply getting restless, unable to stop thinking about the unstoppable trickle of time. She looks down past her swinging feet at the dirt path below them, winding through the trees and the undergrowth.

“Let’s have a race, back to the tunnel you showed me.” A memory of the first night. “We’ll use our elemental abilities, and see who gets there the fastest.” A reminder of the second.

Shenhe nods eagerly, and they clamber nimbly back down the tree trunk, scraping their palms on the bark. They line up against one of the tree’s protruding roots, and after Rosaria counts down, a burst of snowflakes and cold air heralds the beginning of their race.

Rosaria is a fast runner. Learning to hunt and fight in the snow has made her light on her feet, her movements swift and agile. Every few moments, she teleports behind trees and shrubs, speeding even faster towards the finish line. In her peripheral vision, she sees streaks of blue light as Shenhe does the same, dashing through the forest in swirls of snowflakes and talismans. Together, they light up the midnight forest in flashes of crystalline blue like a twin pair of shooting stars.

Rosaria reaches the tunnel first, teleporting one final time to stand beneath the skylight. The moon is high, staring like a knowing eye back down at her, reminding her that time is moving too quickly. She will never be fast enough to outrun it.

As she stands, she tries to imprint the space into her memories, making sure she will never forget it. She thinks about the moonlight through Shenhe’s hair, and the way her nose wrinkled as she tried the fox meat. She thinks of the truths they whispered to each other beneath the stars; the meals they dreamed they’d one day get to eat. She thinks of Shenhe’s curse, and her mother, and how much more it must hurt to lose a parent you can actually remember. Rosaria and Shenhe are still so young, but were both ripped from their families and childhoods far too quickly; here, with Shenhe, Rosaria finally feels like she gets to just be a kid.

She startles when something nudges her shoulder, and whirls around to come face-to-face with Shenhe, who is standing directly behind her. There is an intensity in those opalescent eyes, and despite her best efforts, Rosaria finds herself shrinking beneath it.

“Rosaria.” Shenhe’s voice is serious. “You’re acting differently today. Is something wrong?”

Rosaria splutters, waving a hand dismissively. “What? Pff, no, I’m fine, I– what gave you that impression?”

“You ran so quickly I almost lost track of you–”

“I mean, that’s the whole point of a race–”

“And when I arrived here, you didn’t even acknowledge me. I tried to congratulate you on winning, but you ignored me.” Shenhe frowns, her eyes scanning Rosaria’s face, studying her. “You have also been unusually quiet. Did I do something wrong?”

Rosaria deflates, guilt filling the cracks in her chest. She worried so much about making the most of tonight that she ended up ruining it - and now Shenhe thinks Rosaria is mad at her.

She could not be further from the truth.

“That’s not it at all,” Rosaria murmurs, her voice crumbling at the edges. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I…”

She hesitates, unwilling to speak the truth for fear of making it feel too real.

“What is it?”

It’s not like she has much of a choice.

Rosaria sighs, staring at the ground. She can’t bear to look Shenhe in the eyes right now - she doesn’t want to see her reaction.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.”

~

Shenhe

Something in her chest fractures.

Rosaria is leaving? Already?

It’s too soon. It’s far too soon. Shenhe knew she’d leave eventually - she is a traveller, after all - but she wanted to have time to brace for it. Rosaria has helped her feel human for the first time since that fateful day in the cave. Rosaria has helped her feel normal, like her curse is just another ordinary part of her. Like she isn’t dangerous.

No wonder Cloud Retainer was so against her spending time with mortals. Regardless of her curse, getting to feel like a regular kid again… it’s addictive. Now that Shenhe has met Rosaria, she never wants her to leave.

And yet… it’s happening. Tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow night, Rosaria will be long gone, and Shenhe may never see her again.

“You can’t.” The words slip out before she even realises. “Please.”

Rosaria finally looks up then, and Shenhe sees her own sadness reflected in those silk-flower eyes.

“I don’t really have a choice,” she says, her voice flat, void of her usual confidence and liveliness.

Shenhe lets out a slow breath, and then sets her jaw.

“If this is going to be the last time I see you,” she says, “then we are going to make the most of it.”

When her mother was alive, she and Shenhe would draw pictures of their favourite memories together and hang them around the house, as reminders of all the wonderful things they had experienced. Even after her mother fell sick, Shenhe kept up the tradition by drawing all the things she wished they’d been able to do.

She may not have paper and paintbrushes at her disposal now, but she is resourceful, and Liyue’s countryside is beautiful and wild. All she needs is to find something.

“What do you want to do?” Rosaria asks curiously.

Shenhe stoops to pick up a stray pebble. “Take this,” she says, passing it to Rosaria, “and help me find some more.”

Working together, it does not take them long to amass a substantial collection of pebbles in every shape and size. Once they have deposited them in the tunnel, Rosaria turns to Shenhe, looking confused.

“Okay, Shenhe, rocks are great and all, but… what exactly are we doing?”

“Rock sculptures,” Shenhe explains simply, finding the largest rock and placing it gently under the skylight. “That way, I will always have something to remember you by.” When she catches Rosaria’s dubious look, she adds, “nobody comes down here, remember? They won’t be disturbed.”

Rosaria makes a small noise of approval. “Alright, I see what you’re doing,” she says, choosing a rock of her own and joining Shenhe in the moonlight. She places it on top of Shenhe’s rock before sitting back on her haunches and smiling appreciatively. “They can watch the stars for us when I’m gone.”

Something in Shenhe’s chest hums at the thought. “That’s perfect,” she says, meeting Rosaria’s gaze across the humble beginnings of their rock sculpture. Her pale pupils shine like stars in the half-light; Shenhe will have their rock sculptures, while Rosaria will carry the stars themselves in her eyes.

By the time they must part ways, they have formed two twin rock piles, sitting side-by-side in a pool of diminishing moonlight, each with a stick beside it. Rosaria had put those there, explaining that they represented spears.

“Those will decay,” Shenhe had said.

Rosaria said she knew, but she liked the idea that their rock sculptures would be able to defend the tunnel, even for a little while. Shenhe couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m going to miss you,” Shenhe whispers now, feeling fragile beneath her ropes.

“I’ll miss you too.” Rosaria pulls her into a hug; Shenhe squeaks in surprise before relaxing into it. “You’ve gotta come visit me sometime, okay? Come find me in Dragonspine. I’ll show you the aurora borealis.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Chapter Text

No flower could taste more bitter than betrayal.

~

Rosaria
It’s a covert operation. Rosaria has her hood up, ragged hair tucked behind her ears, and a black mask pulled over the bridge of her nose. Dark, worn-out gloves cover her hands; curled in her fingers is the shaft of her weapon, held at the ready. Codi says they have to be prepared for anything.

This is the most serious mission Rosaria has ever been on. If the bandits succeed, they will come face-to-face with beasts that carry the willpower and longevity of the gods themselves. If they succeed… they will have enough riches for a lifetime.

She will never have to go hungry again.

The thought alone feels unreal. This entire operation feels unreal; Rosaria has no idea what sort of creatures she may have to face, let alone whether or not she’s even ready. She has been training for years - her entire life, really - and yet she still feels criminally underprepared.

All of a sudden, the group comes to an abrupt stop. Rosaria raises her weapon, her mind whirling through possibilities; are they being ambushed? Have they reached the adeptal abodes?

“What’s going on?” she whispers to Tanner, who is just a step ahead. She’s stuck at the rear end of the group, and her inability to see what’s happening only worsens her nerves.

“Shush,” he hisses back, and Rosaria wonders why she ever bothered asking. She cranes her neck, trying to get a glimpse, but to no avail. The bandits are all tall and well-muscled; in comparison, she is a skinny, underfed nine-year-old who’s barely half their size.

“Stop!”

A voice, high-pitched and young, carves through the pre-dawn air. Rosaria freezes.

It couldn’t be.

“What is your business here?” the voice continues, and Rosaria feels like she’s been drenched in ice. That voice… it is terrifyingly familiar.

“Out of my way, little girl.” A lower, rougher voice - Codi. “I don’t have time for stupid games.”

Rosaria forces her way forward. Tanner snaps angrily as she pushes past him, but she hardly hears it; she feels like her head has been filled with water, her lungs too full for her to breathe.

“I said stop,” the first voice says again, more forcefully now, and Rosaria finds a gap in the crowd just in time to see Shenhe raise her spear to Codi’s throat. “My master is meditating and is not to be disturbed. You are not permitted to travel any further up this mountain.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s going to stop us, huh? Some kid with a penchant for violence?” Codi tries to push the weapon away from their neck, but Shenhe holds steady. Rosaria can’t see Codi’s face, but she can already envision their frown - Shenhe is far stronger than she looks. Codi growls, danger in their voice when they speak again. “Let us pass. You have no business stopping us.”

“You have no business being here,” Shenhe retorts, showing no sign of backing down.

“Move or I’ll make you,” Codi threatens, their own spear held at the ready, and Rosaria’s stomach curdles.

~

Shenhe
As she holds her spear to the cloaked stranger’s throat, Shenhe tries her hardest to quell the spark of foreboding that has rooted itself in her chest. These bandits - it can’t be a coincidence that they show up here the day Rosaria is supposed to be leaving, right?

No. No, it is a coincidence, Shenhe is sure of it. It has to be. Rosaria would never lie to her.

But she mentioned a ‘dumb story about treasure in the mountains’, the cruel voice in Shenhe’s head reminds her. Here, in Jueyun Karst, the sacred grounds of the adepti.

Shut up, Shenhe responds, forcing the voice to the back of her mind. She doesn’t have time for this, not now, not when she’s facing off against a well-armed bandit, all alone.

The bandit forcefully brings their weapon up against hers, knocking it aside and staggering Shenhe. She quickly regains her balance, falling into a familiar fighting stance.

She defeated a demonic god when she was six. She has been training under the adepti for three years. She can take this.

The bandit flies at her, and Shenhe thinks of snowfall and feathers, wintry sunlight refracted by the frozen lake. She surges through them in a burst of ice-cold talismans before ducking to sweep her weapon under them, toppling them over. They land with a grunt on their backside, and Shenhe steps over them, pressing the blade of her polearm to their chest.

She won’t kill them - she never kills mortals, not even greedy bandits like these. All she needs is to scare them off.

“Take your troupe and leave,” she says, her voice low and threatening. “Leave, and do not return to these mountains. You are not welcome here.”

The bandit is watching her with cold suspicion. Every part of their face is obscured but their eyes, which are eerie and dark in Shenhe’s shadow. The silence stretches on for several heartbeats, and Shenhe wonders if they will ever respond.

And then they scream, ferociously, a single syllable that makes Shenhe stumble back in surprise.

“NOW!”

She whirls around in time to see the other bandits closing in, weapons pointed towards her, metal shining dangerously even in the pre-dawn light. That singular moment of distraction is enough for the leading bandit to get back to their feet, battle-ready again in an instant.

Shenhe inwardly curses herself. With any other group, going for the leader in a show of strength would be enough to get them to leave, for fear of what she would do to them otherwise. But with bandits…

Well, bandits are a different story, and it is one Shenhe hasn’t completely prepared herself for.

She can probably take them - surely, they can’t be worse than the usual rogue group of hilichurls wandering around. She may not get away completely unscathed, but… as long as she does what Cloud Retainer requires of her, then she’ll be alright. Her wounds will heal in time.

She scans the line of advancing bandits, trying to plot out her strategy in the split second she has before one of them strikes. If she can go for a weak spot…

There. The youngest of the bandits, by a long shot. They are small and gaunt, black fabric hanging loosely off their frame. Their oversized hood obscures their face, and Shenhe wonders if their visible hesitance is a result of the fact that they cannot see properly.

And then they brush back their hood, and everything falls into place.

The girl with the silk-flower eyes.

Those gorgeous, godforsaken eyes. Shenhe would recognise them anywhere.

Rosaria.

Shenhe can’t even find the words to ask her what she’s doing here. She already knows.

Looking back, it was so stupidly obvious, but Shenhe was so blinded by her own loneliness that she walked right into Rosaria’s trap. Of course they’d send the child - because who would ever stop to question a child’s motives? Who could ever find it in themselves to distrust someone so young, so seemingly innocent?

Shenhe should know. She was a child so destructive that even her own father lost all faith in her. And yet she selfishly overlooked all the signs in favour of feeling just a little less alone.

She feels the beast shift beneath her skin, and she makes no move to stop it.

Time seems to stand still as she stares into Rosaria’s eyes, calamity boiling beneath her skin. All the nights they spent together, running through the forest, watching the stars, making rock sculptures and talking about their dreams - were they all for show?

Was any of it real? Or was it just so Rosaria could follow her home, and memorise the secret path to the adepti in order to lead the bandits back through it?

Tch, Shenhe thinks derisively. Travellers. Really.

She had made a point of not mentioning the adepti to Rosaria - clearly, it hadn’t achieved anything.

And it has become quite obvious Rosaria did exactly the same thing.

“Shenhe, I–”

CLANG.

Shenhe’s reaction is inhumanly fast. Her polearm collides with the edge of a long, curved sword, stopping it a split second before it hits her. The bandit steps backwards, surprise flashing in his eyes.

She has no time to worry about Rosaria, not now that the fight has started.

But it’s alright. She isn’t fighting alone.

The beast is uncurling behind her ribs, black smoke creeping up her lungs as power surges through her veins. Blue fire blazes in her eyes as she looks back at Rosaria, washing that familiar face in shades of teal and aquamarine. The beast is beyond control now, but Shenhe doesn’t want to control it. Not when Rosaria is looking at her like that. Not when Rosaria is looking at her at all.

Shenhe can’t believe she trusted her.

~

Rosaria
Shenhe lets out a bloodcurdling scream, and Rosaria knows she isn’t herself anymore.

The trees around them splinter. Rosaria falls to her knees, her hands flying to her ears, and the other bandits topple around her. There’s a low grumble from the earth itself before hairline cracks snake through the grass and soil.

Rosaria looks up, ears ringing, her eyes following the cracks to the young girl standing at the point where they converge. Shenhe is breathing too quickly, too deeply, her shoulders stiff and one fist tight around her polearm. When she opens her eyes, they look like they have turned to liquid fire, glowing an unearthly shade of blue.

Her ropes are still tight around her shoulders. Rosaria realises, with a chill running down her spine, that this is Shenhe holding herself back.

She doesn’t want to know what Shenhe is capable of when her curse is fully unleashed.

Ahead of her, Rosaria sees Codi stagger to their feet, one hand massaging their temple as the other holds their weapon in a white-knuckled grip. They step slowly, purposefully, towards Shenhe as the other bandits haul themselves upright around Rosaria.

“Well, well,” Codi says, their voice gleeful, almost wicked. “Looks like we’ve found ourselves an adeptus.”

Shenhe’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t move any further.

Codi dexterously spins their polearm in one hand before running at Shenhe, hollering one syllable to the group behind them.

“CHARGE!”

The other bandits surge forward, falling in to fight Shenhe, but Rosaria is too disoriented to respond. She feels… sick, horribly so, like if she let herself she could vomit up her hummingbird heart. She loses sight of Shenhe in an ocean of black fabric and whirling metal, and she isn’t sure whether or not to be thankful that she can’t watch as Shenhe and the bandits tear each other apart.

Her mind is spinning, her thoughts swirling in an impenetrable snowstorm of distress. Shenhe, an adeptus…

No, no, she can’t be.

It doesn’t make sense. The anguish in her eyes whenever she spoke of her past - that was real. Rosaria should know; she has carried the same anguish in her own heart for years. If Shenhe’s curse was nothing but an elaborate lie to hide her powers, she wouldn’t have worn such truthfulness on her face.

Before she can give it any more thought, she hears another guttural, earth-shattering scream and Codi staggers out of the fray, bleeding from a deep cut across their face. Blood drips slowly around their nose, pooling in the crest of their top lip like thick scarlet tears. They catch sight of Rosaria, frozen in fear, and their face twists into a scowl.

“What are you still doing here?” they snap, and their teeth are red as they leer at her. “Get in there and fight, dammit!”

~

Shenhe
She moves on instinct, completely blinded by rage, her mouth bitter with the taste of betrayal.

The bandits shouldn’t be here. And they wouldn’t be here, not yet, if she’d just done what she was supposed to and chased Rosaria off the day they’d met.

Instead, Shenhe had trusted her, stupidly trusted her, and now she and her unleashed demons are fighting for their lives against a dozen bandits.

Through the chaos, she finds a pair of familiar eyes: pink as soft as silk flowers, pale pupils like specks of starlight.

Those eyes… they’re beautiful, they’re awful, and Shenhe wants to tear them apart.

“...Shenhe! Shenhe!”

Rosaria’s voice breaks through the black smoke filling Shenhe’s head. She turns her blue-fire eyes onto the girl who betrayed her - the girl who is now looking at her despondently, as though it isn’t her fault they’re in this mess in the first place.

~

Rosaria
She wants to shrink under that stare. Cold tongues of aquamarine flame dance at the edges of Shenhe’s sunset eyes; she’s beautiful, but inhumanly so, as though her mortality has been hidden under layers of rage.

Her mortality. Shenhe is human, Rosaria is sure of it. She is distanced from humanity, far enough that she only eats flowers and speaks with no shortage of eloquence, but she is human. Rosaria has no proof of it - only a feeling - but she trusts herself and her instincts, and despite this mess, she still wants to trust Shenhe. After all, what age-old adeptus would willingly spend so much time with a scruffy child like Rosaria?

That’s it. Shenhe is a child too. And that innocence and naivety is impossible to fake.

“Shenhe, I…” Rosaria trails off, unsure what she intends to say now that she has Shenhe’s attention. The words stick in her throat, caught in tendrils of thought. The cogs in her mind are whirring, faster than a gust of pure Anemo energy. She feels frozen in time, her gaze locked on Shenhe’s - it has only been a split second, half a heartbeat of respite in the heat of battle, but it feels like an eternity.

The moment shatters when Shenhe dodges Emil’s sword in a swirl of Cryo talismans, the blade missing her snowy hair by a fraction of an inch, and that’s when it clicks.

Her master.

The elusive, magical mentor, immune to the effects of Shenhe’s curse.

Shenhe is a student of the adepti.

~

Shenhe
The sword whisks past behind her; Shenhe pays it no mind as she settles gracefully on the balls of her feet, turning to face her next opponent.

She blinks, and her vision is once again filled with soft satin and flower petals.

She wants to scream, or cry, or throw up, or maybe do all of that at once.

“You lied to me!” she shrieks instead, swinging her polearm at Rosaria, who raises her own weapon in a defensive stance. There is a sharp CLANG as their spears meet and they push against each other. Shenhe is much stronger now, with calamity running through her veins, and Rosaria is folding against her.

“I— okay, yeah, so maybe I blurred the truth a little, but so did you!” Rosaria retorts, teleporting away, and Shenhe staggers from the loss of an opposing force. Another bandit immediately rushes forward, trying to take Shenhe by surprise, but she regains her balance almost instantaneously and parries their attack.

“You can’t make that comparison!” she snaps at Rosaria, even as she fights the other bandit. “I lied because I had to. Because of people like you.” She pushes past her opponent in a cloud of snowflakes and talismans as she says it, carving her spear into their side on her way through. They fall to their knees, dropping their weapon to press their fingers to the wound.

“What are you talking about?” Rosaria cries. “Why are you so angry at me?”

“You know why,” Shenhe responds coldly, whirling to meet an attack from another bandit. She is outnumbered a dozen to one, and yet this feels effortless. She has grown considerably stronger since Cloud Retainer took her in - it is only now that she is realising how much.

“I really don’t,” Rosaria says, and is that desperation laced through her words?

Shenhe wants to punch her teeth out.

What a brilliant actress. What a phenomenal liar. And Shenhe is so, so gullible.

Well, not anymore.

She spins on her heel and rushes at Rosaria, anguish burning behind her ribs, rage pressed against her teeth. Shenhe wants to destroy her, and her curse of calamity is ready to help her do it.

~

Rosaria
She parries Shenhe’s blow in the nick of time. The force of it shudders through her wrists and forearms, pushing her backwards until her feet are digging themselves into the ground.

She is going to die today. This is a fight she cannot survive - not when Shenhe’s gaze is wreathed with ghostly fire. Not when her veins pulse with the power of calamity itself.

Rosaria feels tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She never expected to live very long; how could she, when fate has already treated her so poorly? But she never expected she would die like this, at the hands of her first and only friend. She doesn’t even have enough time to figure out what she did wrong.

And then Shenhe’s grip relaxes, ever so slightly, enough that Rosaria can begin to try and fight back.

~

Shenhe
Shenhe can’t do it.

She can’t hurt Rosaria. Not like this.

The beast lashes out behind her heart, but Shenhe doesn’t listen to it. All those nights she spent with Rosaria, just being kids… maybe they weren’t real, or genuine, but they still mean something to Shenhe. And the part of her that’s still quietly sentimental, even despite her ropes, refuses to let her hurt the person that brought her such moments of joy.

“Look out!” Rosaria yells, shoving Shenhe backwards with the shaft of her weapon before raising it above their heads.

CLANG.

Polearm meets polearm as Rosaria parries one of the bandit’s attacks. It’s the bandit who was leading the charge - Shenhe sees now that their face and hands are streaked with blood. She doesn’t know anymore who it belongs to.

~

Rosaria
“How dare you– let me through!” Codi shrieks, their eyes wild, hungering for violence. Rosaria wants to cower at the look on their face, but she holds steady as long as she can, her arms shaking against their adult strength.

“She’s - she’s just a child,” she says through gritted teeth. “You’re going to kill her!”

“Just the way Serle should’ve killed you when he had the chance.” As they speak, they forcibly shove Rosaria backwards, sending her sprawling into the grass.

Rosaria’s gaze instantly darts across to Shenhe, and she feels her chest flood with relief when she sees that Shenhe is back on her feet, her weapon held at the ready. Codi won’t take her by surprise.

Shenhe parries and dodges Codi’s attacks with inhuman grace and agility. Rosaria can only watch, awestruck; in some moments, it almost looks as though Shenhe’s feet hover above the ground, her body as light as a bird’s.

She meets Rosaria’s eyes for the briefest of moments, but even as she returns her attention to the fight - the other bandits are closing in again, coming to defend Codi - she speaks to Rosaria.

“You do not need to fight on my behalf,” she says coldly. “I do not expect you to - not when you were the one to lead these bandits here in the first place.”

~

Shenhe
“I– what?”

Shenhe cannot see Rosaria’s reaction, but she doesn’t need to. Those two words alone are laced with nothing but utter confusion. Does she think Shenhe is stupid? She can’t keep up this facade - she isn’t fooling anyone.

Shenhe ducks under a sword just as another blade splits the skin of her arm. It stings, a stripe through her bicep as red as her ropes. She hardly notices it, though - she’s fuelled by her fury, a fire strong enough that it drowns everything else out.

“Is that why you’re so angry? You think I brought the bandits here?” Rosaria’s voice carves through the din of battle. Shenhe refuses to acknowledge her; all she can feel is the anger seeping from her skin in frost and cold air, her vision a curtain of blue fire. Her body is cut and bruised, but she hardly feels the pain through the icy numbness of her skin. She isn’t sure if it’s because of her curse or the Cryo energy permeating the air.

An arrow whistles past Shenhe’s ears, startling her, and she tries to push the echoes of Rosaria’s voice to the back of her mind. If she wants to survive this fight, she has to focus, but the insides of her eyelids are painted with soft petals and starlight, distracting her.

Fuelling her.

The blade of her polearm carves through one bandit’s leg and he stumbles away, leaving droplets of blood as red as Shenhe’s ropes in his wake. Those ropes feel so tight now, bending beneath the force of Shenhe’s rage. She feels like she could burn right through them.

~

Rosaria
Shenhe is wrong.

She is so incredibly wrong, and Rosaria doesn’t know how to prove herself, not now that they are caught in the thick of battle. Guilt pricks at her heart, making it hard to breathe.

Shenhe thinks Rosaria used her. That their friendship was nothing but a ploy to find the pathway up the mountains to the adepti. She thinks that Rosaria betrayed her, and led the bandits here to kill her…

Rosaria shakes the thought out of her head. She can’t bear to think of Shenhe dying, much less at the hands of these wretched bandits.

Her chest aches when she looks at Shenhe, a flash of white and gold in an ocean of black. How was Rosaria supposed to know they would end up here? Shenhe lied too, after all, except she did it to protect herself… Rosaria only did it out of shame.

And now here they are, fighting for their lives against each other. If they survive, they will part ways in bitterness, every memory from the past few days tainted by lies and bloodshed. If they survive, Shenhe will hate Rosaria forever.

No. Rosaria has to salvage this, somehow.

She pushes her way through the crowd and teleports in front of Shenhe, barely missing being nicked by her polearm. Shenhe stops only to glare at her before resuming her fight against two bandits - Tanner and Emil, fighting side-by-side. Shenhe is taking them on like it’s nothing.

“I didn’t lead them here,” Rosaria tries anyway, her voice pathetically pleading. She feels pathetic, fighting with Shenhe like this. “I swear on it. I didn’t.”

Then again, this is Rosaria’s life. She shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

“Lies!” Shenhe hisses, without even sparing Rosaria a glance. “How else would they have gotten here, if not for you?”

Rosaria doesn’t know how to answer that. She can’t just say Tanner stumbled upon the pathway completely by accident - it sounds more untrue than anything else she could possibly think of, and saying it would only make Shenhe more upset.

She doesn’t get any more time to think about it, because a moment later she is being yanked back by her hood, her legs flying out beneath her.

“What are you doing?” Codi’s voice hisses in her ear, and Rosaria doesn’t need to see them to know how furious they are. “Wasting time trying to make friends with the enemy? Are you one of us or not?”

They grab Rosaria’s chin, twisting her head around until she’s facing them. She can feel the stickiness of half-dried blood on their fingers; the same substance is crusting against their top lip, carving deep lines into their face.

“Answer me,” they snap. “Are you one of us or not? If you’re so determined to ally yourselves with the adepti, I’ll leave you here for them to take care of. They’ll do what should’ve been done years ago.”

Rosaria cowers beneath their stare. Their eyes are wild, leering teeth stained with blood; they look like an animal, violent and hungry, claws unsheathed for the hunt.

“I-I’m with you,” she stammers. “I’m with you. I promise.”

They fling her roughly to the ground. “Then prove it,” they snarl before stalking away, vanishing back into the thick of battle.

Rosaria hauls herself into a sitting position, her body bruised and aching. Any last shred of hope slips from her grasp; Shenhe isn’t listening to her, and Codi is so irate Rosaria hardly recognises them. She has to save herself somehow - she can’t lose everything, not all at once. Not like this.

She pulls herself to her feet, picking up her weapon, her knuckles white. Her heart weighs heavy in her chest, but she ignores it. She knows what she has to do now.

~

Shenhe
The ground is drenched in blood. Shenhe is slowly picking off the bandits one by one; of the dozen or so that swarmed up the mountain in the beginning, only half of them are left on their feet. The other half are tending to their wounds, hidden behind trees and shrubs, lost in the stench of raw crimson.

She won’t kill them - she has been very careful not to fatally harm them, for they are mere mortals, just like her. Their motives for trespassing in Jueyun Karst are suspect, but she will not stoop so low as to take their lives. She is better than that, despite the threats that spill from her lips.

She ducks, sweeping her polearm under her opponent’s feet, sending the bandit sprawling onto her back. She groans, winded, and Shenhe whirls around just in time to dodge the dagger that whistles past her ear. She lashes out with her spear at its owner, forcing them to step back, lest they be staked on the end of her weapon.

Another bandit is closing in on her side, a shadow of darkness in her peripheral vision. He wields two curved swords, the metal glinting dangerously in the half-light of the rising sun. He moves to strike, and Shenhe raises her weapon, preemptively bracing herself against his attack–

And then her skin prickles with cold, the hair on the back of her neck standing up. There is a flash of blue in the corner of her eyes, and a gust of frigid air whips past her.

Shenhe stiffens, but she doesn’t have enough time to react before her throat is braced behind an all-too-familiar weapon.

~

Rosaria
Snowflakes dance across Rosaria’s skin; the air is cold, bitterly so, and the grief that has lodged itself in her throat is dense and unmoving.

“Fine, then,” she growls, her voice low, polearm held at Shenhe’s neck, “if you really want to believe I led the bandits here, then I’ll play my part. Let us through, or I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“You will fail,” Shenhe replies coldly. Ghostly flames still lap at the edges of her eyes.

“You don’t know that. Now let us through.” Rosaria’s words are hard, rough, betraying none of the anguish she feels under her icy facade.

Shenhe is quiet for a long moment. The battlefield is silent; the sun, rising over the mountaintops, is as red as the blood staining the grass.

“This is not a fight you can win,” she says finally. “Leave, while you still have the chance.”

~

Shenhe
There is a familiar sound against the wind, light and graceful, imperceptible to those unaccustomed to it. Shenhe stays motionless behind Rosaria’s polearm, making no move to fight her. In a moment, she won’t have to.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria is caught at a crossroads.

She has Shenhe trapped. She could kill her, right now. It wouldn’t take much. Codi is watching her, their eyes fixed on her like a hawk, as though challenging her - daring her - to do it. To prove herself.

Everyone’s eyes are on Rosaria. They are all waiting for her, the Vision wielder, the child who defeated a bandit who once fought like a lion, to prove her loyalty. Her strength. To kill the adeptus child she has caught behind her spear.

The child Rosaria would not hesitate to call her closest friend, even after all this.

Worse still, Shenhe is making no attempt to escape. It is almost as though she has resigned herself to this fate; as though she has decided that if she must die, it would be best to die at the hands of someone she once called a friend.

The thought alone stings like a dagger. Rosaria can’t move against the misery rippling through her chest, even as her face remains stony.

And then a shadow descends across the battlefield, all elegant wings and sleek feathers, and a booming voice shatters the tense silence.

“One demands to know why you have disturbed one’s peace!”

The words seem to resonate from every direction, all at once. Rosaria whirls around, momentarily forgetting about the fight and her torn conscience. Standing before her, looming over the bloodstained clearing, is an enormous crane, with ornate patterns decorating its silvery-blue feathers. It seems to shine like the moon, dominating the space it’s in; Rosaria cannot tear her eyes away.

Shenhe certainly was never an adeptus.

This beast, on the other hand…

Well, this is what they’ve been looking for.

~

Shenhe
The blade falls away from Shenhe’s throat, and she steps back, slinking away from the battlefield.

It will be over soon, she reminds herself. Cloud Retainer will finish the job - should the bandits foolishly choose to keep fighting, she will tear them up in seconds. She is not as remorseful as her disciple - especially not when her meditations are interrupted.

Shenhe watches distantly as the lead bandit scrutinises Cloud Retainer before sweeping their gaze over the rest of their ragtag gang. They shake their head at one of their associates before raising their arm, calling for a retreat.

All the bandits move to descend from the mountains, battered and exhausted, except Rosaria. She hesitates, stopping to look around the clearing, her eyes wide and rounded. Briefly, Shenhe wonders what would happen if she ran out of her hiding place. What would she do? Say a final goodbye? Hit Rosaria?

I couldn’t, Shenhe thinks. Now that the battle has quietened, her beast has settled somewhat, curling back into the space beneath her ropes. She doesn’t know what would happen if she looked Rosaria in the eyes again.

So she chooses to simply sit and watch, waiting until Rosaria gives up, turning tail to follow the other bandits back down the mountainside.

~

Rosaria
“Can you believe it? She met the adeptus girl days ago, and instead of telling us about her, she befriended her and lied about it! Think of all the treasure she’s cost us!”

“Not to mention teaching that slimy adeptus one of her tricks. You saw how she used her Vision, right?”

“As if that’s the worst of it! She stopped Codi from killing the adeptus girl when they had the chance!”

“What’re we going to do with her now, then? Strip her of her Vision? She clearly isn’t using it properly.”

“Strip her of her Vision? Why not strip her of her life?”

“Yeah, we should just exile her and leave her to die in the snow. She won’t last a day without us - she’s far too soft.”

Rosaria trails behind the other bandits, listening silently as they debate her punishment. She should be screaming, sobbing at them to spare her, to give her another chance, to let her prove herself and stay, but… she can’t. Her entire body feels numb, as though she has torn off her own limbs and is now living with the phantom sensation of them. It reminds her of scarlet snow and bloodstained daggers; it reminds her of the first time she had to fight for her life, and the life she destroyed as a result.

Serle has been gone for years. Now, Rosaria’s friendship with Shenhe will become but a figment of her memory, just like him.

Rosaria tunes out the debate between the other bandits as they continue walking down the mountainside. She doesn’t have the strength to listen as they discuss her life, treating her with about as much importance as a simple commodity. To them, she probably is; for as long as she can remember, the bandit gang have traded their members between life and death, uncaring about the consequences.

She snaps to attention when Codi’s voice rises above the discussion, commanding and harsh.

“Silence!” they snap, and gradually, the bandits quieten. “That’s enough. I am her mentor, and I alone will decide what to do with her.”

Rosaria distantly sees Emil cross his arms, staring Codi down.

“So do it,” he says. “Decide.”

Codi is silent for a long moment. Rosaria’s heart thuds against her ribcage, a fraction too quickly.

“It was an honest mistake,” they finally say. “An incredibly stupid one, but an honest one nonetheless. The adeptus girl lied, remember? Rosaria had no idea of her true identity.”

The bandits erupt into dissent, all arguing at once against Codi’s decision. Rosaria cannot hear a word they are saying.

“Shut it! Let me finish!” Codi barks, waiting until the group quietens again. “She will be punished for her stupidity and ignorance. All extraneous work and chores will be assigned to her until we have returned to Dragonspine, and she will not be permitted food until it is all done. When she eats, she will eat less, so that those of us who are injured” - they raise one hand to their face, brushing it over blood-crusted skin - “will have enough to help us recover.”

There are grumbles of discussion as the bandits trail into the campsite to rest and dress their wounds. Rosaria moves to follow them, but she is stopped by a hand to her shoulder.

“I hope you’re grateful,” Codi says coldly. They aren’t looking at her.

“I am. I - thank you.” It’s still a harsh punishment, but… at least she isn’t dead.

There is a moment of silence. Codi’s hand stays where it is, resting lighting against Rosaria’s shoulder, stopping her from moving any further.

Finally, they say, “do you know why I keep you around?”

“No.” Rosaria’s voice is small.

“For your Vision, and your Vision only. I intend only to study it. So if you want me to keep being sympathetic, you’d better start using it properly.”

“I–”

“I saw how that adeptus girl used hers,” Codi hisses, their eyes finally meeting Rosaria’s. Their gaze is wild, fiery, and Rosaria shrinks beneath their stare. “She had a skill like yours. I wonder where she learned it?”

Rosaria opens and closes her mouth, but no sound comes out. Any shred of an argument sticks in her throat - Codi is right, after all, and Rosaria has no idea how to defend herself.

“I thought so.” Their voice is cold, as sharp and piercing as a knife’s edge. They move away, stiff and silent, leaving Rosaria to stumble into the campsite alone, her head spinning.

She has truly lost everyone, now.

~

Shenhe
The wind is quiet tonight, the air heavy, almost mournful, sweet with the smell of oncoming rain. Darkening clouds blot out the horizon; Shenhe chooses not to look any further upwards, for she cannot bear to see the stars. Not tonight. Not when she feels like she has a thousand wounds under her skin that have all been rubbed raw.

The aftereffects of letting her curse unleash itself - to the extent it was able while the ropes were still bound, at least - weigh heavy in her limbs. There is exhaustion, and… a feeling she cannot quite put into words. She no longer feels as though she fits within her bones; she feels so small, so powerless, when the beast is quiet. She feels… lost.

Shenhe stops at the mouth of a familiar tunnel, resting her back against the stone. This place, once a comfort, now tears her soul in two. It has been tainted by her, by those star-studded eyes, those dreams for a more hopeful future. Shenhe will never forget the nights she was able to finally feel like a kid again, to feel human - to just be, for the first time in years.

She will never forget how Rosaria tore it all away like it meant nothing.

It takes several minutes for Shenhe to steel herself and walk into the cavern, to the rock sculptures still sitting motionlessly in their patch of moonlight. Shenhe stops a few paces away from them, forcing herself to breathe.

One, two. Three, four.

She hates those sculptures. She wants to tear them apart, to throw every pebble off the side of Mount Aocang and watch as they all disappear. She wants to forget Rosaria was ever here.

But she can’t.

She can’t do it.

She reaches out, but her hands are shaking, and she can’t even bring herself to touch the sculptures. She couldn’t hurt Rosaria when it mattered, and now, she doesn’t even have it in herself to destroy the last tangible memory of her.

Archons above. She is far too sentimental.

Eventually, she simply removes the sticks from beside the sculptures, tossing them carelessly outside the cavern. They were Rosaria’s contributions… it is cruel, really, how she foreshadowed her betrayal, and Shenhe looked every sign in the face and ignored them all. She was so trusting, so gullible. It is almost bitter to think about.

She can pretend, for this final moment, that it didn’t happen. That things are okay - that they are still just two kids, playing in this cavern, talking about their pasts, their dreams. Shenhe has removed the rock sculptures’ faux weapons, choosing instead to freeze them in a moment before it all turned violent.

For a long moment, she sits with her back resting against the cold stone wall, and simply stares at the sculptures. They are unmoving, a picture of stability, of constancy - all things that were never really there.

Shenhe’s heart feels hollow as she watches them. She contemplates that feeling; hollowness. A lack of something. Emptiness.

It is oddly… comfortable. Familiar, even. As though she is meant to be here.

Those human sensibilities - trust, rage, friendship, hatred - they ruined her, forcing her to face the monstrous side of her soul she grew up fearing. Her ropes quieten them, dulling their cries to a greyed-out buzz, but that is no longer enough.

Shenhe will silence them. She will find her way back to this hollowness again and again, until it is the only thing she understands. She knows, now, that this emptiness is where she belongs.

Chapter Text

The past is naught but a bloodstained shadow, haunted by the ghosts of what could’ve been.

~

Shenhe
The forest is quiet as Shenhe trains, summoning the power of her Vision to bring forth talismans and her Cryo avatar. It fights in tandem with her, lunging at invisible enemies in gushes of cold air. Shenhe steps with grace and elegance, wielding her polearm with no shortage of dexterity.

She is twelve years old now, and has developed into a most proficient fighter under Cloud Retainer’s guidance. Pausing in her attack patterns, she creates an icy talisman out of thin air before flinging it aside to summon a ring of exorcist’s symbols around her.

“Pretty cool, right?” Shenhe says to her Cryo avatar, which is now hovering beside her, watching her with that faceless visage. It says nothing.

Shenhe huffs, flicking a hand to dissolve both the talisman ring and her avatar. Stupid, she thinks. Talking to a frozen reflection of yourself like it’s your friend.

People like you don’t have friends.

She swallows, forcing down the lump in her throat, but it simply lodges itself behind her heart instead.

Stop being so upset, she chides herself. This is your destiny: a fate of loneliness and devastation. Rejecting it is futile.

After all, the one time she tried, she ended up facing off against a dozen bandits, all alone, with nothing but her unleashed demons beside her. The one time she tried, she had to watch as the only friend she’d ever made betrayed her, leaving her behind like she was nothing.

The loneliness she has surrounded herself with since then is bitterly cold, but Shenhe has resigned herself to it, hardening her heart against its icy chill. No matter how much it hurts, it is still infinitely better than the heat of rage and the fires of calamity.

But still, a part of her yearns to be among mortals again, even for a moment. While she does have the adepti to keep her company, they are blunt and unsympathetic to mortal strife; should Shenhe ever bring up her loneliness to Cloud Retainer (and she has, countless times), she is simply told either to entertain herself with machinery she doesn’t understand or regaled with one of Cloud Retainer’s many rambling tales. Those things may curb whatever the adepti feel in place of loneliness, but they have never quite worked for Shenhe.

Even the adepti more closely aligned with mortals are of no use to her. The last time Ganyu visited, she and Cloud Retainer spent the entire time discussing issues Shenhe couldn’t even begin to understand (she has no idea what “taxes” are). When Xiao stopped by once, he brought a plate of almond tofu with him, laying it on the table in Cloud Retainer’s courtyard. The smell was so tantalising that Shenhe hovered around it all afternoon, but Cloud Retainer never allowed her a single bite. Xiao simply watched Shenhe silently that day, his expression unreadable.

Shenhe remembers very little about her life before the adepti, but she knows she misses the people. Her mother and father, before everything changed; her Uncle Mingjun, the most caring man she’s ever met; the shouts of other children, running wildly through the village streets.

The village.

Stars above, she misses her village.

It was small and quaint, but it was lively, and it was home. She hasn’t been back since becoming Cloud Retainer’s disciple, and she tells herself it’s simply because it would anger her mentor. In truth, the mere thought of her village causes ripples of sadness to radiate from her heart; nostalgia and pain, coating the blade of an invisible dagger.

And yet… there is something else there now, a flicker, sparkling a dull shade of gold.

Curiosity.

~

Rosaria
The wind is sharp, the air crisp and clear, stinging in Rosaria’s lungs when she inhales. The bandits are trekking along the outskirts of Dragonspine, a short distance from where the crunching snow underfoot gives way to soft grass. Thawing ice turns the ground to slush, but Rosaria’s feet stay steady, even under the weight of balled-up tents and bedrolls.

Distantly, Rosaria can see the lush greenery of Mondstadt’s wilderness, beyond the river that cuts it off from the untameable snows of Dragonspine. The colours - spring green beneath a sky like freedom - bring back memories of running through brilliant forests, with emerald grass and coppery trees, soaring cliffs reaching into an endless horizon. She thinks of hair like soft clouds and eyes like the untouchable sky.

Dammit, Rosaria, it’s been years. Quit being so soft.

Softness is not something she tolerates in her life anymore. Softness is dangerous; softness means being outcast, turned away, looked down upon. Softness is weakness, and weakness is never an option.

“Hurry it up, stick-insect.” A rough hand collides with Rosaria’s shoulder, shoving her forwards; she stumbles, but remains on her feet, steadfast.

“Fuck off, Tanner,” she snaps in return. “Last I checked, Codi was the one leading today, not me. You wanna take it up with them and see where that gets you?”

Tanner sets his jaw, but says nothing.

“Ha. Thought so.”

They continue trekking in silence; Rosaria keeps up a steady pace, closely following the bandit ahead of her. Tanner can try all he likes to continue picking on her - he will fail, and they both know it. Rosaria has frozen herself over, becoming as cold and untouchable as ice. She will not give him anything to work with - not anymore.

Rosaria isn’t sure how far the sun drifts across the sky before someone speaks again. It is Emil, this time - and he is calling her name.

“Hey, Ro. See that old village up there?”

She peers past his outstretched hand, squinting at what seems to be a collection of dilapidated structures, further up along the mountainside.

“That’s a village?”

“I mean, yeah.” Emil laughs, the sound of it rough and grating. “It used to be.”

“Right.” Rosaria drags her gaze across to his face, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. Emil’s eyes sparkle in turn; mischief, and it’s the devious kind.

“That’s the village where we found you,” he says.

Rosaria feels the words hit like a dagger through her heart. It takes all her strength not to halt in her tracks; when she steps, her feet feel leaden, her limbs suddenly ghostlike.

She recognises the village as they grow closer, and cannot believe she didn’t realise sooner.

She knows this place: she came here years ago, when she was still fragile and soft enough for Tanner to pick on. It hurt her more than anything ever had before, and it hurts even more now that those repressed images are resurfacing, flooding her mind with anguish.

That’s the village where we found you. Emil’s words ring in her head as they pass the wreckage.

Found me? Rosaria thinks scathingly. No. They stole me from here.

They stole the lives of everyone who lived here. They stole the future I should’ve had.

They stole everything from me.

The remains of this village - her village, the place she should belong - are even more dilapidated than she remembers. What is left of the charred wooden structures has crumbled further, having been buried beneath years of snowfall. Any trace of life, of homeliness and humanity, has completely disappeared.

Rosaria has to tear her gaze away. The pain is far too much to bear.

~

Shenhe
Finally.

A familiar pathway, leading down through the trees. She isn’t sure how many wrong turns she made on the way here - at one point, she could’ve sworn she’d passed the same tree three times, and nearly tore it up by its roots in irritation - but it doesn’t matter anymore. She’s finally on the right track.

The path beneath her feet overwhelms her with memories. She had been so tiny, then, stumbling over loose pebbles while clutching a rough, warm hand. The smell of fresh rain and mountain herbs wreaths around her; Shenhe can’t tell if she’s imagining it, but she stops anyway, closing her eyes as she draws in a deep breath.

“Xiaowen, Xiaowen, look over there!”

Shenhe’s eyes snap open, her hand flying to the shaft of her polearm. Someone screeches when she holds it up defensively, and her gaze lands upon a pair of children, peering out curiously from behind a tree. They gasp when she meets their eyes, ducking back to hide behind the trunk.

Shenhe sighs, putting her polearm away. This time, she knows better than to interact with wild children. As she listens to their hushed conversation, it becomes apparent that they know better, too.

“Is that an adeptus?”

“I think so. She looks kinda scary. Do you see her hair?”

“And her spear… Hmph, Mama would never let us have spears.”

“Oh! Come on, we have to tell Mama we met one! We really, really met one!”

Something akin to grief pierces Shenhe’s heart. If things had been different, those children may have been her friends… but now, they don’t even recognise her as one of their own. She watches as they run off, shrieking with excitement, dark hair billowing in the stiff mountain breeze. Distantly, she sees them dash up to an elegant figure, who bends to greet them with open arms. They rush to envelope her in a hug, and Shenhe tears her gaze away, pressing the base of her palm to her aching chest.

The path continues winding down the mountain, and Shenhe follows it in silence. The air is sweet with the restless wild; an azure butterfly flits past, and Shenhe watches it, revelling in the companionable quiet. She is lonely still, but it is in moments like these that she feels most comfortable with it. The wind is a playful friend, the rustling of leaves a background conversation. A pair of crimson foxes chase each other across the pathway and Shenhe stops to watch them, ignoring the lump that rises in her throat.

They’re just foxes. That’s all.

Eventually, the path opens up, and Shenhe knows she’s close. She is leaving the untameable woods and arriving somewhere that is altogether more domestic. The trees begin to thin out into rolling fields, where she and her friends used to run, the endless sky soaring above them. Soon, those lush meadows and wildflowers will make way for rows of houses, nestled cosily together on the mountaintop. A community.

Or… what used to be a community.

Shenhe finds herself standing in swathes of long grass, staring at the hollowed-out shells of homes she once knew. Homes that were filled with life, somewhere in a memory that’s long gone. Now, they are swarming with bandits.

Archons above. Shenhe can’t stand to even look at those black-cloaked people, and yet her eyes can’t help but rove across their ranks, looking for ragged hair, an oversized hood, and the colour of silk flowers. She isn’t sure whether to feel relieved or upset when she doesn’t find them.

One of the bandits meets Shenhe’s eyes. A moment later, she is striding across the grass, her face shadowed by her hood.

“Hah! So the adepti do come this far out after all.” The bandit crouches in front of Shenhe, her eyes patronising, dangerous. “Last I heard, you lot were recluses.”

“I’m not an adeptus,” Shenhe responds flatly. “Please let me pass. I mean no trouble.”

“Tsk, tsk. ‘Not an adeptus’... who do you think you’re fooling, kid? Taking on the form of some child can’t hide what you really are. This isn’t your place - if you want to get through, you’d better give me something worth my time.”

“If you want treasure, I don’t carry it with me.”

“I’ll take all the Mora you’ve got.”

Shenhe levels the bandit with a stare. “If you’re so convinced I’m an adeptus, what makes you think I need Mora?”

“Boss,” another bandit says timidly, coming up behind his leader, “maybe you should stop antagonising the adeptus, otherwise… well, you know…”

“What’s she gonna do, curse us?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, exactly,” he stammers. “Don’t you remember the sickness from a couple years back? A-and what happened to A-Tian?”

The bandit sighs, getting back to her feet. “Fine. If it puts your heart at ease.”

“It does, it does. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, fool.”

“I’m sorry, I– well, you can thank me when she inevitably blesses us instead.”

“Right.”

Shenhe watches, unamused, as they walk off. She makes her way into the village, ignoring the eyes tracking her movements from the shadows. The bandits leave her alone as she wanders the abandoned streets, completely void of all the life she remembers. The friendly neighbours, the noisy children, the scent of fresh flowers on the breeze… all of it has disappeared.

Her heart is in her throat as she makes her way into her old house. It is desolate, every corner strung with cobwebs, spiders hanging like darkened lanterns. The drapery hanging from the ceiling is torn and moth-eaten, the once-beautiful embroidered images no longer recognisable. Shenhe traces her fingers down one tattered banner; she remembers how it used to look, decorated with exorcist’s symbols she hoped she’d one day be able to read. She probably could now, had the words not been chewed through by moths.

A stiff breeze whisks past the broken door and Shenhe wraps her arms around herself, suddenly aware of just how cold and lonely her house has become. This isn’t the house where she drew pictures with her mother. This can’t be the room where her father used to carry her above his head and spin her in circles, his face adorned with the smile he lost far too early. This place is foreign, a home completely devoid of life save for the spiders hiding in the corners.

She makes her way further in, stepping through a doorway into what used to be her father’s study. All of his old books and scrolls still line the shelves, their surfaces so thick with dust that Shenhe feels as though she is staring across an endless sea of grey. She picks a scroll at random, shaking the dust off of it before rolling it open on her father’s desk. It is a historical document, filled with jargon Shenhe cannot understand and penned in a hand she struggles to read.

It is not long before she returns it to the shelf and turns away, hastily retreating from the house. The memories are too much, the nostalgia, the way her ropes seem to tighten…

“What brings you here, little adeptus?”

Shenhe startles at the voice, whirling around to see a young bandit, his face shadowed with adolescent stubble. She cannot decipher his expression; it somehow seems sly and welcoming all at once, but Shenhe is immediately drowned in a wave of distrust all the same.

“It’s none of your business,” she tells him, choosing not to correct his assumptions. Then, “...what happened here?”

“Don’t you know? Man, you lot really are more reclusive than I thought.” He laughs easily, leaning back against the dilapidated walls of Shenhe’s former home. “Some stuff went down years ago - something about an old god. They put some old signage up about it” - he gestures vaguely westwards, towards the centre of the village - “but there really was no point. Not many people come this way anymore.”

“I see.” Shenhe turns to follow a path she still knows like the back of her hand.

“You’re not even going to thank me?” The bandit comments wryly, a trace of mirth still in his voice. Shenhe offers no response but a cordial raise of her hand before she continues walking away.

It does not take her long to find the signage. She tears the paper off the board to look more closely at it - the words sit like sludge in her brain, thick with emotions she cannot begin to comprehend.

“A branch family of exorcists used to live in the east of the village, but a year after the mother died of disease, the young daughter went missing, and shortly after, the father hanged himself on a tree in the yard of his own house.

“It has been confirmed that traces of an evil god's remains were found in the village.

“The villagers are panicking as no one is certain whether the evil god's remains are gone for good.

“Do be careful when you are in this area.”

She reads the words again, and again, and again, until she has made herself numb to them and the yellowed paper slips quietly from her grasp. She isn’t sure what to think about first - she isn’t even sure how to feel.

She can’t feel, not like she used to, and it somehow makes everything worse.

This should be tearing her apart. She should… she should fall to her knees, maybe, or tear at her hair, or just scream until the pain in her heart subsides. She should shake with anguish, or maybe with regret, or maybe even with anger that fate let things turn out this way.

Instead, she just feels… numb.

There are traces of emotion there, in her heart, traces of the person she used to be. Ever since starlight and silk flowers entered and then promptly ruined her life, she has leaned into the ropes, into the emptiness, the nothingness, wrapping it around her like a cloak she refuses to shed. And now, it’s like she cannot even remember how to feel, and in these moments when she should, that nothingness seems horribly wrong.

“I’m sorry, Baba,” she whispers into the crisp mountain air. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice breaks, hot tears pricking at the back of her eyes - physical manifestations of a grief she can only half-feel.

Her stomach lurches as she thinks back to her house, to the tree in her yard, which she walked past without so much as a second glance.

Her father died there.

It is sickening, to know that she wandered right past the place where he took his own life, and to know that she had no idea.

To know, now, that she was part of the reason why.

Baba, she thinks, turning her eyes to the sky, do you know that I’m still alive?

Do you hate me for it?

Shenhe curls into herself, her soul aching, pressing against the ropes’ tight restraint. What if she had never existed at all? Perhaps, then, her mother would still be alive, and her father’s heart would never have been broken. They could still be happy, if Shenhe’s curse had not descended upon them like a dark cloud, swelling with the promise of rain.

She cannot even bring herself to look back up at what’s left of the village. This - this was all her fault.

Her beast rears its ugly head within her, choking her from the inside out, and she is wracked with such a terrible sense of self-loathing that it brings her to her knees. The demon - no, the ancient god - she faced as a child seems harmless in the face of what festers within her. This power… she defeated a god when she was six, and she destroyed her family and their home along with it.

“Oh my word, it really is an adeptus,” a soft voice comes from behind her, and Shenhe startles, struggling to see through her tears. It’s a mortal woman, with the two young children Shenhe met in the woods behind her.

“I’m not,” Shenhe croaks, but her voice is so raspy that the woman does not seem to hear her.

“You’re a gorgeous thing, aren’t you?” the woman murmurs, reaching out as if she wants to stroke Shenhe’s hair. “Why are you so upset? You must be very far from home, poor thing.”

“I’m not,” Shenhe says again, louder this time. “I’m not an adeptus. I’m just - just an ordinary kid, I–” her voice breaks, and she draws in a deep breath, her lungs trembling. “This was my village.”

The woman tuts at her. “You don’t have to lie to me, darling. We’re not going to beg you for any favours.”

“I’m serious,” Shenhe says, even as her resolve crumbles. “This was my home.”

“I don’t think you understand,” the woman says kindly, but Shenhe only feels patronised. “Nobody has lived here in years. This place is as abandoned as it could possibly get.” As she speaks, she reaches out towards Shenhe, who recoils like a wild animal. She scrambles to her feet as the woman looks on pitifully, her children huddled behind her legs, eyes wide and curious.

Shenhe scans their faces, trying to gauge the looks in their eyes. Admiration, reverence, pity… they stare at her as though she is inhuman. As though she is little more than a beautiful, ethereal creature, only to be appraised from a distance.

“I have to go,” Shenhe finally says, the words stilted and hard, before she takes off running.

She doesn’t stop until she reaches the treeline again; until ferns brush her ankles and rays of sunlight turn to dappled spots along the ground. Once the village is out of sight, she collapses against a tree, her chest heaving through stifled sobs.

She is well and truly alone now. There is nothing left for her in the mortal realm - an entire world of places to go, and there is not a single one where she belongs.

~

Rosaria
The nights are blisteringly cold in Dragonspine. If Rosaria cared more about her own wellbeing, she would be sheltered under a tent, curled up in her ratty sleeping bag with her face tucked away from the wind. Instead, she is trekking through the late-night snowfall, making her way back down the mountain path using her wits and memory alone. The moon is her distant, lonesome guide.

Her feet sink into a gross mixture of slush and fresh snow. Her socks are soggy and frigid; she wonders quietly if there’s another hole in one of her boots. She will need new ones soon anyways, if the pinched feeling in her toes is anything to go by.

It is not long before she comes across the first dilapidated piece of wood, sticking out from the snow like an old bone. It is blackened and crumbling, with burn marks like bruises from a difficult past. Rosaria runs her hand across it, brushing away the layers of snow that have settled on its surface. It is cold and uncomfortably moist, and as parts of it flake away beneath her touch, Rosaria realises just how fragile these ruins are.

Everything here has always been fragile. That was how the bandits destroyed it so easily.

If I ever find freedom, she thinks, and if I ever find another comfortable, homely place to live in, I will do everything in my power to make sure this never happens again.

Buildings may be fragile. The people who were once Rosaria’s family may have been fragile, too.

She won’t be.

Rosaria wants to become the night itself; all-encompassing and dangerous, black shadows fluid and untouchable. She will become a whisper of vengeance for the innocence she lost to roaring fires and the childhood she will never get back. If she ever escapes the life she’s been dragged into, she will make sure nobody under her watch is made to suffer like this again. It is already too late for people like her - and Shenhe, she thinks distantly, remembering the only person who has ever understood her pain - but it doesn’t mean that the future is lost.

Suppressing a sigh, Rosaria makes her way further into the ruins until she is surrounded by a forest of broken wood and cracked stone. She stands amidst towers of rubble, choked by weeds and drowning in snow.

All this mess… this used to be home. Not just her home, but the homes of many others, who–

Bile rises in Rosaria’s throat. She was the only one who left the village that day, the only one who made it out alive amidst the scarlet and orange.

She moves a stone with her foot, brushing away the snow that has gathered around it. Moonlight reflects dully off something twiglike and pale, small against the wreckage that serves as its backdrop.

Bone.

These aren’t just ruins.

She is standing in a mass graveyard.

Rosaria falls to her knees, choking back sobs. Her eyes blur, until bone and snow and rock all blend together, her vision a canvas of dull grey and slush-brown. Frigid water soaks into her pants, chilling her knees, but she hardly notices.

“Mama,” she whispers, her hand shaking as she reaches towards the bones poking out from under the rubble. “Papa…”

She won’t touch the bodies - she doesn’t dare to - but oh, archons, just to feel close to the people who once loved her… the thought alone chokes her up even further. For all she knows, these uncovered bones could belong to a total stranger, but it doesn’t matter. Just for a moment, she can let herself believe.

“I miss you,” she murmurs, voice hoarse through her tears. She curls up on her side in the snow, ignoring the prickling cold along her skin. It hardly registers through the whirlwind of misery that has swallowed her whole. “I wish I got to know you.”

It doesn’t matter that every single lost soul buried here is technically a stranger. Rosaria has no memories of them - even her parents are little more than hazy shapes in the foggy recollection of her early years. She still knows that this place is home; that it should’ve been home, and that she shouldn’t be lying here, alone, surrounded by the frost-covered bones of people she could have loved.

Why? She wonders quietly to herself, blurry eyes tracking the constellations above her. Why was I spared?

Why couldn’t Serle have left me here, too?

Being here feels like she’s stumbled upon a part of herself she didn’t even realise was missing, except it’s been gone for so long that her body has grown crookedly around the gap that it left. She has no way of fitting it back in now, and the hole in her chest aches mournfully with that knowledge.

She is so lonely. So painfully isolated, even when she’s surrounded by the other members of the bandit gang. She’s learned to act like them, but it feels more like wearing a second skin; a cloak that doesn’t quite fit properly, the fabric of it wrinkling in some places and stretching taut in others. It is a facade, and one that she hasn’t quite grown into, even after all these years.

Something lands in the snow nearby, and Rosaria is on her feet in a heartbeat, her grief momentarily forgotten.

“Who’s there?” she hisses into the darkness. The silence is disconcerting. “Show yourself!”

Silence, again, and then she hears the soft yelp of an animal. A pair of snowy foxes tumble out from behind a crumbling pillar of stone, their eyes bright in the darkness, fur fluffed up against the cold. One barks playfully at the other before they skitter away, chasing each other through a maze of rubble.

Rosaria sighs, letting her shoulders drop. Part of her chides herself for getting so worked up over what turned out to be just a couple of foxes; the other part is drowning in bittersweet memories of moon-touched hair and scarlet ropes.

You’re too soft, she tells herself as she flops back down in the slush. It really is detrimental; if she weren’t like this, she wouldn’t be freezing herself to death, lying in the snow amidst the bones of people she’s never met. She wouldn’t be reminiscing over a friendship, long since destroyed, with someone she only knew for a matter of days. She’s so disgustingly soft, and she hates herself for it, because it only makes it hurt that much more when the people she loves inevitably leave her.

Sometimes, Rosaria wonders if there is simply something wrong with her. Why else would she drive away everyone she has ever cared about? The family she can’t remember, swallowed by tongues of fire, who she was stolen from before she even knew how to walk. Serle, the closest thing to a father she ever had, who died by her own hand. And Shenhe, the only person who ever understood that kind of pain, whose trust Rosaria destroyed before she even realised why.

Shenhe. Their encounter was so brief, so fleeting, and yet… a part of Rosaria, the part she hates the most, still dearly misses her. Rosaria hadn’t realised how heavy her loneliness was until she met someone who helped her bear its burden.

She can’t help but wonder how Shenhe is now. Is she lonely, too? Is she more powerful? Does she still visit the rock sculptures they made together, that final night before it all fell apart?

Rock sculptures, Shenhe had said, with that characteristic bluntness. That way, I will always have something to remember you by.

Something to remember me by…

Rosaria lies in the snow, gears spinning in her head. Barely a breath away is crushed bone, poking out from the soil; the remnants of someone she wishes she knew. Someone who the world has long since forgotten.

“I remember you,” Rosaria whispers, the words clouding above her. I remember that this place was home.

She gets to her feet, ignoring the way her clothes stick to her skin, soggy and cold. The fabric creases uncomfortably in her joints every time she moves, but she pays it no mind - she is doing something far more important. As she wanders through the moonlit snow, she picks every sprig of mint and sweet flower that she finds, filling her arms with bundles of colour. Her nose itches with the overwhelming smell, but still she pushes on, picking flowers until she can’t carry any more. Then, she makes her way back to the ruins, hugging her bundle of plants close to her chest.

The remains of her old village look forbidden and imposing, silhouetted against the moon. The broken structures look monstrous: warped and twisted, their forms fractured beyond recognition. It is hard to believe there used to be an entire community here.

There used to be life here. Life, and colour, and vibrance. Rosaria can’t help but smile longingly as she pictures it.

And now, she is bringing all those things back, if only a little bit. Life, and colour, and vibrance. It’s the least she could do.

She wanders through the ruins, laying sweet flowers and mint wherever she goes. The remnants of an old doorway, crumbling and broken, the hinges rusted and burnt; the charred remains of what used to be a fence, closing off someone’s garden; the bones she finds poking out of the ground in what she imagines was once the village centre, a place for the community to congregate. She brushes snow off of the bones before laying a sprig of mint across them.

“I miss you,” she whispers, lingering there. “I’m sorry.”

The whistling of the wind is the only response.

Rosaria stands, her heart heavy, and continues on her way. She lays a sweet flower on the edge of the old well; on an icy pathway, ancient footprints frozen beneath the snow; and in every crumbling room and charred corridor she comes across. She scatters plants everywhere, filling the empty village with colour, blues and golds and greens bright against the snow.

Finally, when her hands are empty and she’s whispered softly to every smoke-singed bone she finds, she stands in the old village centre and just breathes.

Home. This was home, once. It’s impossible to believe she had one, after a life of hiking through the snow on treasure-trails and sleeping in a tattered bedroll, trying fruitlessly to warm her callused hands.

Rosaria feels nothing but hatred when she thinks of the destruction the bandits wrought upon this place. She loathes them, for dragging her into a life of crimson and cold. Did they really think they were being merciful?

I doubt it, Rosaria thinks bitterly. ‘Mercy’ is not a word she could ever equate with them. They probably just wanted another pair of hands to do the dirty work for them. Someone to sew the boarskin cloaks, to polish their spears. Someone who works hard and eats less.

She glances at the moon, startling when she realises it has already begun to dip towards the horizon. Dawn will break in a few hours - she needs to get back to camp, to get a few fretful hours of sleep before another hard day tomorrow.

Her stomach twists when she thinks about it. Camp, among the other bandits, is the last place she wants to be right now. The moon is falling, but it is still too early to leave her lost family. She can’t bring herself to move away, not yet, not when she knows that tomorrow she’ll trek too far to come back.

So she decides to stay. She curls up in a corner, tucked between two broken stone walls, looking out over what’s left of her village. How many more bones are lost beneath the soil and snowfall? How many people’s lives were stolen that day, swallowed by the burning red? Her heart is in her throat as she thinks about it, and she can’t bring herself to wonder about the answer.

Tucking her legs in close, Rosaria breathes on her hands, trying in vain to warm them up. It’s foolish, staying out here, cold stone at her back, but it’s better than going back to her bedroll. She isn’t sure how long she sits there for, ignoring the chills running along her spine, her eyelids sliding shut despite themselves. By the time she opens them again, the horizon is stained pink, the first rays of sunlight scattering the last persistent stars.

Rosaria stands, her bones cracking as she stretches. She rubs sleep from her eyes and gazes around at the dashes of blue and gold dotting the snowy landscape.

At least this time, she gets a chance to say goodbye.

Chapter Text

A reunion, in bloodshed and snow.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria walks in silence, distantly listening as the other bandits bicker up ahead. She is part of the group on firewood duty - a job she’d rather not be doing, purely because she cannot complete it alone. It would be a fairly straightforward task, if it weren’t for the smug laziness so many of the other bandits wear like a cloak, and their tendency to constantly argue.

Almost perfectly on cue, Tanner begins shouting something, his voice laced with arrogance and aggression. Rosaria rolls her eyes, relieved that they are almost back at camp. If she has to spend any longer in this group she thinks her head might explode.

(Either that, or she’ll take the bag of firewood and use it to beat Tanner black and blue. He would never let her hear the end of it.)

Thoroughly bored, she slides off one glove and runs her fingers through spindly bushes, relishing in the prickle of snow-dusted branches against her skin. It’s a reminder that she is still alive, after everything.

And then she hears voices.

New voices - unfamiliar voices.

Rosaria stops, wondering whether she’s finally lost it. Maybe it was just the rustle of her hand through tiny leaves, distorted by paranoia. Maybe it was just the wind.

She stays motionless for one second, two seconds, three. Her heartbeat sounds thunderous.

And then she hears them again.

There’s a grunt, and the soft crunch of footfalls in snow. Rosaria ducks behind the bushes, quietly parting the branches so she can peer through. She’s near a clearing, dusted in snow. And in the centre of it–

Rosaria blinks, not quite believing what she’s seeing. She rubs her eyes, and then pinches herself, convinced she must be dreaming.

After all, standing amidst the towering pines is a girl with snow-white hair and opalescent eyes, her shoulders bound in scarlet ropes. Rosaria would recognise her anywhere.

“Hey, stick-bug!”

The voice snaps Rosaria out of her trance, but before she can respond, a rough hand collides with her shoulder and sends her sprawling. She shakes snow out of her hair and looks up, meeting Tanner’s ugly scowl.

“Quit slacking, stick-bug,” he snaps. “We all already know you’re crazy, but you don’t have to inconvenience the rest of us because of it.”

Rosaria huffs out an irritated breath.

“Wow,” she responds after a moment. “That’s a big word, numbskull. Did you learn that one just to insult me?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls. “Stop acting like you’re so much smarter than the rest of us. You’re practically still a baby.”

“I’m fifteen, just so you know,” Rosaria snaps. “And you’re acting like a three-year-old.” She pulls herself back to her feet and dusts off her cloak, storming off before Tanner can retaliate.

She hears him huff angrily behind her, but her mind has already drifted back to the snow-dusted clearing and the girl she thought she’d never see again.

~

Shenhe
“Hey, stick-bug!”

A loud - and thoroughly irritating - voice rings out nearby, shattering Shenhe’s concentration, and the half-formed talisman between her fingers dissipates. She hears something thud into the snow before the voice sounds again, quieter this time. Another one joins it shortly after, too soft for Shenhe to make out the words.

“Focus, child,” Cloud Retainer chides her gently. “Is something the matter?”

Shenhe tears her gaze away from the distant trees, pushing the bickering voices to the back of her mind.

“No, Master,” she says, resuming a fighting stance. “It was nothing.”

She is through with mortals, after all.

~

Rosaria
The moon is high as Rosaria retraces her footsteps, picking her way through night-dark shadows and silver snow, back to that secluded clearing. Her heart is in her throat as she crouches behind the bushes; she feels so cowardly all of a sudden, with all of the softness she’s tried so hard to bury spilling out between her ribs.

What is she even doing here? She has left her childhood naïvety long behind, where it belongs. She had left Shenhe there too, allowing her to become little more than a distant memory, a whisper of red and white in the back of Rosaria’s mind. Why couldn’t she have stayed there?

It’s too late to turn back now, Rosaria tells herself, getting back to her feet and stepping into the clearing.

It’s empty.

A cold breeze whisks through dry branches; they rattle like bones, ominous and hollow. Snowflakes drift past on the wind, settling over Rosaria’s cloak and in the fringes of her hair. She is too preoccupied by the ragged sounds of her own breath to notice.

She isn’t sure what else she was expecting, when she made the impulsive decision to trek back out here in the middle of the night.

Did you really think Shenhe would be waiting here for you?

The voice in her mind is cruel, its words icy and logical.

Are you really that stupid?

Rosaria feels like kicking herself. Of course Shenhe wasn’t going to be here - why would she, at this time of night? She’s probably curled up in a tent somewhere, sleeping soundly, preparing for another hard day of training. She probably doesn’t think about Rosaria at all.

You’re so soft, Rosaria chides herself, the same way she has been for the past six years. Her heart feels like it’s melting through the bars of her ribcage; like all it took was a glimpse of her past for every icy wall she built around it to crumble.

She is soft. Soft enough to stay in this moonlit clearing, with snow beneath her back and the stars circling above her. She’s soft enough to hope.

~

Shenhe
The snow on Dragonspine is cruel and unyielding, laced with the scent of the past.

Shenhe wants to forget. When she stands on the soaring cliffs in Jueyun Karst, watching snowflakes drift softly from a dove-grey sky, it’s easy to keep her spirit locked beneath her ropes. But here, where the snow falls thick and the wind is harsh, those roiling emotions from years before start to bubble back up to the surface.

This place… Shenhe can’t help but hate it. Every second she spends here is another reminder of her.

“Shenhe.” A long-necked shadow looms over her then. “One senses that you are not focused. Are you not sufficiently rested?”

“My apologies, Master.” Shenhe bows her head respectfully. “I was just distracted.”

“It is alright. Come now - one wishes to see you demonstrate how you would exorcise a malevolent spirit.”

Shenhe dutifully summons her exorcist’s talismans, letting them fan out in a ring around her. Pride flickers dully in her chest; the blue glow always reminds her of that heirloom knife, still safely tucked away in Cloud Retainer’s abode. She is finally following in her mother’s footsteps.

She supposes that’s one thing she can thank Rosaria for. Ever since she left, and Shenhe firmly sealed her heart behind frigid ice and scarlet ropes, it has been easier to control the beast. She tries not to let herself feel anything anymore - and even if she does, those emotions are greyed-out now, dulled by her resolve. Without those flames in her heart, the beast has nothing to thrive on.

And so, satisfied that Shenhe had learned to control her calamitous urges, Cloud Retainer had agreed to start guiding her in the exorcist arts. Years later, and Shenhe is here, with luminescent blue at her hips and a talisman between two fingers, her dream finally coming within reach.

She just wishes she didn’t have to be doing this in Dragonspine, but Cloud Retainer had insisted.

“One believes that you must become closer with the elemental magic you wield,” she’d said. “In order to better understand your own abilities, you must first understand what they are made of.”

“But we have snow right here,” Shenhe had argued, aghast at the thought of travelling to Dragonspine.

“Bah! The snow here is nothing compared to Dragonspine,” Cloud Retainer had retorted, and that was that.

Shenhe summons her Cryo avatar to fight alongside her. Snowflakes burst in the air as it appears, the talisman on its forehead flickering in the bristling wind. It follows Shenhe step-for-step as she carves her polearm through the air, its blade gleaming blue - the same colour that saved her life all those years ago.

“Excellent,” Cloud Retainer says, once Shenhe has finished her demonstration. “Your skills are developing nicely.”

“Thank you, Master.” Shenhe bows, before flicking one hand to dismiss her Cryo avatar.

If she’s doing well… hopefully that means they can go home soon. Every day she spends here is another chance of colliding headlong with her memories, and Shenhe doesn’t want to know what will happen if she does. The part of herself she tries desperately to ignore can’t help but whisper with possibilities, but she forces herself to quash it, time and time again.

She will finish her training here, she will return to Jueyun Karst, and she will push those silk-flower eyes to the very back of her mind, where they belong. The past is in the past, and Shenhe is determined to keep it there.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria feels like a wild animal. Like a hunter - senses sharpened, muscles taut, every fibre of her body alert and ready to pounce. She braces herself for any sign of movement, of life. The slightest rustling of the bushes, even the softest footfall in snow, could signify the presence of Rosaria’s dinner.

Or, a quiet voice whispers in the back of her mind, it could be her.

She shakes the thought out of her head, refusing to acknowledge it. Even so, she can’t help but keep an eye out for a flash of moonlit white or crimson wherever she goes. She’s been like this for days: on-edge, observant.

After all, it could be her.

It never is, but that doesn’t stop Rosaria from checking anyways.

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting, save for bitter disappointment. This is a land of blood and snow; what else could she possibly hope for? Finding Shenhe here, a girl as mysterious as the snow itself, is practically impossible.

There.

Her gaze snaps towards the sound of movement, just in time to see a flash of white fur disappear into spindly branches. Rosaria drops into a hunter’s crouch, her weapon held at the ready. Quiet as a cat, she follows the snowy fox from a distance, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Suddenly it stiffens, flattening its ears to its skull before it turns to bolt away. Rosaria leaps into a sprint, kicking up snow as she chases it. The fox doesn’t get too far before she slams the flat of her weapon on its neck, killing it instantly. It’s a messy catch, but Rosaria can’t fault herself - something scared it while it was dashing through the bushes, and she has no idea what.

Curiosity gets the better of her and she turns on her heel, following her own tracks back through the snow. She tucks the fox under her belt to free her hands, bracing herself for whatever dangers may lie ahead.

Nothing could prepare her for what she sees behind the bushes.

It’s the same sight she’d faced several days ago, before Tanner had so rudely shoved her aside. White hair, red ropes, opalescent eyes and an aquamarine blade, polished and gleaming. Shenhe looks as formidable as ever, her skin practically ablaze with Cryo energy. Her movements are practised to perfection; she is beautiful when she fights, her limbs so fluid and graceful it looks as though she’s floating.

Rosaria is thankful to be alone this time. She shouldn’t stay and watch - archons above, she shouldn’t even care, but she can’t tear herself away. It feels surreal, seeing Shenhe again; surreal, and painful. The longer she watches, the more Rosaria remembers of that final day, the blue fire in Shenhe’s eyes as she single-handedly fought the entire bandit gang. Repressed guilt stirs in her chest, and for once she is unable to bury it.

A part of her - the softest part, the part she hates the most - wonders whether she should take this chance to apologise, if only to gain a sense of closure. She quashes the thought as soon as it surfaces, for Shenhe’s adeptus mentor is standing a short distance away. Interacting with either of them would be a death wish.

Even so, Rosaria allows herself to watch for a little bit longer. Shenhe is as beautiful as she remembers; she cuts a striking figure now, with elegant cheekbones and delicate hips. She has grown taller, more imposing, her eyes colder than they were when she was young. Most of all, however, she has become more otherworldly, her graceful features pale and expressionless. The tragic child Rosaria knew has transformed into someone more adeptus than human, as cool and exquisite as a marble statue.

Before Rosaria knows it, the great crane is concluding the training session, and Shenhe is striding directly towards her hiding place. Her reaction is lightning-fast as she scrambles away, but she still isn’t quick enough.

“How long have you been spying on me?” Shenhe’s voice is low and threatening.

“I was hunting, actually.” Rosaria gestures to the fox at her hip, keeping a cool and collected facade despite the quickening of her heart. “So mind your own damn business.”

“Fine, I’ll rephrase. What are you doing here, lame-ass?” Shenhe draws her weapon, the deadly tip pointed at Rosaria’s throat. “Are you here to give me another reason to beat your spine sideways?”

~

Shenhe
Rosaria’s reaction is unprecedented.

In spite of the blade at her neck and the threats levelled against her, she bursts out laughing.

Shenhe narrows her eyes, keeping her polearm steady despite her confusion. “If this is some - some sort of trick, it isn’t going to work on me.”

“Archons above, I–” Rosaria snorts, catching her breath. “Did you just call me a lame-ass? I can’t believe you still remember that!”

Shenhe frowns, finally stupefied enough to drop her weapon. She scans Rosaria’s face, but she can no longer read the depths of that familiar gaze - Rosaria has grown up without her, the years lost between them making her sharper, colder, the glint in her eyes as deadly as a knife.

“Of course I remember. Did you really think I cared as little as you did?”

“Wow.” Rosaria lets out a sharp breath. “Instantly going for the jugular, I see.”

Shenhe has no idea what she means, but she chooses not to dwell on it. Just as she expected, seeing Rosaria again has torn open an old wound - the darkness in her spirit shifts behind her ribs, smoke rising through her lungs.

In fact, it’s even worse than she imagined. Rosaria’s eyes sparkle in the wintry light, and a tiny smirk tugs at her lips - she’s even prettier now, and Shenhe hates herself for thinking it.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she growls, her voice coming out rougher than she intends. “What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing here? I live here, stupid. I should be asking you that question.”

“Bold of you to insult me after the stunt you pulled all those years ago,” Shenhe snarls, once more drawing her weapon. “I am here to train. Interrupt me for even a moment longer, and I will end you.”

~

Rosaria
Even though her heart is rattling in her chest, Rosaria can’t help but smirk. She should be scared for her life - she is, although she’d never admit it aloud - and yet, something about this is so… familiar.

“Tch,” she snickers, before she can stop herself, “you’re even colder than I remember–”

Shenhe doesn’t let her finish her sentence. In an instant, that sharpened blade is at Rosaria’s neck, close enough to prick her skin. Any closer, and it would be drawing blood. She swallows carefully, refusing to let the slightest trace of fear slip from under her icy mask.

“I’m a person of my word,” Shenhe snarls, her wintry eyes locking onto Rosaria’s. Her gaze is even colder now - hollow, unfeeling. Inhuman.

“Oh yeah?” Rosaria raises an eyebrow, forcing herself to seem completely unfazed. “So, what word stopped you from ending my life six years ago? I’m guessing that one still applies, too?”

She didn’t think it was possible for Shenhe’s eyes to freeze over any further, but they do, those dewdrop pupils turning deadly. She levels the shaft of her weapon against Rosaria, forcefully shoving her backwards. Instead of falling, Rosaria skids through the snow on the balls of her feet, dexterously whipping out her own polearm as she regains her balance.

“You’re even more insufferable than I remember,” Shenhe growls, looming above her.

“Good,” Rosaria says smugly, getting back to her feet. “I’d hope so, or I’d probably be dead by now.”

She’s been emboldened by fearlessness and total self-reliance, and by the icy thorns that have been wrapped around her heart. In a land like this, kindness would get her killed - Shenhe should know, for the world has been equally as cruel to her.

It doesn’t make her any more sympathetic. She lunges at Rosaria, one polearm meeting another with a frosty clang. Rosaria teleports behind her, slamming the flat of her weapon into Shenhe’s side. She staggers, but doesn’t topple; in fact, she hardly needs to catch her breath as she lashes out at Rosaria over and over again. Rosaria parries and dodges with learned agility - Shenhe may be strong, but Rosaria is swift, her reflexes sharper than daggers.

Fleeing would be easier, she thinks as she blocks another of Shenhe’s blows, feeling the impact of it shudder through her wrists. She can’t bring herself to leave - not yet. Not when the softest part of her still aches with guilt, and not when Shenhe is right here, a long-buried memory brought back to life.

Fleeing is the coward’s solution, and Rosaria is no coward.

Besides… she can tell that Shenhe isn’t giving this fight her all. She’d watched that training session for long enough to know that Shenhe is capable of much more than this. Under the watchful eye of her mentor, she had summoned a Cryo avatar and rings of talismans, her polearm glimmering with fractals of snowy light as she swung it through the air in fluid, practised motions. Her very body had seemed to radiate elemental energy and raw power - something Rosaria was equal parts awestruck and terrified by.

Now, though, Shenhe is rougher around the edges, with less practised dexterity and more spontaneity. It’s almost as though this is a game to her, something casual and inconsequential. Most notably, she seems to purposefully avoid hitting Rosaria where it would hurt. In the training clearing, she had lunged with impeccable precision, but here, she is striking a circle around all the places that could take Rosaria down, giving her a chance to fight back.

And fight back she does, skidding in snow, the wintry wilderness echoing with the clang of polearm on polearm. Despite everything, Shenhe still overpowers her, her natural affinity for bloodshed strengthened by those years of adeptus training and isolation. She may not be giving her all, but she is giving enough for Rosaria’s forearms to tremble when their weapons are locked against each other. She is giving enough to slam Rosaria into the wall of a nearby cave with one hefty push, so strong there is nothing Rosaria can do to fight it.

Her back slams into hard stone, knocking the wind right out of her. The impact of it rattles through her bones and teeth; she groans, winded and sore, her skull still echoing with the force of the collision.

It takes her a second too long to realise that those deep reverberations aren’t just in her head.

The rock wall seems to groan, low and heavy, and then comes the sound of thunder.

Rosaria has lived here long enough to know that that’s not what it is. A startled Shenhe has stepped back, releasing Rosaria from where she had been trapped behind their clashing polearms. She wastes no time in grabbing Shenhe’s empty hand and staggering deeper into the cave.

“Don’t touch me!” Shenhe hisses, pulling herself free. Rosaria whirls around frantically to see that she is still standing in the mouth of the cave, her eyes fiery as she holds her hand to her chest.

“Fuck, just–” Rosaria doesn’t know how - hell, she doesn’t have time - to reason with her. “Just run, you idiot!” She stumbles back to Shenhe, planting both hands on her back and shoving her forward. “For fuck’s sake, move!”

~

Shenhe
The insistence in Rosaria’s voice takes Shenhe by surprise, and she lurches forward despite herself. A moment later, Rosaria takes her hand again, pulling her forward with enough force that Shenhe is left with no choice but to follow. She isn’t entirely sure what’s happening - she didn’t even understand some of the words Rosaria just said to her, although their severity certainly came across - but she knows something is wrong. The entire mountain seems to tremble around them, as though they are in the belly of a thunderstorm.

And then, the light behind them dies out, plunging them into shadow. Shenhe whirls around, tearing her hand free from Rosaria’s, only to see that the cave entrance has been completely covered in snow. The sound of thunder still echoes above them, reverberating through Shenhe’s bones.

An avalanche.

“See? I told you to run,” Rosaria comments wryly from behind her, and Shenhe’s heart drops.

Chapter Text

Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you…

~

Shenhe
This cannot be happening.

Shenhe’s heart thunders against her ribcage, blood pounding in her ears. She feels like she’s trapped in another nightmare, during those fretful times when she tosses and turns enough that her ropes slip off, and the calamitous energies in her soul take advantage of her unconsciousness. There’s no way she’s stuck here– not with her–

It doesn’t matter how big the cavern is. As soon as Shenhe meets Rosaria’s eyes, she is choked with claustrophobia, darkness hovering just beneath her skin. She feels like the walls are closing in around her, crushing her, leaving her hopeless, powerless–

She smashes her fist into the mound of snow at the cave’s entrance, imprinting the shape of her anger deep into the powdery white.

And then she does it again.

And again, and again, until her knuckles are numb and her hands are flushed red with cold. She hardly notices as sections of loose snow tumble down, settling in her hair and along her shoulders. Desperation drives her onwards; even with her ropes tied, she knows she is strong enough to move mountains, and if that’s what it takes to get out of here, then… Shenhe will do it.

She is forced to stop when her fury dislodges the wall of powder. Before she even realises what’s happening, big chunks of snow come crashing down around her; one of them slams into her head, staggering her, and she curses under her breath.

A sharp peal of laughter rings out behind her, and Shenhe whirls around to glare at its source. Rosaria has one hand in front of her mouth, stifling her giggles, but the crinkles at the edges of her eyes betray her mirth. Shenhe wants to hate her for laughing at her obvious misery, but her determination falters the longer she stares at Rosaria. She seems so… alive, when she laughs like this. It makes her entire face light up, briefly chasing away the lingering shadows of her tragic past.

“Are you done yet?” she snickers, and Shenhe immediately hates her again.

“Hey. Quit laughing at me,” Shenhe snaps. “If you think it’s so funny that I’m trying to get us out of here, I’d like to see you do it.”

“I can, and I will,” Rosaria responds, her voice cool despite the amusement still glimmering in her eyes. “Because, while I may not have superhuman strength, I do have a functioning brain.” She taps her skull as she says it, grinning slyly at Shenhe.

“I’ll have you know my brain is perfectly functional,” Shenhe huffs. “I presume you know your way around here, then?”

“Nope. I’ve never been inside Starglow Cavern before.” Rosaria turns on her heel, walking all too confidently down the snowy pathway. “Legend has it this place is cursed - no creature with any sense of self-preservation would want to come down here.”

“What, so you have a death wish?”

“Not at all.” Rosaria’s voice is airy, unconcerned. “I’ve just lived around here long enough to know that nothing in Dragonspine is ever what it seems at first glance.”

Shenhe heaves a deep sigh, glancing back at the mess she’s made of the snowed-in entrance. If she follows Rosaria, she might be walking into a death trap, but… it doesn’t look like she has much of a choice.

“...Alright,” she groans, and sets off after the girl she hoped to never see again.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria leads the way deeper into Starglow Cavern and has to swallow back a gasp when the tunnel opens up, revealing a soaring system of underground pathways, everything aglow in an unnatural shade of blue. Snow has somehow managed to fall deep under the earth; it crunches beneath Rosaria’s boots, flakes of white drifting idly from the stone walkways arching above her head.

She and Shenhe are standing at the very bottom of the cavern, at the edge of a shallow pool filled with icy water, bright with the reflection of the cerulean stalactites above. It is a vantage point from which they can see all the way up. The ceiling seems to stretch on forever.

“It’s beautiful,” Shenhe murmurs, and Rosaria hums in agreement. Their voices, though quiet, echo in the bowels of the mountain.

“Yeah. You’d think a cursed cavern like this would seem… less welcoming, huh.”

“Not necessarily,” Shenhe says, after a moment’s contemplation. “Sometimes the most dangerous things will also appear the most trustworthy.”

Rosaria bites back a sharp retort, ignoring the way Shenhe’s comment seems to press icicles under her ribcage. She scans the layers of stone paths criss-crossing above her head, telling herself it’s to map out a way to freedom. In reality, she simply cannot meet Shenhe’s eyes.

“Let’s keep walking. Ogling the cavern like a couple of idiots isn’t going to get us out of here,” she finally says, wielding her tongue like a blade, her voice gruff and sharp.

Shenhe murmurs her assent, and with that, they set off.

The pathway winds steeply upwards, its stone surface slick with snow. It curves like a cat’s spine above the icy pool at the cavern’s floor; the dim glow of the stalactites, along with the light reflecting in the water, casts the space in an eerie and unnatural blue. When Rosaria looks back - simply to check that Shenhe is keeping up - she finds those porcelain features outlined in shades of sapphire, her eyes like deep-set opals.

Rosaria turns away too quickly, swallowing the lump that has just appeared in her throat.

There are things she wants to say, words caught beneath her tongue… guilt throbs like an old wound in her chest. She presses her knuckles against it, trying to push it away, but it is irrepressible - it has clawed its way through the icy bars around her heart, and now there is no way to return it.

“Shenhe, I…” when she finally speaks, her voice is so raw she hardly recognises herself. “Back then, when we were little - I didn’t–”

“Don’t.” Shenhe’s voice is cold, unfeeling, hard as stone. “I do not wish to discuss the past. Not with you.”

Rosaria bites her tongue so hard she swears she can taste blood. All the sentiments she wished to express die in a split second, slaughtered by the invisible blade of Shenhe’s words. The cavern is suddenly quiet - too quiet, and every echoing noise sounds like a scream. Rosaria can even hear the way her own breaths rattle in her lungs, can hear the crisp crunch of snow beneath her boots. The soaring ceilings feel impossibly high, this space so large she could drown in it.

“Yaya ika!” an unfamiliar voice shouts from up ahead, and Rosaria’s hand is on the shaft of her polearm before she has even snapped back to reality.

~

Shenhe
Three hilichurls appear higher up on the pathway, waving wooden clubs as they shriek unintelligible accusations from behind their masks. A shadow falls over them as a mitachurl lumbers forward, wielding an enormous axe. It huffs angrily, its breath crystallising like smoke in the frigid air; for a terrifying moment, it almost looks as though it can breathe fire.

Shenhe hardly needs to think as she falls into a familiar fighting stance. She steps forward to flank Rosaria, who has drawn her weapon just as quickly. Silk-flower petals meet a wintry sunset, and Rosaria offers the tiniest of smiles, her gaze as fierce and determined as Shenhe has ever seen it.

They charge wordlessly into battle, spears held at the ready, and when they fight together it is like they’ve been side-by-side for a lifetime. With fluid, practised movements, they knock aside the three smaller hilichurls, whose forms disappear into dust with broken, warbling groans. Rosaria’s eyes meet Shenhe’s for a split second before she vanishes in a burst of cold air, and just as quickly reappears behind the mitachurl.

Shenhe needs no further instruction. She distracts the mitachurl from the front, poking and prodding at it with her polearm even as she swiftly dodges its axe. Rosaria hits it from its blind spot, her blade ripping through fur and cursed flesh. The mitachurl howls in anger and agony; furiously, it raises its axe high above its head, preparing to cleave Shenhe in two.

Mere moments before blade meets bone, Shenhe summons the power of her Cryo Vision and rushes forward, her form streaming past the mitachurl in wisps of icy blue and white. Rosaria teleports at the same time, her body materialising right beside the enormous axe, which has embedded itself into the icy pathway. The fragile stone structure shudders beneath them, pebbles raining down into the frigid water below, but neither Rosaria nor Shenhe lose their focus. They fight in perfect unison, slashing at the mitachurl from two sides and simultaneously disappearing into snowflakes and frost whenever it tries to hit them. It stumbles, confused and outraged, but they have it trapped between their whirling spears, their movements powerful and synchronised.

It isn’t long before the beast falls to its knees, dissipating into black dust, and its victors put away their weapons. Shenhe meets Rosaria’s gaze again: she’s breathing hard, but her eyes are alight with triumph and adrenaline.

Shenhe understands. She feels it too, as a dull spark behind her pounding heart. It has been washed out by her ropes, but it is there nonetheless, and it is… nice. It is more than the simple thrill of a good fight: it is that sense of togetherness, of being part of something bigger. For a short time, Shenhe doesn’t have to be alone in her mortality.

For a short time, she gets to share it with Rosaria. Again. And as much as Shenhe hates to admit it, getting to fight side-by-side with her - rather than against her - was… enjoyable.

(It was more than that - there was something else there, an unspoken, mutual understanding, but Shenhe cannot put it into words, so she simply chooses to ignore it.)

“We fought well,” Rosaria says, and Shenhe doesn’t miss the way her voice falters on the ‘we’.

Several beats of uncomfortable silence pass between them before Shenhe hums in acknowledgement. “Let’s keep walking,” is all she can manage to get past her lips; Rosaria’s words have left a stirring in her chest that Shenhe wouldn’t dare comment on, even if she had the words to do so.

She walks off without waiting for Rosaria to respond. The path opens up onto a snow-covered ledge, the hilichurls’ campfire still burning off to one side. Just beyond it, the frosty wall of the cavern narrows into a tunnel, stretching through stone into darkness. Before she even realises it, she’s striding faster, her heart thudding with the knowledge that this pathway could mean freedom.

It plummets like a stone mere moments later, when Shenhe rounds a corner only to see another dense, immovable wall of snow, piled high against what used to be a doorway to crisp air and crystalline skies.

She falls to her knees, collapsing pitifully against the frigid white. She’s still stuck here, caught in an atmosphere so thick it’s claustrophobic, and the air is so unnaturally cold she feels as though her very blood has turned to ice - or maybe that’s just the realisation that she’ll be trapped down here, with Rosaria, for even longer.

For all she knows, they could be here forever.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria jogs up the pathway, heart in her throat, only to find Shenhe slumped hopelessly against another wall of snow. Her hands are fisted in it, knuckles tinged blue with the cold, and she doesn’t seem to notice - or care - that her hair and clothes are stained with dampness.

Letting out a slow breath, Rosaria scuffs her boots on the ground, wondering what to say. Perhaps it would be best to say nothing at all, but the silence is oppressive, thick with tension and twice as awkward. Normally she wouldn’t mind, but with Shenhe…

With Shenhe, everything is just so different. Rosaria hates it, this friction between them, that constant sense of uncertainty and unease.

“Well,” she finally says, trying to keep her voice light, “looks like you’re stuck with me a little longer.”

“Unfortunately,” Shenhe mutters in response. She doesn’t even spare the time to look up.

Rosaria can’t stop the hurt that pierces through her chest. Only moments ago they had been fighting side-by-side, moving in perfect unison as though they’d been training together all their lives, and that wasn’t even enough to begin to crack Shenhe’s stony façade. After all these years, that childhood grudge has hardened into something truly unbreakable - something so strong that Rosaria wasn’t even afforded a chance to apologise.

Bitterness bubbles in her throat. All this hatred and animosity stems from putrid lies, and the knowledge makes her furious. If Shenhe would only listen–

Inhaling slowly, Rosaria lets ice creep across her lungs and travel through her veins, until her very heart is freezing over. This is how it should be - how it always should have been. She really is too soft: next to Shenhe, she feels as weak as a feather.

She will be soft no longer. If Shenhe wants so badly to wallow in her hatred, Rosaria won’t try to stop her. Shenhe will simply be another in a long line of people who have turned against her, refusing to treat her with any shred of dignity or respect. She has been forced, for her entire life, to prove she’s worth the air she breathes, and she has long since grown accustomed to it.

“I’ll leave you to your self-pity, then.” Rosaria’s voice is cold as ice when she speaks again. “If you need me, I’ll be by the fire.”

She doesn’t wait for Shenhe to respond before she stalks off. Frankly, she doesn’t think she could wait: they are trapped somewhere the sun cannot reach, and the cold is unbearable. Rosaria feels it like claws under her skin, rattling her spine and warping her flesh with goosebumps. When she removes her gloves to warm her hands against the fire, she finds a starched, lifeless blue at her fingertips.

Maybe this was a death wish, Rosaria thinks to herself ruefully, watching her breath condense into tiny wisps of smoke. Starglow Cavern is like a world of its own: a place where snow materialises beneath a nonexistent sky, hung with stalactites in place of stars. Down here, the air holds a menacing chill, and sunlight is little more than a distant dream.

There’s a soft crunch of footsteps in snow, and Rosaria looks up to meet Shenhe’s sorrowful eyes. Wordlessly, she takes a seat beside Rosaria, turning her face to the flames.

A pity, to die here like this, Rosaria muses. Alone, with the person who hates me more than anything.

A pity, to die now, after everything I went through to survive…

Would they ever even find our bodies?

The thought chills her to the core. She thinks back to the husk of her birthplace, all the people swallowed by flames and snow, remembered only by a child who can no longer picture their faces. She doesn’t even know their names.

Will she be forgotten, too?

It is almost painful to think about. Rosaria is overcome with a sense of total insignificance, so strong it seems to hollow out her very bones. Her existence has amounted to little more than a constant fight for survival, plagued with hatred, fear and desperation.

What a waste of a lifetime. She brings her knees up to her chest, curling into herself. Subconsciously, one hand drifts to the Vision at her hip, and she traces the familiar shape of the cold, glassy stone. This Vision… it is all she has ever been good for.

Hopelessness washes over her, its sludgy waters bleak and opaque. She breathes it in, clogging her lungs with it and soaking her heart.

At least you were good for something.

~

Shenhe
Shenhe cannot stand the silence.

It isn’t like the quiet she basks in with Cloud Retainer and the other adepti, when she takes a break from her training. Those moments are always filled with the melodic tinkling of metal on metal, the soft ruffle of feathers, the distant sound of wind across the mountain peaks. Those moments are comfortable, when the quiet is as soft and warm as a blanket, homely and welcoming.

Here, though, the silence is deafening, bursting at the seams with unspoken words and broken feelings. It is so thick with tension that Shenhe feels like she is drowning in it. She tries to focus on the dull crackling of the fire, but Rosaria’s presence beside her is like a beacon, drawing her attention no matter how hard she tries to fight it.

“Let’s go.” Shenhe stands abruptly, cracking her knuckles. Now that she can feel her fingers again, she wants nothing more than to get moving - she just needs something, anything to distract her from this oppressive atmosphere.

“Huh?” Rosaria blinks up at her, silk-flower pupils coming back into focus.

“I said” - Shenhe tears her gaze away, hating the way her heart seems to skip a beat - “that we should leave now.”

“Oh. Right.” Rosaria hauls herself to her feet, sliding her gloves back onto her hands. Shenhe catches a glimpse of rosy fingertips before they’re covered in tattered black fabric; Rosaria’s hands look warm, pink and delicate and alive.

The thought takes Shenhe by surprise. She picks at the ropes around her shoulders, pulling them back before letting them hit her skin with a satisfying snap. The pain, dull as it is, manages to ground her, distracting her from the confusion clouding her mind and the dark smoke lingering in her chest.

She waits for Rosaria to finish donning her gloves before she sets off, continuing up the narrow stone path that coils like a snake through the mountain’s interior. As she walks, she counts her breaths - one, two. Three, four - and keeps her eyes trained on her feet, trying to ignore the presence behind her. She has vowed to never let her emotions get the better of her again, and this time is no exception, even though it’s one of the hardest trials she’s ever had to face.

“Shenhe - Shenhe! Look!” Rosaria says, and Shenhe has to swallow back a flicker of irritation. So much for ignoring her. “It’s daylight!”

Shenhe’s gaze snaps up at that, her annoyance instantly forgotten. Hope rekindles itself in her chest when she sees it: sunlight, wintry and pure, streaming in through a yawning hole near the top of the cavern. The sky is blue beyond it, all crystalline and clear, and Shenhe wants nothing more than to run straight towards it.

Instead, she keeps her breathing steady, and continues taking careful steps up the narrow, snow-covered path. Rosaria follows a few paces behind, her presence made perceptible by the soft crunch of her boots as she walks. Shenhe lets herself fall into a rhythm, her mind trained only on the cool air in her lungs and the regular beat of Rosaria’s careful footsteps. After years of training, this state of mindfulness has become like a second home to her.

Which is why, when it abruptly shatters, Shenhe reacts quicker than she ever has in her life.

There’s a loud crash, and a sound like exploding glass, before the footsteps behind her dissolve into a panicked yelp. Shenhe whirls around before she even realises what she’s doing, and she’s reaching out, reaching out–

~

Rosaria
Rosaria’s heart falls faster than her body does.

It plummets into her stomach, hard as stone, even though the rest of her physical form feels like it has been suspended in time. Everything seems to happen in slow motion: the icicle, hurtling down from the ceiling; the way it carves its way past her back, knocking her off-balance; the horrible sound as it shatters in the same moment Rosaria loses her foothold, and even the air itself seems to hold its breath.

What a pity, to die like this…

The ground has disappeared from beneath her feet. The path is narrow, so dangerously narrow, that this one misstep has cost Rosaria her life. She feels herself falling, feels the way gravity wraps its talons around her, ready to swallow her whole. She closes her eyes against hot tears, letting herself go into the blackness…

And then everything stops.

Rosaria’s eyes snap open, and she looks up into irises like dewdrops at dusk.

Shenhe has both hands around Rosaria’s wrist, her grip almost terrifyingly strong. For a long moment, Rosaria simply hangs there, her breaths coming too quickly as her gaze lingers on Shenhe’s. Wordlessly, Shenhe hauls her back up onto the pathway, lifting her like she weighs little more than a pebble.

Rosaria has never been so thankful to touch snow in all her life. She collapses into it, her limbs shaking too hard for her to even consider moving. Shenhe kneels quietly at her side, waiting for her to recover.

When she finds her voice, the first thing Rosaria says is, “so you do still like me enough to save my life.”

It’s supposed to be a humorous comment - a playful nod to the lingering animosity between them, and something easier to get through her teeth than ‘thank you’ - but every syllable trembles so hard against her lips that she sounds more like she’s going to break down crying.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Shenhe responds coldly, getting to her feet. “I am simply returning the favour.”

“What fav– oh, right.” Rosaria’s brain is still hazy with shock, so she runs snow-dusted hands over her face and relishes in the prickling cold against her skin - another reminder that she is still alive. “The avalanche.”

Shenhe doesn’t respond. Instead, she stands off to one side, looking down at Rosaria past crossed arms. After a long, awkward moment, she finally says, “we should rest.”

“But–”

“You can hardly walk,” Shenhe says bluntly, gesturing at Rosaria’s trembling limbs. And then, more quietly: “...I am shaken too. I would appreciate a break, somewhere out of danger.”

Without waiting for a response, she pulls Rosaria onto her back, and begins trekking down towards the still-burning hilichurl campfire.

~

Shenhe
Those hands are draped around her shoulders now. Through the breaks in the fabric, Shenhe can see rosy flesh, warm and alive.

Alive. Rosaria is alive. Her chest rises and falls against Shenhe’s back, her thighs supple and warm where Shenhe is holding them. Fate has not taken her yet.

For a horrifying moment, back up on the pathway, Shenhe’s mind had conjured awful images of Rosaria’s body, splayed out on stone, limbs torn clean off by the sheer impact of hitting the ground. Shenhe had seen her hands, had watched her fingertips turn white and blue as the warmth of life drained out of them.

But in reality, she had grabbed one of those hands and held it tight between both of her own. She had stared into Rosaria’s eyes and seen her own fear reflected back at her. She had lingered there for a moment, frozen, staring at the hand caught in her grip, at the pink tint beneath tattered black gloves. The rush of blood beneath Rosaria’s skin, her heart still beating warmly in her chest.

When she arrives back at the hilichurl campfire, Shenhe gently slides Rosaria off of her back, propping her up against a nearby rock.

“Thanks,” Rosaria mumbles, so quietly that Shenhe wouldn’t have heard it if she weren’t just a breath away. When she steps back, she lets her eyes rove over Rosaria’s face, feeling quietly relieved at the rosy tint that has returned to her cheeks.

Looking at Rosaria for too long makes something bubble beneath Shenhe’s lungs, so she quickly casts her gaze down to a small pouch at her hip, in which she stores stalks of qingxin to snack on in between training sessions. Now, she pulls out a handful and offers them to Rosaria. The action feels terrifyingly familiar, and Shenhe fights to stop herself from pulling her hand away.

For a long moment, Rosaria simply looks at the flowers, before she manages a weak, hoarse laugh. Confused and a little hurt, Shenhe withdraws her hand, wondering what’s so funny about her attempt at helpfulness.

“Oh, archons,” Rosaria wheezes, “those flowers again… do you still eat them every day?”

“I do,” Shenhe murmurs. The nostalgia is overwhelming.

When Rosaria grins, it reaches her eyes, making her starlit pupils glimmer.

“You are ridiculous,” she says, echoing her younger self. “There’s no way you survive on flowers.”

Even Shenhe can no longer fight a smile. It feels foreign and unfamiliar, and yet… it’s not unwelcome. Warmth curls in her chest, and she does not push it away.

“Are you going to offer me some ‘real food’ again?” she asks, fiddling with the qingxin stalks in her hands. Disbelief hums in the back of her mind; somehow, Rosaria remembers this conversation, too.

Maybe she really did care.

Shenhe forces the thought away as quickly as it comes. Now is not the time to be questioning her own convictions.

Instead, she takes one stalk of qingxin, preparing to offer it to Rosaria again anyways - after all, as nice as it would be to relive the secret evenings they shared as children, what other food could they possibly access in this remote cavern?

Her surprise doubles when Rosaria pulls aside her cloak to reveal a snowy fox, tucked safely under her belt.

“I think I just might,” she says, and that self-satisfied smile is radiant.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria is suddenly thankful for their run-in with the hilichurls, because half of the preparation involved in cooking has already miraculously been done for her. Pain lances through her shoulder as she skins and cuts the fox - she can already feel a bruise forming where the falling icicle hit her - but she ignores it in favour of the rumbling in her stomach.

“I can’t believe you had that,” Shenhe murmurs, her eyes tracking Rosaria’s every move. Deeper sentiments remain unsaid, but Rosaria can hear them in the thickness of her voice: a fox, like the one we caught when we were younger.

“Lucky coincidence,” she replies. Her skin prickles under Shenhe’s gaze, but when she lifts her head to meet it, Rosaria finds she can’t quite read the expression on her face. This version of Shenhe may be as quiet as her childhood self, but she is far more statuesque, her appearance blurring the lines between mortality and godhood. Her face is so still it is almost haunting; not a fraction of whatever she is thinking is betrayed by her picturesque features.

Even so, Rosaria does not complain or question her. She returns her attention to the fox and works quickly and efficiently, letting Shenhe watch as she does so. They slip into an easy silence, broken only by the crackle of campfire flames. Rosaria stares blankly at the curling smoke once the meat has started to cook, her mind abuzz with broken thoughts and fragments of ideas. She’s still too shaken to think properly, but there is so much she wants to unpack, and her mind is restless with impatience.

The loudest thought is Shenhe. Her brain almost screams it at her, but Rosaria pushes it away, hating how quickly Shenhe has managed to weaken her defences again. The icy cage around her heart has been replaced by something that purrs when she thinks of the way Shenhe smiled, her face softening as a gentle pink hue rose to her cheeks. That conversation… for a moment, it felt like they’d slipped back into their younger selves, still raw with innocence and naïvety despite the tragedies they’d already experienced. Rosaria almost pities that childish version of herself; the tragedies were far from over, and both she and Shenhe are harder and colder now that life has sunk its claws into them.

And yet… Rosaria keeps finding reasons, however small, to ignore her teachings. She has been raised to be cruel and uncaring, to place trust in nobody but herself, but something still drove her to save Shenhe from the avalanche. Something is driving her now, to share her meagre rations with the girl who, only hours earlier, had a weapon pointed at Rosaria’s throat.

She meets Shenhe’s eyes as she serves the fox meat. There is softness hidden in the sunset shades of her irises; Rosaria saw it, back in that long moment when she dangled off the edge of the pathway, and she sees it again now. That softness, she thinks, must be driving Shenhe, too, to look past old grudges and deeply-held convictions.

Shenhe drops her gaze then, her hands brushing Rosaria’s as she takes her share. Her fingertips are rough with calluses, but her touch is cautiously gentle, as though she knows she is handling something delicate.

“I suppose this is no longer a one-time exception,” she murmurs lightly.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Rosaria takes a bite of the fox meat as she says it; it’s bland and slightly undercooked, but the hunger gnawing at her stomach doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ll keep it our little secret, as always.”

“Indeed.” A faint dusting of pink rises to Shenhe’s cheeks. “My master does not need to know.”

“Exactly.” Rosaria has to fight a smile at the sound of her own rebellious streak echoing in Shenhe’s words. Even after all these years, Shenhe still carries a part of their short-lived friendship with her.

Rosaria is warmed by the thought. Maybe, just maybe, her life has not been so meaningless after all.

~

Shenhe
The trek back up the narrow pathway is silent and slow. Shenhe brings up the rear this time, and she tells herself it’s just so she can keep Rosaria out of danger, should any more misfortune befall them.

“But what about you?” Rosaria had responded coolly, when she’d been asked to lead. If she was truly concerned for Shenhe, her face did not betray it.

“Unlike you, I am uninjured.”

Rosaria had huffed out a cloud of steam. “Touché,” she’d said, and without further ado, began leading their slow ascent towards freedom.

Shenhe remains alert for the entire walk. Every sound, any minute sign of movement - she keeps her senses sharpened for it all, unwilling to let yet another obstacle come between her and the watery daylight streaming through the opening up ahead. It lies at the top of a small, stony ledge at the pathway’s end, and Shenhe can see no other way up but to climb. She does not let it sway her resolve; after all, in the past few hours alone, she and Rosaria have already survived an avalanche and falling icicles. A short climb is hardly daunting in comparison.

…Or so she thinks, for when they reach the sheer stone walls, it becomes apparent that the climb is longer than either of them anticipated.

“Fuck,” Rosaria spits. “Of course this archon-forsaken cavern wants to be difficult.”

Fuck. Shenhe replays the word in her head. It’s the same one Rosaria had used during the avalanche, and the way she flings it from between her teeth makes Shenhe think it must mean something truly intense. Annoyance, perhaps? She files it away for later, tucking it beside the other strange mortal terms she’s learned over the years, like lame-ass and taxes.

“Come on. The world isn’t going to wait for us,” she says, scanning the rock face for ridges and cracks. Once she is satisfied, she begins to climb. “Liyue’s mountainsides are more difficult than this.”

“Well, that’s good for you,” Rosaria mutters.

Shenhe pays her no mind. She focuses on the climb, ascending slowly limb by limb, ridge by tiny ridge. Soon enough, she pulls herself over the edge, and stares with no shortage of relief at the expanse of daylight beyond.

Freedom.

~

Rosaria
“Shit,” Rosaria swears again as pain lances through her shoulder blade, crackling like lightning down her arm and back. Her hand trembles as she raises it up to the next ridge, and she barely finds the strength to pull herself up a step further.

A moment later, Shenhe’s face appears over the ledge. “Are you alright?”

“Ugh, I wish,” Rosaria says through gritted teeth. “What are you still doing here? I thought you would’ve hightailed it by now.”

“Do you need help or not?”

Rosaria sighs, her deeply-held sense of independence chafing as she nods. Shenhe leans further over the ledge, reaching down towards her, their hands just barely close enough to touch. With a little effort, Rosaria manages to push herself higher; a moment later, she feels Shenhe’s fingers close around her wrist, and then she is being lifted up the sheer rock face. She helps by using her legs to propel herself upwards, and what would have been an agonising climb is almost effortless.

“Thanks,” Rosaria mumbles awkwardly once she’s back on flat ground. She reaches back to gently massage her shoulders; as helpful as Shenhe was, her strength felt like it had almost been enough to tear both of Rosaria’s arms out of their sockets. Being pulled over ledges not once, but twice by her has left Rosaria feeling like her joints have had a few screws loosened.

“It is alright.” Shenhe’s voice is light, emotionless, her gaze turned towards the soaring blue sky. “Now that we have both made it, I shall ‘hightail it’, as you say.”

“Yeah, okay. And, uh, Shenhe?” Every rational part of Rosaria’s brain screams at her to stop, but it is too late - Shenhe has already turned around, dewdrop pupils meeting Rosaria’s. “It was - it was nice, seeing you again.” Her voice betrays more vulnerability than she’s comfortable with; that putrid part of her, the part as soft as a feather, has a chokehold over her again. Rosaria wants to slap herself.

Instead, she stares at Shenhe, who is standing as still as a statue, cold and picturesque. She watches Rosaria quietly, contemplatively, giving nothing away in those moon-soft eyes.

“Goodbye,” is all she says before she disappears, bounding away into sparkling snow and muted daylight, leaving Starglow Cavern - and Rosaria - behind.

~

Shenhe
Almost a decade of life spent on untamed mountain sides has sharpened Shenhe’s sense of direction, enough that the snow-swept unfamiliarity of Dragonspine’s wilderness hardly makes her bat an eyelid. She meanders down icy dirt paths, striding between soaring cliffs and towering pines, until unfamiliar landscapes become recognisable.

“Master?”

Cloud Retainer’s head snaps up from where she is tinkering with a new piece of machinery. Turquoise eyes hone in on Shenhe, and the next thing she knows, she is wrapped in feathers and warmth.

“Shenhe! One has been fretting for hours.” Cloud Retainer holds her in downy plumage, her embrace just as soft as it was the day she saved Shenhe from certain death. “One thought you were caught in the avalanche, so one was building a machine with which to free you. One is most relieved to see you unharmed.”

“And I you,” Shenhe replies, her body aching with relief. “I got trapped in a cavern behind the avalanche, but w– but I was able to find a way out.”

My Master does not need to know…

We’ll keep it our little secret.

Shenhe pushes the words away. She is back where she belongs now, at her Master’s side - she will return thoughts of silk-flower eyes to their place too, in the very back of her mind. She will force herself to forget about Rosaria, just as she was always supposed to.

~

Rosaria
“Hey, Codi! Guess which stinking deserter I found wandering around nearby?”

Across the campsite, Codi slowly raises their head, the gleaming amber of their eyes eerily cold. Rosaria struggles to meet their stare as they stalk slowly across frosty grass towards her; Tanner has one hand fisted in her hair, dragging her along like a ragdoll behind him. He’d intercepted her on her way back to the campsite and, before she could even utter a word, had tackled her and proceeded to pull her back towards camp by the hair.

“Let me go,” she hisses, clawing at his hands, trying to wrench her head free. How humiliating, to face not only Codi, but the entire bandit gang, in a wretched state like this. “You’ve brought me back, now unhand me, you maggot!”

“If that’s what you want,” Tanner sneers, before flinging her face-first towards the snow. Rosaria staggers but doesn’t fall; in a split second, she has righted herself, and turns to face Codi while ignoring the stinging of her scalp.

“What a miserable little fool you are,” they say, their voice almost deadly. “No one can run away from us and ever hope to run far.”

“I didn’t run away,” Rosaria replies, biting back an insult. “I got trapped in Starglow Cavern. Didn’t you see the avalanche?”

Codi raises an eyebrow. “Starglow Cavern? You expect me to believe that?”

“Look,” Rosaria sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, “if I wanted to run away, you know I’d do a better job of it. Why in the world would I stay close enough for Tanner to find me?”

“Maybe you came crawling back because you knew we’d annihilate you if we found you ourselves,” he suggests, smirking.

“You’d annihilate me either way,” Rosaria retorts, resisting the urge to run a hand over her tender scalp. “Now, frankly, it’s been a long day, and I’ve had enough. I’m going to lie down.”

Nobody stops her. Rosaria doesn’t look back as she crawls onto her bedroll, and as she drifts off, she relives those terrifying moments hanging from the stone pathway, when a pair of eyes like dusky opals bore into her own.

Chapter Text

And the light comes cascading down, drawing her into its embrace.

~

Rosaria
The weather is nicer, on this side of the river. Rosaria wades through stiff grass, gazing towards the lush greenery of Mondstadt’s open plains, which are closer now than she’s seen them in years.

“Halt!”

And so, too, are its knights.

“Curses,” Codi hisses, mere paces ahead.

“I told you we should’ve taken the other route!” Emil snaps, voice low.

Codi doesn’t reply. Instead, they pull out their spear, bracing themselves for battle. The metal glints dully in the stormy half-light; almost as though they are responding to its call, the rest of the bandits draw their own weapons, becoming a sea of deadly silver and shadows.

“You are hereby under arrest for theft, murder of innocents, and destruction of property,” says the leading knight, his voice deep and booming - authoritative, Rosaria thinks, in a way that doesn’t rely on cunning trickery or intimidation. “Surrender and comply silently, or we will not hesitate to resort to more extreme measures.”

For a moment, she forgets how to breathe. This was inevitable, she knows it, as moving camps often enough to outrun any pursuers was only going to work for so long. The bandits’ recent raid on a village further outside of Dragonspine’s borders - and further away from their hiding places amidst the snowstorms and sheer cold - may not have been their wisest choice.

“Ha! Try me,” Codi sneers, but Rosaria can see from the white of their knuckles that they are scared. The Knights outnumber the bandits almost two to one.

Even so, Codi does not hesitate to leap into battle. They charge at the lead knight, fearless, even though he is twice their size, broad-shouldered and bulky with muscle. With a sharp CLANG, he deflects their attack, and thus the signal has sounded. The remaining bandits and knights shift from being onlookers to actors, charging at one another with no shortage of ferocity.

Rosaria finds herself blade-to-blade with a girl who looks surprisingly youthful - only a few years younger than she is, if that. She notices two things immediately: the blue fire in the girl’s eyes, burning with unwavering determination, and her impeccable appearance, from the sheen of her armour to her smoothed-back ponytail, not a single blonde hair out of place. Even at this age, she already looks like a commanding force: strong, noble, and perfectly put-together.

At the sight of her, the tiniest, most delicate part of Rosaria is reminded of Shenhe and the distance that seemed to yawn between them the last time they met, three years ago. This girl not only embodies everything that Shenhe is and Rosaria could never be, but also somehow manages to be more than all that, more than Rosaria could dream of being in a lifetime. She has not yet been drawn in by darkness; Rosaria can tell, by the faith and resolve burning in those midsummer eyes.

As they fight, Rosaria notes the sure-footedness of her stance, and the way she swings her sword with such steady dexterity it is almost as though they are merely dancing, not battling for their very survival. Rosaria fights dirty, teleporting behind her opponent, staggering her, dodging in and out of view in cold wisps of white and blue. The girl, however, defends against her unwaveringly, never retreating from the line of fire and instead finding ways to parry it.

What a life she must have, Rosaria thinks amidst the shrieking chorus of metal-on-metal. The girl opposing her practically radiates light and nobility: every move she makes flows with practised grace, down to the very turn of her wrist as she wields her sword. Rosaria writhes in the bloodstained shadows of her own upbringing, drowning in a lifetime of being raised to cheat and steal and kill. She and her opponent are so different it’s almost repulsive - at least she and Shenhe shared the darkness they were brought up in.

Rosaria is so caught up in the clash of blades that she almost doesn’t notice the flash of white and peacock blue, drawing nearer in her peripheral vision - almost. Instinctively, she summons the cool kiss of snow to her fingertips, drawing on the power of her Vision to teleport away.

She doesn’t quite make it.

As her body materialises out of swirling snowflakes, something hard slams into her arm, catching her completely off-guard. She staggers, only just managing to catch herself before she hits the ground. Pain lances through her dominant arm, and it buckles beneath her, the bone twisted at an awkward angle.

“Tsk, tsk,” comes a voice from above, “you Vision wielders are all so predictable.”

Rosaria glances up through a haze of pain to see a boy about her age, languidly twirling his sword in one hand. He leers down at her, one eye covered in an eye-patch, the other sparkling in frosty shades of blue.

“Thanks, Kaeya,” says the blonde girl, stepping forward to point her sword at Rosaria’s throat. “Stand down, bandit. You and your associates are all under arrest.”

“You’ll have to catch us first,” Rosaria growls in response, grabbing her weapon with her good hand and teleporting out of reach of the girl’s blade. She keeps an eye on the boy - Kaeya - as she moves, bracing herself to parry slashes from both sides.

Dextrous and agile, Rosaria manages to protect herself from their flurries of purposeful blows, but she can tell this is a losing battle: she only has use of one arm, and with a weapon as long and unwieldy as a spear, fighting one-handed would be impossible if she weren’t so experienced. It doesn’t help that her injured arm feels like it has been set aflame, sending bolts of electric pain through shattered nerves every time she moves. Her focus wavers, blurring behind shock and agony.

“Jean! Kaeya!”

The booming voice from earlier sounds again. Rosaria feels like it’s coming from underwater; as her opponents turn to respond, she doesn’t even think to try and gain the upper hand in the battle, relieved as she is for the moment of respite.

“Tell the bandit kid to stand down,” the voice orders, and Rosaria can’t even find the words to argue when she realises he’s referring to her. “If she stays out of our way for the rest of the fight, we’ll bring her back to Mondstadt for treatment and rehabilitation.”

The young blonde girl - Jean - brandishes her sword defensively, holding Rosaria’s gaze with her own. “Did you hear that, bandit?”

“...Why?” is all Rosaria can think to ask.

“We’ll fix your arm and give you a place to live.” Jean doesn’t make a single move to attack, much to Rosaria’s surprise - she had expected her opponents to take advantage of her weakness and distraction. Why else would their leader make such a ludicrous offer, if not to lower her defences?

“Don’t listen to them, Rosaria!” shrieks Codi, their voice emanating from somewhere in the din of battle.

“You mean that?” Rosaria asks Jean, instead.

“Grand Master Varka is nothing if not true to his word,” Jean replies; beside her, Kaeya nods affirmingly, looking rather bored. A single icy eye scans their surroundings, and a moment later, he disappears back into the thick of battle, moving to support the other knights the same way he supported Jean.

In that split second, Rosaria makes her decision. She puts away her polearm, raising her good arm in surrender while the other hangs limply at her side. As she backs out of the fight, she keeps her eyes on Jean, bracing herself for a surprise attack - but it never comes.

Instead, Jean simply offers her a small but genuine smile, which Rosaria is too shocked by to return.

The moment is broken by a ferocious shout. Rosaria’s head snaps towards the sound, only to meet Codi’s gaze, their eyes almost red with anger. They’re making quick work of a knight; so quick, in fact, that they hardly need to focus on the fight, and instead funnel their energy towards yelling at their protégé.

“...You selfish fucking asshole!” they scream, amidst a tornado of other expletives. “Get back here and keep fighting, Rosaria! Do you hear me? Rosaria!”

She takes a deep breath and ignores them, keeping one arm up and her footsteps steady. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches as Codi finishes off their opponent with one vicious, deadly blow. The knight’s body collapses, falling like a ragdoll into a pool of their own blood.

Rosaria swallows thickly. This brutality - the utter disregard for human life - is nothing new to her, and yet…

When she thinks about Jean, whose eyes practically burned with light, who refused to take advantage of her, who smiled at her… Codi’s actions seem sickening beyond comprehension.

They are moving towards her now, freed as they are from the scuffle with the now-dead knight. Silently, Rosaria watches them storm ever closer, their face twisted in an ugly scowl as one hand trembles, white-knuckled with anger, around their spear. The other is reaching out, fingers splayed, ready to seize her the moment they are close enough.

She doesn’t let them get there.

The moment before Codi can grab her by the wrist, Rosaria teleports away, drawing her weapon in the same split second. She reappears behind them in a burst of snowflakes, bracing her polearm against their throat before they can even react.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses, digging the blade ever so slightly deeper, drawing blood. Years of unspoken anguish linger on her lips, but before she can get them out, she senses movement - Codi is reaching up, intending to shove her arm aside and free themselves. Before they can touch her, however, she slams one knee into the backs of their legs.

The solar plexus, liver, side of the neck, back of the knees…

She’s been here before. For a moment, as she watches Codi’s legs give out from under them, Rosaria feels six years old again.

Except this time, she won’t hesitate.

She presses one foot to their spine, digging her heel in where she knows it’ll hurt. Swinging her polearm around, she points it at their back, in the space between two ribs.

Right above the heart.

“How dare you,” Codi hisses, breathless, beneath her.

“Shut it,” Rosaria growls, pushing with just enough pressure for her polearm to pierce skin. “I’m leaving, whether you like it or not. These knights are going to beat your gang, and I’m going to go with them and leave your sorry ass behind.”

“You filthy traitor,” Codi snarls, but their voice is little more than a wheeze, air stolen by the boot against their back. “You filthy… fucking traitor, turning your own weapon against me. I raised you! And this… this is the thanks I get?”

“You didn’t fucking raise me,” Rosaria spits. “You said it yourself, remember? You were keeping me around for my Vision, and my Vision only.” The words are bitter on her tongue, memories coated in bloodshed and pain. “You made me this way, and now you can die knowing that this is your fault.”

Killing them is easy. A slip of the wrist - a little bit of pressure where it counts - and the deed is done.

“I told you to watch your back,” Rosaria murmurs, staring at the blood pooling in the grass. Red… it’s the colour of her childhood, now lying dead at her feet. It’s the colour of the dawn that’s breaking before her: the second chance she was brave enough to take. It’s the colour of those ropes that linger in the back of her mind, twined around the memories that helped cement her decision.

The last time she saw those ropes was also the last time she stared death in the face. It was when she realised that, as much of an unending struggle as her life has been, she isn’t ready for it to end - not yet. If she is to die young, then she wants to die knowing she was more than just another mouth to feed, and more than the cool blue stone dangling from her hip. She wants to die knowing she had a chance to live life on her own terms, even if only for a heartbeat.

Fate has spared her, over and over again, and Rosaria isn’t going to squander all her second chances living under someone else’s tongue.

She draws in a deep breath, tearing her gaze away from Codi’s limp body.

It’s over now.

Her lungs seem to tremble in her chest. Fog clouds her mind, the aftereffects of shock and agony.

It’s over.

All the adrenaline rushes out of her, leaving her spent. Rosaria backs away slowly, wobbling like a newborn deer. Everything feels foreign.

I just killed Codi.

She looks up. The battlefield has quietened; the knights are subduing the last of the defiant bandits, stripping them of their weapons and tying their hands behind their backs. The lead knight turns from where he is overseeing the arrest, and meets Rosaria’s eyes across the sea of scarlet and silver.

Something breaks within her, then, and she falls to her knees, leaning heavily on her polearm for support. Through tear-blurred eyes, she stares down at the bloodstained grass - the blood she made pour from her own mentor’s body, now lying motionless beside her. This blood is on her hands, and Codi will join the long line of people she has killed, the first of whom was the very man who saved her.

Rosaria has already taken the lives of everyone who’s spared her from the frost and flames. Seeing her now, why should the knights even want to consider giving her a second chance?

“Please,” she whispers to the blurred shape of dark boots, walking her way. Her voice is crumbling so much she no longer recognises herself. “Please, take me with you.” She thinks she feels tears start rolling down her cheeks, but she is far too numb to know for sure anymore. “Please…”

The knight kneels to be at her level, and surprises her by wrapping his arms around her trembling body. At first, Rosaria thinks he’s going to try and kill her somehow - or at the very least knock her out - but when he does nothing more than simply hold her tight, she realises he’s trying to comfort her.

“You’re safe now, kiddo,” he says in that rumbling voice, commanding and yet somehow so warm. “You’re safe. Breathe. You’re coming home.”

Home… Rosaria chokes back a sob, her throat tight with emotion. Isn’t this what she’s dreamed of since she was just a little kid? She thinks back to that first night with Shenhe, when they’d exchanged some of their deepest desires, and Rosaria had said she wanted nothing more than shelter and warmth. She thinks back further, to that fateful, snowy evening so many years ago, when those very dreams led her to kill the closest thing she had to a father.

Shenhe will never have the chance to make her dream of tasting her mother’s noodles again a reality, but Rosaria…

Maybe I will get to settle down somewhere nice, and eat as many roast chickens as I’d like.

She isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the thought, so she settles for a shaky whimper, muffled against the knight’s broad shoulder. He pats her gently on the back before he pulls away, returning to his full height, and calls for two of his subordinates. A moment later, Jean and Kaeya - the very people she had been locked in battle with not long ago - dutifully help Rosaria back to her feet, preparing to escort her to Mondstadt while the rest of the knights stay behind to clean up the battlefield.

Rosaria leans on Jean’s shoulder, her legs still wobbly with shock, and pretends not to see the filthy looks the rest of the bandits shoot her as she walks away. After this, they will all be jailed for years of violence and crime; meanwhile, she is making her way towards a newfound life of freedom, despite doing nothing to earn it.

She can’t blame them for being upset.

After all, fate continually deals her second chances she isn’t quite sure she deserves; the cool stone at her hip is proof enough, never mind the countless times she has been whisked from death’s door at the last possible moment. Whether she is being plundered from the maw of roaring flames or dangling above polished teeth of ice, she has somehow been allowed to keep living despite death’s best attempts to take her away.

“Are you doing alright?” Jean asks quietly at Rosaria’s side, those sky-blue eyes deep and soulful. Rosaria simply shrugs, unable to meet her gaze.

“You don’t ask the kid with the broken arm if she’s ‘doing alright’, Jean,” Kaeya pipes up from behind them. He has been walking with his hand hovering persistently above the hilt of his sword, as though he is expecting to need it at a moment’s notice.

“Mhm, and remind me - whose fault was that, exactly?” Jean retorts, rolling her eyes affectionately.

Kaeya gasps, flinging one hand against his chest in mock offence. “Excuse me! Are you saying you’d prefer it if I hadn’t defended you?”

“Of course not,” Jean giggles. “Although you did do quite a number on this bandit in the process.”

Rosaria tunes them out then, unable to listen to their friendly banter any longer. Is this what it’s like for them every day? To be surrounded by such amicable people, to find it so easy to be around one another… Rosaria isn’t sure she’ll ever know what that’s like. Those three nights with Shenhe were the closest she’s ever been to that light, and the last time she thinks she’ll ever experience anything like it.

Somewhere deep down, she aches for the childhood she was stolen from. Could all this have been hers, had things been different? In another world, would she have such camaraderie with all the people around her?

Rosaria cannot fathom it. All she knows are petty squabbles, power imbalances, and nights nursing tender, bruised flesh or frostbitten fingers. Her own childhood has been washed in an ocean of blood-red; in fact, cruelty has become so familiar to her that seeing Jean and Kaeya, friendly as they are, is nothing short of mystifying.

None of the bandits would ever talk to her like that. Not even Codi, who was the closest to her out of them all; Codi, who trained her to become as deadly as a hurricane.

Codi, who is now lying face-down in a pool of their own blood.

Rosaria wants to be remorseless. She wants to believe that they deserved it, after raising her in talons of anger, treating her more like an experiment than a child. They turned her into a weapon of bloodshed and destruction, with a heart of stone and a spear of brutal steel; surely it was inevitable, then, for such a weapon to eventually turn against its master.

She wants, so badly, to believe it. But on the walk back to Mondstadt, it is all she can do to choke back sobs, her lips raw from how hard she is biting them.

It isn’t just that she murdered her own mentor. It is so much bigger than that: Rosaria has just thrown away the only life she has ever known, and abandoned the closest thing she had to a family right along with it. And now, she is walking towards her childhood dreams, feeling alien from everything she’s ever wanted.

Chapter Text

She carves out a space for herself, amidst dandelions and wine, with the taste of freedom on her tongue.

~

Rosaria
“Hey, Rosaria. …Rosaria? Class is over.”

Rosaria startles, unaware that her mind had been slipping off the edge of consciousness. Frankly, she can’t blame herself; she’s been so bored ever since Varka sent her here, to Mondstadt’s church, for something he called “rehabilitation”. She’s trying her best, really she is, but she isn’t sure how all this nonsensical drivel is supposed to help her turn her life around.

Glancing up through unkempt bangs, she meets a pair of soft blue eyes, their edges crinkled with a smile.

“Barbara.” Rosaria returns the greeting gruffly, warily. Barbara is one of her new classmates, and is by far the one that confuses her the most: she is perpetually smiling, her expression somehow staying cheerful and radiant even during their most boring lessons. Not that Barbara, for one, seems to find them boring - when the Sisters ask them questions, she is always the first to raise her hand, as diligent and attentive as ever.

“How are you going? Are you settling in alright?” Barbara perches on the edge of Rosaria’s desk, as chipper as always.

“Mm.” Rosaria simply hums in acknowledgement, moving to pack her books. “If you’re here to make small talk, I’m not interested.”

If the words sting, Barbara doesn’t show it.

“No, no, of course not.” Her smile is unwavering; Rosaria cannot fathom how she wears that expression so easily. “I actually wanted to ask if you’d like to hang out with me this afternoon. I was thinking… maybe I could give you a makeover?”

The question stops Rosaria in her tracks. She does a double take, staring dumbfoundedly at her classmate. “...Excuse me?”

“A makeover,” Barbara says again, and there is finally a crack in the façade: sheepishness, creeping into the edges of her voice. “To help you settle in. You look, um… well… what I mean to say is, you still have the hair of a bandit.” She reaches up, then, to brush at Rosaria’s overgrown bangs. “Can I cut it for you?”

Rosaria takes a wary step back, out of Barbara’s reach. Barbara wants to… cut her hair? In the past, when it got too long, Rosaria would just take to it with a dagger, but she can’t imagine that that’s what this haircut will involve.

As if to explain, Barbara holds up a magazine with a glamorous woman on the cover. “Alice was telling me about something called ‘idols’,” she says. “I’ve been working on trying to be like one, and I think giving you a makeover would be good practice.”

“...Right.” Rosaria studies the picture, but she can’t imagine herself looking like that woman in a million years. “And what would this entail, exactly?”

Barbara shrugs. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. I can just start with cutting your hair, if you’d like.”

Despite her better judgement, Rosaria finds herself agreeing. The next thing she knows, she’s tailing Barbara through Mondstadt’s cobbled streets, listening as the younger girl excitedly explains all her ideas. Barbara is fourteen and lively, her face practically ablaze with eagerness. Rosaria can’t remember having ever been like that, even for a moment.

“Okay, we’re here.” Barbara turns the key in the lock, letting Rosaria in. “Dad doesn’t come home until late, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

Barbara’s father is the church’s seneschal, Seamus Pegg, so it shouldn’t be at all surprising that they live in a big, well-furnished house. Even so, Rosaria struggles to keep her expression level as her eyes roam over ornate bookshelves, an enormous fireplace, and the oil painting of their Lord Barsibato that has been hung over the mantel. She has been in Mondstadt for almost a week now, but she still cannot believe that people really live like this. Never mind Barbara’s house - Rosaria is still in awe of her own accommodation, and she’s living in a modest one-room dormitory in the church.

They wander into the bathroom, where she waits on a stool as Barbara sets up. First, she wraps fabric around Rosaria’s neck, and explains upon a questioning glance that it is to keep the cut hair from getting into her clothes. Then, she lays an assortment of tools out on the counter - Rosaria notes, with no shortage of surprise, that there are multiple combs and pairs of scissors, each in a different shape and size. Clearly she was right to assume that Barbara’s idea of a haircut was completely alien from her own.

Barbara hums as she gets to work. She cards her fingers through messy burgundy hair, examining every lock from root to tip, and Rosaria tries not to shrink under the scrutiny.

“You have a lot of split ends, so you definitely need at least a trim,” Barbara says, after a long period of observation. “Lord Barbatos has blessed you with gorgeous hair, you know. It’s important to keep it neat and healthy, to show your appreciation for his gifts.”

“Ah, I see. So he decided to give me nice hair over a good childhood, then,” Rosaria comments wryly, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

Barbara’s eyes dart away awkwardly, but she offers no other response. Instead, she keeps fiddling with Rosaria’s hair, clipping it up in all sorts of strange fashions. Finally, she makes a triumphant noise as she pulls it back into a haphazard ponytail, leaving a few strands dangling at the sides.

“What do you think?” Barbara brushes some of the hair out of Rosaria’s eyes. “I’ll trim it all, of course, but I reckon this style frames your face really nicely.”

Rosaria stares into the mirror for a long moment. Barbara has combed her mess of maroon hair into a neat fringe, with long bangs hanging around the sides of her face. The style already looks crisp and clean, and they have hardly started.

“I like it,” she says, and Barbara’s smile grows ever brighter. She gets to work immediately, still humming quietly to herself, filling the silence with song. Rosaria lets herself relax into the atmosphere, watching with quiet curiosity as Barbara cuts her hair.

After a while, the melody shifts into something strangely familiar. Barbara hums it with ease, her voice gliding over the notes, cresting through the highs and dipping down low.

“Wait a second.” Rosaria finally places it. “Is that the song we’re learning for choir?”

‘Supposed to be learning’ would be more accurate - Rosaria has hardly practised it, if at all. Barbara, on the other hand… well, she clearly already knows it front to back.

“It is,” she says, that smile still perched upon her lips. “How are you finding it?”

“Terrible,” Rosaria huffs. “I can’t remember any of the words.”

It’s not like she hasn’t tried. She spent five minutes on it the day they got the assignment, but the lyrics were so ridiculously banal she ended up throwing the sheet of paper halfway across her room. The song, like everything else the church does, is so reverent it sickens her: it makes it sound as though Lord Bartobas is some all-knowing entity who can do no wrong, and whose priority has always been his people’s happiness and freedom.

But if that were the case… how could he ever let Rosaria suffer the way she did? The joys of childhood were robbed from her, and instead replaced with an ocean of blood, tainted with frostbite and cruelty. If the gods are real, Rosaria is sure that they have long since abandoned her. She owes them nothing.

“That’s okay. Let me help you,” Barbara offers, and Rosaria tries not to be surprised. She would expect nothing less from Barbara, but after all her years with the bandit gang, she’s still far more accustomed to immediate criticism.

Barbara starts by singing the first line of the song, and then waits for Rosaria to copy it. When she does, the words are shaky and uncertain, falling quietly from her lips. Even so, Barbara still smiles brightly.

“That’s it!” she says. “You have a lovely voice, you know.”

Rosaria pretends not to be warmed by the compliment. Instead, she meets Barbara’s eyes in the mirror, silently urging her to move on to the next line. She does, and they fall into an easy rhythm, singing back and forth to each other as Barbara cuts Rosaria’s hair. By the end of the afternoon, they’re singing together, and although Rosaria’s voice is soft and her words unemotional, she keeps up all the same.

“There,” Barbara says eventually, putting down her scissors and resting her hands on Rosaria’s shoulders. “Done. What do you think?”

Barbara’s eyes are glowing with pride when Rosaria glances up at them. She takes a moment to admire her new haircut, and how different it makes her look. It’s… fresh, clean, the edges evenly trimmed and her fringe neatly pushed to one side. She reaches up, tugging one long strand and watching as it pops back into a gentle curl.

“It’s perfect,” she murmurs, raw with honesty, as her face breaks into a smile. This is her, the newest version of her: the one that’s grown up and found freedom in a land of soft winds and dandelions. The one that gets to live life of her own accord; who gets to have nice things and keep them, like the window overlooking the sea and the classmate who helps cut her hair and teaches her folk songs.

The future is filled with light, and Rosaria has finally found it.

~

“Hey, Rosaria? Are you ready?”

The voice is followed by a series of gentle knocks on Rosaria’s door. She stifles a long-suffering sigh, pausing in doing up the clasps of her corset.

“Almost,” she calls back, failing to disguise the irritation in her tone. “Just be patient, Barbs. You’re five minutes early.”

Barbara is as proactive in her church duties as ever, it seems. They have an important rehearsal today, and Rosaria was determined - as always - to find any excuse to skip it. Clearly, she already has far too long a record of truancy, because Sister Victoria sternly warned her that the roll would be taken, and then proceeded to assign Barbara the task of escorting her there.

It’s nearly been a year now since Rosaria first set foot upon a path of her own. Between skipping classes and dodging hymnal, she reckons she’s settled into life in Mondstadt quite nicely. It’s the City of Freedom, after all, so why shouldn’t she be free to choose what she does with her time? She doesn’t think Lord Bartato would mind too much.

He certainly wouldn’t mind as much as Sister Victoria does, Rosaria thinks, gazing at herself in the mirror. She runs her fingers through her fringe, brushing it slightly over her left eye, just the way she likes it. For the most part, she’s maintained the style Barbara cut for her, except nowadays she wears it a little longer and a little more dishevelled. It suits her: she’s hardly an ordinary Mondstadt citizen, what with the wildness and tragedy marring her past, and she likes for her appearance to reflect that.

Cutting her hair was only the beginning. It had occurred to her that very evening, as Rosaria admired the shiny new style in the mirror, that she had the freedom to dress as she pleased for the first time in her life. While she was with the bandits, she wore whatever oversized and slightly tattered hand-me-downs were given to her. They always dressed for work, only wearing clothes that were dark enough to hide them in shadows and lightweight enough to maintain full agility.

Now, however, she puts on a ripped nun’s habit and long white gloves before adorning herself with all manner of small, shining accessories, from the golden clasps on her belt to the gleaming silver pendant dangling from her wrist. When she had returned to her dormitory after her haircut, Rosaria had sat down on the wooden floors and taken to her church uniform with a dagger, carving out exquisite, angular shapes until she was satisfied. Now, she refuses to wear anything else when she is going to class and carrying out her various duties. She will never forget the way her teachers’ jaws dropped, the first time she’d shown up looking like an entirely different person. A part of her still relishes in the expressions of horror she’d painted upon their faces.

Barbara, for her part, had looked at once surprised - if not a little concerned - and proud. When Rosaria opens the door to her now, she is waiting with her usual radiant smile, completely unperturbed by Rosaria’s choice in fashion.

“You look nice,” she says brightly, reaching out to examine the edge of the scarlet belt wound around Rosaria’s waist. “Is this new?”

“Yeah. I picked it up at the markets last weekend.” She knew she had to, the moment she’d laid eyes on it. That shade of red was too deeply familiar, painted in memories of times long-gone. Scarlet ropes, crimson foxes, the warmth of a campfire against frigid snow…

“It’s pretty! I like it.” Barbara lets go, and the ornate clasp at the end of the belt thuds against Rosaria’s leg. “Are you ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Rosaria replies, suppressing a sigh. She follows Barbara through winding church hallways, passing beneath intricate stained-glass windows depicting Mondstadt’s history. They emerge into the nave of the building, where Sister Victoria greets them with a delicately raised eyebrow and waits as they clamber onto the choral risers with the other students.

Barbara nudges Rosaria with her elbow once they’ve found their places. When she smiles, it’s charming.

“Do you still know the lyrics?” It’s a genuine question, not without a teasing lilt. Rosaria rolls her eyes.

“Yes,” she mutters, internally wishing the answer was anything but.

There’s no way she could forget the words to this song, though. Not when it’s the very song Barbara helped her learn, note by note and line by line, back when she’d first arrived in Mondstadt. Rosaria still hates the song, but she’ll never forget that kindness.

And so, the words stay with her too, spilling softly from reluctant lips. Early morning sunlight cascades through the stained glass windows, and for a moment, Rosaria lets herself bask in that brilliant glow.

~

Mondstadt’s wilderness is calm and inviting, all green grass and butterflies and the taste of freedom on the wind. Rosaria finds herself there often, as it offers a sweet respite from the tedium of theology lessons and choir rehearsal.

She wants nothing more than to be there right now, but instead, she is stuck in the tail end of one of Sister Ophila’s classes. Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall, and she has to suppress an irritated sigh when she sees that the class should’ve ended five minutes ago. It shouldn’t surprise her anymore - at this point, she’s convinced Sister Ophila believes more devoutly in overtime than she does in the Anemo Archon.

When they are finally dismissed, Rosaria is the first one to leave. She makes her way down into the church courtyard, intending to make a beeline for Mondstadt’s gates, but she never gets there.

“Hey, bandit girl.”

A figure steps in front of her, blocking her path, all snowy white and peacock blue. Kaeya.

The boy who broke her arm.

“I’ve asked you not to call me that. What do you want?”

“Hey, hey, relax. A bunch of us are heading out to go sparring, and I just wanted to ask if you’d like to come and watch.” His uncovered ice-blue eye drops to the sling around her arm. “You should join us, when you’re better.”

“Sparring? Tch.” Rosaria rolls her eyes. “I’ll come, if only to see what you lot are made of.”

“You sound awfully confident for someone who’s only got three functioning limbs,” Kaeya teases. A part of Rosaria wants to punch him for it - while she may only have use of one arm, it’s a damn strong one - but the rest of her is warmed by the playful smirk on his face, radiant and bright.

“You say that now, but just you wait until my arm heals. I’ll show you,” she warns. Kaeya simply laughs in response, as easygoing as ever.

“I’ll hold you to it,” he agrees, turning on his heel and leading the way towards the Knights of Favonius’ training area. “Now come on. Diluc and Jean are probably there already.”

They don’t get far before their path is suddenly cut off by a blur of green and white, and Kaeya barely stops in time to avoid running into it.

“S-Sorry!” a soft voice says, as the frantic whirlwind of energy skids to a halt in front of them. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there.” The figure adjusts the pile of books and boxes in her arms, peering shyly around them at Rosaria and Kaeya.

“Ah, Sucrose.” Kaeya breaks into a wide grin. “Good to see you. Where are you off to, in such a rush?”

“Oh, um, just back to the laboratory. I needed to pick up some research papers.”

“‘Some’ seems to be an understatement,” Kaeya comments. “Well, best of luck with it. Tell Albedo I say hi, won’t you?”

“O-Of course,” Sucrose stammers. “Well, um… see you, then.” With that, she departs hastily, her ears twitching. Rosaria watches her go, unsure what to make of the exchange.

Kaeya chuckles to himself as they walk off. “She’s so funny, that one. Unless she’s talking about her experiments or her mentor, Albedo, she can’t get a full sentence out.”

“How come?” Rosaria finds herself asking. “Did somebody hurt her?” Her blood boils at the very idea.

“Oh, no, not that I know of. She’s just incredibly shy. Not everyone here is as charming as I am, you know.” He shoots Rosaria a dashing smile as he says it, and she rolls her eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that, you idiot.” She cuffs him lightly over the head with her good hand. “Get over yourself.”

Kaeya pouts, but his uncovered eye is shining with mirth. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Get used to it.”

He laughs. “I could, actually. You’re very refreshing, you know.”

Rosaria tries her best to keep her face neutral, but she’s sure her eyes have still widened with pleasant surprise. Nobody has ever spoken of her that way before. Refreshing? She’s different, sure, cloaked in darkness and hiding in her own estrangement, but she hadn’t ever considered that it could be a good thing.

And Sucrose… she’s so shy and soft-spoken, but nobody here gives her trouble over it. She, like Barbara, is a world apart from Rosaria. They’ve both had the chance to grow up in sunlight and spring, as free as dandelions on the wind.

Rosaria realises, in that moment, that she would not hesitate to pledge her life to protect this city and all the people in it. Mondstadt’s citizens have been given the opportunity to find their own destinies, surrounded by safety and comfort, and Rosaria never wants to see it stolen from them.

When she watches Kaeya spar with Diluc and Jean, she knows they understand. It’s why they’re all here with their blades gleaming in the midafternoon sun, stopping at nothing to better their skills. Rosaria may only be watching, for now, but determination still crackles in her chest, frosty and cool.

Codi’s voice rings in her head then, taking her back to the snow-kissed days of her childhood.

If you could’ve stopped us from destroying your home village… what would you have done?

Rosaria feels her good hand tighten into a fist, her mind washed with crystalline blue. Her Vision weighs heavy at her back, thrumming with power.

She may not have been able to protect her village, but things are different now. Ice runs through her veins, frost crackling at her fingertips - and should anyone dare to turn against the city that has welcomed her into its gates, she will not hesitate to destroy them.

Home was taken from her once. She will not let it happen again.

~

Rosaria can read her opponent like a book.

Diluc is strong, formidably so, with enough power to wield an enormous greatsword as though it is no lighter than a feather. He is the type of person to face everything head-on, simply because he’s tough enough to do so. While Rosaria fights in the shadows, relying on stealth and agility, Diluc stands unflinchingly in the burning sunlight, as though daring his opponents to come closer.

But Rosaria waits. Keeping her polearm held at the ready, she stays motionless, her eyes fixed on Diluc’s face.

There. A twitch of his muscles, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He hoists his greatsword over his shoulder as tongues of flame begin to dance across the blade, coalescing into the shape of a brilliant phoenix. It is the manifestation of his Vision: his gift of Pyro powers, come to life.

It is also the reason Kaeya pitted him and Rosaria against each other in their sparring session today.

“Two Vision wielders, fighting one-on-one,” he’d said, his smile laced with devious curiosity. “I’d love to see what happens.”

Now he is watching, wide-eyed, as an enormous bird with wings of fire flies directly towards Rosaria, who still hasn’t moved a muscle. She waits, steady and unflinching, until it’s close enough for her to feel the waves of heat rolling off of it, the scent of smoke and ash on her tongue.

A split second before it touches her, she vanishes into thin air, leaving nothing behind but a flurry of snowflakes. She reappears directly behind Diluc, and before he even has time to turn around, she is leaping into an impressively high kick. The cold power of her Vision flows through her, and as her foot comes down, she summons an enormous cross-shaped lance made purely of ice. As it strikes the ground, frosty stalagmites rise around its blade like the hackles of an angry cat. Pulses of cold air roll off of it, filling the air with a deadly frost.

Off on the sidelines, Kaeya whoops gleefully. Rosaria refuses to let him distract her: Diluc’s reaction time is almost terrifyingly quick, and he is already lunging towards her again, his claymore burning with Pyro energy. She ducks out of the way, waiting for another pulse from her lance to cloud the air with frost before she acts. Once Diluc’s vision is obscured, she dashes back towards him and, in one sweeping motion, knocks his legs out from under him.

He responds with more ease than she’s ready for. He catches himself, rolling over and bouncing back to his feet with surprising agility. Without hesitation, he swings his blade towards her again, and this time Rosaria raises her own weapon to parry his blow. Metal shrieks against metal as they spar, surrounded by crystalline fog. When Diluc summons Pyro energy to his blade again, the way it shines in the icy air is almost magical.

By the time their sparring match draws to a close, Rosaria is brushing sweat from her brow, even though her arms are covered in goosebumps. The air itself seems to be steaming, perhaps as a byproduct of all the Cryo energy Diluc melted with his fiery claymore.

He claps her on the shoulder then, his touch steady and firm.

“Well fought,” he says, and those ruby eyes are sparkling with exhilaration. “You’re a formidable opponent.”

“Same to you.” Rosaria dips her head in a respectful nod.

Kaeya saunters over then, clapping slowly, a wide grin plastered across his face. “Excellent work, you two. That was positively thrilling to watch.” Turning to Rosaria, he adds, “that lance move of yours is coming along quite nicely, huh?”

“Sure is.” Rosaria slips her habit off, running her fingers through sweaty bangs. The ice lance is something she’d taught herself to summon recently, after becoming particularly bored at one of the church’s routine prayer rituals. As soon as it had concluded, she’d vanished into Mondstadt’s wilderness to practise her fighting techniques. All the while, however, she couldn’t stop herself from ruminating on everything she’d learned in her time at the church. Confessions and retribution, sin and salvation, praying for absolution despite doing nothing to earn it… they were all concepts she could not wrap her head around.

And then, like a bolt of lightning in a snowstorm, it had come to her. Flying into a kick, she had summoned it: a lance in the shape of a religious cross, twined in thorns and roses. It pulsed with power, deadly and cold, and yet she remained impervious to that frosty mist, her body protected by the cool blue stone at her back.

As she watched it, everything clicked into place in her mind.

Sin and retribution.

Absolution.

She understood, then, what they all meant to her. She would not settle for idle words of prayer; rather, she would become a purveyor of justice, protecting this peaceful land in the name of the Archon it worshipped.

Quietly, Rosaria watches as Diluc puts away his greatsword and adjusts his high ponytail. His scarlet hair is vibrant, as bright as fire under the midafternoon sun. People like him - and Jean, Kaeya, and the rest of their fellow Knights - are on Mondstadt’s front lines, defending that beast of light while basking in its radiance. Rosaria, however…

She will find her place in the shadows, carving out safety in the places no-one can see.

~

Rosaria slips down cobbled streets, an expensive white leather journal and fountain pen tucked under one arm. She is suddenly thankful for the long, dark fabric of her nun’s habit, helping her disappear into the shadows that line every alleyway.

She’s supposed to be in class, sitting through another of Sister Ophila’s lectures on the importance of religion. Rosaria couldn’t possibly be less interested if she tried.

So, instead of taking a left into the classroom, she had taken a right and left the church altogether.

Now she is far away, in a dingy alleyway between two buildings. A black cat winds around her feet, meowing plaintively at her; Rosaria leans down to give it a pat, but it leaves quickly upon realising she doesn’t have any food to offer it. She watches as it leaps onto a nearby porch railing before clambering up, claws scrabbling, onto the roof. A moment later, a pair of golden eyes peer down at her over the edge, as though inviting her to follow.

“Wait up, little guy,” Rosaria murmurs, half to herself, tucking her book and pen into her belt. Despite the fact that she still has a cast around one arm, she manages to climb up past low-hanging vines and philanemo mushrooms to join the cat on the roof. By the time she gets there, however, the creature has already disappeared, leaving nothing in its wake but a gentle breeze.

Having already made the journey onto the roof, Rosaria decides to stay there, basking in the warm sunlight and open air. She takes a seat on the red clay tiles, looking out at the merchant streets below her.

They’re beautiful, and so alive, bustling with noise and human activity. People mill about between stalls, exchanging pleasant smiles and easy conversation. Vendors hawk their wares, their voices carrying above the din of the daytime crowd.

“Try the finest Mondstadt grilled fish, at unbeatable prices!”

“Fresh sunsettias! Buy two for the price of one!”

“The best snake wine on the market, imported directly from Sumeru!”

Rosaria has never seen, or heard, anything like it before. She is so used to isolation that a street packed with people is beyond her wildest dreams - and yet here she is, looking right down at a bustling marketplace. Everyone seems so amicable, with smiles on their faces and baskets full of fresh produce slung over their arms. Rosaria cannot imagine what it must be like for them, to lead a life where spending time in a place like this is considered ordinary, if not routine.

But as she sits there, watching people come and go, she realises–

One day, this could even be her ordinary.

Mondstadt is her home now. Despite her blood-soaked past, she has found her way here, amidst people leading the sort of homely lives she always dreamed of. And those people have not hesitated to welcome her.

Emotion wells in her chest. She will never be entirely like them, as estranged as she has become in her eighteen years - and yet, she has still been granted this opportunity to walk alongside them, living for her childhood self and all the years that were stolen from her. The gratitude she feels is almost overwhelming.

In this land of freedom, we must cherish the gifts that come on the wind, Sister Ophila had intoned back in one of Rosaria’s first lessons, when she was still doing her best to pay attention. Always be rejoicing. Give thanks for everything. Gratitude is a virtue that connects us all through a sense of indebtedness: the Anemo Archon has bestowed upon us this land of peace and prosperity, and so to show our thanks, we must dedicate ourselves to him.

She had then explained to Rosaria that this was what her brand-new white leather journal was for. It was a space for her to explore the ideas they discussed in class, the first virtue being gratitude - what would she thank the Anemo Archon for? What would drive her to devote herself to worship?

To this day, the pages have remained empty.

Rosaria isn’t sure she believes in gods, but as she presses the tip of her fountain pen to paper for the very first time, she knows with perfect clarity what she is grateful for. The words come easily, then.

Dandelion wine - now eighty percent off!

She writes slowly, carefully, holding the pen as steadily as possible. Although she is writing with her non-dominant hand, the lettering is still beautiful. Years of learning, under Codi’s tutelage, to fight ambidextrously has paid off after all.

Fisherman’s toast - an incredible flavour at an unbelievable price!

There is so much noise rising from the marketplace below that Rosaria can hardly keep up, but she jots down what she can.

Crazy discounts on wheat - ask at the counter and we’ll grind it into flour for you!

Buy three tomatoes and get one free!

Fresh small lamp grass! Use it to light up your bathroom! Come on, sir, have a look!

One by one, she commits the vendors’ cries to paper. After all, to be sitting here, listening to them at all, is nothing short of a miracle. She is grateful for this chance to witness the lifestyle she was stolen from. Most of all, she is grateful for the chance to partake in it, despite how far her own path took her into violence and bloodshed. She could be sitting in a jail cell right now, next to bandits who have spent a lifetime wanting nothing to do with her, but instead she is here, basking in golden sunlight and the sound of a bustling marketplace crowd.

Rosaria may not believe in gods, but she does believe in the warm soul of Mondstadt and its people. She believes in Varka, in Jean and Kaeya, Barbara and Diluc. She believes in their kindness, in the brilliant light that spills from their very bodies. They may not see it, but she does: their spirits have been nourished by a lifetime of love, and they are positively radiant.

If to be grateful is to be indebted, then Rosaria is indebted not to Lord Barbietoes but to his people, for their goodwill is something she will never forget.

~

Even at night, the city is alive.

Rosaria runs along the rooftops, her footsteps soft against the red clay tiles. Below her, light spills onto the street from Mondstadt’s many taverns, their businesses as prosperous as ever. Through open windows she can hear lively, drunken chatter; after a hard day at work, the people of Mondstadt are enjoying a chance to unwind in each other’s company.

It’s a little bit like nights around the campfire with the bandit gang, Rosaria supposes. Except here, the warm lights spilling across stones are not symbolic of survival as much as they are of joy and camaraderie: these people are here because they want to be, and it is reflected in the jovial tones of their voices. No-one in the bandit gang ever spoke like that - their campfire conversations were always tense, consisting of little more than a discussion of the next day’s plans.

So really, in the greater scheme of things, this is nothing like the bandit gang at all.

And thank goodness for that. It was an integral part of her life, but Rosaria doesn’t miss it whatsoever.

Even so, she lets herself be grateful for the skills her past has left her with. Drawing her polearm, she ducks behind a chimney, staying alert for any sign of movement. She may not be a bandit anymore, but she is still a trained hunter, and those instincts don’t simply disappear.

There. Footsteps; the scuffle of boots on stone. Hushed whispers. Found you.

“Everything is going according to plan, Boss.”

Two men stand in the alleyway below her, bandanas obscuring their faces. The shorter of the two presses something into his associate’s hand; his boss nods gruffly at him, closing his fist around the stolen object.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, if I were you.”

Rosaria’s tone is level - chipper, even - as she drops into the alleyway in a blur of billowing black fabric, like a ghost amidst shadows. She whirls her polearm in her dominant hand, which has fully healed and is now as strong as ever. The blade of her weapon gleams in the moonlight, sharp and threatening.

The two thieves take one look at her and burst out laughing.

“A nun?” the shorter one wheezes. “What are you gonna do, pray to your archon? Or will you try and ward us off with some lame little cross?”

“Something like that,” Rosaria growls, lashing out with her polearm before leaping into a high kick. Her crystalline, cross-shaped lance plummets into the alleyway in a burst of frosty blue energy, grazing the smaller man’s arm as it passes.

“Ha!” he sneers, rolling up his sleeve to reveal nothing more than a shallow red line, just barely starting to sparkle with blood. “You missed.”

“Did I?” Rosaria responds dryly. “A quick death is far more than you deserve.”

At that moment, the lance releases a blast of cold air, glittering with deadly particles of ice. It takes the two men by surprise, and without the strength of Visions to protect them, they are left completely vulnerable. They both stagger backwards, their skin already turning pale with frost. Even so, the shorter man reaches for a throwing knife, his eyes narrowing fiercely although his fingers are trembling with the cold. He shares a glance with his boss as he draws back his arm and the taller man scrambles away, receding back into the shadows.

The moment the shorter man throws his knife at her, Rosaria disappears.

“Not so fast,” her voice hisses from the darkness, and she re-materialises in a burst of cold air in front of the retreating boss.

He stops in his tracks, eyes widening in undisguisable shock. Frantically, he looks around the alleyway, but there is no escape: Rosaria has her polearm held between them, blocking the only exit. He shrinks under her steely gaze, his limbs trembling, and Rosaria isn’t sure if it’s because of the cold or the terror.

“The item in your hand,” she says, her tone of voice leaving no room for argument. “Give it to me. Now.”

His eyes narrow. “What happens if I don’t?”

Rosaria levels her weapon against his throat, just close enough to pierce his skin. A tiny droplet of blood glitters at the tip of the blade, such a dark shade of crimson that it almost looks black.

“I don’t think you want to find out.”

“Boss.” The word is little more than a dying wheeze. “Boss, I don’t - I don’t think she’s joking.”

Rosaria’s gaze flickers across to the second thief, whose eyes are streaming, his lips a deathly shade of blue. He has been sitting in the perimeter of her ice lance for so long that he is hardly conscious now, each burst of frigid air draining his life force even further.

“You should listen to your underling,” Rosaria says, her weapon still held at the taller thief’s throat. “Otherwise, I’ll make sure neither of you live to see another sunrise.”

His gaze darts between her and his associate, his brows drawn in thought. Rosaria waits, carefully increasing the pressure against his neck with every passing second.

“Fine,” he relents, tossing the item in his hand towards her. “This isn’t worth it. Come on.” He turns to lift one of his colleague’s arms over his shoulders, helping him limp away. Rosaria climbs silently back up to the rooftops to tail them from above, making sure that they retreat far, far away from Mondstadt.

Her home. Her beast of light.

Once she’s sure they’re gone, she unfurls her fist to reveal a shiny silver key. It’s so small and unassuming, and yet clearly a crucial obstacle between the thieves and unimaginable value. With this key, Rosaria has been able to ensure that Mondstadt’s peaceful existence is not interfered with.

She runs back along the rooftops, intending to anonymously drop the key off to the Knights of Favonius so it can be safely returned. She doesn’t notice the single ice-blue eye watching her quietly, knowingly, from the darkness.

~

The day Rosaria walks through Mondstadt’s gates for the very first time, she finds guidance in a man whose very being seems to be moulded from light.

Varka meets her in the infirmary, where Jean and Kaeya had dropped her off upon arrival to Mondstadt. It occupies a spacious, sunlit area on the ground floor of the Cathedral, which might be the biggest, most imposing and utterly incredible structure Rosaria has ever seen in her life. The building is gothic and elegant, all stained-glass windows and smooth stone, with spires reaching so high that she has to crane her neck just to see them. It is a masterpiece of architecture, and for someone like Rosaria, who has lived in tents for most of her life, the fact that such a building could even exist is unfathomable.

And yet here she is, sitting inside of it, staring at the man who offered her this precious second chance. Varka looks out of place in the infirmary, with his wind-ruffled hair and bloodied armour. Everything here is so sterile.

His eyes dart briefly to Rosaria when he enters, but he doesn’t acknowledge her, and instead turns to start a hushed conversation with the nurse who treated her. Rosaria swings her legs as she waits, running fascinated fingers over the cast now covering her fractured arm. It’s so… clean, so perfect-looking. Aside from the sight of fresh snow on Dragonspine, this might be the most pristine shade of white she’s ever laid eyes upon.

“Hey, missy.” Varka’s voice startles Rosaria out of her thoughts, and she looks up to find him standing directly in front of her. “Can I call you that? I was going to go with ‘kiddo’, but” - he ruffles her hair gently, his hand heavy and warm - “I think you might be a little too big for that, eh? How old are you, exactly?”

“Eighteen.” Rosaria hesitates. “I think.”

“Right, right. You’re a little older than I thought - awfully scrawny, aren’t ya? Poor thing, I can’t imagine what rubbish they tried to feed you out there. Anyways… Rosaria, was it?” He pauses, waiting for her to nod before he continues. “Welcome to Mondstadt. Did Jean and Kaeya tell you about the building we’re in?”

Rosaria shrugs. “It’s a cathedral.” The ‘Favonius Cathedral’, Jean had explained as they walked in. Rosaria doesn’t know much else, apart from the fact that the building is truly a sight to behold.

“That’s right. And do you know what cathedrals are used for?”

The question stumps her. She isn’t particularly sure what most people do in buildings to begin with, aside from living in them. (And storing their valuables. She is very familiar with those.)

At the blank look on her face, Varka explains, “it’s a place of worship. This cathedral is dedicated to our Anemo Archon, Lord Barbatos, to thank him for guiding Mondstadt to become the land of peace and prosperity that it is today. As such, I want you to stay here, where you can be cleansed by the light of our archon. You still have the chance to turn your fate around and live a normal life.”

“How?” Rosaria whispers. What magic could these people possibly possess, to save a girl as estranged and wild as she is?

“I want you to join our class of postulants, and learn the ways of worship and prayer,” Varka replies. “The Sisters here will help rehabilitate you, so you can find your place in Mondstadt.”

Rosaria has no idea what he means - she cannot fathom what worship could possibly have to do with her nonexistent family tree - but whatever the case, she knows he’s wrong. Asking someone like her to try and find a place in Mondstadt is like asking the impossible. She’s already too far gone, and it has become increasingly apparent ever since Jean and Kaeya escorted her here.

This is the life of her dreams, and Rosaria’s spirit has grown far too warped and ugly to fit it anymore. She is a creature of darkness, and what’s bred in darkness will never turn to light.

It’s all too clear to her now. Codi was right all along - she never should’ve listened to the Knights. She should’ve kept fighting, should’ve stayed with the only people who’ve ever bothered to keep her around. She should’ve spared Codi’s life, the same way they have spared hers, over and over again.

The wintry snow, washed in blood… maybe that was really all that was out there for her. The life she hated is the only one she’ll ever fit into.

After all, a life here, in Mondstadt, certainly isn’t hers. Rosaria is sure of that now, after hearing how Jean and Kaeya exchanged friendly banter all the way back; after admiring the gorgeous architecture of the church, and the enormous statue in its courtyard; and after a kind-eyed nurse had wrapped her arm for her, in bandages so white they might’ve blinded her.

Varka is still watching her, waiting for a response. Rosaria, unable to meet his gaze, fiddles absentmindedly with her Vision.

Maybe this is all I’m good for.

She pretends not to feel hot tears stinging at the backs of her eyes. Instead, she glances up, looking just slightly off to the left of Varka’s face. His eyes are so warm, flickering in shades of gold, that she thinks she’d turn to ashes if she looked right at them.

“I don’t want to stay in Mondstadt,” she says.

It’s a lie, plain and simple. This is the life she’s dreamed of for as long as she can remember, and she wants it more than anything - but wanting it doesn’t make it hers to keep. It has taken her a lifetime, but she understands that now.

So, instead of staying in this cathedral and becoming - what did Varka say? A ‘postulant’? - she will find a way into Mondstadt’s jails, where she will free the other bandits, and return to her place in their midst. She’ll tell them she went with the Knights so she’d be free to save them all. She’ll tell them she killed Codi to make it look believable.

Varka looks down at her pitifully. He is silent for a long moment, scrutinising her, a slight furrow forming between his brows.

Finally, he tells her, “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable letting you leave right now. Your current abilities” - as he says it, Rosaria covers her arm self-consciously - “are not suited to life beyond Mondstadt’s borders.”

Rosaria narrows her eyes, peering warily at his face. She hadn’t expected him to lie right back.

Only hours earlier, he had watched her take on two of his own Knights, quite literally single-handedly. Anyone weaker would have been overpowered within seconds. After eighteen long years of hunger and bloodshed, the wilderness is nothing to her, and they both know it.

“Fine,” she agrees quietly. It might just be the easiest word she’s ever had to say.

After all, how could she possibly argue with him now? This man, who has known her for all of ten minutes, has lied to her face for no other reason than to keep her around - and what justification could he have for that, other than simply wanting to? For the face of Mondstadt’s protectors to ask her to stay… at that point, the city itself might as well be calling her name.

“Atta girl.” He smiles at her, warm and homely. “Well, now that that’s settled, why don’t I show you to your new quarters?”

Rosaria glances up, wide-eyed. Her own quarters… Jean really wasn’t lying, then, when she said that Varka would give her a place to live.

Standing shakily, she moves to follow him. She almost can’t believe how quickly her resolve has shattered; just moments ago, she was thinking of throwing this all away, and retreating back into shadows and snow. But as much as she fits in with the bandits, none of them actually want her. Here, she may be a complete outsider, but this place…

It wants her to stay.

Rosaria has never felt wanted before.

Dizzy with wonder, she tails Varka out of the infirmary and up a winding stone staircase, out into the far wings of the building. He leads her down a long hallway lined with doors; they stop at a room at the very end, where sunlight streams through an open window to illuminate the crisp white sheets of a single bed in the corner. The other corner houses a study area, with a desk, chair, and a small lamp, and on the far side of the room stands a chest of drawers.

Rosaria looks up at Varka, slack-jawed. Surely, this could not possibly be for her–

“This’ll be your room from now on,” he says, then, and it takes all her strength to stop her legs from giving out in amazement. All this is going to be hers? And he’s not joking?

If Rosaria were any weaker-willed, her eyes would’ve welled up with tears. This room… this is everything she’s wanted for as long as she can remember. She’ll finally have a roof over her head, and a warm bed to sleep in, all in a space she can call her own. It’s so perfect, she almost doesn’t believe it.

“Why?”

The word slips out before she can stop it. She glances up at Varka, heart in her throat; when he meets her gaze, his eyes are lined with a smile, soft and compassionate.

“You want to know why I’m doing this for you?”

Rosaria nods meekly, fiddling at the edge of her cloak with her good hand. Varka stays silent for a long moment, one hand scratching thoughtfully at his bearded chin.

“You remind me of one of my apprentices,” he finally says. “You’re young, and young people are often given no choice but to walk blindly down the path they are led by their mentors. Sometimes, they are led astray, and it is up to the others around them to help steer them back in the right direction - to help them find their own path. The one that is truly right for them.” He pauses, meeting her gaze, and there is a solemness in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “I don’t think it’s too late for you yet, missy. Don’t prove me wrong, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rosaria whispers, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Yeah, okay.”

“Now come in, and have a look at your new quarters.” The moment of sincerity passes as quickly as it started, and he ushers her into the little room. Rosaria shuffles over to the bed, taking a seat on the mattress, and she has to hold back a gasp when she realises how soft it is. Compared to the tattered bedroll she’s been using all her life, this is heavenly.

“Comfy, isn’t it?” Varka walks over to her, passing her the brown paper bag he’s been carrying. “Here, take this.”

When Rosaria unfurls the top to peer inside, she finds a cluster of spiky, purple berries, a few of them still crested with curling leaves. She looks up at Varka questioningly, wondering what he expects her to do with them. Surely they’re not food, of all things; they look more uncomfortable to eat than week-old bread.

Varka smiles ever so slightly, amused by the look of utter confusion on Rosaria’s face. He crouches to be at her level, before reaching out to take a berry from the bag.

“If your injury starts bothering you, you just have to take one of these, crush it, and place it on the fracture,” he explains. There’s a pause, his breath catching between his teeth, and he stops fiddling with the berry to meet Rosaria’s eyes. She is taken aback by the sudden solemnity in his gaze as he says, “listen, missy. Promise me you’ll live on.”

There are layers to those words, so many layers Rosaria thinks it might take her a lifetime to unpack them. Even so, she feels a spark of understanding - she harbours an instinctual knowledge, a part of her subconscious that knows exactly what he means.

When she speaks again, her voice is little more than a whisper, raw with gratitude, gentle yet genuine.

“I promise.”

~

“Rosaria! Just the not-quite-nun I was looking for.” Kaeya slings a friendly arm over Rosaria’s shoulders, and she glares out of the corner of her eyes at him.

“What do you want?”

“I see you’re as cold as ever, Rosi.” Kaeya heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I thought you’d be more excited to see me, considering I have good news for you.”

Rosaria raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. He grins at her, taking a moment to bask in the suspense before he speaks again.

“Varka’s waiting for you in his office. He’ll tell you the rest.”

How anticlimactic. Rosaria would roll her eyes if she weren’t so surprised - and suspicious. What would the Grand Master, of all people, need from her right now?

“Are you setting me up?”

“What, you think this is a prank?” Kaeya pretends to look wounded. “You have so little faith in me, bandit girl.”

Rosaria almost recoils at the familiar nickname. “We’re back to that?”

“We will be, if you don’t listen to me.” Kaeya offers her a dazzling smile, completely unashamed. “I want to see you making your way down to Varka’s office the moment I leave.”

“...Okay, what exactly have you done?”

“Nothing!” Kaeya insists, before amending, “okay, so maybe I did have a part in it. Just a little. You can thank me later.” With that, he withdraws his arm from around her shoulders, waving cheerily at her as he saunters away. “Now go! You don’t want to keep the Grand Master waiting!”

For a long moment, Rosaria simply stands there, watching his shadow disappear. Since no-one else is around, she allows herself a small, amused smile, before she turns and makes for Varka’s office.

She finds him seated at his desk, begrudgingly making his way through a thick stack of paperwork. He glances up when she knocks on the open door, and a bright smile appears beneath his fluffy beard. Rosaria isn’t sure if he’s actually happy to see her, or if he’s just grateful for an excuse to get away from his duties. Knowing Varka, it’s probably both.

“Rosaria!” he says cheerfully, standing to greet her. “Come in, come in. I see Kaeya had no trouble finding you.”

Kaeya wouldn’t. When Rosaria wants to hide, she can do it well; it’s fortunate for Kaeya that he’s not one of the people she hides from.

She inclines her head at Varka, acknowledging his words with the slightest of nods.

“I’m glad you’re here - please take a seat,” Varka continues. He ushers her into a chair before sitting across from her, steepling his hands at his chin. “Did Kaeya tell you why I called you in today?”

Rosaria shakes her head. “He just said you had good news.”

Varka is silent for several heartbeats, his expression betraying nothing.

Finally, he says, “I’ve been informed that you have been engaging in some… rather unorthodox activities lately.” He watches her carefully as he speaks. “Under the cover of darkness, you have frequently been chasing thieves, retrieving stolen goods, and confronting trespassers, all without the permission of any members of authority. Would that be correct?”

Rosaria stares at him for a long moment, bewildered. His eyes are crisp and cold, his mouth set in a firm line, and his voice is uncharacteristically void of emotion. Is he actually… mad at her? She thought she had been doing a good thing.

“It is, yes, but I just wanted–”

“I have a proposition for you.” The tiniest of smiles graces his face then, and as his eyes sparkle mischievously, Rosaria realises he was messing with her. She isn’t sure if she’d rather wrangle him or Kaeya first, for constantly playing her like a fool.

Regardless, they’d just laugh it off, amusing themselves with the frustration creeping into her face. And she’d let them, because as irritating as the both of them can be, she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

“How would you like to continue doing this work in an official capacity?” Varka asks her. “You will have the blessing and support of the Knights of Favonius, and will be able to work simultaneously with us to protect Mondstadt’s borders. I will speak with the Sisters to allow you to continue with this job under the guise of the church.”

Rosaria’s eyes widen. Whatever she had expected upon walking into this meeting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“You see - and I’m gonna be real honest with you for a second, alright?” Varka looks at her seriously, but then continues talking without waiting for her response. Rosaria has to stop herself from rolling her eyes fondly, already more than used to his long-winded lectures. “As you are aware, Mondstadt is a place of peace and prosperity, and its people enjoy their freedoms here knowing that they are safe within the city walls. But for every light there is shadow, and likewise, peace cannot exist without conflict. That is why we Knights of Favonius are here, working hard to keep trouble at bay so that the people of Mondstadt can sleep soundly, warm with the knowledge that they are safe from harm. However… there are some dangers lurking in the darkness that none of those innocent people should ever witness. We Knights work under the watchful gazes of the citizens we protect, so those secret dangers are harder for us to extinguish. But you…”

Rosaria understands. “I will work in the places that nobody should see.”

Varka nods, grimacing slightly. “I would’ve worded it a little… differently,” he says, “but yes. Should you be interested, I will allow you to do that work in an official capacity, as I am faithful that you have the skills and experience needed to complete it. You will also become a Sister and continue with your required church duties, so as not to arouse unnecessary attention.”

“Wait - so I still have to go to choir practice in the mornings?”

Almost as if they’ve summoned her, Sister Ophila suddenly bursts into the room, filling Varka’s office with her shrill complaints.

“Rosaria! I was told I might find you here!” she glares down at her student, who looks coolly back at her. “You are certainly far more punctual when the Grand Master summons you. I’m starting to think you should change tack and simply become a Knight instead, if you’re so interested in their work.”

“Sister Ophila,” Varka greets her politely, “Rosaria and I happen to be in the middle of a meeting, if you hadn’t yet noticed. How may we help you?”

“Grand Master.” Ophila clears her throat, and Rosaria notes, not without a hint of satisfaction, that her cheeks are rosy with sheepishness. “I apologise for disturbing you. In fact, I was hoping to speak with you both, as Rosaria’s dedication to her duties - or lack thereof, to be precise - is nothing short of disappointing. I understand why you sent her to us, but I fear we do not have the means to help her.” She turns her gaze to Rosaria, who meets it unflinchingly. “Miss Rosaria… if I may ask frankly, do you intend to do any work at all with the church?”

“No,” Rosaria replies breezily, sharing a knowing look with Varka. “I’ve already found other work.”

His eyes crinkle at the edges, one hand rising to hide a cheeky smile.

“Atta girl,” he whispers, quietly enough so that only Rosaria can hear. “I think you’ve found it, missy. Your path.”

Warmth blooms in Rosaria’s chest. Varka is right, she thinks. This is it: this is her path, a fate she was not led towards, but instead one that she found and forged herself. This is where she was meant to be.

Rosaria isn’t like the people of Mondstadt, who bask in blinding sunlight, radiant and joyful. She will never be like them, and…

And maybe that’s okay.

Maybe she can carve out a moonlit space of her own, where she can use the knowledge and skills she gained in her past to protect the people that surround her in the present. She is at home in the embrace of darkness, and it is there that she will use the fruits of her upbringing to protect her cherished beast of light. Her home.

Chapter Text

The past tastes of ancient sorrows; the future beckons from a brilliant horizon.

~

Rosaria
Wintry frost and bitter winds… the unrelenting gale howls in Rosaria’s ears, a symphony of suffering painted in bleak shades of silver. The soaring mountains of Dragonspine are just as dreary as the day she left them.

She doesn’t miss it, and yet, her chest twinges with something akin to nostalgia. This was her home, once. It is hard to fathom now, but back then, this desolate landscape was all she’d known.

Pushing the thoughts aside, she strides deeper into the wilderness, her ripped nun’s habit billowing behind her in the wind. A crown of thorns, fashioned from polished metal spikes, keeps it held steadily atop her head. It does not budge, held fast by Rosaria’s sense of reverence. Even after all these years in Mondstadt, it is reverence not to the gods, but to the people who took her in when she’d lost everything.

It is that reverence that brings her back to Dragonspine. She is here investigating the trail of a suspicious individual - or perhaps multiple suspicious individuals, if her intuition has anything to say about it. The Chief Alchemist… clearly, Rosaria had been right to be wary of him, and yet something doesn’t add up. Kaeya’s instincts are as sharp as her own, and Rosaria knows that he trusts the gentle alchemist like a brother.

She can’t blame him. Albedo is as Mondstadtian as they come, with a heart fashioned from the finest gold.

There. Her thoughts are stopped short when she notices something small and delicate, bright against the frigid white snow. Bending down, she turns it over in her hands, examining it. A Whopperflower petal.

But it’s not like any Whopperflower petal Rosaria has ever seen. The underside of the petal is unusually dark, almost indigo in hue, and the veins running through it are a striking shade of pink. The very tip of the petal fades into a similar colour, almost as though someone dipped it in a vial of dazzling liquid. It is clear that the Whopperflower it came from was no ordinary life-form - such unusual colouration doesn’t simply occur in nature.

After another moment’s inspection, Rosaria pockets the petal and continues on, only to find herself on familiar grounds. Crumbling stone structures rise from the snow, looking small and pitiful in the late afternoon sunlight. The charred woodwork strewn about them has been further eaten away, so much so that Rosaria might not have recognised the wreckage if her memories weren’t so clear.

It has been more than a decade since the last time she set foot here, and yet she remembers that night like it was yesterday. She remembers lying alone on the frigid ground, her tears falling like icicles against her cheeks, as she wondered about the family she never got to know. She remembers picking flowers until her nose itched with pollen, and then wandering through this wreckage giving them to ghosts. She remembers the sorrow that wracked her body, coiling tight in her throat and pricking at her eyes.

And yet, as she stands there, staring at the snowy wasteland, she realises: that sorrow is not as sharp as it used to be. The bitterness on her tongue has faded enough that it no longer hurts her to swallow it.

It's not that she doesn't miss the family she could've had. Her bones still ache with grief for them, and for all the lives that were cut short far too soon. But life has given her a different family: one that is not related to her by blood as much as it is by shared kindness, and its existence fills out the hole in her chest she has carried for so many years.

The last time she was here, she was a hurt and lonely little girl, who’d known nothing but a lifetime of pain and loss. Her most vivid memories were that of burning flames, lapping the sky in tongues of scarlet and orange; of hard labour in the freezing cold, ribs hollow with hunger, her fingers split and bleeding; of friends who were ripped from her as quickly as she’d found them.

But now…

She has grown to be so much more than that. Now, she carries the love of people who keep her around not because she’s useful to them, but simply because they can - simply because they want to. Her most vivid memories are those of warm golden eyes and jovial smiles, hidden beneath a thick beard; of friendly sparring sessions, sword meeting spear beneath sunny skies; and even of those awful church songs, which she sings begrudgingly because she knows she’ll hear the sweetest voice singing right alongside her.

As she wanders through the silent village, she can’t help but think about how much has changed. Just last night, she was at the Angel’s Share with Kaeya, chatting and laughing over a couple of drinks as Diluc looked on with thinly veiled exasperation. The last time she visited her birthplace, such a scenario would have seemed unfathomable.

She stops, then, as the trailing fabric of her torn-up church uniform catches on something at the base of what used to be a wall. When Rosaria leans down to inspect it, she finds a cluster of mint, sprouting determinedly in the shelter of the old stone structure. And then, when she runs her hand through the greenery, she reveals the opening of a small hole - a fox’s burrow, winding down into the earth. A tiny head peeks up at her from the depths, its eyes wide and startled.

As she stands to look around, she realises - she’s not the only one who’s changed.

In every corner, bushels of green and blue and gold sprout from the wreckage, fiercely withstanding the wind and snow. Sprigs of mint sway in the blustery air, while sweet flowers turn their faces towards a watery sun. Tiny foxes dart between the plants, taking shelter under broken beams and dilapidated walls.

Rosaria has to swallow a lump in her throat, trying to blink back the wave of emotions that has just come over her. What she did here, twelve years ago… it has allowed life to start flourishing here once again, slowly taking back what was once burned right to the ground. The dead village of her memories is now vibrant and alive.

Not all of the lifeforms here are so innocent, though. The Whopperflower petal sits heavy in her pocket, reminding her of the investigative work she has yet to complete. She shifts back into focus as she strides through the old village, boots soft against the snow, staying alert for any signs of unusual activity.

She finds what she is looking for at the edge of the wreckage. A tuft of blonde hair is caught in the low-hanging branches of a tree; beyond it are footprints, barely visible in the snow and slush. Any other passerby would have looked right past them, but Rosaria isn’t just anyone.

The first thing she does is untangle the hair from the spindly branches to examine it. It is coarse and dry, and not particularly well cared-for, a fact which is made evident by the number of split ends it contains. When Rosaria brings it to her nose, she smells the wilderness: freezing rain and pine sap, long nights under wintry stars.

This isn’t the hair of an alchemist. If anything, it reminds Rosaria of her own hair, before Barbara taught her how to properly care for it. Back then, she would wash it in freezing rivers and hack her split ends off with a dagger. Having concluded her examination, she pockets the tuft of hair alongside the Whopperflower petal, and sets off again without wasting another moment.

The trail of footprints leads up the mountainside, all the way to one of the many entries to Starglow Cavern, where they disappear into the depths of the cave system. Rosaria follows them without hesitation - she’s been here before, after all, and those childhood warnings of what lay in the darkness aren’t so scary anymore.

Of course, it’s hard to forget her near-death experience from the last time she entered this cavern. At the same time, it’s even harder to forget the opal eyes that bore into hers as she dangled on the precipice between life and death, and the strong hands that proceeded to pull her up and carry her back to safety. Starglow Cavern is more than just a place from fireside tales now - it’s a part of her history, and the history she shares with Shenhe. It’s a reminder of the first person she ever called her friend.

Wherever she is now, Rosaria hopes she’s doing well. A strange sense of peace washes over her as she thinks about it - before, reminiscing on her times with Shenhe would fill her with anguish and regret, but now it simply feels like a part of her past. An important part to be sure, but no longer something she wishes so desperately that she could change. As a kid, her friendship with Shenhe felt like her one and only chance to seize something better, and she messed it up before it ever really began. But now…

Varka. Kaeya. Barbara, Diluc and Jean.

She has had so many chances, and she has seized every single one of them with no regrets. Shenhe came into her life like a lesson, and she has learned from it well.

Besides, this time around, she’s visiting the cavern after sleeping on a proper bed and eating full meals. Nothing seems quite so scary now that she’s well-equipped to deal with it.

Rosaria descends deeper into Starglow Cavern, following the trail of footprints through the snow. She passes the pool of crystalline water that she dangled over, for one terrifying moment, when it seemed as though death had finally come to collect her. She walks up the path to the hilichurl campsite, where she and Shenhe sat to share a meal of fox meat, tension easing for the first time since they’d reunited. And when she looks up, she sees rays of wintry light arcing through the gap in the mountainside through which they escaped.

That was the last time Rosaria ever laid eyes on Shenhe, her figure ablaze in cold sunlight. Her gaze had been as distant and unfeeling as ever, raking over Rosaria’s face with silent contemplation. Those dewdrop eyes often appear in the darkest recesses of her mind, where a fifteen-year-old Shenhe will emerge, her spear alight with frost. Now, she is little more than a frozen fragment of a sorrowful past. They knew each other only fleetingly, but each of those brief moments are impossible to forget.

Shaking her head, Rosaria tears her gaze away from the sunlit opening, and instead trails the footprints with her eyes. They seem to circle around each other impatiently, layers of human movement criss-crossing in the snow. It is quite clear that, although each pair of footprints is identical to the next, these tracks do not belong to a singular person.

Another important clue. Rosaria makes a mental note of it before choosing one trail and following it back out of the cavern. It leads her further up the mountain, towards the warm oranges and violets of the sky at sunset, and towards the clouds swirling in the multicoloured light. Dragonspine is a hostile place, but it’s hard to forget how beautiful it is in times like these.

A lot of things about Dragonspine are hard to forget for someone like Rosaria, whose childhood was moulded out of the ice and snow. The path is leading her towards one of the bandits’ old campsites; she hasn’t even reached it yet, and already her mind is flooding with memories of long, cold nights and hard work by the fire.

This isn’t far from the place where she first started training with Codi. It had only been a few days since Rosaria killed Serle when Codi hauled her up, told her to stop moping, and threw her a spear.

Would things have been different, had it not been them? If Serle had lived…

No. Rosaria pushes the thought away. The only difference would be that she’d fight with a dagger and her fists, carrying herself with Serle’s brutishness instead of Codi’s dexterity, and that she wouldn’t have her Vision. If she’s being honest with herself, that cold blue stone is the only reason she has survived for this long.

After all, it was the only reason Codi ever took an interest in her, and the only reason they were able to convince the other bandits to let her stay. Rosaria still remembers the day they faced off against Shenhe: Codi had admitted, so cruelly and so honestly, that they kept Rosaria around simply so they could study her Vision. It was not because they liked her, or wanted her there, or even because they enjoyed sparring with her. They’d helped her get back on her feet after the hardest day of her life - the day she’d made her first kill, plunging an old dagger into the heart of the man who’d saved her - and then admitted that not a single moment of it was because they actually cared.

Rosaria is glad she left them behind.

She stops along the pathway, looking through rows of pine trees towards the clearing where Codi first sparred with her. She remembers it like it was yesterday: they had pushed her to channel her Cryo powers, and nothing had quite drawn the cold kiss of magic out until they mentioned her home village.

I would’ve destroyed you. Rosaria’s six-year-old voice echoes in the back of her mind.

She did destroy them, in the end. They had already taken her past; she refused to let them sink their teeth into her future, too. Instead, she left them lying face-down in the grass, soaking in a pool of their own blood.

Rosaria’s time with the bandits ended just as it had begun: with a blade buried in her mentor’s back, their lifeless body slumped over at her feet.

She is nearing the old campsite now: one more bend in the mountain pathway, and she’ll have arrived. She wonders, quietly, if she will find any traces of her childhood there.

She doesn’t. When she rounds the corner, instead of seeing the abandoned campsite she expects, she is met with a tumbled pile of rocks and snow, barricading the pathway.

An avalanche. It has crushed whatever was left of the campsite, drowning entire chunks of forest in a mess of white and grey. Something in Rosaria’s chest twists, but… she isn’t sad. This campsite, and the many, many others she stayed in, were never home to her. They were merely a means for survival, and she is far better equipped for that now.

Even so, she lets herself stand there silently for a moment, drawing the crisp, cold air into her lungs. Under her breath, she bids farewell to another fragment of her childhood. Those whispered words condense into puffs of white smoke, drifting away on the wind, and Rosaria watches them go.

She feels exhausted all of a sudden, as though the simple act of reminiscing has sapped her of all of her strength - and perhaps it has. It’s not often that she lets herself think about the past like this. Sighing to herself, Rosaria draws out a flask of cold water and leans down to sit on a rock, turning her eyes to the sky as she does so. The stars are coming out now, the radiant colours of sunset giving way to a muted indigo speckled with silver. Most people in Mondstadt would be cooking their evening meals now, if not already making plans to head to the tavern. Rosaria’s work will keep her out here for a fair while longer, so she lets herself enjoy a break while she can.

The water in her flask is freezing, sending prickles of cold all down her throat when she swallows it. She closes her eyes, sighing as it settles into her stomach, the freezing sensation doing its part in waking her up.

And when she opens them again, she finds her vision awash in waves of soft pink and vivid green, arcing in brilliant ribbons across the night sky.

The aurora borealis.

As she stares at it, the voice of her younger self echoes in her head.

They’re like glowing stripes in the sky. The eyes she’d looked into as she said it shone brighter, though. You should come visit me in Dragonspine sometime. I’ll show you them in person.

Her throat closes up, then, and she has to tear her gaze away from the sky. The aurora borealis will fade soon, anyways - it’s beautiful, and yet so fleeting, just like the friendship Rosaria once shared with Shenhe.

After all, when they eventually reunited on the chilly slopes of Dragonspine, it was nothing like their childhood selves imagined. Rosaria’s gaze darts to the mound of tumbled rocks beside her, her thoughts drifting to the avalanche they had caused when they were fifteen and fighting, spear against icy spear. Quietly, Rosaria hopes that the aurora borealis had still shown itself to Shenhe back then, even if they had to be apart when it happened.

Shenhe. The name echoes in Rosaria’s head, over and over again. She’s been thinking about her an awful lot today… it can’t be helped, not really, not when Shenhe has such intrinsic relations to some of the most significant moments in Rosaria’s life. Not when Rosaria is sitting in the icy fortress that houses so many of her childhood memories.

When they met in Liyue’s countryside, they forged a secret, precious friendship under the moonlight. That bond was shattered as quickly as it had come into being, but it taught Rosaria softness, showed her kindness, and that much was enough for Varka to give her a second chance. It was enough for her to take it.

And when they found each other again on the icy slopes of Dragonspine, everything that transpired in Starglow Cavern, when she brushed shoulders with death itself, made Rosaria realise she wasn’t ready to give up on life just yet. Not even after all the trauma and loneliness, the frigid nights and biting hunger, and even the long, thankless hours of hard labour. She and Shenhe had saved each other that day, first from the avalanche and then from that treacherous stone precipice.

If it weren’t for Shenhe, Rosaria may never have had the opportunity to turn her life around. It would’ve ended, right then and there, shattering into a million pieces in the icy pool at the base of Starglow Cavern. She would’ve been forgotten there, becoming nothing more than a pile of nameless bones and a silent, broken Vision.

If it weren’t for Shenhe, she never would’ve ended up in Starglow Cavern in the first place, but Rosaria doesn’t think about that. Instead, her thoughts drift to Shenhe herself - after escaping that maze of cold stone and snow, where did her life lead her? Has it changed quite as much as Rosaria’s has, or is she still secluded in the mountainsides, setting mortal feet upon the trail of the adepti?

~

Shenhe
“If I remember correctly, Lady Ningguang sourced her Starsplinter Iron from the Mt. Tianheng area.”

Master Zhang’s voice echoes in Shenhe’s head, but there is only one thing that registers.

Mt. Tianheng…

My childhood home.

Shenhe looks up the mountain, her heart heavy with trepidation. All she can think of are the images seared into her brain from the day she snuck out of Jueyun Karst and made her way back to the village, only to find it decrepit and abandoned, overrun with bandits. Her childhood house was not so much a home as it was a graveyard.

Her ropes feel so loose all of a sudden, shaken at once by the memories and by the events of the last few days. She picks at them now, pulling them back and letting them snap against her shoulders. She is feeling too much: awe and wonder, fear and uncertainty. That subtle pain beneath her ropes is the only thing that still makes sense.

After all, she is making her way up the mountain behind not one, or two, but three new friends.

Well, she isn’t sure if Yun Jin would call her a friend just yet. She doesn’t know when mortals decide to shift from being strangers, or even acquaintances, to being friends - but whatever the case, her other two companions, Aether and Paimon, are certainly friends of hers now. They said so themselves, just this morning.

Her chest warms at the memory.

“From now on, you’re our friend!” Paimon had said, with her ever-radiant grin on full display. “Whether you're an adeptus or a human isn't the important thing - first and foremost, we're just plain old friends!”

And then Aether had nodded at her, their golden eyes crinkling so kindly at the edges. They didn’t have to sign anything - everything they needed to express was there already, in the sincerity of their gaze.

If Shenhe’s soul hadn’t been bound by her ropes, she thinks she might have cried. That moment had taken her back to a more innocent time, before she’d frozen her heart over, numbing the fiery sting of betrayal.

A tiny part of her whispers that after her first experience with friendship, it may not be wise to trust so easily - that instead, she should raise walls of solid ice around her heart and hold everyone back with blades of steel. But she doesn’t want to, and frankly, she can’t. Not after Aether and Paimon had come to her defence in Liyue Harbour without even knowing who she was, and Aether had asked with such soulful softness in their eyes if she was alright. Not after they’d let her adventure with them and treated her like she was on equal grounds with them the entire time, even though they had thought she was an adeptus. No-one has treated her like that in years.

Cloud Retainer sent her to Liyue Harbour not only to help with the rebuilding of the Jade Chamber, but also to give her the chance to experience mortal society for herself, in the hopes that she could one day rejoin it. Shenhe had kept her expectations low, but after only a day, Aether and Paimon have already blown them out of the water. She spent all of yesterday finding Plaustrite alongside them, and then today, they’d met up with her first thing in the morning. Like she was an indispensable companion - like she was a friend.

A friend. Shenhe still can’t believe they’re friends.

It’s not just Aether and Paimon. She had followed them to the worksite this morning, where she was introduced to two beautiful dark-haired women named Beidou and Yun Jin. She’d hardly said a word before Beidou cheerfully pronounced them friends, clapping Shenhe on the back as she did so. Dazed, she’d looked to Yun Jin, who was gazing at her softly, a smile at the edges of her eyes. Shenhe chose to stare down at the wooden deck after that, her heart beating just a fraction too quickly.

And now she is walking up the mountain, listening to Yun Jin talk about her opera, a piece titled The Divine Damsel of Devastation. She has a gorgeous voice, sweet and melodic, so unlike the voices Shenhe is used to hearing. The booming, regal echo of adeptus speech and the razor-sharp tongue of bandits are both things she has acquainted herself with, but a voice like this - at once so human and so gentle - is something she hasn’t heard since she was five years old.

“The legend first arose in this area,” Yun Jin says, gesturing at the towering peaks and bubbling streams around them. “It is said that there used to be a prosperous village on the mountain. In that village, there was a loving couple who were completely devoted to one another. But one day, a terrifying monster appeared.”

Shenhe swallows thickly. A mountainside village… a monster… it is already starting to sound far too familiar.

Yun Jin goes on to summarise a tale of a young girl who, while wielding an exorcist’s blade, battled the monster in order to save her village. The strength and courage she displayed caught the attention of the adepti, who adopted her as one of their disciples. Some of the details have changed, eroded and transformed by time, but there is no question where the legend originated from. There is a lump in Shenhe’s throat now, but she does not know enough about human emotion to begin to unravel it.

“‘And so, destined to grace the mortal realm for but a brief moment, she vanished like a wisp of smoke into thin air.’” Solemnly, Yun Jin quotes a passage from the script. “That’s how the opera ends.”

Shenhe draws in a slow, deep breath, unsure what to do with the emotions lapping like ocean waves beneath her skin. They are light and intangible: real enough for her to know they’re there, but not enough for her to feel or deconstruct them. Beside her, Aether raises their golden gaze to her face, but she pretends not to notice - if she were to meet the warmth of their stare, she fears it might make her crumble.

Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest self-consciously, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the floor. She can feel Yun Jin watching her curiously too, but even with the weight of those scarlet irises on her skin, she does not look up.

“I really like this story,” she says eventually, her voice feeling foreign in her throat. “But I personally think that perhaps the little girl was… not as brave as the opera makes her out to be.” A pause; she draws a breath, finally meeting Yun Jin’s gaze with steel in her eyes. “I'm not sure she deserves all the praise she is given.”

Yun Jin’s story is that of a hero. Shenhe, however, is anything but. She is the epitome of danger, the very embodiment of everything she runs from. She is the reason her mother died, and the force that compelled her father to bring that evil god back to the village - and then, in a twisted turn of events, she was saved from certain death while he took his own life. Fate smiled cruelly upon what was once a prosperous, lively village, sending Shenhe to tear it apart. None of it is left now, save for the hollow shells of what used to be people’s homes.

“I’ve never considered that before,” Yun Jin says thoughtfully. “Opera is always an interpretation of the events it purports to portray. A certain degree of deviation from the truth is always inevitable. When my father wrote the script for this play, I suppose his intention was to inspire his audience with the character of the divine damsel.”

To inspire…

Shenhe has never seen herself as an inspiration, but… it’s nice to believe that her story could strike hope, and not fear, into the hearts of those who hear it.

She presses one hand to her chest, trying to curb the emotions swirling softly within it.

“Mm. I think it’s a great story,” she finally says, her voice weighted with sincerity. “The ideal story.”

And it is, really. Yun Jin’s father has transformed a tragic series of events into something full of hope and rich with humanity. Having lived every moment of it, Shenhe doubts she could ever see it in such a positive light, but for just a moment, she’ll let herself believe it’s possible. The thought alone makes her heart hurt a little bit less.

“Well… it sure inspired Paimon!” Paimon says, her shrill voice abruptly jolting Shenhe out of her thoughts. “Let’s go get some Starsplinter Iron! Yeah!” She claps excitedly, turning to share a joyous look with Aether. They smile brightly, clearly touched by Paimon’s enthusiasm.

They’re so… expressive, Shenhe thinks, looking at Aether with no shortage of wonder. They haven’t said a word since she met them - when they need to communicate, they simply use sign language, and even those instances are rare - and yet, she feels like she’s had a hundred conversations with them simply by looking into their eyes. Almost as though Aether knows she’s thinking of them, they turn to shoot her a gentle smile, gesturing at her to follow them.

Shenhe does so without question. It doesn’t take them long to find the ore and, after that, Yun Jin suggests that they follow Master Zhang’s advice and go to the nearby village to try and ask the locals about Subrosium, the next item on their list.

Shenhe’s stomach drops. There won’t be any locals, she thinks. If anything, they’re going to walk right into a bandit trap.

It wouldn’t be her first time.

Instead, much to her surprise, they find an old man, staring wistfully at the shell of the village. Shenhe stops in her tracks.

It’s been years, and time has worn into the wrinkles of his skin, but she would recognise him anywhere. Her Uncle Mingjun - her beloved Uncle Mingjun, who cared for her when her own father couldn’t, who loved her like she was his daughter.

If it weren’t for the ropes around her shoulders, tears would be welling up in her eyes. The last time Shenhe had come here, when she had learned of her father’s death and the village’s abandonment, she had given up hope of ever seeing another human she’d held dear. And yet… here she is, looking at her Uncle Mingjun, a flesh-and-blood remnant of her past, standing right before her.

Dazed, Shenhe moves to catch up with her companions, who have already started talking to Mingjun. He seems to be fairly unresponsive - Paimon is attempting to converse with him, but the dialogue is entirely one-sided.

“Huh,” she mumbles, looking somewhat disheartened as she turns to her travelling companion. “He didn’t seem to catch that, Aether…”

They offer her a sympathetic look as Yun Jin steps forward to try and catch Mingjun’s attention. She addresses him with characteristic politeness, but instead of properly responding, he simply points towards the cluster of abandoned houses up ahead.

“Is he tryna tell us to look for clues in the village...?” Paimon lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Well, whatever. Guess we’re on our own here. Shenhe, Yun Jin, Aether, let's have a look around!”

It’s hard to say no to such an adorable face, but Shenhe has to. Now that she has been reunited with a living, breathing reminder of her childhood - someone she thought she’d never have the chance to see again - finding Subrosium could not possibly feel less important.

“Sorry, you can go ahead without me. I'd like to have a word with this gentleman,” she says, trying her best to sound apologetic - the adepti don’t tend to mind if she sounds indifferent, but she isn’t sure mortals would feel the same way. “If that's okay with you... Uncle Mingjun?”

He startles at the sound of his own name, finally turning to look at her, his eyes widening in shock and wonder.

“It’s… it’s…!”

“Shenhe,” she says, as if he doesn’t recognise her. As if he needs confirmation. (He might. The look on his face suggests he doesn’t yet believe that it’s her.)

She can’t blame him. After all, the last time he saw her, she was an ordinary, dark-haired mortal child, six years old and still unaware of the calamitous energy that resided within her. Nearly two decades later, the only thing that hasn’t changed about her is the opalescent sheen of her eyes.

“A-He…” Mingjun’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. Shenhe’s throat wells up at the sound of the familiar mortal nickname - it takes her right back to her childhood, when she would sit in Uncle Mingjun’s living room, drawing pictures for him and asking him questions about the world. It takes her back to a place of comfort, solace, and the warm, strong arms that wrapped around her whenever she was overtaken by her grief. Shenhe had just lost her mother, and her father had disappeared shortly afterwards - but she has never lost Uncle Mingjun.

He steps closer to her now, his eyes never leaving her face. His expression is one of pure disbelief; he reaches out to rest one gentle hand on her shoulder, as though he is scared she is illusory.

“You’re alive,” he murmurs, his voice trembling. He doesn’t hesitate to pull Shenhe into a hug, holding her close even as he continues talking. “The rumours were true? So, all these years…?”

Unsure what to say, Shenhe silently returns the hug, feeling like her heart has leapt into her throat. Mingjun holds her for a long moment before he steps back, turning to address the rest of the party, his expression now apologetic.

“I'm sorry, I don't know how to find Subrosium,” he says. “But I think you can find some information in the village… This place is deserted now. No one ever comes here. So you can rummage around all you want.”

Paimon doesn’t seem to hear him. Instead, she looks between Mingjun and Shenhe and back again, before finally saying, “huh? You know this guy, Shenhe?”

Shenhe looks away awkwardly, unwilling to start divulging her history. What would Aether and Paimon think of her, if they knew the full extent of her past? She isn’t sure what Cloud Retainer told them last night, but it can’t have been much, based on the way they continue to interact with her.

Fortunately, Yun Jin comes to Shenhe’s rescue by politely thanking Mingjun before leading Aether and Paimon away to begin their search. Shenhe makes a mental note to ask her later for tips on conversing with mortals - Yun Jin seems to go about it so easily, and Shenhe has no idea where to start anymore. None of them talk like the adepti, or even like Rosaria, the only mortal Shenhe has had an extended amount of contact with since she left this village.

She has more pressing matters to attend to right now, though.

Mingjun is watching her quietly, his eyes scanning the emotionless plane of her face. He is still looking at her with something like… wonderment, Shenhe thinks. It looks like awe, like disbelief.

“You’ve grown up wonderfully, A-He,” he tells her, voice warm with sincerity. “I thought I may never get the chance to see you come into your own… and yet, here you are, right in front of me. It’s a miracle.” His eyes soften. “Your parents would be so proud of you, too.”

Would they? Shenhe’s heart twists. Of course Uncle Mingjun would say that - in his eyes, she’s still an innocent child, drawn into the jaws of calamity purely out of bad luck. He doesn’t know that she’s the reason the calamity fell upon them in the first place.

So she tells him. She tells him about the monster, about the truths it hissed from between shadowy teeth. She tells him about the fight, about her mother’s knife, about the darkness that festers within her.

And he says, “I know.”

“Huh?”

“Your father told me why he made his choice.” Mingjun’s face creases with insurmountable sadness. “It was a terrible choice, and he regretted it for the rest of his life. He would be proud of you, Shenhe. You were strong enough to survive despite his deepest mistakes. And your mother… She was the kindest woman I ever knew. It’s just like her to have supported you in the hardest moment of your life, and she’d be so proud to see how far you’ve come since then.” A pause, as he draws a deep, solemn breath. “You were just a child, A-He. Nothing, and I mean nothing, could ever make you deserve everything you had to go through. I don’t care what that monster said to you.”

Shenhe’s throat tightens, and she picks subconsciously at her ropes. Everything Mingjun is saying to her… she feels like a little kid again, listening to his gentle reassurances, letting them mend the wounded cracks in her soul. And so, as hard as it is to agree with him, she allows herself to believe every word he says, just like she did when she was tiny.

After all, Uncle Mingjun would never lie to her. He never has.

They keep talking, and Shenhe tells him about her life with the adepti, who have raised her on stories and magic, on mountain herbs and meditation. His face lights up with pride when he hears that she has picked up the exorcist’s arts: she is following in her family’s footsteps, just like she always dreamed.

She tells him about her last visit to the village, too. About how it was deserted save for a few bandits, and the spiders hiding in every corner. She tells him about the people who thought she was an adeptus, and how they refused to believe that this used to be her home.

“When I saw how run-down all these houses were, I felt at a loss,” she admits, looking over at the abandoned structures as she speaks. “It was like I took a look at the world and, on the surface, it looked like a vast realm with so many places I could go. Then I looked a little closer. And there was nowhere for me to go at all.”

After all, who would want someone like her? She’s too human to be an adeptus, and too much like the adepti to ever be accepted as a mortal.

And yet… something is different this time, although Shenhe doesn’t yet understand what it is. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s found Uncle Mingjun again - the world feels a little less lonely now that she knows he’s still in it.

Mingjun sighs. “Suddenly, so much time has gone by, and everything has changed.”

“Last time I visited, I felt so upset,” Shenhe continues quietly. “But today... I don't know why, but it feels different.”

Mingjun’s expression turns thoughtful. His gaze darts towards the abandoned buildings, where Yun Jin, Aether and Paimon are peering at what appears to be a sheaf of old documents, before he looks back at Shenhe.

“It is easy for your mind to run wild when you are alone. But this time, you are with your friends, aren't you?”

And then Shenhe understands.

Things are different this time.

Her story isn’t static. She will not always be that child of tragedy, haunted by the shadows of calamity that reside within her. She may not be the little girl in Yun Jin’s opera, but she is no longer the lonely, grieving child she once was, either.

Fate may have given her the monstrous energy that roils beneath her skin, but it also gave her these red ropes, and with them, a second chance. She remembers when she first met Rosaria, and the fear that overtook her whenever they stood too close - the fear that she would harm the first friend she’d made since everything turned awry. She remembers how Rosaria said, with such characteristic firmness, that I don’t care about any of that stuff. She remembers how Rosaria stayed.

And when she thinks back to more recent years, she remembers the avalanche, and the cavern system hidden deep in the bowels of the mountains. That encounter nearly killed them both.

But it didn’t, because they had each other. It didn’t, because while Shenhe may carry the curse of calamity, she also carries the magic woven into these red ropes, given to her by creatures that have loved her unconditionally.

The last time she was here, she was a hurt and lonely little girl, only twelve years old and still uncertain about her future. Her most vivid memories were of sacrifice and loss, and of a fight that nearly killed her; of red ropes and magic and long hours of meditation, trying to curb the calamitous energy within her; of friends who betrayed her as quickly as she’d given them her trust.

But now…

It is as Mingjun said: she has come into her own. She has grown into her red ropes, working alongside the magic woven into every scarlet fibre to control her curse. She’s not quite there yet - she has her moments, when it rears its ugly head and she loses control - but she has grown up surrounded by love despite a past embroiled in tragedy, and it has allowed her to flourish. When she thinks of family now, she thinks not of the father who abandoned her, but of warm feathers and long-winded stories. She thinks of meditations, breathing in time with the creature who gave her a second chance, and who taught her how to save herself from her own festering darkness.

Shenhe has always been surrounded by love, even if it was not the kind she expected. The last time she visited this village, she was completely alone. But this time, she is here with Cloud Retainer’s blessing, and she is sure that it has helped her face this part of her history with more courage. This time, she is surrounded by new friends - people who want her around, regardless of whether or not she’s an adeptus. This time, she is encompassed by love and support, and that makes all the difference.

Chapter Text

That familiar darkness becomes not a source of sorrow, but one of strength.

~

Shenhe
That’s it.

The Jade Chamber has been rebuilt.

Shenhe has fulfilled her obligations, and the task that led her back to Liyue Harbour has concluded. She is standing in the courtyard of the new Jade Chamber, which will return to its usual position in the sky as soon as the tethers are released. She supposes she, too, should head home after this; back to the mountains, and back to her familiar seclusion.

She’s had her taste of mortal society. The last few days have left her with an array of conflicting feelings and a bittersweet flavour in her mouth, as though she has swallowed mountain herbs and honey at once.

After all, this trip to Liyue Harbour, though brief, has allowed Shenhe to forge some of her most precious memories. Despite that, her lifelong dream of one day finding a way to rejoin mortal society has somehow never seemed further away. She had not expected to feel so maladjusted; there are countless unspoken rules and societal structures she doesn’t understand, and whenever she interacts with someone, Shenhe can tell she’s doing it wrong. She has been removed from this world for so long that she has grown fundamentally, and irreversibly, different from it.

And yet, she loves it here. She wants so badly to be a part of things: to hear Yun Jin sing, to share lunch with Aether, and even to join Beidou aboard her ship. Shenhe finds it so… strange, and yet so wonderful, for this woman she hardly knows to already be so welcoming to her.

But now that our paths have crossed, we’ll always have a connection, Beidou had said earlier that day, when Shenhe had admitted these reservations aloud. So if you’re ever feeling down, come find me on my ship. There’ll be a drink waiting for ya.

(Shenhe is not sure what makes the drink so important, although she is certain that Beidou mentioned it as a gesture of kindness.)

Maybe one day she’ll feel human enough to find out. Right now, however, Shenhe feels more like a newborn animal, adjusting to a million sights and sounds she’s never experienced before. She still has some growing to do.

It is as Cloud Retainer once said. She has a lot to learn: before she can even attempt to fit in, she still needs to figure out how to harness her strength for the good of others. Only then can she rejoin mortal society without being a danger to it. Shenhe had admitted as much to Yun Jin the day before, as they prepared to leave her childhood village, and Yun Jin’s response took her completely by surprise: I think maybe you’ve already started to become the person you aspire to be. You just haven’t had a chance to see it for yourself yet.

Really? Those words echo in her mind now, but Shenhe’s thoughts are flooded with doubt. Even after all of this, I’m still the same cursed child, whose fate-darkened soul must be bound by magic ropes. I’m not brave, like the girl in the opera; instead, I hide myself away in the mountains, far away from mortal society.

So far, in fact, that most people don’t even believe she’s human anymore. The thought still stings, bringing her back to that tear-stained day when she first visited her childhood village. It was bad enough back then, when everyone acted as though she was a creature to be at once worshipped and feared, rather than a little girl who was simply missing her former home. They probably thought she was delusional.

It takes her a moment to realise someone is talking to her.

“...Shenhe, have you got a question?”

The voice belongs to Paimon. Shenhe blinks, startled, before realising that everyone is watching her.

“...Me?” she mumbles.

“Yes! This was a group effort, after all!” Paimon responds, as bright and enthusiastic as ever.

Shenhe shakes her head softly. “Thank you… But I don’t have anything to ask.”

Technically, the rebuilding of the Jade Chamber was a competition, and the individuals who provided Ningguang with materials would win the chance to personally ask her a question. Knowing that, Shenhe supposes she should have prepared something beforehand - but she had never intended to participate, let alone win, as Cloud Retainer had only sent her here to help forge adepti sigils. She had never expected to be in the presence of the Tianquan herself.

“Are you sure?”

Shenhe whirls around, coming face-to-face with none other than Ningguang, who has silently walked up behind her. Those scarlet eyes swirl with knowledge and mystery, so deep Shenhe thinks she might lose herself in them.

She blinks. Ningguang is still talking.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” she says. “I’d urge you not to squander it.”

Paimon jumps in to add something, but Shenhe is already lost in thought. Words hover at the edge of her lips, as though daring her to speak them aloud. This is her chance to find out whether Cloud Retainer and Yun Jin’s faith in her has been misplaced.

“Lady Ningguang,” Shenhe finally says, earnestly placing a hand on her heart, “do you think I can ever fit in in Liyue Harbour?”

“Now that is an interesting question.” Ningguang rests one hand on her chin as she thinks. Shenhe watches her quietly, waiting for an answer with her heart in her throat. She has made herself vulnerable; Ningguang could now take a hammer to all of Shenhe’s dreams, if she so desired.

Finally, Ningguang meets her eyes again.

“Liyue Harbour is very inclusive. As long as you respect the rules here, you will not be turned away,” she says, that scarlet gaze boring into Shenhe’s soul. “So the key is whether or not you yourself can develop a sense of belonging in Liyue Harbour.”

“A… sense of belonging?” The words alone already feel foreign on Shenhe’s tongue. When has she ever felt a sense of belonging? She has spent her entire life walking between two worlds, too far on the edge to ever feel like she belonged in either.

Ningguang nods.

“Yes. To become fond of a place, to feel part of it... it always requires a reason.” As she speaks, she turns her gaze to the jagged cliffs and rolling mountains of Liyue’s wilderness. Shenhe can almost see the memories in her eyes: a lifetime of experiences, tying her to this prosperous country. “Perhaps someone you've met or something you've experienced here. Or perhaps you enjoy the atmosphere of Liyue and you will become accustomed to it.” She draws a breath, looking back at Shenhe. “In short, everyone needs a reason to stay. I hope you can find yours soon.”

“…I see.”

Perhaps the concept of belonging was never what Shenhe imagined it to be. According to Ningguang, it has less to do with birthplace and identity, and more to do with experience and community. It is something she must find, not only within herself, but also through the love shared with her by her friends and chosen family. If that is the case, then she has already found a sense of belonging with the adepti in Jueyun Karst. Here, however…

Shenhe glances at the people around her, and her heart warms beneath her ropes. All these people… over the course of only a few days, they have welcomed her in without hesitation, allowing her to call them all her friends.

Friends. Shenhe doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of that word.

Back when she was six years old, a demon made of swirling shadows told her that her fate was to wreak devastation wherever she went, and that hers would be a life of loneliness and nothingness. But now, as she looks around, Shenhe knows she’s proven it wrong.

It may take her months, or even years, to truly grow accustomed to life in Liyue Harbour, and to gain such fine control over her curse that she can safely reside here. Even so, she has already taken the first step. She has defied destiny, finding community with adepti and mortals alike despite being fated to solitude. With all of her loved ones around her, she is sure she will find ways to defy her fate again and again.

Cloud Retainer and Yun Jin already believe in her. And now…

Everyone needs a reason to stay. I hope you can find yours soon.

Ningguang - the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the very face of the nation itself - believes in her too.

~

“Let the ascension ceremony commence!”

Ningguang’s commanding voice rings out from the platform of the Jade Chamber. Not a moment later, the tethers are released, and the ground seems to tremble beneath Shenhe’s feet as the monumental building rises further into the sky.

The scenery this high up is gorgeous. Aether skips excitedly to the edge of the platform, Paimon close behind them; Shenhe follows them slowly, giving herself time to take in the sights. She can almost see all the way to Jueyun Karst.

The Jade Chamber has hardly finished ascending when the clear sky darkens. Shenhe watches quietly as storms brew over restless waters, heralding the arrival of something sinister and dangerous. Moments later, a long, reptilian neck rises from the swirling ocean, and the draconic creature it belongs to roars into the thundering clouds.

“Right on cue,” Ningguang says, sounding perfectly calm. “‘The Avenger of the Vortex’, Beisht.”

“Who is that?!” Paimon shrieks.

“Osial’s wife.” Ningguang’s eyes harden, even as her voice remains composed. “Final follower of the Overlord of the Vortex.”

“Sounds like you knew this was coming…”

“Beidou sensed something was stirring in the deep. She warned me months ago. Knowing she harbours hatred towards the Jade Chamber, I chose to rebuild it now, as a way of drawing her out.”

“Got it!” Paimon says, sounding surprisingly unperturbed by the situation. She turns to Aether. “Well, let’s go fetch the adepti!”

“No.” Ningguang immediately holds up a hand, her voice stern. “In this human age, the people of Liyue must find a way to overcome this crisis on our strength alone!”

As she speaks, Ningguang draws upon the power of her Vision, her eyes ablaze with sheer determination. Her very body seems to glow as golden diamonds light up the sky around the Jade Chamber, pulsing with the power of Geo. They fire countless gemstone projectiles at Beisht, who shrieks in pain when they carve into her scales.

The attacks don’t end there. From the ground, Liyue’s Millileth soldiers ambush Beisht with dozens of ballistas. Beidou’s fleet sails across the stormy sea, firing at her from behind. The barrage comes endlessly from all sides.

Beisht rears back and roars, and it is a sound filled with such fury and pain that it makes the sky tremble. As though it is responding to her call, the ocean becomes increasingly ferocious, each lashing wave coalescing into something far larger and more sinister.

Under Beisht’s command, the tsunami rises from the ocean like the body of a second beast, cresting even higher than the Jade Chamber itself. Shenhe looks up, her braid whipping in the wind, her vision darkened in the shadow of the enormous wave. If nothing is done about it, it will take mere seconds for this phenomenon to not only sweep away the Jade Chamber, but also devour all of the Millileth and Beidou’s entire fleet.

Aether is the first to leap into action.

Paimon reaches out to stop them, but their steps do not falter as they propel themselves off of the Jade Chamber and right over the oncoming tsunami. Twisting in midair, they summon their dull blade, gleaming gold with the power of Geo, and aim it at Beisht’s throat.

They do not make it there.

Beisht conjures a torrent of crackling Hydro power and, without hesitation, fires it directly at Aether. With no time to react, it strikes them square in the stomach, slamming them into a stone pillar. The force is enough to make it crumble, and Aether peels away from it like a paper doll, falling lifelessly down to the ground.

Aether!

Shenhe acts before her mind can even process the situation. Not caring how far she has to fall, she lunges towards Aether, catching them just before they hit the ground. Their head lolls back in her arms, their breaths strained and shallow. Their body is eerily still.

Shenhe’s mind reels. Not Aether. Her thoughts are a maelstrom of desperation. She can’t have defeated Aether.

The tsunami keeps rising behind them, but Shenhe pays it no mind. She has eyes only for Aether, who shifts ever so slightly in her arms. Their face is wrought with struggle, but they manage to crack open their eyes, looking up at her through indescribable pain.

They’re alive.

As Shenhe meets their gaze, a hurricane of emotions comes to life within her, strong enough to seep past the magic binding of her ropes and the ice around her heart. There’s relief, running through her veins like water, and there’s rage, burning in black flames. Beyond that, though, there is also something… softer. It makes her want to wrap Aether up and take them far, far away from here, to heal their wounds and protect them from ever coming in harm’s way again. After all, Aether was the first person to call her a friend since…

Since Rosaria.

The flames in her heart climb higher, and Shenhe closes her eyes, weathering the storm. She can’t lose Aether, too - not yet. Not like this. This isn’t her destiny.

Her fate is to wreak devastation wherever she goes. Hers will be a life of loneliness and nothingness.

Shenhe won’t let this be her destiny.

A hundred memories pass through her mind in a single moment, and she grits her teeth against the weight of them.

First, she sees her father. The pain and shock, carved deeply into every line of his face, is as clear as the day he left her. His words ring coldly in her head: you are a cursed child. Your life brings nothing but disaster to us all. The memory shifts, and Shenhe sees his silhouette, dark against the dappled sunlight spilling into the cave. At least if you die… I can bring her back.

He had left her to perish that day, and it was only the sun-sweet memory of her mother and the calamitous energy in her soul that kept Shenhe alive. She feels that power again now, burning like black flames beneath her skin.

The memories turn warm, and Shenhe feels the touch of phantom feathers as a new voice echoes through her mind, this time booming and regal. The day you learn how to use your strength for the good of others is the day that you can truly become part of human society. This is the voice that guided her through childhood, who taught her to tame her calamitous urges and make that beast her own. Those are the feathers she clung to every time she lost control, or simply felt lost, when she was missing her home, her family, her friends.

My friends…

…Rosaria. Shenhe isn’t ready to call her a friend, and yet whenever she thinks of the word, those silk-flower eyes hover in the back of her mind. The last time she saw Rosaria was when they were lost in Starglow Cavern, and despite everything that had happened between them, they saved each other over and over again. Shenhe remembers holding on to Rosaria’s hand as she dangled from that precipice, remembers how painful it was to picture her dying, even though Shenhe wanted desperately to hate her.

She has always been sentimental, despite everything.

She feels it especially strongly now, as she listens to the rasping sound of Aether’s struggling breaths. If she were to look at them, she is sure it would be enough to unleash the storm of calamity brewing behind her ribs, so she conjures memories of them instead. She pictures the softness of their golden gaze, the gentle arc of their smile, and their fluffy, weather-worn braid. She pictures how they’d sign snappy retorts at Paimon, who would shriek indignantly in response. She pictures the grilled chicken drumstick that they had both saved for her, and how the rich flavours burst in her mouth, so strong and yet far more pleasant than the bitterness of the herbs she would otherwise have eaten.

It reminds her of Rosaria, of the tang of fox meat on her tongue and the moonlight that spilled into the secret tunnel. That was the last time Shenhe had allowed herself to simply exist alongside another mortal: to find friendship, and trust, in a world that seemed to have turned against her. Being with Aether - and Paimon, and all of Shenhe’s new friends - has reignited that spark of childhood innocence. For Aether to be struck down like this…

It feels as though a part of Shenhe’s soul has been struck down, too. Like Rosaria, Aether is one of the few people who understands her struggles: they were also raised outside Liyue Harbour, and have had to develop a sense of belonging of their own accord. They have loved and lost over the course of their journey, and still they continue on, finding community wherever they go. Shenhe has seen how the citizens of Liyue welcome them, and every time, it gives her hope that one day, she will be welcomed like that too.

The smoke rising from her soul grows thicker the more she reminisces. Aether is the embodiment of light: of a hopeful future, of community, of friends and family. Shenhe can’t bear to see their light go out.

She opens her eyes then, her vision already veiled in blue fire, and looks over her shoulder at the ocean. In the time she spent reminiscing, only a few seconds passed, but it’s a few seconds too long: the tsunami grows ever closer, surging towards the people of Liyue like the gaping maw of an enormous monster.

Shenhe won’t let it touch them.

Power surges through her veins as she stands. A brisk wind blows past her, carrying with it the scent of fresh rain and mountain herbs. Tendrils of blue fire begin to envelop her body: a physical manifestation of her rage, held back by the ropes around her shoulders. Without them, this energy would already have burst out of control, just like it did when she was six years old.

It isn’t just the ropes tempering the storm, though. Shenhe has had a lifetime of training: she has been supported by creatures who love her unconditionally, and who do not begrudge her for her condition. The beast will not overwhelm her - not anymore.

Shenhe remembers when she first started meditating, when her struggles with wrangling her curse caused craters to erupt beneath her. She remembers Rosaria’s betrayal, when her anger gave her the power to take down an entire group of bandits with fire at her eyes and smoke in her veins. She remembers the fight in front of Starglow Cavern, when her fury shook mountains, trapping both her and Rosaria in the cavern system.

Nothing like that happens now. Shenhe does not fold to the will of the beast inside her, but instead, channels its power as her own. She is the picture of self-control as she walks steadily towards the tsunami, blue flames dancing across her skin. When she steps onto the ocean’s surface, ice breaks out beneath her feet, creating a platform over the water. No craters erupt underfoot. No mountains shake. There is only Shenhe, and the steady buzz of power under her skin. She counts her breaths, thinking of soft feathers and cerulean eyes, a lifetime of care and training.

An azure talisman comes to life at her fingertips, the same colour as her mother’s blade. The exorcist symbol inscribed on it is alight, blazing with Shenhe’s raw power and the strength of her Vision. With practised movements, she uses it to summon an enormous, swirling storm of Cryo energy, which surges in fractals of blue and silver towards the oncoming tsunami. Within seconds, that frigid storm envelops the wall of dark water, freezing it all in place. It crumbles a moment later, falling in harmless, fragmented pieces back into the water.

Shenhe pants as she watches it happen, her body still buzzing with energy. Distantly, she hears the Millileth soldiers whoop and cheer, before the barrage of firepower resumes. Beisht, seeming suddenly overwhelmed, turns and disappears back into the water.

Don’t you dare.

Shenhe doesn’t even need to think before she lunges towards the ocean, leaping over the lapping waves in one strong movement to follow Beisht under the surface.

~

Much to Shenhe’s surprise, Aether, of all people, joins her in the murky domain. She turns when she hears footsteps, only to find familiar golden eyes blinking up at her, bright as summer. Stardust settles in sun-coloured hair as Paimon hovers at their shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” Shenhe gives them a once-over, surprised to see how… fine they look. “How are you here?”

Anything is possible with a fried egg, Aether signs, as if that’s all the explanation she needs.

“We can’t let you be the only one taking this risk!” Paimon adds, before Shenhe can question them.

“I hardly see this as a great risk. The people of Liyue Harbour are well-prepared, and she is already badly injured. Only sheer willpower is keeping her alive.” Shenhe glances over at Beisht, who is watching them from the water. “I may be nearing the end of my stamina, but in a fight to the death… I think I have the upper hand.”

Stopping the tsunami sapped much of her energy, but she is not prepared to stop fighting yet. Black flames still burn in her chest, and Shenhe knows that she would sooner sacrifice her own life than give up.

After all, for the first time, she is not fighting to protect herself or her own dignity. Today, she is fighting on behalf of all of Liyue Harbour: of all her new friends, and the friends she has yet to make.

Today, she is fighting like the girl in Yun Jin’s opera.

As Beisht attacks, Shenhe and Aether run forward in unison, brandishing sword and spear against her. For a moment, Shenhe feels six years old again, facing a monster with gaping jaws and piercing eyes.

But this time, she has not been abandoned. Shenhe glances across at Aether, fighting right alongside her, summer eyes ablaze with the thrill of battle. They could’ve stayed on the surface to recuperate, but they chose to follow Shenhe instead, unwilling to let her face this threat alone.

The thought is… so warm. Shenhe wants to hold that sentiment close to her heart, to rest beside it and bask in its glow.

When she was six years old, she was driven only by a selfish want to survive, a feeling as cold and brittle as the evil in her soul. Her mother told her she still had something to live for, and Shenhe pushed through the hardest fight of her life, if only to find out what that was.

Now, she fights with warmth in her heart and a friend at her side. She fights knowing that she has found something she would give her own life to protect. Aether moves in time with her, instinctively protecting her blind spots. It is almost as though they have fought with someone like this before.

Shenhe has, too. As they fight, she is reminded of the day she spent in Starglow Cavern, when she and Rosaria were ambushed by hilichurls. They had moved in perfect synchronisation, as if no time had passed since they were nine years old. As if the bitter seeds of betrayal had never come between them.

Fighting beside Aether is different. Once again, Shenhe feels that sense of togetherness, but this time it is untainted. There is no grief, lodged deep in her throat; betrayal does not twine through her ribs like thorns. Instead, there is only a dazzling warmth, as sweet as honey.

Aether’s very spirit seems to radiate that warmth. Shenhe has never met anyone like them before: someone whose soul seems to be moulded by light itself. While she and Rosaria are both children of darkness, Aether blazes like the sun.

And so Shenhe fights beside the sun, letting their warmth wash over her. She steps in time with them, the shadow to their light, the nighttime to their brilliant day. They are opposing forces, contradictions that by definition should not be able to come together - and yet they do, light and shadow intertwining. Shenhe has never experienced anything like it.

It is not long before Beisht surrenders to their combined strength. Roaring in agony, she recedes into the water, bright eyes disappearing beneath lashing waves as she swims away. Shenhe and Aether stand at the edge of the platform, panting as they watch her leave.

“She’s getting away!” Paimon shrieks. “Shouldn’t we go after her?”

Shenhe shakes her head. After suffering such serious injuries, Beisht is not likely to return; and besides, Shenhe can feel the underwater domain trembling beneath her feet, displaced by draconic fury. Like most other relics of its time, its strength has been eroded by the passing centuries. If they were to continue fighting…

“The consequences would be disastrous,” Shenhe tells Aether and Paimon after explaining the situation. “Let’s head back.”

~

Ningguang is waiting for them on the shore, accompanied by a group of Millileth soldiers. When Shenhe, Aether and Paimon pull themselves from the water, bedraggled and wet, they are wrapped in soft towels, keeping them warm in the stiff breeze that still blows in over the ocean.

Shenhe closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in the salty air. So much has happened; a million thoughts run through her mind, but she is far too tired to give them any attention. Unleashing her calamitous energy has left her exhausted, her body feeling strangely hollow in the absence of those dark flames.

Even so, she would not change a single moment of it. The danger has been defeated, Liyue Harbour is safe, and she is still alive.

Aether catches her eye, then. One hand rises from beneath their towel to sign, are you okay?

Shenhe reassures them that she is simply tired. Aether, for their part, seems quite alright; a mystified Shenhe can only wonder what sort of fried egg they must have eaten.

As she looks at them, she thinks about the thrill of fighting beside them, and the warmth she felt at knowing that someone had her back. Despite the emotions welling in her throat, she manages to say, “I thought I would be dealing with Beisht on my own. I didn’t expect you to follow me.” Thank you goes unspoken, but Shenhe hopes they can hear it lining the edges of her voice. Is this what it is to speak like a mortal?

Of course, Aether signs. I couldn’t let you face it alone.

“Yeah!” Paimon agrees. “What kind of friends would we be if we abandoned you?”

If it weren’t for the ropes, grateful tears might’ve welled up in Shenhe’s eyes. Instead, she simply smiles, an expression at once soft, weary and full of sincerity. Aether places a gentle hand on her shoulder as they return it; Paimon, too, looks at her with sparkling eyes.

Everything is a blur after that. Ningguang is deep in a serious conversation with the Millileth, which Aether and Paimon seem to be attentively listening to, but Shenhe is too exhausted to pay attention. That sense of fatigue eats away at her, crawling beneath her ropes, settling under her skin. It is all she can do to keep her eyes open.

“…Of course, we owe huge thanks to this young lady for her help.”

Shenhe blinks as a voice carves through the fog in her head. Me? She looks around, suddenly aware that all eyes are on her again. The owner of the voice - a Millileth soldier - meets her gaze, his expression serious yet full of respect.

“On behalf of all the Millileth,” he says, “thank you for your service.”

Shenhe, having never been thanked in such an official capacity, is speechless. Even as she opens her mouth, her mind blanks - if there is a socially accepted response to something like this, she has no idea what it is.

Once again, it is Aether who comes to her aid.

Shenhe protected us, they sign, smiling as they meet her eyes. Just like the hero in the story.

Warmth blooms beneath Shenhe’s ropes. Yun Jin’s words echo in her mind: I think maybe you’ve already started to become the person you aspire to be. You just haven’t had a chance to see it for yourself yet.

Perhaps her faith was not misplaced after all.

“Great,” Shenhe murmurs, somewhat awkwardly - responding to such high praise is not something she’s accustomed to. “Then next time I watch Ms. Yun’s opera, I’ll be able to take the compliments.” After a pause, she turns to Aether and adds, “I wasn’t trying to be a hero, though. I just wanted to protect you.”

Cloud Retainer, Yun Jin and Ningguang were right all along. All she needed was a reason - something beyond herself, something stronger than the curse that has haunted her all her life - to use her power for the good of others. A reason to see that she is more than the curse of calamity she harbours beneath red ropes - or a reason to simply be brave.

Ningguang’s voice cuts off her train of thought. Scarlet eyes have turned to the sky; it is only then that Shenhe notices the elegant, long-necked shadow, cast along the sand.

“You've been monitoring us for some time now,” Ningguang says. “I trust you've reached a conclusion.”

Cloud Retainer, perched atop a large rock, huffs contemptuously. “You wish to hear one's opinion? Well. Things would have hardly gone so smoothly had it not been for Shenhe.”

“That I do not deny. However, final victory was always going to be ours, even had things been a little more arduous,” Ningguang replies coolly. “If it came to it, I could always destroy another Jade Chamber. Besides…” she glances across at Shenhe, a slight uptick at the corner of her mouth. “If I am not mistaken, Shenhe is just as much a mortal citizen of Liyue Harbour as she is a student of the adepti.”

A citizen of Liyue Harbour.

Those words echo in Shenhe’s mind, drowning out the rest of the discussion. She looks across at Ningguang, arms crossed elegantly, fiery eyes locked on Cloud Retainer. She is the picture of mortal strength: the face of a nation, whose human intelligence could overcome even the fiercest beasts.

And she has, without hesitation, welcomed Shenhe in: simply as a human, nothing more, nothing less.

“Shenhe.” Cloud Retainer’s voice brings her back to the present, and it is audibly softer now than it was when she spoke to Ningguang. “One saw you secretly venture out from the mountains years ago, and noticed the air of dejection in which you returned.”

Oh. Shenhe’s mind drifts back to that lonely day, twelve years prior. She noticed?

I suppose nothing gets past the eyes of an adeptus.

Those eyes are focused on her now, bright and piercing. Cloud Retainer speaks again.

“Hopefully, this trip to Liyue Harbour has been a different experience?”

“Yes. I can’t explain it, but…” Shenhe looks across at Aether, who offers her a sweet smile, bright as sunshine. “I feel happier than I expected.”

It is just as Uncle Mingjun said: this time, she is with her friends. Friends like Aether, who followed her into unknowable depths just to make sure she wouldn’t be fighting alone.

“Good.” Though Cloud Retainer’s face remains statuesque, Shenhe can tell she is satisfied with the answer. “Aether, please take good care of Shenhe, she is a dear child.” A pause, and then the dreaded addendum: “in fact, one has many fond memories of Shenhe’s childhood that you may be interested to hear about…”

Shenhe can’t shut her up fast enough.

“There’ll be no need for that,” she says flatly, already far too familiar with Cloud Retainer’s drawn-out - and frankly, sometimes quite embarrassing - storytelling style. (If it weren’t for her ropes, she’d already be too flustered to look Xiao, Zhongli or Ganyu in the eyes, and Shenhe is not prepared to add Aether to that list.)

“Oh?” If cranes had eyebrows, Shenhe is sure Cloud Retainer’s would be touching the sky. “Hmph. They are all like this. Fine! Since you care not to listen, one shan't be telling you. One shall be going homeward now!”

Without wasting another moment, Cloud Retainer flies off, her silhouette vanishing into the clouds. Shenhe feels something nudge her arm; when she turns around, she meets Aether’s eyes, gleaming with mischief.

A pity, really, they sign, a grin playing at their lips. I can’t help but think I’m missing out.

Shenhe levels them with the most unamused look she can muster. “No. Trust me, you are not.”

Their only response is a quiet laugh. And as she looks at them, basking in the joy radiating from their features, Shenhe knows she’s found her reason to stay.

Chapter Text

She traverses the mortal world, her path lit by gorgeous fireworks and gold lanterns.

~

Shenhe
The ocean is calm, the waters silver beneath the rising moon. The Jade Chamber floats in a clear sky, the crisp air filled with the tantalising scents of countless lavish dishes. Shenhe sits at a table with Aether and Paimon, fiddling with a pair of ornate chopsticks.

She is here for the long-awaited performance of The Divine Damsel of Devastation. Ningguang is standing at the base of the stage, welcoming her guests; the area before her buzzes with quiet, excited chatter, the splashing of drinks being poured, and the sounds of Paimon sincerely enjoying the food.

It isn’t long before Yun Jin takes to the stage, standing with her back to the audience, her body aglow beneath the golden lights. Here, the silks adorning her figure seem all the more resplendent, her dark hair glossy and smooth.

As the first notes play, Yun Jin starts to dance. Her movements are slow yet precise, as swift and gentle as the evening breeze.

And then she begins to sing.

When Yun Jin turns, her eyes seem to gleam like rubies beneath the stage lights, her makeup soft and rosy. Her voice is bright and clear, each word flowing from her lips like spring water. Through every lilting syllable, Shenhe hears the story of her own childhood, told in poetry and song. While some of the details have been changed, the performance still conveys every high and low, from the heaviness of her father’s grief to the mysticism and magic surrounding her years living among the adepti.

When the music slows, Yun Jin gazes solemnly out at the audience, her eyes alight with the reflections of countless floating lanterns.

“Thus does the Divine Damsel’s tale duly end,” she says, “but today I have a new tale to append. Which I shall now tell - if you shall attend.” Her voice rises back into song at the end of the sentence, and Shenhe listens, rapt, as Yun Jin tells the tale of her return to Liyue Harbour.

Her feats sound all the more impressive in song. Yun Jin’s dance conveys the intensity of the tsunami, her singing bright and energetic. Watching her, Shenhe feels like she’s back on that stormy beach, finding strength within herself that she didn’t even realise she had.

She stilled an entire tsunami with one movement, and then fought alongside Aether to drive away the beast that summoned it. Watching her entire life story play out on stage has made it clear how far she’s come from the tragic events of her childhood, and a dull flicker of pride comes to life beneath her ropes.

Aether meets her eyes across the table as Yun Jin sings of their shared feats. They smile, and that expression is so soft and sweet that Shenhe can’t help but smile back. This blossoming friendship - and all of their heroic deeds - will forever be preserved by this beautiful performance, and the thought alone is invigorating.

“The crane once returned, and once she was spurned.” Yun Jin recites the last few lines of the opera as the song draws to a close. “She turned, and left alone. Now, she might be found with friends all around.” Sparkling eyes find Shenhe’s in the crowd, and Yun Jin smiles. “To whom she is bound - a home.”

The audience erupts into enthusiastic cheers as the performance ends. Aether raises their glass, face ablaze with excitement; confused but endeared, Shenhe raises hers too. She supposes it must be a mortal signifier of appreciation, or perhaps community - around them, friends and strangers alike collectively raise their drinks to the sky. Shenhe basks in the brilliant atmosphere and the golden glow of countless xiao lanterns, drinking in the electrifying sense of joy. Her heart feels unusually, and yet wonderfully, warm.

It is not long before Yun Jin descends from the stage. She makes a beeline for Shenhe and Aether’s table, her eyes still sparkling with exhilaration.

“What did you think? Personally, I thought I sang rather well.” Her gaze drifts to Shenhe as she speaks, as if to ask, did I do your story justice?

Paimon is the first to respond. She showers Yun Jin with praise, adding that if she got the chance, she’d like to learn how to sing Liyuean opera too. Across the table, Aether turns an amused laugh into a cough, and Paimon whirls around to send an indignant glance in their direction.

Shenhe takes that chance to answer Yun Jin’s question.

“It was wonderful.” Her voice is thick with emotions she cannot even begin to describe, from the thickness of nostalgia to the bright glow of pride. “Also… thank you.” There is so much she wants to express to Yun Jin - more than these words could ever convey - but for now, she hopes it is enough.

Yun Jin’s eyes soften, her lips curving in a delicate smile. “You’re welcome. Thanks to you, The Divine Damsel of Devastation is a more nuanced tale than ever.” Her expression turns earnest, and she reaches out to place a soft hand on Shenhe’s shoulder. “The play has an ending, but life goes on. I believe you will find a way to fit in in Liyue Harbour.”

“Thank you.” Shenhe returns the smile. “I think I’ve found the opportunity I needed to change.”

“That’s wonderful. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for lunch sometime? I’d like to introduce you to some of my friends, and give you another taste of life in the Harbour.”

“I would love that,” Shenhe murmurs, warmth blossoming in her chest. Ningguang’s words echo in her head: everyone needs a reason to stay. I hope you can find yours soon.

She is finding reasons everywhere. How could she not, when she is surrounded by so much love?

~

The sky is ablaze with colour and sound.

Fireworks. Shenhe has never seen them like this before, so bright and so close. She leans on the stone railing of Yujing Terrace, her eyes never leaving the brilliant display. On the ground below, Liyue Harbour is alive with joyous celebration, so loud it could almost drown out the sounds of the fireworks. All the colours and noise would be enough to overwhelm Shenhe if she weren’t so enthralled by it.

It is her first time experiencing joy like this. Her heart swells, buoyed by the happiness of other people, all those countless names and faces she is not yet familiar with. As she gazes out into the crowd, she can only wonder how many of these people she will eventually get to know. After so many long years of living in the mountains, it is finally possible. She can hardly believe it.

Everyone here is so… expressive. They wear their joy in dazzling smiles, their eyes aglow beneath resplendent fireworks. Children sit on their parents shoulders, hoping to get a better view of the celebratory display. Lovers and friends alike wrap their arms around each other, basking in the beautiful moment. It is… wonderful, just to be able to see it all.

“This is your first Lantern Rite in Liyue Harbour, isn’t it?”

A gentle voice sounds from behind Shenhe, and she looks over in time to see Ganyu lean on the railing beside her. Beneath her qilin horns and sky-blue hair, Ganyu’s eyes are like a vivid sunset, reflecting the sparkling fireworks. In response to her question, Shenhe nods.

“How are you finding it?” Ganyu follows Shenhe’s gaze to admire the lightshow. “The fireworks are one of my favourite parts of the Lantern Rite.”

Shenhe can understand why. From what little she knows of Ganyu, her job is so demanding she rarely finds time for a break. On nights like this, when there are no requirements for her save watching the fireworks and enjoying the festivities, she can finally relax.

“I love it,” Shenhe murmurs. “Thank you for inviting me to spend Lantern Rite with you.”

“It’s a pleasure. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.” Ganyu turns, her eyes suddenly solemn. “I know what it’s like, to at once be connected with both adepti and mortals. I’m… glad you’re here, Shenhe.”

She doesn’t need to say anything else. The underlying sentiment hovers between them: I’m glad I have someone else who understands. Shenhe knows what she means, feels that same sentiment purring like a cat beneath her ribcage.

“Thank you,” she says softly. “For helping me.”

Shenhe has never known Ganyu very well. As a child, she remembers watching from a distance as Ganyu would share pots of tea with Cloud Retainer, and conversations about Ganyu’s life in the Harbour would drift to tales from her own childhood as an adeptus’ disciple. When that happened, Ganyu would leave as quickly as she came, disappearing like snow melting from the mountainside.

For as long as she can remember, Shenhe has been fascinated by her: someone who is, in the most literal sense, at once an adeptus and a human, and who has lived among mortals for centuries. She had never expected to be standing on Yujing Terrace beside Ganyu herself, talking about a future in Liyue Harbour. Ganyu has taken Shenhe under her wing like a kindly older sister - perhaps it is to be expected of co-disciples, but it warms Shenhe’s heart all the same.

The last time her life changed like this, she was a baby bird pushed prematurely from the nest, and left to fend for herself with only an exorcist’s blade and her own personal demons. This time, she is a fledgling leaving the nest of her own accord, and she hasn’t had to take that leap alone.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ganyu assures her. “It is my duty, both as a secretary and as your friend.” (There it is again, that perfect word.) “Have you thought about what you’re going to do after the Lantern Rite? I could recommend some work for you, if you needed something to do, or, um… I could show you how to tend a garden. You eat mountain herbs too, don’t you?”

“You grow your own herbs?” Shenhe asks, in lieu of answering Ganyu’s questions. As busy as she was, being swept up in all the commotion of the last few days, she hadn’t even stopped to notice the lack of wild violetgrass and qingxin closer to the Harbour.

Ganyu averts her gaze, seeming suddenly bashful. “I do. It’s… surprisingly fun, actually. That’s– that’s not what I was going to talk about, though.” As if to clear her thoughts, she shakes her head before she speaks again, her tone suddenly stiff and formal. “I believe our first order of business should be finding you a place to stay. Then, I’ll take you shopping for furniture, and seeds, and–”

“Hold on,” Shenhe interrupts, as gently as she can. “We can deal with that later. For now… I just want to watch the fireworks.”

She reaches out to rest a comforting hand on Ganyu’s shoulder, the same way Aether did after they surfaced from the underwater domain, and Yun Jin did after her opera. It seems to work: Ganyu softens beneath her touch, a smile blossoming across her face.

“Good idea,” she says, turning her eyes to the sky. “Tonight is a night of peace and celebration… let us enjoy the fireworks.”

~

The next evening, Shenhe goes to stand on the docks, far enough from the hustle and bustle of the continued festivities that they won’t overwhelm her, but close enough to still see the beautiful decorations and hear the sounds of celebration. People come and go, chatting as they stroll beneath strings of red-and-gold lanterns, carefree smiles arced across their faces.

Before long, she catches sight of something more familiar in the crowd: a braid of summer-yellow, accompanied by glimmering trails of stardust. Aether and Paimon’s faces seem to glow beneath the lanterns, as bright as sunshine. Warmth stirs beneath Shenhe’s ropes as she watches them. Aether is signing something to Paimon, a dazzling grin lighting up their features, and Paimon is laughing happily, her starlit cape billowing in the soft breeze blowing over the ocean.

Shenhe didn’t think it was possible, but their faces somehow become even brighter when they see her at the edge of the dock. Aether picks up their pace to jog towards her, Paimon floating a hair’s breadth behind them.

“There you are, Shenhe!” she says, her voice high-pitched with excitement. “Ganyu said we might find you here.”

Aether greets her with a wave before signing, how are you finding the Lantern Rite?

“It’s…” overwhelmingly beautiful, and passionate, and wonderful. There are so many - too many ways to describe this experience, and the thoughts and feelings pile up behind Shenhe’s teeth. “Bright.”

It’s the one word that encompasses everything. The beauty of it all, from people’s dazzling smiles to the gorgeous decorations and the blazing fireworks, feels like it would be enough to blind her.

Paimon nods sagely, as though only half understanding. “Mm, bright,” she says. “I guess it kinda is, isn’t it? There are so many lanterns, and fireworks, and… ohh. You don’t usually see a lot of this, do you, Shenhe?”

Shenhe shakes her head.

“Liyue Harbour by night is even brighter than Mt. Aocang by day,” she explains. “I couldn’t get used to this view at first. But I’m told this is how it always looks at the Lantern Rite. I guess everyone likes brightly lit places, because every time you mention Lantern Rite, people can't help but smile.”

It might just be her favourite thing about the festivities. She isn’t used to seeing joy displayed so openly - being a crane, Cloud Retainer can’t smile, and Shenhe doesn’t know that many other people. Rosaria used to smile at her when they were younger, but back then, they had to hide their happiness in nighttime shadows, vanishing between thick shrubs and into moonlit tunnels. Here, everyone’s happiness is brazen and free, glowing as brightly as the lanterns above them. No matter how much her ropes dampen her emotions, that joy is infectious, and it makes Shenhe want to smile too.

She tries it now. “Like this, look,” she tells Aether and Paimon, before she mimics the smiles she’s seen on everyone’s faces during the festivities. It feels foreign on her face - unusual, and yet so nice, as if a little bit of that joy has been transferred to her just by thinking about it.

When she glances back at Aether, she finds them smiling too, their eyes glimmering with something that looks like pride. Words form in their hands: yes, that’s the Lantern Rite smile.

A soft ache stirs in Shenhe’s chest as she looks at them. She has hardly known them for very long, and yet… they already mean so much to her, so much that it hurts. This is the face that gazed up at her, pained and yet still so determined. It’s the face that drove her to finally harness her own strength, bringing the beast in her soul completely under her control. It’s the face that fought alongside her in the underwater domain, a fight Shenhe had been sure she’d have to take on alone. It’s a face she wants to see over and over again, to keep in her life for as long as she can.

But it’s not possible. Aether is like Rosaria - the Rosaria before the betrayal, who snuck out of camp just to meet Shenhe beneath the moonlight, both of them still youthful and innocent. Those nights were like clouds swelling with the promise of rain: Rosaria was a traveller, and one day, those clouds were going to break, and she would have to leave. From what Shenhe has learned of Aether and Paimon, they follow the same philosophy, and never stay in one place for long.

It doesn’t hurt to ask, though, Shenhe supposes. Just to be sure.

I don’t want to say goodbye to another friend. Not this soon.

The question is soft on her tongue. “Aether, Paimon… will you be staying here for good now?”

Aether shakes their head, and Shenhe’s heart drops a little. Just for the festival, they sign. The words look too light in their hands.

“…Oh, I see.” It’s the answer she expected, but it still doesn’t quell her disappointment. “Well… it’s nice to see you. Thank you for coming to find me.” Quietly, and wistfully, she adds to herself, “if Lantern Rite could continue indefinitely… that would be even better.” She can’t remember the last time something made her this happy. (She chooses not to think about those moonlit nights in her childhood - the memories are now stained in bloodshed and snow.)

“It’s always nice to see you too, Shenhe,” Paimon replies cheerfully, flying over to give Shenhe a little pat on the head. “Now come on, tell us more about your Lantern Rite experiences! This is your first time partaking in the festivities, and we want to hear all about it!”

~

“Here we are.”

Yun Jin stops and gestures at a small, homely establishment across the road. The lettering on the sign reads Wanmin Restaurant; even from this distance, Shenhe can smell the bold fragrance of mortal food, rich and alluring. Her stomach grumbles despite itself.

“Well, if it isn’t Ms. Yun!” The cheerful voice belongs to a young woman, emerging from the building to greet them. Her red-and-black outfit and the spikes adorning her hair make her look every part a tough, no-nonsense rebel, but the dazzling smile on her face reveals her true character. “Look at you go, performing on the brand-new Jade Chamber! How do you feel?”

“I feel wonderful,” Yun Jin replies, giggling as the young woman wraps her in an eager hug. She meets Shenhe’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. “Shenhe, this is Xinyan. Xinyan, this is–”

“The Divine Damsel herself! I’d recognise you anywhere - you’re the talk of the town at the moment!” Xinyan greets Shenhe with a firm handshake, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. The name’s Xinyan - I’m a local legend of sorts myself.” She winks, and Shenhe remembers that Yun Jin had described her as a ‘renowned rockstar’. “You oughta come and see one of my shows sometime. I’ll save you a front-row seat.”

“I - thank you,” Shenhe murmurs. “I would love that.”

“Now come on in. Xiangling’s been waiting - we’ve both been so excited.” Xinyan chatters on as she leads the way into the restaurant. Shenhe brushes past the fabric hanging over the doorway just in time to see a new face pop up behind the counter, aglow with excitement.

“Are they here?” Golden eyes scout out the two newcomers, and a moment later, a petite young woman practically vaults over the counter to greet them. “Yun Jin - and you must be Shenhe! It’s so nice to meet you.” She takes one of Shenhe’s hands in both of her own, shaking it vigorously. “What sort of dishes do you like? Oh, I also heard from Paimon that you eat qingxin flowers, is that true?”

For a moment, Shenhe can only stare, somewhat taken aback by the girl’s overabundant energy. Beside her, Yun Jin laughs, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Relax, Xiangling, you haven’t even introduced yourself yet.” Yun Jin’s eyes are crinkled in amusement as she turns back to Shenhe. “Shenhe, this is Xiangling.” The culinary prodigy. “She’s been looking forward to this for days - she wants to make a special dish for you, to welcome you back to the Harbour.”

For a moment, Shenhe is speechless. A special dish? That newfound warmth, now so wonderfully familiar, seems to purr beneath her ropes. Despite having never met her before, Xinyan and Xiangling have both welcomed her with open arms. Shenhe can’t help but smile at the thought; these are Yun Jin’s best friends, and maybe after today, they’ll be her friends too.

“Thank you,” she says, hoping the words are enough to convey the gratitude swelling warmly in her chest. “To answer your questions… I do eat qingxin, and, um…” She thinks wistfully of her childhood, in those brief yet wonderful years before her mother fell sick. “I like noodles.”

Xiangling claps her hands together excitedly. “Perfect! Just you wait, I’m going to give you such a treat.”

She disappears behind the counter while Xinyan leads the way to their table, tucked away in a quiet corner of the restaurant. When Xiangling returns, her arms are laden with steaming dishes, and the aroma is so wonderful that Shenhe’s stomach growls again.

“Someone’s hungry,” Xiangling teases good-naturedly, placing a large bowl in front of Shenhe. “This one’s for you. Do tell me what you think! I’ve been dying for someone to try my qingxin dishes.”

Shenhe peers into the bowl. It’s full of noodle soup, rich with the smell of herbs and spices. Qingxin petals float delicately in the broth; their familiar and slightly bitter fragrance underlies the scent of the dish, complementing the otherwise ordinary ingredients. Aware that the others are watching her expectantly, she picks up her chopsticks and carefully puts a few noodles in her mouth.

The flavours seem to explode on her tongue, and Shenhe has to stifle a gasp.

Yun Jin and Xinyan share a sympathetic glance as Xiangling leans across the table, eyes wide and shining.

“So? What do you think?” she asks, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Was that a good noise or a bad noise?”

Shenhe swallows. “A good one,” she assures Xiangling. “I really like this dish.”

If she had to put one word to it, it would be divine, in quite the literal sense. As much as she hates the bitterness of mountain herbs, that flavour takes her right back to her years among the adepti: to the white jade comb she now wears in her hair, to early mornings training amidst dewdrops and mountain mist, and to quiet meditations in the crisp, wild breeze. At the same time, she can taste the underlying flavours of traditional mortal cooking, and can feel the smooth texture of the noodles on her tongue. The sensation makes her feel like a little kid again, sitting in the kitchen of her family home, messily slurping up her noodles as her mother laughs.

To put it simply, this dish reminds her of home - of all her homes.

“Yes!” Xiangling throws a fist into the air in triumph. “I knew it, I knew I could do it! I can’t wait to tell my dad that I finally found someone who liked my qingxin dishes!”

“More like someone who can actually stomach them,” Xinyan says, punctuating the sentence with a laugh. “Do you remember how long Mao Xiansheng spent on the toilet last time he tried eating a dish like this?”

“Oh, don’t even remind me.” Xiangling shakes her head, even as a smile shines in her eyes. “I was cooking congee for him for days.”

The conversation continues between bites of delicious food. Banter bounces so effortlessly between Yun Jin, Xinyan and Xiangling that, even after years of practising by listening to Cloud Retainer’s long-winded stories, Shenhe can hardly keep up. The three of them are so… familiar with each other, the bond between them built on years of shared experiences, love and compassion. Shenhe almost feels as though she is intruding on something sacred. It brings back memories of Rosaria, but she pushes those thoughts away as quickly as they come.

She’s just happy to be included at all. It’s all so new to her; even the bowl of noodles is almost too much, all the different tastes and textures warring for her attention.

“So, Shenhe.” Xinyan is watching her, a friendly grin crinkling the edges of her eyes. Shenhe glances up, halfway through a mouthful of noodles. “How’s it feel to be the star of Yun Jin’s new opera? It’s not every day we meet someone with a story like yours.”

“It’s an honour.” Shenhe smiles just thinking of the performance. “I never thought my story would be told in such a beautiful and inspiring way.”

Even now, she is in disbelief. For so long, her past has brought her unimaginable grief and anguish. The pain is not gone, but now, those jagged memories have been moulded into something softer.

“It was amazing,” Xiangling agrees, nodding fervently. “To think all of that could actually happen to someone! I still can’t believe I’m sitting across from the Divine Damsel herself.”

“You don’t have to call me that,” Shenhe murmurs abashedly. “Just ‘Shenhe’ is fine.”

The Divine Damsel is a title she wears with no shortage of pride, and yet, like everything else about her, it manages to set her apart. Here in the mortal realm, she is known only for her past: as the Divine Damsel from Yun Jin’s opera, or as an adeptus’ disciple, returning from the mountains. After decades, she is finally walking among mortals again, but it will take much more than a single Lantern Rite festival for her to feel ordinary.

“Speaking of the opera,” Yun Jin says, rummaging through a small bag, “I have a gift for you, Shenhe.”

Carefully, she pulls out a small piece of paper. It is somewhat worn and weathered; when Yun Jin passes it to her, Shenhe holds it like a baby bird, precious and fragile.

It takes her a moment to realise what it is.

“My father showed me this photograph when we first started working on the tale of the Divine Damsel,” Yun Jin explains. “It was a part of his research. I’d like you to have it now.”

“It’s–” Shenhe’s throat is thick. My home.

The photograph is like something out of a memory: an image Shenhe hasn’t seen since she was five years old. It is her childhood village, bustling and alive, back in the peaceful days before calamity descended upon it like a dark cloud. People, frozen in time, walk along cobbled pathways with baskets of herbs, their smiles aglow in the sunshine. Others stand in doorways, waving in greeting to those passing by. Flowers bloom in every corner: signs of a community full of life and love.

Exhaling shakily, Shenhe hugs the photograph, pressing it close to her chest.

“Yun Jin… thank you,” she whispers. “I really appreciate this.” It means more to me than you could possibly imagine.

The only remnant she has of her childhood home, apart from her own memories, is her mother’s knife. This gift is a treasure of times long past - of a community that could easily have been forgotten, if not for things like this.

“You’re welcome.” There is a smile in Yun Jin’s eyes as she says it - something soft, compassionate and understanding. She wraps Shenhe in a gentle hug. “I’m so glad you like it.”

~

“That’s it - breathe.” Shenhe inhales deeply, feeling her muscles relax. “Keep yourself grounded. Stay steady; you must be aware of every nerve and fibre in your body. Feel the blood rushing through your veins, and the air in your lungs.”

As she speaks, she thinks back to misty mornings with Cloud Retainer, when the air was cold enough to scratch her throat and rake cool talons across her skin. She feels free, in moments like these, when the raging tides beneath her ropes are calmest, and all she needs to focus on is the sensation of her breath. Now, sitting on a hilltop just outside of Liyue Harbour, she feels secure, grounded. Something about the fight with Beisht cemented something in her, giving her a greater sense of control, of freedom. Even meditating comes easier to her now.

A deep breath. One, two. The scent of glaze lilies lingers in the air. Three, four. A residual warmth purrs beneath her ropes. She’s been feeling it more and more lately, as though the battle against Beisht - that moment when she found something to fight for, and someone to fight alongside - managed to melt the icy walls around her heart, giving her a way to feel human again. It would scare her, if this warmth weren’t so comfortable.

“Shenhe ayi,” a voice says timidly from beside her, “how will this help me exorcise spirits?”

Shenhe cracks open one eye. The blue-haired boy sitting at her side looks up at her, wide-eyed.

“Your family did not teach you to meditate?”

“N-No, they did, but…” he scratches his neck. “I didn’t think we were coming out here for… that.”

The boy’s name is Chongyun. Shenhe had encountered him, out in the mountains, shortly before her return to Liyue Harbour. He had been pursuing an Abyss Mage and, thinking that he was an ordinary mortal who’d simply gotten himself into a bit of trouble, Shenhe swooped in to assist him. She had not expected him to be another practising exorcist, let alone one from her own clan. He had recognised her name almost immediately and, with just as much astonishment as Shenhe was feeling, called her auntie.

Shenhe had stopped in her tracks then, as if the word itself had paralysed her.

Auntie.

She could not believe it. This boy was her nephew - another living, breathing member of her family, and someone who remembered her as a mortal, not an adeptus. Someone who, despite never having met her before, knew her name and her story, as if it were a folk tale passed down through their family.

That day, an awed Chongyun had practically begged her to mentor him, but Shenhe, thinking that she would continue living with the adepti for the foreseeable future, had declined. And yet, fate has returned her to mortal society, and to her blood family.

Now, she sits by Chongyun’s side, holding a meditative position. Until now, it had not occurred to Shenhe that an exorcist’s training regime might differ if they weren’t harbouring a malevolent spirit of their own; it makes sense, then, that Chongyun is less accustomed to meditating. Even so, she can feel waves of heat rolling off of him, his overabundance of Yang energy practically sizzling in the air. If anyone could be helped by this, it would be him.

“Meditation is imperative to completing a successful exorcism,” Shenhe tells him seriously. Her thoughts drift back to her early days training alongside Cloud Retainer, when she badgered her master with these very questions. “You cannot tame other spirits before you’ve even learned to tame your own.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Chongyun’s back straightens as he resumes a meditative position. The silence hardly lasts a moment, though, before he cracks open his eyes again, glancing tentatively at Shenhe. “How long do you usually meditate for? My mum wants me back home in time for lunch. And, uh… I know you said you weren’t ready, but… you should come! She’s been asking after you. She really wants to see you.”

Shenhe is quiet for a long moment, her thoughts suddenly heavy. She has spent a lifetime thinking she’d lost everyone. When she pulled that white jade comb through her hair, she severed her connection to the mortal realm, breaking the last ties she had with her human family. That action itself was a choice: a decision to align herself with the adepti, to tread the path of gods and monsters.

But after all these years, she has found her mortal family again. That very same white jade comb now sits in her hair, a symbol of the path she walks between two worlds. What once was a promise to cut her ties with the mortal realm has become a blessing to return safely to it. Cloud Retainer’s fine craftsmanship has turned the comb into a beautiful headpiece, and it was with this gift that Shenhe was granted passage back to the life she left behind.

One understands how precious the white jade comb is to you, Shenhe. She can still hear Cloud Retainer’s voice in her head, memories of a conversation they had shared a few short weeks before she departed for Liyue Harbour. And one hopes you will not object to the changes one made to it. This way, you can keep it with you always, even when you are far from Jueyun Karst.

“Shenhe? …Shenhe?” Chongyun’s voice carves through the memories. “You don’t have to say yes, you know. Mama will understand.”

Shenhe is silent for a long moment, feeling caught on the border between worlds. She has lived for so long hiding on one side of it that she is almost scared to cross over, but the weight on her skull reminds her that she can. She has already found family in Jueyun Karst - now, it is time to reunite with her flesh-and-blood relatives, here in Liyue Harbour.

“I’ll come.” When she finally speaks, the words are soft on her tongue. “I think it’s time.”

Her chest tightens with apprehension as she follows Chongyun to his family home. She waits behind him as he pushes open the door, calling out for his mother to come and greet their guest. Pattering footsteps sound from deep within the house, and Shenhe keeps her eyes on the ground, her heart quickening ever so slightly.

When the footsteps stop, they are replaced with a delighted gasp, and Shenhe finally looks up.

“Yuewen.” A name she hasn’t uttered in nearly twenty years falls from her lips, long-buried memories suddenly flooding her brain. It was the last family gathering Shenhe had ever attended, when her mother’s sickness had just started to slow her down. Members of their clan had travelled from all over Liyue to celebrate the Moonchase Festival with her, filling Shenhe’s childhood home with delicious food and good cheer. Yuewen was one of her older cousins, and almost certainly the most fascinating, with her great array of talents and her sparkling personality. Shenhe remembers following her around like a puppy.

“Shenhe… it’s really you.” Yuewen’s voice wobbles as she steps forward, reaching out to wrap her younger cousin in a hug, and Shenhe doesn’t fight her. “When Chongyun said he’d met someone with your name, I couldn’t believe him… but then all those stories started, about a mortal descending from Jueyun Karst, and…” she draws a deep, shaky breath. “You’re here. You’re alive. It’s a miracle.”

A miracle…

There it is again, that word. When she was six years old, her father had abandoned her with the cruel utterance of “cursed child”, one final gift before she left mortal society behind. But now, both Uncle Mingjun and Yuewen have welcomed her back as a miracle.

“You still have your mother’s eyes,” Yuewen murmurs, her gaze lingering on Shenhe’s face. “You both always looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

In a way, Shenhe supposes she is. She stays quiet, though, her throat too thick with emotion to speak.

There is a moment’s silence before Yuewen ushers them inside. “I’m afraid I can’t talk for long - I’ve got noodles on the stove,” she explains apologetically. “Chongyun, why don’t you come and help me out? Don’t think that you’ll get away from your household chores just because I let you run around all day! And Shenhe, make yourself at home. Lunch won’t be long.”

“I can help too,” Shenhe says, following them into the kitchen.

“I should’ve guessed you’d say that.” A smile plays on Yuewen’s lips. “Do you remember when we were younger? You’d follow us around the kitchen all day, begging us to let you help out, but your mother wouldn’t let you anywhere near the stove.” She laughs, patting Shenhe on the shoulder. “Of course you can help. Come here, I’ll show you what to do.”

Shenhe feels like a kid again, asking Yuewen questions as she tails her through the house. Yuewen is as patient and as kind as she was all those years ago, her hands soft on Shenhe’s as she shows her how to properly slice the meat, to make the fragrant sauce, and to cook the noodles. Quietly, Shenhe wonders whether her life would’ve looked like this, if not for her curse. Would she have grown up making noodles and practising the exorcist arts with her cousins? Would she have hair like Yuewen’s, silky and black, like water beneath a moonless night?

Her gaze drifts to Chongyun as he stirs a pot. Unlike his mother, he has hair like the summer sky, crisp and blue. He’d explained earlier that it was a result of his unique disposition, his abundance of Yang energy bleeding into his hair, his eyes, his skin. Shenhe can’t help but think curses must run in their family.

It isn’t long before the noodles are ready, and Shenhe joins her family at the table to eat. The experience is surreal - here she is, sitting with her flesh-and-blood relatives, having just cooked lunch with a woman she thought she’d never see again. It’s been so long since their last encounter that Yuewen has a son now, a boy as bright and brilliant as his mother.

Yuewen seems to notice her staring. “Is everything okay?” Her gaze drops to Shenhe’s bowl, the noodles still untouched. “If this isn’t to your tastes, I can–”

“No, no.” Shenhe shakes her head. “Thank you. I am alright. I’m just…” that warmth is there again, like a pebble of golden light. “Happy.”

She tucks in to the noodles then, pleasantly surprised by their cool temperature. Unlike her mother’s noodles, which swam in a fragrant, warm broth, this dish is garnished with a cold meat-and-vegetable sauce. It is at once delicious and refreshing, and while it tastes nothing like her memories, Shenhe loves it all the same.

She may never get to enjoy that flavour from her childhood ever again, and yet… the thought doesn’t hurt so much anymore. Without even realising it, she has spent a lifetime making new friends, finding new family, and savouring many different flavours on the way, from mountain herbs and charred fox meat to various kinds of noodles. Slowly but surely, little by little, Shenhe feels the hole in her heart mending.

When she looks up, she catches Yuewen smiling at her, her own bowl of noodles all but forgotten.

“Yuewen? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing.” Yuewen shakes her head, the smile not leaving her face. “It’s just so nice to have you back, Shenhe.”

~

“Shenhe, you made it!”

Before Shenhe can quite process what’s happening, Beidou is wrapping her in a one-armed hug, a drink sloshing against the cup in her other hand. Behind her, the deck of the Alcor is bustling with noise and activity as people chat and laugh, their cheerful conversations underscored by the soft splashing of ocean waves. It’s sunset, and the water below them is ablaze.

“Welcome aboard,” Beidou continues, helping Shenhe onto the ship. “The lads have been dying to meet you after that fight against Beisht. You were incredible, stopping that tsunami single-handedly! But first… I promised you a drink, didn’t I?”

Shenhe nods, already feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the noise. “What sort of beverage is it?” She’s used to drinking morning dew on the mountains, and sipping from clear springs, but she already knows that neither of those things are customary in the mortal world.

“How about a cup of some fine Inazuman sake? We picked it up on our last trip abroad.” Beidou glances over her shoulder. “Kazuha! Mind getting me another glass of that sake for our guest here?”

With that, she leads Shenhe deeper into the chaos on the ship’s deck. It’s something called a “party”, which Shenhe has heard is fairly customary for the members of the Crux Fleet, although the concept remains foreign to her. As she gazes out into swathes of unfamiliar faces, a young man, dressed in foreign robes adorned with maple leaves, presses through the crowd towards them.

“You must be Shenhe,” he says, smiling softly as he passes her a cup. “My name is Kaedehara Kazuha. It’s a pleasure to meet you - Captain Beidou has told me much about you.”

“All good things,” Beidou assures her with a hearty laugh.

“Indeed. She said you were as fierce as mountain frost, with courage that blazed as brilliantly as fire. Your feats in the battle against Beisht were most commendable.”

“Well, I didn’t quite word it like that. Your poetry is still somewhat beyond me.” Beidou ruffles Kazuha’s hair good-naturedly before turning back to Shenhe. “Kazuha here is one of my finest crew members. He got in some good trouble back home in Inazuma, so he’s been sailing with us ever since.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Shenhe says, eyeing Kazuha up and down. He looks every part a foreigner, and yet… he seems so at home here, with Beidou’s hand resting in his messed-up hair. Like Shenhe, his life has taken him far from his birthplace, but he’s carved out a space for himself regardless. She feels a little lighter just looking at him.

“Alright, enough standing around! Let’s go and mingle.” A smile sneaks onto Beidou’s lips as she takes a sip of her drink. “Ningguang is probably sick of being kept waiting.”

Shenhe follows her to a group of a dozen or so people, all standing around and chatting. Beidou enthusiastically introduces her as “that incredible woman who single-handedly stopped the tsunami that nearly crushed us all,” and Shenhe is met with whoops and hollers, everyone cheering and shouting her praises. They swarm around her, some people clapping her on the shoulders while others ask her questions with shining eyes. Shenhe opens and closes her mouth, blubbering like a fish, unsure what to say or who to respond to - everyone’s words are blending in together, forming a cacophony of noise that is impossible to unravel. Black smoke begins to rise behind her ribs, her heart quickening.

She’s not used to this. It’s too much, it’s far too much, and every time she tries to breathe she feels like her chest is collapsing in on itself. There are too many people, and there is so much noise, and if it doesn’t stop soon she just might–

“Hey, hey!” Beidou’s voice rises over the cacophony. “Give her some space! We’re here for a celebration, not a stampede, people!”

The crowd falls away, and Shenhe feels a warm hand on her back - it’s Kazuha, his eyes round with sympathy.

“Are you alright?”

Shenhe takes a deep breath. Nervousness still creeps beneath her skin, but the black smoke dissipates. Her curse remains under her control.

She nods, and Kazuha draws his hand away, though he stays by her side. Shenhe puts her drink, still untouched, on a nearby crate before she removes the white jade comb from her hair. It has always served as a beautiful reminder of home, but over time, it has also become an object of comfort. The solid weight of it in Shenhe’s palm helps to ground her, while running her fingers over it helps her focus. It reminds her of Cloud Retainer - and it reminds her to breathe.

In times like this, the comb is indispensable.

She is eventually startled out of her thoughts when Kazuha nudges her, a playful smile on his face. He nods at Beidou and Ningguang, who are so close together that they may as well be standing on top of each other.

“It appears that we are third-wheeling,” Kazuha comments, voice laced with amusement.

Shenhe feels her brow crease. She glances, confused, from him to Beidou and Ningguang - Ningguang is now whispering something in the Captain’s ear, and both of their faces are oddly flushed - and back again.

“...Third-wheeling? But… we are not wheels.” She looks down at her hands, as if to confirm. “Where are the other two wheels? Are you implying that Beidou and Ningguang are also wheels?”

Kazuha snorts with laughter.

“No, not at all,” he says. “It’s an expression. Wheels typically come in pairs, right?”

Shenhe nods, thinking of the various carts she’s seen around Liyue Harbour.

“Well, they’d never admit it aloud, but they’re the pair.” Kazuha tilts his head towards Beidou and Ningguang again. “And you and I are lone wheels. The third wheels, if you will.”

“Both of us?” Shenhe is confused again. “Why are we not also a pair of wheels? There are two of us, and two of them.”

“They have something between them that you and I don’t,” Kazuha explains. “Look at them. That connection is special - it’s the axle that makes them a pair.”

“Oh.” Shenhe doesn’t know enough about human relationships to fully comprehend what he’s saying, but she thinks she’s starting to understand. When Beidou and Ningguang look at each other, their eyes glow in a way she’s never seen before. Sometimes, it seems as if they’re completely unaware of everyone else around them.

The bearded man on Beidou’s other side clearly notices this, too. He laughs good-naturedly, clapping Beidou on the shoulder. “Get a room, you two.”

“We will, actually,” Beidou replies, a wide grin on her face. “Don’t you remember? We’re heading to Mondstadt in a few days.”

“Ah, yes. You’d better get your land legs back before all that hiking, Captain!”

“Hiking?” Ningguang raises a brow. “Beidou, I certainly hope you don’t intend to spend our vacation gallivanting through Mondstadt’s wilderness.”

“Well, why not? That’s the whole point of travelling, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is, if you have no desire to sample international beverages.” Ningguang raises her glass of sake and swirls it around, as if to make a point. “Have you forgotten about the Bartender’s Academy Week at Angel’s Share? You could learn a thing or two there, you know.”

“Oh, shut up.” Beidou rolls her eyes, but there is no malice behind the words. “Last I checked, we were going there to catch up with Aether.”

Shenhe perks up at the sound of their name. “Aether?”

Ningguang’s gaze drifts over to her. “Indeed. They’re participating in the event at Angel’s Share.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Beidou’s uncovered eye glitters with amusement. “Say, you wanna tag along? It might be a nice change of pace for you.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Shenhe thinks about what Kazuha said, about wheels and axles, and wonders if she’d be intruding if she joined them. Without Kazuha at her side, she’d be the only lone wheel.

“If you can convince Beidou not to drag me out to the middle of nowhere, you can stick with us for as long as you’d like,” Ningguang says, with a pointed look at Beidou, who throws her arms up in mock surrender.

Beside Shenhe, Kazuha laughs quietly to himself, raising a hand to cover his smile.

“You should go with them,” he says. “There is so much to see beyond the borders of Liyue, whether you cross the vast ocean or traverse the open countryside… I think you would enjoy it.”

Shenhe gazes at the white jade comb in her hand, a symbol of her journey from her childhood village to the realm of the adepti. She looks over at Kazuha, adorned in autumnal robes from a foreign land, who has seen more of the world than she could possibly imagine. Her thoughts drift back to Dragonspine, the only place she has visited outside of Liyue Harbour. It was so inhospitable and wild, so different to everything she’d known.

As she reminisces, Shenhe feels her curiosity building. Gazing across at Beidou and Ningguang, she nods firmly.

“If you’ll have me,” she says, “I would love to accompany you.”

“It’s settled, then.” Beidou shoots her a fiery grin. “Next stop: Mondstadt!”

Chapter Text

Guided by soft strands of moonlight, their paths intertwine once more.

~

Rosaria
Night is falling, the sky outside Angel’s Share clear and dark, speckled with pinpoints of silver. Rosaria stands in the tavern, warmed by the flickering orange lights and the cheerful, noisy atmosphere. All around her, people chat and laugh, their carefree, lively conversations underscored by the sounds of clinking glass and drinks being poured.

“Tea, Miss Rosaria? A bold choice, I must say.”

At Rosaria’s side, Kaeya stands with his arms crossed, a mischievous grin playing across his lips.

“It’s certainly asking less of Aether than a Death After Noon,” Rosaria retorts, but there is no malice in her words. Kaeya simply laughs.

“Oh, please. You know they can take a joke,” he says good-naturedly. “Besides, there’s no harm in testing their mixing skills just a little…”

“On day one, no less. I don’t think you even work your subordinates that hard.”

They’re standing together in the corner of Angel’s Share, waiting as Aether faithfully prepares their drinks. It’s day one of the Bartender’s Academy event, so Rosaria, interested in appraising people’s mixing skills while winding down with a drink or two, had made her way to the tavern. As it so happened, Kaeya had had the same idea.

Rosaria doesn’t mind. In fact, it’s almost preferable with him by her side, despite his oft insufferable sense of humour. Over the years, he’s become her faithful drinking buddy, and Rosaria has come to associate that diamond pupil and charming smile with friendship, good stories, and even better gossip. There’s never a dull moment when he’s around.

It isn’t long before Aether returns, a drink in each hand. The soft, sour tang of lemons reaches Rosaria’s nose as they pass her a steaming mug of tea, and she blows on it slightly before taking a sip. The drink is rich and flavourful, citrus and smoky all at once, and it brings forth memories so vivid that Rosaria is almost left reeling.

It reminds her why she rarely drinks tea. The beverage is a staple of the church and its innumerable events, at which tables would always be laden with tea and cakes. While enjoying the refreshments, the other Sisters would mingle with regular churchgoers, engaging in conversations of the most banal variety imaginable. Rosaria always tries to find a way to avoid such events, and as much as she wishes the other Sisters would forget about her, they never do.

Well, Barbara never does. Over the years, she’s learned not to try and chase Rosaria down, as such efforts are always in vain. But instead of simply letting her go, Barbara always takes it upon herself to make sure Rosaria still feels included, even if it’s through a gesture as simple as saving her some refreshments. On one such occasion, Rosaria had returned to the cathedral to find Barbara waiting all alone, a single serving of tea and dessert laid out on the table beside her. She’d leapt to her feet when she saw Rosaria, ushering her into the building and urging her to sit and rest.

“You look tired,” she’d said, her eyes round with concern. Gently, she’d pushed the teacup closer, and Rosaria’s gaze dropped to the rippling reddish liquid, still steaming. “I just reheated this for you. Please drink some… it’ll make you feel better.”

That cup of tea had also been rich and flavorful, citrus and smoky all at once. Rosaria had closed her eyes as she drank it, feeling her muscles slowly start to relax. At her side, Barbara hummed approvingly, drawing forth powers from her Hydro Vision before she reached forward to rub the smears of mud off Rosaria’s face.

“…What is it, Rosaria? You don’t like the drink?”

Paimon’s voice breaks through the memories, dragging Rosaria back to the present. She huffs into her mug of tea, pretending not to notice the knowing glance Kaeya shoots in her direction. With the taste of lemons still lingering on her tongue, Rosaria recounts the story, trying not to sound too nostalgic.

Ha. If only Codi could see me now.

The softest part of her is the part that Codi always hated the most. But now, Rosaria is surrounded by softness, and it has made her sentimental.

She would never admit it aloud, but she really doesn’t mind.

Her past self could never have fathomed where her life would lead her. Now, she’s relaxing in a warm tavern, surrounded by friends. Kaeya, the man who welcomed her in as quickly as he’d broken her arm, stands at her side with a dazzling grin. Paimon rolls her eyes at every joke he cracks. Next to her, Aether looks like they’re trying to stifle a smile.

It’s not hard to join in on the banter. The conversation is lighthearted and easygoing; before long, it diverges into gossip, as Kaeya runs through his lists of arbitrary, made-up rankings for Mondstadt citizens. It is leagues more interesting than the religious drivel Rosaria is usually subjected to.

She stops listening, though, when she catches a flash of white out of the corner of her eye.

It drifts through her peripheral vision, disappearing as it moves past the tavern window. A creeping sense of foreboding prickles along her skin; that shade of white is eerily familiar, the colour reminiscent of snowy days on Dragonspine, and of secrets hidden beneath silvery moonlight.

“…Thanks for your hospitality,” Kaeya is saying when Rosaria tunes back into the conversation. She watches him down the rest of his drink before handing the cup back to Aether.

She follows suit, polishing off what’s left of her tea. A pity, not to be able to enjoy it a little longer… but there are more pressing things to attend to.

Her instincts are already on high alert, and they are rarely wrong. This isn’t like being in the presence of the unlucky adventurer, whose hair seems to glow beneath the sunlight, or the quiet alchemist, his skin as fair as snow. There is an itch beneath her skin, urging her to find out why.

“Yeah, I should be going too,” she says, returning the mug to Aether and thanking them for the tea. She doesn’t spare a moment before she ducks out of the tavern, as silent as a shadow, and her heart immediately drops.

Three women are walking down the street before her, but Rosaria only has eyes for one of them, her silhouette so elegant she looks statuesque. Her snowy hair, aglow beneath the moonlight, runs in a loose braid down her back. Red rope is twined in a neat ribbon around it, a Cryo Vision tied in its centre.

The wind that whisks by feels as cold as the howling gales of Dragonspine.

Shenhe.

~

Shenhe
Mondstadt is beautiful. A soft, cool breeze tickles Shenhe’s face as she opens her window; the sun shines in, dappling her skin with white and gold. The air seems almost sweeter here, fragrant with the scent of dandelions and windwheel asters.

It is her first full day in Mondstadt. While Ningguang and Beidou have plans to go hiking across the open plains, Shenhe has chosen to stay and look around the city. (She is the lone wheel, after all. Her instincts told her it was best to leave her companions to their own devices.)

As she wanders out onto the street, chewing on a stalk of qingxin, it’s hard to stop herself from swivelling her head around in wonder. Mondstadt City is nothing like Liyue Harbour: a bard stands on a balcony, singing songs the likes of which Shenhe has never heard. Marketplace vendors sell plants she has seldom seen, let alone tasted, and food stalls are laden with dishes she doesn’t even know the names of. The architecture is different too, from the cobbled paths beneath her feet to the lush plants cascading from the eaves of houses. Some even have flower-like mushrooms growing on the walls.

Even further ahead are great windmills, their enormous sails rotating slowly. Shenhe might have thought they were Mondstadt’s guardian statues, if it weren’t for the spectacular stone sculpture rising above the city, its hands outstretched to the sky.

The Anemo Archon.

Shenhe has heard stories about him from Cloud Retainer. She finds herself wandering closer, taking in all the sights and sounds of Mondstadt as she passes by. There is so much to look at, from the glint of sunlight on shining suits of armour to the gardens of unfamiliar yet beautiful flowers. Shenhe can’t help but wonder if they taste anything like qingxin and violetgrass.

Eventually, she reaches Barbatos’ statue, and stands off to one side to admire it. Groups of people are gathered around its feet; to Shenhe’s surprise, she catches sight of other foreigners, including another man dressed in Liyuean clothes. Shenhe recognises him immediately: he is Cloud Retainer’s friend, Zhongli, a mortal with mysterious golden eyes, a love for tea, and a wealth of knowledge. He gazes up solemnly at the statue, as though deep in thought.

Shenhe’s own thoughts are interrupted when a woman approaches her, blonde hair spilling out beneath a dark veil. She greets Shenhe with a warm smile, her blue eyes round and friendly.

“Hello there. You must be new here - welcome to Mondstadt. My name is Grace, and I am a Sister with the Church of Favonius.” She looks back over her shoulder at the statue, before returning her gaze to Shenhe. “Are you here to pay your respects to the great Anemo Archon? I am running a prayer group here, should you be interested in joining us.”

“No, thank you,” Shenhe replies.

“That’s quite alright. Should you ever change your mind, I’ll be right here. Feel free to ask me if you need help with anything while you’re in Mondstadt.”

Shenhe nods, watching as the woman leaves. Grace returns to the base of Barbatos’ statue, where she turns to face a crowd of people. Some look devastated, others hopeful, but under Grace’s guidance, they all close their eyes and press their hands together. With her head bowed, Grace murmurs something, and a sense of peace seems to settle on the crowd.

Shenhe watches it all curiously. She knows what they are doing - she has chased enough hopeful mortals out of Jueyun Karst to understand - but still it fascinates her. These people are all so… faithful. They have no way to ascertain that their god can even hear them - they are praying to a stone statue, after all - and yet they maintain that faith, that sense of hopefulness, bright and pure. For someone who grew up among the divine, it is a strange thought. In Shenhe’s eyes, divinity is ordinary. It is family.

As she watches the prayer group, she can’t help but reach up to run her fingers along the ornament in her hair, a small smile playing on her lips.

~

Rosaria
Angel’s Share is abuzz with activity at this time of night. From a distance, Rosaria watches as people’s silhouettes move fluidly through the golden light spilling out onto the cobblestone street, their shadows shifting like ghosts.

Tonight, Rosaria is not here to drink.

Instead, she keeps her gaze fixed on the white-haired woman that steps into the tavern. Despite entering with a group, Shenhe chooses to sit alone at a small table in the far corner of the establishment.

Suspicious.

Everything Shenhe does is suspicious. Rosaria has been tailing her all day, and all of her actions have been nonsensical. While her companions - one of whom is none other than the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, Ningguang, which is unbelievable enough - spent the day hiking, Shenhe wandered aimlessly around Mondstadt City, poking her nose into every corner. Rosaria even caught her in conversation with Sister Grace, right outside the cathedral.

She is sure that Shenhe must be planning something sinister. Why else would someone with a curse like hers, and the isolating lifestyle she was forced to lead as a result, suddenly appear in a bustling city? Rosaria remembers how the version of Shenhe she first met refused to even get close to her, let alone mingle with an entire community of people. And if she is simply here as part of Ningguang’s entourage (what other reason could possibly explain their companionship?), then why doesn’t Shenhe stay by her side?

None of it makes sense, and yet, all of Shenhe’s actions have been so ordinary. Today, she did little more than walk around, observing the people around her. She didn’t even join in on Grace’s prayer group (and, frankly, she’s lucky she didn’t - Rosaria was roped into it once, and swore she would never do it again).

Now, Rosaria pinches the bridge of her nose, stifling a sigh.

Shenhe was supposed to be a thing of the past. She was supposed to be a lesson from Rosaria’s childhood, a friendship at once fleeting and precious. Those memories still linger in the back of Rosaria’s mind, flecks of gold amidst a landscape of crimson sorrow, but she had never expected them to materialise again. She has already moved on.

Whatever they might’ve shared doesn’t matter anymore. Every time Rosaria looks at Shenhe, all she can see is a threat to Mondstadt: her precious new home, the one thing she swore never to let go of again. Sitting in that tavern is the child who single-handedly fought an entire group of bandits, her anger strong enough to break the earth. It is the girl whose rage trapped them in the belly of a mountain; the girl whose raw strength Rosaria felt when she was pulled from the gaping jaws of death.

All in all, Shenhe’s presence is not something to be taken lightly.

Now, she is deep in conversation with Aether, who appears to be taking her order. Shenhe seems to brighten in their presence - in fact, she’s brighter in general, her face more expressive than Rosaria has ever seen it. That’s not a hard bar to clear, but it still feels noteworthy. Is her curse getting harder to control?

Rosaria stays outside, unwilling to leave until Shenhe does. She sees everything: the moment Shenhe takes a tentative sip of her drink, and the way Aether and Paimon converse with her, seemingly explaining something about the beverage. Shenhe falls deep into thought, her brows creasing ever so slightly… and then she smiles.

…How many times has she smiled at them tonight? Rosaria can’t help but narrow her eyes. If these were different circumstances, she might even be jealous.

Even after Shenhe departs, having done nothing untoward for the entire evening, Rosaria cannot shake her sense of suspicion. She makes her way into the tavern herself, taking a seat at the bar where Charles, the bartender, is busy cleaning glasses.

“Hey. Charles.”

He glances up, pausing in wiping down a beer stein. “Rosaria. Fancy seeing you here tonight. What can I do for you?”

“The usual.” There is a beat of silence as Charles puts down the mug, moving to get a wine glass. “Did you see the Liyuean folk who were here earlier?”

“Hard not to… especially considering one of them was the Tianquan.” He huffs out a laugh. “That Honorary Knight is so full of surprises. Who could’ve guessed they’d be friends with the Tianquan herself?”

“Are the rest of them Aether’s friends, too?”

Charles shrugs. “I’d say so. Aether was chatting up a storm with the lot of them.” He slides the glass over the bar; it’s brimming with dandelion wine, and Rosaria almost sighs in relief at the sight of it.

“It’s unusual,” Rosaria muses, half to herself. “For so many foreigners to flock to this establishment, just because of Aether.”

“Is it? They’re a pretty big deal, aren’t they? Big enough to know the Tianquan personally, of all people.”

“Mm… I suppose they are.” But how do they know Shenhe?

Shenhe, who isolates herself from everyone? Shenhe, who lives in the distant mountains, undiscoverable… unless you’re from a group of treasure-hungry bandits, that is.

Rosaria takes a long, slow sip of her wine. “What did you think of the other white-haired woman? Not the Tianquan.”

“The other one…?” Charles stops to think for a moment. “I’m not sure. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I saw her at the Anemo Archon’s statue earlier, with the prayer group. You don’t suppose Sister Grace would go so far as to try and convert a foreigner, do you?” Rosaria barks out a sharp laugh at the thought. Shenhe, showing up to pray at the cathedral… it would be absurd.

“Ha! I doubt it. She just seemed like your average tourist. A little confused, but otherwise…”

“Confused?” Rosaria leans ever so slightly closer.

“Yeah. Poor girl didn’t seem to understand a thing on the menu. Aether was over there for a while, just trying to explain it all to her.”

So she hasn’t been away from the mountains for long. Rosaria makes careful note of the information. As she drinks, she slowly manages to pry more and more intel from Charles, except… virtually none of it is useful. All she manages to glean is that Shenhe’s conduct was just as normal as it appeared from outside: that she was as polite and respectful as any other customer.

Rosaria sighs into her drink. It’s going to be a long few days.

~

The next afternoon, Rosaria finds herself on a rooftop overlooking Good Hunter, just close enough to eavesdrop on a cheerful conversation. Shenhe is at the restaurant, spending time with Aether, Paimon, and her Liyuean companions. It is clear by now that she wasn’t just tagging along as part of Ningguang’s entourage (not that two people is much of an entourage to begin with) - they are friends, and that is enough to make Rosaria even more suspicious of her. What could possibly have happened for Shenhe to not only befriend the Honorary Knight, but also someone as prestigious as the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing? If Rosaria didn’t know better, she’d think this was all a dream.

It’s not, though, and the very woman who once almost destroyed her is sitting calmly at a table in Mondstadt’s city centre, celebrating her birthday.

Shenhe’s actual birthday was a couple of days ago, according to the conversation Rosaria has been listening in on. Even so, there is no shortage of joy in the celebrations. Paimon blows into a party horn, throwing confetti all over Shenhe, who smiles softly as it rains down on her head. Between the five of them, they talk and laugh like old friends, and Rosaria can only wonder what happened in the ten years since she last saw Shenhe.

Ten years… how could it have been ten years? The day they spent together in Starglow Cavern feels at once like it was yesterday and a lifetime ago.

It is long enough for Shenhe to have changed. Rosaria has spent enough time watching her to know that she is no longer the lonely, distant girl she was at fifteen. Shenhe’s entire demeanour has shifted: she is still stiff and ethereal, but she is warmer, with a brightness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. When Rosaria last saw her, she was hardly more than a marble statue, distant and cold; before that, it was hard to even get close to her without scaring her, as if she were no different to a wild animal. But now, Shenhe is brushing shoulders with an entire group of friends - good friends, who know when her birthday is, and who rent out a restaurant-grade stovetop so they can cook for her.

Or, rather, with her. Shenhe is right in the thick of things, eyes wide as Ningguang teaches her how to flip an egg. It’s so ridiculous Rosaria could laugh. Since when did Shenhe become so important?

Together, they’re making something called “longevity noodles”, a dish that’s part of a Liyuean birthday tradition. Rosaria had wrinkled her nose when Shenhe had brought it up, the introduction coupled with a speech so sweet it was sickening.

Longevity itself is not something I want to pursue. Rather, I would like to spend that longevity with the people I have formed a bond with.

Rosaria scoffs at it under her breath. Ten years ago, Shenhe had greeted her with a spear to the throat, her eyes chillier than the depths of Dragonspine. Now, she’s grown so much softer she’s unrecognisable.

Rosaria wants to believe she’s disgusted by it. She wants to hate Shenhe, for showing up unannounced in the place she has learned to call home, and for being such a stark reminder of the past she left behind.

But she can’t. As she sits on a rooftop, looking down at the scene at Good Hunter, it takes all her strength just to stop her heart from aching.

~

Shenhe
It’s sunset when the festivities wrap up. Shenhe shivers slightly, and as much as she wants to believe it’s from the cold, she can’t ignore the sense of foreboding that has been creeping over her all afternoon. No matter what she does, she feels like eyes are boring into her, piercing her soul with their intensity.

She shakes her head. Snap out of it.

She’s supposed to be helping clear the table. Beidou has already carried a stack of dirty dishes back; Aether and Paimon are cleaning the stove, and Ningguang is deep in conversation with Sara, arranging her compensation. Shenhe sighs, returning her attention to the food scraps still littering the table.

You’re probably just nervous, she reasons, but she can’t quite get herself to believe it. You’ve just travelled to a different nation, and seen and done countless things you’ve never experienced before. Feeling a little out of depth is reasonable… right?

But deep down, she knows she’s not actually out of her depth. She’s with her friends, and they’ve just spent an afternoon celebrating her birthday, making longevity noodles and once again rejoicing over her return to mortal society. Even when she was on her own, the citizens of Mondstadt treated her kindly, from the people at Good Hunter and Angel’s Share to the woman she met at the foot of Barbatos’ statue. This sense of foreboding, though…

It follows her even after she leaves Good Hunter, when the shadows have stretched long across Mondstadt. She tails Beidou and Ningguang back to Angel’s Share, where they plan to spend the evening.

“You sure you don’t wanna come, Shenhe? The celebrations don’t have to end yet, if you don’t want them to.” Beidou hooks an arm around Shenhe’s shoulders, pulling her close, her uncovered eye gleaming. “We can party ’til the sun comes up and we all forget our names! Now I’ll bet that’s something you’ve never done before, huh?”

She’s right, but Shenhe shakes her head. Even if she were in the mood for it, she doesn’t think it’s the sort of activity she’s suited for.

“You’ve done enough for me,” she says. “Thank you both for this afternoon. I’ve never celebrated my birthday like this before… it was lovely.”

“Hey, don’t mention it. It was our pleasure.” Beidou’s grin is shiny in the half-light.

“After everything you’ve done for Liyue Harbour, it was the least we could do,” Ningguang agrees. “Take care on the way back to the inn, alright?”

Shenhe nods, watching as they disappear into the tavern. She stands on the sidewalk for a long moment, simply breathing in the cool air. After so many years of meditation, her focus is impeccable, and yet… she senses nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing, except for that persistent sense of foreboding, of eyes piercing the back of her skull.

That feeling doesn’t let up, even as she starts walking back to the inn. Shenhe tries to look around surreptitiously, all of her senses on high alert, but whoever is tracking her - and there has to be somebody, she’s sure of it - is keeping extremely well-hidden.

She knows she’s not imagining it, though. Every time she moves, the darkness itself seems to move with her. The shadows seem thicker - deadlier, even, spilling across the pavement like sludge.

Finally, she stops, pausing just to listen. There.

The tiniest movement; a brush of fabric against stone, so quiet no ordinary person could possibly have heard it. Shenhe inwardly thanks all her lucky stars for the hours she spent training with Cloud Retainer, sharpening her senses and instincts alike.

She draws in a breath, slow and soft.

“I know you’re there.”

The shadows themselves seem to exhale. Shenhe hears a shuffle of fabric, and the soft click of high heels on cobblestone, as her pursuer steps into the light. She doesn’t turn around yet, bracing herself to summon her polearm at a moment’s notice.

“As perceptive as ever, Shenhe.”

No.

The voice comes from behind her in a slow drawl, but the words are sharp as daggers.

It couldn’t be.

But it has to be. Who else would know her name, would spit it like a thing made of iron and roses? That voice is deeper now, huskier, but Shenhe would still recognise it anywhere.

When she turns, she meets eyes the colour of silk flowers and hair like wine - a sight she’d hoped to never see again. Rosaria stands a few paces away, pale skin aglow beneath the moonlight, a frown marring her pretty features. She looks different now, with fuller cheeks and brighter eyes, her outfit adorned with various crimson jewels and shiny, metallic accessories. When Shenhe last saw her, she was a child of the wilderness, her face hollow with hunger, barely managing to keep warm in layers of tattered black cloth. The woman who stands before her now is nigh unrecognisable.

Shenhe’s fingers twitch, a wave of suspicion crashing over her. It takes all of her self-control not to draw her weapon and demand to know why Rosaria, this haunting image of her past, has chosen to reappear in her life. Rosaria, a child raised by bandits, who only knew how to hunt and kill and betray. Rosaria, who should by no means be wandering so freely around a place like Mondstadt.

Where are the Knights? Why haven’t they gotten rid of her yet?

Mondstadt is supposed to be peaceful, and safe, free from people like her.

People who would lure you into friendship just to backstab you. People who would interrupt your training, only to get you stuck in a frigid underground cavern.

People who would stalk you under the cover of moonlight, even ten years after you left them behind.

Shenhe has learned about a thing called “the law”, though, and something called “civility” that goes along with it. While she is in the mortal realm, she knows not to brandish her weapon too soon.

Instead, she lets words slip from between her teeth, each syllable biting and sharp.

“What are you doing here?”

This was supposed to be a holiday. A fun trip with Beidou and Ningguang, and a chance to meet up with Aether. This wasn’t supposed to be a reunion with a face so achingly familiar that it still pains her.

Rosaria’s lips curve into a wry smirk, and it fills Shenhe with so much nostalgia she thinks she could punch her.

“I live here, stupid,” she says, and those words take Shenhe straight back to a frigid day when they were both fifteen, caught in the jaws of untameable mountains. “A lot can change in a decade, you know.”

Clearly. Rosaria looks almost comical, her head adorned with a torn-up veil that hangs down past her thighs - it’s as if someone like Sister Grace was mauled by an angry Geovishap.

“You live here? Where are the bandits?” Shenhe asks, every word thick with suspicion.

“Archons above, what’s with all the personal questions? Did you miss me or something?”

The gleam in Rosaria’s eyes is devilish. Shenhe opens and closes her mouth, trying to think of a response that doesn’t involve delivering a rock-hard punch, but Rosaria continues speaking before she can think of anything.

“It doesn’t matter. I have more important things to ask about.” Rosaria’s expression is dark with severity. A dagger materialises in one hand as she paces closer, her pupils a splintering silver under the moonlight. “You know, I can’t help but wonder which of Mondstadt’s winds managed to bring you all the way out here… so far from home.” The look on her face is almost patronising.

“I’m just here with my friends.” Shenhe’s voice is flat. “We’re on holiday.”

“Oh, yes, your best friend, the literal Tianquan,” Rosaria scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Be serious, Shenhe. What do you take me for, an idiot?”

“I am very serious,” Shenhe replies. “You don’t have to believe me. Just… stop following me. It’s annoying.”

Without sparing Rosaria another glance, she turns to walk away. Her room in the inn has never seemed so appealing; Shenhe just wants to burrow under the covers and pretend that this fragment of her past never showed up to ruin her holiday.

Instead, she hears the soft click of high heels, walking in time with her. Shenhe sighs to herself, at once unsurprised and unamused. When she turns around, Rosaria is still right behind her, like a shadow come to life.

~

Rosaria
Something in Shenhe’s gaze seems to shift. Rosaria watches her quietly, contemplatively - this is a face she knows better than she should, and yet it’s still so hard to read.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” When she finally speaks, Shenhe’s voice is almost pleading. “Every time you appear, something goes horribly wrong.”

Rosaria doesn’t flinch, even as the words pierce the gaps between her ribs.

“I’m not leaving until you explain everything to me,” she says, as calmly as she can. “Besides… last I checked, you were the cursed one.”

“I have much better control over my curse now.”

“Okay, great. Good for you. So now you get to frolic around wherever you want? What happened to distancing yourself for the safety of other people?”

Shenhe frowns, hurt creeping into her expression. “I thought you didn’t care about that.”

“This isn’t about me.”

There is a long pause before Shenhe sighs.

“Fine,” she mutters. “I’ll answer your stupid questions, if it means you’ll leave me alone.”

“Good, good. Well, to start… why don’t you tell me about your relationship with the Tianquan?”

The moon moves slowly above them, their shadows muted on the midnight cobblestones. One by one, Shenhe answers all of Rosaria’s queries, each of her responses simple and straightforward. Rosaria learns that she befriended Ningguang by helping to save Liyue Harbour, and that her return to the mortal world was, in fact, orchestrated by her adeptus master. Her appearance in Mondstadt was even easier to explain: she had simply been invited along on her friends’ holiday, in a spur of the moment when she expressed her interest. Rosaria would accuse her of lying, if it weren’t for the trails of gossip that have been floating around Mondstadt in the past few weeks, of a white-haired hero and an oceanic beast. It had never occurred to her that the hero could be the same woman she once called a friend.

“Is that all?” Shenhe asks flatly, once it’s clear Rosaria is out of questions.

“Unfortunately, as much as I’d like to keep grilling you, that’s all I’ve got. I’ll see you later, then… Divine Damsel.” The nickname is light on her lips, and Rosaria relishes in the way a slight crease forms between Shenhe’s eyebrows.

“Hey. Don’t call me that, lame-ass.” Shenhe’s voice stops her as she’s about to leave. “Before you go… I want answers, too.”

“Stubborn as ever, Shenhe.” Rosaria tsks, shaking her head. “I thought we agreed I’d ask all the questions.”

“No. I only agreed to answer them. I just want to know one thing: why are you here?”

~

Shenhe
“I told you, I–”

“No.” If it were socially acceptable, Shenhe would not hesitate to slap Rosaria, who seems more determined than ever to make things difficult. “Stop dodging the question. I want to know why you live in Mondstadt now. What changed?”

As soon as the words leave Shenhe’s lips, Rosaria’s eyes narrow. She is quiet for a long moment, her mouth forming a tight line.

Eventually, she shrugs, her posture relaxing ever so slightly.

“Eh, I suppose it’s only fair.” The dagger is back now; Rosaria twirls it idly in one hand. “I’m a Sister with the Church of Favonius. Is that a good enough answer?”

“…I thought you said to be serious.”

“Why, but I am.” Rosaria tugs at one end of her torn-up veil. “Don’t I look the part?”

Not at all, Shenhe wants to say, although the visual similarities between Rosaria and Sister Grace are starting to make sense. Even so, she finds the statement difficult to believe - in what world could a bandit child grow up to become a nun? If Rosaria found Shenhe’s story hard to fathom, then this one is beyond nonsensical.

“What about the bandits, then? Did they all have a change of heart, too?” The idea alone is ridiculous, but Shenhe can’t think of any other explanation.

Rosaria’s lips curve into a familiar smirk. “One question, remember?” she says, slowly stepping backwards into shadow. “See you around, Shenhe.”

With that, she disappears into a burst of icy air, and Shenhe is left standing alone beneath a frigid moon.

Chapter Text

They return to each other, as easily as the sun kisses the sky each morning.

~

Shenhe
Cold.

It is so cold, and so dark.

Shenhe hovers on the cusp between dreams and reality, struggling against oppressive shadows. Her body feels paralysed beneath the cold draught that blows through the room, sending shivers up her frozen skin. Mere hours ago, the evening breeze had reminded her of Mount Aocang, so she had left the window open to bask in her memories of home.

That breeze is much more sinister now. The air itself seems to press Shenhe into the sheets, invisible chains twining themselves around her limbs. The iron tang of blood invades her senses; her skin prickles, as though the room is filled with dust and gravel.

Stop it, she wants to say. I have already defeated you.

She wants to scream, wants to pull at her ropes and feel them snap back against her body, wants the pain to remind her how alive, and how powerful she is.

But none of that happens. She cannot move, cannot even feel the sensation of the ropes against her skin. It is all she can do to lie there, her lungs so tight she feels like she’s drowning - or maybe the air is just too thick to breathe.

A clattering sound comes from the rooftops, but before Shenhe can process it, it has already morphed into a deafening roar. She tries to flinch, to look away before the inevitable happens, but–

The room is abruptly filled with a devastating shade of red. The shadows crack open, revealing a million scarlet eyes, their slit pupils swivelling to face her. An amorphous pain lances through Shenhe’s body; it feels as though the eyes are splitting her apart, tearing her spirit into tiny fragments, peering into every crevice of her being.

The curse of calamity, a deep voice growls, seeming to reverberate from everywhere and nowhere all at once. Her soul…

Words from Shenhe’s childhood repeat themselves over and over again, pressing against the inside of her skull. The cacophony grows, threatening to break her head open, until the words are morphing with each other and all Shenhe can hear is static.

The wind howls. The shadows seem to blur, even as those deadly eyes stay locked on Shenhe’s face. She remains there, utterly still and powerless, as the darkness seems to split in two again. Rows upon rows of jagged teeth emerge from the shadows, ready to swallow her whole–

Shenhe finally screams.

She sits bolt upright, her heart pounding, her palms blanketed in sweat. Darkness claws at her insides: the curse, rearing its ugly head, preying on her subconscious in her most vulnerable moments. Shenhe scrambles around, realising her ropes are no longer secure; she finds them twisted haphazardly in the sheets, and hastily ties them around herself again.

Drawing in a few deep breaths, she thinks of Cloud Retainer’s lessons: of meditation on the mountaintops, of morning dew and birdsong. She gazes at the room around her, at the soft and silent shadows, and feels the stiff breeze whisking in through the window. It is a reminder that she is here: that she is present, and grounded, and that she is still in control.

Slowly, the storm within her begins to quieten.

After a moment, she moves to the window, sighing softly to herself as she closes it. Shenhe can’t help but think of home, in the gilded rooms of Cloud Retainer’s abode: there was never a dull moment there, with machinery always whirring away as her master regaled her with stories. Every corner was beautifully decorated, filled with countless handcrafted toys and trinkets, all mementos of times gone by. Soft light would pulse from dozens of colourful, floating birds, each one moulded from an adepti sigil.

It is only then that Shenhe realises just how much she misses it all.

This is the first time she has awoken from a nightmare alone. In the past, Cloud Retainer would draw her under a wing, hushing her cries. They would go out and train in the pre-dawn chill, and Cloud Retainer never minded when Shenhe got things wrong or made a mess.

Now, Shenhe stands alone in a drab and empty room, wracked with homesickness. The space is open and oppressive all at once, and the longer she spends here, the stronger her curse seems to feel. She needs to leave, to go somewhere or find someone, needs to do anything but stand here alone. But where could she possibly go? Beidou and Ningguang are almost certainly sound asleep, and even if she could seek out Aether, Shenhe has no idea where they’re staying.

You could find Rosaria, a tiny voice in the back of Shenhe’s mind whispers, but she pushes it away as quickly as it comes.

Find her? Tch. She would find me first.

But as much as she hates to admit it, Shenhe has not been able to get that accursed face out of her head. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees shades of pink rippling through the darkness: silk flowers, red wine, the colour of blood and promises. Those colours take her back to times long past.

Shenhe is no longer the fearful, isolated child she used to be, hiding behind scarlet ropes and adeptal abodes, afraid of herself and the world she left behind. She isn’t the girl who closed herself off, leaning into emptiness, the thing she called a heart becoming as cold as ice.

Rosaria knew her then. That face is a portal to times long gone - to versions of herself that Shenhe has grown out of. She has finally moved on, finally gained enough control to walk among mortals once more, to learn from her loneliness and move past it.

And then it all came back to haunt her.

Literally. This version of Rosaria - the new one, the weird one - is like a ghost, drifting through shadows, watching everything in an otherworldly silence. Shenhe wishes this was a ghost she could exorcise.

If only it were so easy. Now, with Rosaria’s face emblazoned in the backs of her eyelids, Shenhe feels like a lost little kid again.

Despite still having nowhere to go, she decides to simply leave the inn and wander through the midnight streets, hoping for some respite from her restless thoughts. The air is crisp, the cobblestones silver in the moonlight; Shenhe draws in a deep breath, feeling her muscles relax under the open sky. She wanders aimlessly, focusing only on the cool air in her lungs and the blanket of stars above her.

And then she hears voices.

~

Rosaria
“I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times. Your lot aren’t welcome here.”

“Oh yeah?” Even with a scarf tied around his face, Rosaria can tell that the man’s mouth has curved into a sneer. “And who’s gonna stop us, huh? Some prostitute masquerading as a nun?”

“Sure.” Rosaria’s voice is as cold as the weapon she wields. “If that’s what you want to go out believing.”

In the twenty-four hours since she interrogated Shenhe, Rosaria has been tailing a group of no-good treasure hoarders who recently appeared within Mondstadt’s walls. She has finally tracked down three of the group’s lackeys, who she has now cornered in a darkened alleyway.

It shouldn’t have taken this long. The moon is high, carving deep shadows into everyone’s faces; Rosaria doesn’t even need to look to know how pronounced her eyebags must have become.

She’s been distracted, that’s all. Hardly a second went by where her mind wasn’t overtaken by moonlit white, by red ropes and pale eyes, a face that has been warmed by the years that have passed. After their conversation, Rosaria’s suspicions have been eased for the most part; quietly, she’d hoped that the thoughts of Shenhe would vanish alongside them.

How could they, though? It’s so unbelievably strange, not simply thinking of Shenhe again, but thinking of her in the present tense. She is here, in Mondstadt, like a fragment of Rosaria’s memories brought to life.

So, too, are these treasure hoarders. They remind Rosaria of her childhood in the worst way: the glint in their eyes is all too familiar, at once cruel and unsympathetic, as cold as the snow on Dragonspine. Rosaria has seen far too many eyes like theirs.

She doesn’t miss them at all.

But what about… Eyes like dewdrops reappear in Rosaria’s mind, clouding her thoughts. Back then, they were the softest eyes she’d ever known. Even after they had hardened beneath years of isolation, even when they turned as cool as frost… Rosaria remembers the way those eyes looked at her in Starglow Cavern, orange in the firelight, gentle as they traced her every feature.

She remembers the way they looked last night, hurt and angry all at once, and–

Shit. Rosaria flinches instinctively as a knife soars past her ear, clattering off the stone wall behind her. Inwardly, she curses herself; what happened to her impeccable focus? How could she let herself get so distracted by such unimportant things?

Shenhe isn’t unimportant, a tiny voice whispers in the back of her mind, but Rosaria pushes it away.

Shenhe was important to her once. Back then, Shenhe was at once a reminder of the world’s kindness and its cruelty; of softness and guilt, of wobbly friendships and whispered secrets. But she is a thing of the past now, a memory that Rosaria had hoped to leave buried beneath the ice and snow. She has forged a new life since then, and this version of herself doesn’t have time for those murmurs of years long passed.

Nowadays, Rosaria has work to do and people to protect. It was fine, for the last few days, to think of Shenhe on the job - after all, she was the job. But now that those suspicions have been assuaged, and Shenhe is no longer high on the list of priorities, there is no need for her to take up any more of Rosaria’s mental space.

And yet she does anyway. She always does.

The burliest treasure hoarder lunges at Rosaria, but she dodges easily, well-trained after years of hardship. Codi used to drag her out in the early mornings, tossing her a spear, watching coldly as her feet slipped in snow and slush. They used to whisper in her ear of the life they stole from her, and the family she never got to know.

Now, Rosaria fights like a living shadow, springing off walls and teleporting through the darkness. She moves like a cat, fluid and graceful, more at home than she has ever felt. The treasure hoarders can hardly keep their eyes on her.

If she were anybody else, Rosaria might be scared. She is outnumbered three to one, and her opponents are heavily armed.

But this is her job, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She fights alone now, drawing her weapon on her terms, and her terms only. She fights for the home she’s found, and the people she has learned to call family.

All of a sudden, the alleyway lights up in frosty blue and white, taking Rosaria by surprise. An icy figure materialises from the darkness; it turns to Rosaria for a fraction of a second, its featureless face adorned with a rippling sigil, before diving into the fray.

Rosaria’s jaw falls slack.

~

Shenhe
The sigils form between Shenhe’s fingers faster than she can think. Her aimless walk has brought her to the darkest back alleys of Mondstadt, far enough from the inn that she isn’t even sure how she got here. Traces of elemental energy shimmer amidst the shadows, outlining the silhouettes of several people, engaged in a messy, close-combat scuffle.

It reminds her of times in Jueyun Karst, when she would patrol the mountains only to find hopeful adepti-seekers surrounded by monsters, terrified and unsure of what they’d walked themselves into. Every time, Shenhe would step up and save them, and every time, they would thank the “cold yet kindhearted adeptus” before she sent them away.

This time is no different.

Shenhe lunges into the fray, her polearm aglow with Cryo energy. There is just enough light for her to see her opponents - three treasure hoarders, their faces obscured, those familiar raven insignias glinting in the moonlight. She stands between them and the civilian they’ve cornered as her talisman spirit darts around them, lashing out with its incorporeal weapon.

“I don’t need your help, Shenhe,” a voice says flatly from behind her, and Shenhe startles. Her heart drops as she whirls around, finding herself nose-to-nose with the very woman she’d hoped to avoid. Rosaria, for her part, looks equally unhappy to see Shenhe, if the irritation carving deep lines in her face is anything to go by.

Shenhe draws a breath through gritted teeth. “You again? What are you doing–”

“Move, you idiot!”

Before Shenhe can process what is happening, Rosaria is roughly shoving her aside. A moment later, an Electro potion explodes where she’d been standing, lightning crackling over night-dark stones.

“You’re distracting me,” Rosaria growls, deftly twirling her polearm in one hand. She doesn’t spare Shenhe a glance before she teleports away, reappearing behind a treasure hoarder and knocking him down before he can even blink. “Didn’t you say that things always go wrong when I’m around? So why do you keep appearing near me?”

Shenhe stifles a sigh. “You were the one following me.” She summons a sigil between her fingers, feeling its power blaze through her veins, before she follows Rosaria back into the thick of battle.

“Not tonight, I wasn’t. And yet here you are.”

And yet here I am. The words echo quietly in Shenhe’s head.

With you, again. Despite everything.

~

Rosaria
Somehow, by some incredible twist of fate, Rosaria has found herself fighting by Shenhe’s side again.

They don’t even have to speak. Their movements are instinctual, wordlessly well-timed. Shenhe covers Rosaria’s blind spots, distracting their enemies long enough for her to deal devastating blows. The glow of icy sigils surrounds them, and Rosaria feels their power rush through her veins, crystalline and cool.

Or maybe it’s just that overbearing sense of nostalgia. Every move Rosaria makes brings on another wave of it, her mind flooding with images from a fateful day ten years ago. In the depths of Starglow Cavern, didn’t she and Shenhe fight together, just like this?

It doesn’t matter, Rosaria tells herself, willing her mind to believe it. It stopped mattering a long time ago.

Eventually, one of the treasure hoarders relents, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Enough!” he barks, but whether it’s directed at his opponents or his lackeys is hard to tell. “You Vision wielders never know when to let up, do you? We give in.”

Rosaria remains silent, her eyes roving over the three battered treasure hoarders. The two standing further back are not-so-subtly rummaging through small knapsacks, tied at the waist; at her side, Rosaria can hear Shenhe breathing. This is the first time she has had an audience.

“Put your hands up,” Rosaria growls, the deadly point of her spear aimed directly at the two scrawny treasure hoarders. The one in front keeps his arms raised, narrowed eyes tracking Rosaria’s every movement. She paces closer to his lackeys, close enough for her weapon to brush their skin - a warning, a reminder of the consequences of defiance. “Didn’t you hear me? Hands. Up.”

Slowly, the two treasure hoarders begin to retract their hands, bringing their arms above their heads.

One of them begins to sneer.

“So long, sucka,” he says, voice edged in laughter, and Rosaria doesn’t even have time to react before he’s throwing his arm down. Something explodes against stone, and in an instant, the alleyway is filled with smoke. Rosaria lashes out with her spear, but it’s too late: the treasure hoarder has already disappeared, whisked away by the wonders of alchemy.

“Get the others!” Rosaria yells back at Shenhe, whose figure she can hardly make out through the smoke. It’s too late, though: she hears another smoke bomb explode, and even as Shenhe dashes through the haze, the final one is set off, and all of their opponents have disappeared.

~

Shenhe
“Fuck!” Rosaria swears, and if the situation weren’t so serious, Shenhe might’ve laughed despite herself. Some things don’t change.

“Are you alright?” she reaches out through the smoke, finding Rosaria’s arm. She grabs it like it’s a tether, holding her by the wrist. Rosaria doesn’t pull away.

“I’m fine.” As the smoke begins to clear, Shenhe sees Rosaria pinching the bridge of her nose, her face creased with annoyance. “The investigation, not so much. I wasn’t counting on low-level scoundrels like them having smoke bombs.” She lets out a long-suffering sigh, pulling her arm from Shenhe’s grip to drag her hands down her face. “This whole thing has been a mess from the get-go.”

“What are you even doing out here? I thought you were a Sister.”

“Yeah, and? This is my other job.” Rosaria turns to face Shenhe, raising one eyebrow. “What, did you think they could reform me that easily?”

“So you are still a crook.”

She knew it. No ordinary Sister would stalk someone under the cover of moonlight. No ordinary Sister would have so much to hide.

“Archons, Shenhe, enough with the name-calling. You haven’t changed much yourself… lame-ass.”

Rosaria delivers the final words like a hefty blow. Shenhe scoffs, her mind immediately transported back to a scene on a wintry mountainside. They’ve been here before.

“Neither have you. Is it a hobby of yours, to sneak up on people and make their lives miserable?”

To Shenhe’s surprise, Rosaria barks out a laugh. The nostalgia thickens.

“I guess you could say that. It’s a Knight-mandated hobby now, you know. Wouldn’t you believe it? I’m here to piss you off, on orders from the Grand Master himself.” Her smirk is devious; Shenhe wants to smack it right off of her face. “And you? Is it a hobby of yours, to ignore your own instructions? You asked me to leave you alone, and yet here you are, being the thorn in my side.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Shenhe feels her mouth twist into a frown; she can’t tell anymore whether her dream is more frustrating, or Rosaria. “The room was too stuffy.”

“Homesick, are we? Good luck with that. And, uh… thanks for your help.” Rosaria puts her weapon away and dusts off her gloves. “I’ll be off now.”

And then she’s turning, she’s leaving, and Shenhe is going to be alone again. The sky has never felt so big.

“No, wait–”

The words come out before Shenhe can stop them. She isn’t sure what she’s expecting - for Rosaria to turn around again? To come back to her, to comfort her? She’s not Cloud Retainer. The thought alone is laughable.

But, much to Shenhe’s disbelief, the receding footsteps stop, and Rosaria turns back.

~

Rosaria
Shenhe is just… standing there. Looking at her. Looking like the sky is falling down around them.

“...And?” Rosaria raises one eyebrow. “What am I waiting for?”

There is a long and thoroughly awkward moment of silence.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Shenhe finally admits, quietly.

Rosaria is sure she must have been hit in the head during the fight. Seeking out Barbara’s help almost seems like a worthwhile endeavour.

“What, you want to stay with me?” she scoffs incredulously, crossing her arms. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Shenhe?”

Shenhe’s brow scrunches ever so slightly. “...I am the real Shenhe.”

“Last I checked, the real Shenhe hates my guts.”

“I don’t like you,” Shenhe affirms flatly. “But nobody else is awake.”

She’s so blunt Rosaria could laugh. No-one in Mondstadt would dare to speak to her this way - except Kaeya, on occasion, but he’s got the privilege of being her favourite drinking buddy. Shenhe, however… she’s been this way since they were kids, and Rosaria had almost forgotten how refreshing it is, how real.

“Ah, how quickly you admit that I’m your last choice.” Rosaria shakes her head, feigning offence. Inwardly, she can only wonder how they got here: a mere twenty-four hours ago, she was interrogating Shenhe, a dagger in one hand and venom on her lips. Now, just as soon as Rosaria was able to sort out and finally disregard her suspicions, Shenhe has shown up again - and to beg for her company, of all things.

But… surely it would do no harm to keep a closer eye on her. Just in case.

“Alright, fine, come on then.” Rosaria beckons with one hand, turning back around. “I know somewhere we can go.”

“Really?”

When Rosaria glances back over her shoulder, she finds that the crease between Shenhe’s brows has disappeared.

“Would I lie to you, Shenhe?” Rosaria rolls her eyes. “Now are you coming or not?”

“You have before.” Shenhe’s voice is as cool and inexpressive as ever, but when Rosaria scans her features, she finds no trace of offence. It doesn’t matter; whatever guilt she might’ve felt at the statement has already been washed away by time. “I’ll still join you, though. Where are we going?”

“I won’t say.” Rosaria vaults easily onto a nearby stone wall, and watches as Shenhe leaps up beside her. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself.”

Chapter Text

They stay together, as easily as the stars hug the moon.

~

Rosaria
Night one: moonlight and memories.

Rosaria might be making a huge mistake.

She is taking Shenhe to the rooftops - her safe space, the one area in all of Mondstadt City where she knows she won’t be disturbed. These are the hallowed grounds she often visits to observe the hustle and bustle of the marketplace; these are the paths she takes when she needs to stay out of sight. The rooftops are like a world of their own, shielding her from noise and commotion and prying eyes. Even the other Sisters cannot find her when she’s here.

For years, Rosaria has seldom shared this place with other people. And now, here she is, leading Shenhe there - the very woman Rosaria had been tailing from these rooftops only twenty-four hours ago.

This is the woman with the strength to shake mountains, with a curse of black smoke and blue fire. This is also the woman Rosaria once called a friend.

It is that shared history that is driving her to do this. She remembers a time when a young Shenhe had led her through Liyue’s wilderness, guiding her to a secret tunnel that was dappled with moonlight and guarded by thick foliage. Back then, Shenhe had not hesitated to welcome Rosaria into her safe space, where they shared their secret dreams beneath the stars.

Things are so very different now, but in a way, Rosaria supposes she’s just returning the favour.

Besides… Shenhe looks like she needs it. Last night, she had reassured Rosaria that her curse was no longer a threat, and that she was only here, walking among mortals, because her master had deemed it safe for her to do so. Rosaria had believed it just enough to leave her alone, but after tonight, she knows it’s true. In battle, Shenhe had fought with the utmost precision and control; now, she looks so… human, no different to an ordinary little kid who’s been kept awake by nightmares.

“Alright, here we are.” Rosaria takes a seat on the red-brick tiles, looking out at the street below. In a sea of buildings, this one has always been her favourite - it’s close enough to get a perfect view of Mondstadt’s main street, but far enough that Rosaria need not partake in anything. Years ago, she’d brought her church-issue journal here to write her very first entry. Now, she just comes here to think.

“This is it?” Shenhe remains standing at Rosaria’s side, looking around curiously.

“Yeah. If it’s not to your newly-acquired high tastes, you don’t have to stick around, you know.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Shenhe’s tone is clipped, but she takes a seat nonetheless. “The way you were talking, I was expecting something a little more grandiose.”

“Grandiose? From me? Don’t start getting me confused with your posh new friends, Shenhe.” Rosaria pulls out a cigarette, lighting it. “I know it’s nothing special. But I like it here.”

“It is nice,” Shenhe assents. Even after all these years, her posture is still the same; stiff and elegant, her arms folded neatly over her knees. Rosaria gazes up at her out of the corner of her eye, and something in her chest seems to stir. The gentle slope of her nose, the opalescent sheen of her pale skin, her white hair… Shenhe is like an old friend and a stranger all at once.

They’ve been here before. As she takes a drag of her cigarette, Rosaria turns her gaze back to the sky; it’s the same sky she’d once gazed up at through the hole in the tunnel roof, when she first sat by Shenhe’s side. Whenever she looks at Shenhe now, all she can see is a face from her memories: that nine-year-old child, her eyes so full of sorrow. Rosaria’s own younger self seems to be re-emerging too, a ghostly mirage taking shape beside her. Things had been so different then.

“You know, when I first arrived in Mondstadt, I would come here all the time.” The words spill out before Rosaria can stop them, breaking the oppressive silence. “I used to sit and listen to the vendors’ calls. It was all so mundane to everyone else… but I’d never experienced anything like it before.” She laughs, half to herself, but there is no humour in it. Her heart feels like it’s slipping apart. “The other Sisters thought I was crazy.”

When she glances sidewards again, she finds Shenhe watching her, rapt. Those eyes seem to see everything; Rosaria almost shrinks beneath them. Under that stare, she feels like a little kid again, getting lost with Shenhe beneath the moonlight. Back then, she knew what it was to be vulnerable, to be soft… something about being with Shenhe has made it easy again.

“I understand.” Shenhe murmurs, gentler now. “When I had the chance to eat noodles again, I felt that way too. They were special.”

“Hey, you got your noodles.” Rosaria’s voice softens. “Just like you wanted.”

“They weren’t the same as my mother’s noodles,” Shenhe admits. “But they were wonderful. Did you get your roast chicken?”

“…You remember.”

“Of course.” Shenhe watches her expectantly, as if it’s not out of the ordinary for her to remember a detail from sixteen years ago. As if she hadn’t spent all those years hating Rosaria, enough that something so mundane could easily have been buried beneath the vitriol.

“Yeah, I got my chicken. Maybe I’ll make you one sometime.”

Shenhe is quiet for a long moment. Rosaria can feel those dewdrop eyes on her, silently observing. She keeps her own gaze glued to the sky, waiting until Shenhe speaks again.

~

Shenhe
“You’re so different now,” Shenhe says, and those silk-flower eyes swivel to stare at her, pinning her beneath their intensity.

“Different?” When Rosaria exhales, smoke clouds her lips. “That’s new. A minute ago you were saying just the opposite.”

“In comparison to yesterday,” Shenhe elaborates. “You were so awful. And now you’re talking to me like nothing happened. Why is that?”

“You know, you’ve become a lot more accusatory lately,” Rosaria observes, and anger curls beneath Shenhe’s skin once more - when did she get so good at dodging questions? “I don’t think we’ve gone five minutes without you talking shit about me.”

“Rosaria, answer the question.”

“Alright, if you insist. If I’m awful, then you’re dangerous. Okay? I had to make sure you weren’t a threat.”

Shenhe isn’t ready for the way hurt splinters through her heart, even beneath the protection of her ropes. “Do you really see me that way?”

“Well, duh. I knew you, Shenhe.” When Rosaria meets her gaze, there is no sympathy in the depths of her eyes - just a cold, empty truth. “I saw it all firsthand: your curse, your fury, your strength. You said it yourself - that you were isolated in the mountains because you were a threat to other people. When I saw you here, I had to be sure you meant no harm.”

For once, it is hard for Shenhe to keep her voice level.

“So you saw me like those treasure hoarders. Like a threat you had to get rid of.”

Rosaria shrugs, not denying it. Her mouth is full of smoke, grey and bitter. Shenhe can feel that same smoke curling beneath her ribs, already stoked by her nightmare; quietly, she wills it back down.

“You didn’t see me like that before,” she murmurs. During her childhood, Rosaria had been the only mortal willing to stay by her side, even if it was only for three nights. And when they fought, Rosaria had spared her, had protected her. “Are you going to tell me that was part of your lies, too?”

That familiar flicker of betrayal comes to life in Shenhe’s chest; frost creeps slowly over her heart. When Rosaria rolls her eyes, Shenhe is overcome with a sudden urge to grab her and throw her off the roof. She fights it.

“Archons above, Shenhe, relax. Look at you, getting all worked up over nothing.” Rosaria pauses to take another drag of her cigarette. “I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about them.” She gestures widely out at their surroundings: at the countless beautiful houses, and the people resting safely within them. “Did you ever stop to think about why I do this work? I could very well be sleeping right now, you know. But my life - my job - isn’t just about me anymore.”

What was it she had said before? That this was a “Knight-mandated hobby”, and that she was here on orders from the Grand Master himself. Shenhe stares at her for a long moment, trying to reconcile this woman with the child who fought through hurricanes just to survive.

“You thought I was going to hurt Mondstadt?”

“I thought you might,” Rosaria corrects. “I only ever knew you when you hid yourself away. I didn’t know you were doing better now. If you weren’t, you would’ve gone the way of those treasure hoarders the moment we finished talking.”

“So you believed me.”

“’Course I did. You didn’t give me a reason not to.” Rosaria taps her cigarette with one finger; embers and ash crumble from its tip, drifting onto the rooftop. Shenhe can’t help but think it looks like a crude version of Ningguang’s pipe, but while sweet, herbal smoke often flows from Ningguang’s lips, Rosaria’s cigarettes are bitter and dark.

This woman… she’s just like Shenhe, with a soul borne of darkness and a youth marred by tragedy. Even now, Shenhe can see traces of the child she knew: there’s still a hardness in Rosaria’s eyes, weariness etched into the lines of her face. She is frowning - in fact, Shenhe hasn’t seen a genuine smile from her yet - but as she looks out at Mondstadt, there’s a warmth to her that wasn’t there before.

“It’s so strange.” The words slip out before Shenhe can stop them. “In some respects, you’re the same… but in many others, you have grown so different.”

Rosaria glances over, raising an eyebrow. “I could say the same to you.”

“This job is really special to you, isn’t it?” Shenhe observes aloud. “Your fighting style is the same as ever, but you fight with a purpose now.”

She isn’t quite sure why she’s saying all this. Maybe it’s curiosity, and a desire to understand the new Rosaria. Maybe it’s just awkwardness… or maybe she picked up some of her master’s conversational skills after all.

“Yeah. These people saved me. I owe them a lot.” Rosaria speaks in her characteristically deadpan manner, but Shenhe can hear the warmth behind the words. “For what it’s worth, your fighting style hasn’t changed much either. You’re still using that move I taught you.” And there it is - the first trace of a smile, tiny yet bright. “The bandits just about ate me alive for that, you know.”

“They ate you?”

Rosaria’s smile grows until she’s almost grinning. “They were mad, dumbass.”

“I thought I was a lame-ass.”

“That too.”

It’s so easy with Rosaria. Shenhe almost feels like they’re kids again: like they’re back in her old favourite tunnel, chatting the night away, finding in each other a brief respite from their troubles. It almost feels like nothing had ever come between them at all.

And maybe it hadn’t - maybe it was just circumstance, just another case of bad luck. Even as she talks to Rosaria now, Shenhe can’t shake one thought from her mind.

The bandits had been furious.

So maybe it was real after all. Now, as she learns about the Knights and the Sisters and Rosaria’s new job, Shenhe slowly feels her doubts start to slip away. Back then, Rosaria put herself in danger and suffered the consequences, just because she liked me.

Just because we were friends.

~

Rosaria
Night two: a dance of secrets, of shadows and stars.

The moon is rising. Rosaria darts through the alleyways; for once, she keeps her eyes trained on the rooftops, trying to temper her own expectations.

~

Time has passed too quickly. When Rosaria stands and stretches, she feels her vertebrae crack; when she looks ahead, she sees the moon beginning to dip. She can only wonder how long she and Shenhe spent talking.

“I’m heading home to clean up… and hopefully get some rest before Barbara inevitably tries to drag me out to choir practice.” The last part comes out in a grumble. “Good chat. If you can’t sleep, I’ll be here again tomorrow.”

“Are you going to continue investigating?”

“Sure am. Do you want to see this thing through to the end?”

Shenhe seems to deliberate for a moment. Rosaria starts to make her way down from the roof.

“Maybe.” A single word finally slips from Shenhe’s mouth, and Rosaria ignores the way hope flickers to life in her chest.

“Well, you’ll know where to find me. Night, Shenhe.”

“Goodnight, Rosaria.”

~

It doesn’t matter if Shenhe doesn’t show up. Rosaria is used to - no, she prefers working alone, or so she keeps telling herself. This will be one night of work among many, and the list of individuals she has driven away or disposed of will continue extending, regardless of whether or not Shenhe joins her.

Rosaria’s eyes drift back to the rooftops nonetheless.

Finally, she sees it: a seated figure, silhouetted against the moonlight, poised and regal. It feels surreal. Rosaria quickly climbs onto the roof.

“Hey.” Her shadow falls over white hair and red ropes. “You came.”

Shenhe looks up. “You asked me to.”

“I offered,” Rosaria corrects, ignoring the way something in her chest seems to shift. “Ready to get to work? In about an hour, a deal will be made just outside the north gate. We can intercept it.”

Shenhe stands, and it only makes her look more unreal, like a woman carved from moonlight itself. Her eyes are sharp, quizzical.

“How did you find out about this so quickly?”

Rosaria shrugs. “I have my ways.” She gazes out across the sea of red clay tiles before she begins walking. “Now come on. We have work to do.”

Shenhe follows her without complaint, staying close at her heels as they make their way to the north gate. It feels… unusual, Rosaria thinks, to be working alongside someone: to have company, on these otherwise lonely nights. She would never admit it aloud, but it’s a nice change.

“I thought you had church duties to attend to during the day,” Shenhe pipes up after a moment.

“Just because I have them doesn’t mean I do them.” Rosaria hops across the gap between two houses. “What, you think I’d actually spend my time arranging those stuffy events and attending choir practice?”

“Don’t they need you there?”

“Need me? Ha! Hardly. Have you seen how many people are in the choir?”

“I’ve never seen a choir,” Shenhe admits.

This gives Rosaria pause. She stops in her tracks, turning to face Shenhe, who simply tilts her head.

“They don’t have choirs in Liyue? I thought you said you’d watched musical performances.”

“I have. I watched Liyuean opera.” Shenhe hesitates. “I don’t even know how many participants are required for a choir.”

“Huh. Maybe you should stick around here a little longer, then.” Rosaria turns away again, continuing along the rooftops. “You could see the choir before you go.”

She isn’t sure why she says it. Rosaria hates choir - it’s stuffy, it’s boring, and Sister Victoria always snaps at her for her permanent scowl. All things considered, she should be encouraging Shenhe to get as far away from it as possible.

“Would I get to hear you sing?”

The question is filled with innocence and intrigue. Rosaria looks over her shoulder, offering Shenhe a cutting glare.

“Of course not. I don’t sing.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Trust me, you’re not missing out.” Rosaria leaps atop the wall at Mondstadt’s edge. “Now be quiet. We’re here.”

~

Shenhe
The dealmakers arrive exactly when Rosaria said they would. Shenhe watches silently from behind a tree as the two people engage in a quiet yet heated discussion. One is clearly a treasure hoarder; the other, a Mondstadt citizen.

She still doesn’t know how Rosaria got her intel, but even if she asked again, she’s sure Rosaria wouldn’t give her a straight answer.

I have my ways was all she’d said. She certainly does seem to have her own way around things - even after spending two nights in her company, however reluctantly, Shenhe still can’t seem to comprehend her. Rosaria is at once cutthroat and caring, wretched and warm; so much like the girl Shenhe once knew, but also nothing like her at all.

“Hey.” There’s a tap on Shenhe’s shoulder; she turns, meeting soft pink and starlight. Rosaria’s voice is hardly more than a whisper. “I’ll subdue them. Do me a favour and tie them up when I’m done.” There’s a rope in her hands; she pulls it taut, as if testing its strength, before passing it to Shenhe. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Shenhe nods, watching quietly as Rosaria slinks away. She moves like a ghost; even the grass hardly shifts in her wake.

And when she attacks, her movements are precise, each blow deadly and quick. The treasure hoarder falls first; his accomplice hardly has time to scream before Rosaria has taken him down, too. Shenhe can see how she strikes not to hurt but to halt them: each tendon and nerve that she hits simply renders them immobile, their knees buckling beneath them.

The moment Rosaria steps back, Shenhe emerges from the shadows, expertly tying the rope around the two criminals. The knots are tight and firm, her hands dextrous with years of experience. There will be no time for smoke bombs tonight.

“You– you said this would be confidential,” hisses the Mondstadtian.

The treasure hoarder scowls, but Rosaria cuts in before he can answer.

“There are eyes and ears everywhere in Mondstadt,” she growls. “You of all people should know that by now, Frederick.”

“Well, if it isn’t the conniving nun,” he sneers. “I knew you’d be trouble from day one. The Grand Master should’ve gotten rid of you when he had the chance.”

Rosaria does not grace him with a response. Instead, she tosses Shenhe a rag.

“Gag him.” The words are stern, leaving no room for argument. Shenhe does as she asks, stuffing the fabric into Frederick’s mouth. He squirms, trying to kick her away with flailing legs, but Shenhe grabs a hold of his throat in one strong hand. She squeezes, hard enough for him to feel her strength without hurting him.

“Do not ever speak about her that way,” Shenhe growls. “Understood?”

Frederick’s eyes are bulging with fear. He cannot even move to nod. Shenhe finally relents, stepping back and letting him go.

That was how the bandits used to talk to Rosaria. Even if she won’t admit it aloud, Shenhe can see how much it hurts her. Whenever the topic had come up last night, a dull flicker of sadness would come to life in Rosaria’s eyes, her frown deepening ever so slightly. Quietly, she had told Shenhe the things they’d said, all the threats they’d made, and how the encounter in Jueyun Karst had only made things worse.

~

“I haven’t ever regretted it,” Rosaria says quietly, and Shenhe isn’t sure which of them she’s trying to reassure more. “I got to meet you.”

Emotions are warring in Shenhe’s chest. Ten years ago, in Dragonspine, she had felt her own convictions waver; now, they are positively shattered.

It has been over a decade. Shenhe has been angry for so many years, and all along, she has been angry at the wrong person.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t be. They’re gone now.” Smoke curls softly in the air. “It’s over now.”

Rosaria meets Shenhe’s eyes, and a crackle of understanding passes between them.

I thought this was over too. The words are silent. Shenhe can see them all, written across Rosaria’s face. But you’re here.

I’m here, Shenhe thinks. It would be all too easy to reach over and touch her. I’m here.

~

Rosaria
Night three: the last grains of sand in the hourglass.

Everything ends tonight.

It is Shenhe’s last night in Mondstadt, and the last night the treasure hoarders will spend near its borders.

Rosaria lights a cigarette as she waits on the rooftop. It is calming; the black smoke masks the uncomfortable feelings stirring deep in her chest. Rosaria doesn’t want to look too closely at them, for fear that they will reveal a truth she doesn’t want to face.

“You’re early.” A voice sounds from behind her.

Rosaria turns and blows smoke in Shenhe’s face, trying not to smile at the way she wrinkles her nose. It’s cute.

“Am I? Maybe you’re late.”

Shenhe coughs, waving the smoke away with one hand. “That smells awful.”

“It tastes even worse,” Rosaria admits, even as she takes another drag. At Shenhe’s confused expression, she adds, “it’s not for everyone. I don’t mind it, though.”

Shenhe simply shakes her head, but whether it’s out of incredulity or hopelessness is hard to tell.

“I really cannot understand you anymore,” she says, her voice light.

“Did you ever?”

A pause. Shenhe’s eyes drop.

“I suppose not.”

Rosaria turns away, butting out her cigarette. Even beneath the pleasant buzz of smoke in her lungs, something in her chest seems to shift. She refuses to acknowledge it.

“Alright,” she says instead. “We’ve got work to do.”

The night before, Rosaria had interrogated the treasure hoarder under Shenhe’s watchful eye, coaxing information out of him until she’d learned the location of the camp. Now, both the treasure hoarder and Frederick are underground in Mondstadt’s jail, their deal in shambles and a spanner in the treasure hoarders’ plans.

People like Frederick are the ones Rosaria detests the most. They walk among the children of the light, demanding protection and community even as they scheme in the shadows. They are the hardest to find, the hardest to get rid of, and the hardest to sympathise with. Frederick is no longer a problem, and now, Rosaria is going to take out the treasure hoarders he dared to fraternise with.

“Ready?” she whispers, when they are close. Shenhe is at her side, weapon drawn.

“Ready.”

Two people isn’t much of an ambush, but it is more than enough. For years now, Rosaria has done this job alone; after tonight, she will be on her own again. It hurts more than she’s willing to admit.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

They charge into the camp, moonlight glancing off of their spears. When they fight, their movements are synchronised, silent understanding passing between them. Rosaria feels Shenhe’s strength at her back and allows herself to lean into it; for once, she has someone by her side, dancing with her in the darkness, splattering blood beneath a frigid moon. It’s ruthless, and gruesome, and yet so strangely beautiful. Rosaria revels in the physicality of it all, in the warm rush of blood through her veins and the cool kiss of Cryo at her fingertips. Shenhe, too, seems to thrive on the battlefield, her gaze sharp with focus, brow slick with sweat she doesn’t seem to feel. Her ropes, the same crimson as the blood she spills, are bright against her black bodysuit; her hair glows white against the darkness. She seems at home here, in this wordless ritual, this dance she has practised over decades. Her talisman spirit weaves around them both, fighting alongside them, protecting them.

Rosaria hasn’t felt a rush like this in years.

For her, fighting has always been a necessity. She clawed her way through a blood-soaked childhood, polearm in hand, and now works with that same weapon to protect the people who saved her. Fighting is a means of survival, whether it’s a job or a plea simply to stay alive.

Now, with Shenhe, it feels like something more. This is someone who also knows the taste of darkness, who has felt the kiss of tragedy upon her flesh. This is someone who comes alive beneath a broken moon. Someone who Rosaria has seen in every form and facet, from the lonely, cursed child to the woman who finally tasted freedom. Rosaria’s friends in Mondstadt could never fight alongside her like this, as much as she likes them: they have lived in the light for too long, basking in its warmth, its comfort. This is not the kind of work they were made for.

But Shenhe… she has been here before. And so Rosaria fights alongside her, relishing in the crackle of electricity between them. It is only one night - mere hours, minutes, seconds, but Rosaria drinks in every moment.

All too soon, it’s over. Once they have cleaned up, leaving no trace of their ambush behind, Rosaria looks over at Shenhe. Her talisman spirit, hovering beside her, casts soft blue light on her face. She looks ethereal like this.

“Well fought.” Rosaria claps her lightly on the shoulder, her hand lingering there a second too long. “I need a break. Wanna go to the rooftops?”

If they only get one more night together, Rosaria is going to make the most of it.

“Lead the way,” Shenhe says, punctuating the sentence with a soft smile. The expression looks beautiful on her, and Rosaria can’t help but smile back.

~

Shenhe
Everything is so easy with Rosaria.

When they fought together, it was as if the same blood ran through their veins. Now, as they make their way to the rooftops, the silence is comfortable. Shenhe keeps pace with Rosaria, staying close enough to see the sheen of sweat on her skin and the traces of blood on her snow-white gloves.

“Do you do this a lot?” she finds herself asking, once they are seated beneath the stars.

“Jobs like this? Not really.” Rosaria lights a cigarette, her face relaxing as she takes a drag. “You’d be surprised. You give people freedom, and they’ll choose the right path most of the time.”

“Like you,” Shenhe murmurs. If Frederick is the exception to the rule - if he is the heaviness behind the word most, and the cold gleam in Rosaria’s eye - then Rosaria herself is his opposite, a shining example of someone who took the chance to glow brighter.

“Like me?” Rosaria raises an eyebrow. “You think this is the right path?”

“It is for you,” Shenhe clarifies. “It suits you.” You look happier here.

Rosaria laughs. “Suits me, huh…” Her fingers idly trace the bloodstains speckled across one arm. “I’m not going to ask what you mean by that.”

Gradually, they descend into a comfortable silence. Shenhe watches as Rosaria exhales, smoke curling in the darkness. Her breath smells like ash. The air is cool.

It is… nice, sitting here like this. There is no pressure to maintain a conversation; it is enough to simply be here, the silence like a warm blanket around them. Something about Rosaria’s company is so familiar, so easy, that it almost feels as though they’ve had nights like this all their lives.

Shenhe supposes they have, in a way. Didn’t they sit together, just like this, when they were nine years old? Didn’t they warm their hands by the same fire in Starglow Cavern? Those hands, warm and alive… Shenhe looks at them now, as Rosaria moves to butt out her cigarette against the red clay tiles. The embers die out, crumbling to ash, and Rosaria exhales one more time before turning to face Shenhe. Her pale eyes are unusually sombre.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Suddenly Shenhe is nine years old again. The expression on Rosaria’s face, though muted now, is so familiar.

“I am.” The words feel wrong, stilted, coming out of Shenhe’s mouth. Where has the time gone? Tomorrow has snuck up on her far too quickly, lurching closer like a beast from the shadows. She could’ve sworn she had longer, that this wasn’t the end–

Perhaps time just moves slower in the mountains, where her days are filled with birdsong, morning dew and meditation. Perhaps time just moves slower without Rosaria.

“How would you feel about spending some time at Angel’s Share tomorrow, before you leave? We can celebrate the closing of this investigation. Bring your fancy new friends.”

“Are you sure?”

“’Course I’m sure. Why else would I ask? You can think about it.” Something impossible to read flickers in Rosaria’s eyes as she speaks. Softness seems to edge its way into her expression, lingering beneath her usual sharp exterior, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. When she lies back against the tiles, pillowing her hands beneath her head, she is as unreadable as ever.

Shenhe follows her gaze. “Are you watching the stars?”

Rosaria hums affirmatively. Shenhe moves to lie down beside her.

This sky is no different to the one that hangs above Liyue. Something twists in Shenhe’s chest; she has been here before.

“I never took you to see the aurora borealis,” Rosaria says suddenly, and Shenhe tears her gaze away from the stars to look at her. Her profile is beautiful, edged in moonlight like this, from the slant of her nose to the curl of her eyelashes. She always looks so peaceful when she is washed in silver light.

“Of course not. We were stuck under a mountain.”

Rosaria huffs out a laugh, dry and clipped. “Funny, isn’t it? Everything turned out so disastrously, but we ended up meeting in Dragonspine anyway.”

Funny… perhaps it is, in some twisted way. Or maybe it’s simply destiny, bringing them together over and over again. Maybe it’s nothing more than a beautiful coincidence.

Whatever the case, Shenhe is happy to be here now, back by Rosaria’s side. The air is finally clearer between them; together, they gaze up at the same brilliant sky. When they talk, it’s slow and easy, a stark contrast to the tension from mere nights beforehand. Time melts away, even as a stiff, cool breeze blows past them.

Finally, Rosaria stands, stretches, and looks down at Shenhe. Something seems to shift in her eyes again, but it’s gone as quickly as it comes. Shenhe doesn’t comment on it; instead, she lets Rosaria help her up, that gloved hand cool against her palm.

“I should go home now,” Rosaria murmurs, her gaze flicking up to the moon before returning to Shenhe’s face.

“Choir practice again?”

“When isn’t there choir practice?” Rosaria grumbles, sliding off of the roof. “Offer’s still open for tomorrow. I’ll see you there, if you choose to come. If not…” a shrug. “Maybe I’ll say goodbye another time.”

Goodbye…

Shenhe watches her leave, disappearing into the darkness.

Am I really ready to say goodbye?

Chapter Text

Together, they turn the hourglass around.

~

Shenhe
Angel’s Share is quieter at this time of day.

Shenhe finds herself enjoying it, from the way the sunlight casts itself across scuffed wooden tables to the soft lull of easy conversations. It’s so blissfully empty, it almost feels like a secret hideout.

It is, in a way. When Ningguang had questioned her choice of location, Rosaria had explained that she liked to spend her free time here simply because her “insufferable colleagues” - as she put it - were less likely to disturb her. It almost feels like an honour to be invited along.

“So, how do you know Shenhe?” Ningguang asks lightly, one hand swirling her glass around. A bubbly, colourful liquid seems to sparkle within it; Rosaria treated them all to Mondstadt’s finest alcohol-free beverages, and it was clear from the moment the drinks arrived that Mondstadtians mean business, no matter the beverage.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing!” Beidou chimes in before Rosaria can reply. “You’re more of a social butterfly than I thought, Shenhe!”

Rosaria snickers at that. “Not really,” she says, and that devilishly familiar smirk is back. “When we first met, she was trying to kill me.”

“I wasn’t–”

“Trying to kill you?!”

“…When you first met?”

The entire table erupts at the statement, so much so that the few other patrons turn their heads to look at them. Shenhe shoots them each a cutting glare, and they quickly return to minding their own business.

“How long have you two known each other?” Ningguang asks, one eyebrow delicately arched.

“Oh, a while.” Rosaria raises her glass to her lips. “How many years has it been now, Shenhe?”

Sixteen. She knows they both have it memorised.

“A few,” she says instead. It feels too sacred to say aloud.

Nobody else has ever really known about them: about their whispered secrets and shared laughter, about the chunk of fox meat wrapped in cloth or the footsteps hidden behind an avalanche. Nobody else saw their reunion beneath moonlight; nobody else has tasted the sweetness of the night air from the rooftops. Those moments are theirs and theirs alone, and when Shenhe looks into Rosaria’s eyes, she knows she feels the same.

It takes her a second to realise a strange silence has descended upon the table. There’s a gleam in both Ningguang and Beidou’s eyes that Shenhe doesn’t quite understand, but it’s gone as soon as they blink.

“Yes,” Rosaria says, breaking the silence, “you could say we’re quite well-acquainted.”

Yes, quite. Sometimes, Shenhe thinks it strange - the time they spent together was so short, and yet they understand each other better than anyone else can.

After all, back then, they were each other’s only friends, and those childhood memories may as well be carved in stone. Rosaria has lingered like a shadow in Shenhe’s mind since the very first time they hunted together, following her even as the years passed and she grew older.

“Has Shenhe told you how she met us?” Ningguang asks.

“I’ve heard a bit,” Rosaria replies, and Shenhe almost shakes her head incredulously when she thinks back to the interrogation. “Hard not to. She made the news even here.”

Beidou whistles. “Look at you, Shenhe! Achieving international fame already, and you’ve only been back in the mortal realm for, what, a couple of months now?”

“I simply did what I had to,” Shenhe replies.

“Oh, come on, you don’t have to be so modest - you froze an entire tsunami!” Beidou says, wagging her drink at Shenhe so hard that it almost sloshes over. Ningguang takes it from her and puts it back on the table, rolling her eyes fondly. Rosaria, reclining in her own chair with drink in hand, simply looks on in amusement.

Shenhe knows, then, that she wouldn’t change this moment for the world. And when Rosaria glances across at her over her glass with a twinkle in the corner of her eye, Shenhe can’t help but smile.

~

Rosaria
All too soon, it’s over.

Ningguang stands, smoothing down her dress, looking as well put-together as ever. Beidou downs the last of her drink before pushing her chair back, adjusting her cloak.

Rosaria doesn’t look at Shenhe, not yet. It would be like acknowledging that she is really, truly going to leave.

Except… Shenhe isn’t moving. Rosaria hasn’t heard her chair scrape back against the wood floors - even Ningguang and Beidou are gazing at her quizzically now. When Rosaria finally looks over, she sees Shenhe picking at her ropes, almost as if she has no intention of getting up to go.

“Shenhe?” Ningguang taps her gently on the shoulder. “We’re going.”

“I know.” Shenhe is quiet for a long moment before she finally stands up. “Ningguang, Beidou… I’ve come to quite like it here.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it–”

“I’d like to stay.”

The words land like a meteorite, and Rosaria almost chokes on her own spit. “You want to what?”

“Stay,” Shenhe repeats, gazing at her strangely. “Is that unusual?”

“…A little,” Rosaria manages.

“Not at all,” Beidou says reassuringly, wrapping one arm around Shenhe’s shoulders and pulling her close. “One taste of the rest of the world and you’re hooked, eh? Trust me, I know the feeling.” Her grin is dazzling; if she weren’t wearing an eyepatch, Rosaria thinks she might’ve winked.

“Are you one hundred percent sure about this?” Ningguang asks seriously.

“I am. I’ve thought about it for a while.”

A while. How long is a while? Three nights? Sixteen years? Rosaria swallows thickly, suddenly thankful for the ease at which she can conceal her own emotions.

“Alright, then. Take this.” Ningguang fishes out a pouch of Mora and pushes it into Shenhe’s hands. “It should keep you covered for some time. I’ll extend your booking at the inn, too. How long do you plan on staying?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Shenhe replies, still squished up at Beidou’s side. “Please don’t worry about it. You’ve done so much for me already… I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“Nonsense, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll make a stop at the inn before we leave. Remember to stay in contact, alright? If you need anything…”

Rosaria, still seated at the table and feeling blissfully ignored by the rest of the group, lets the conversation fade into the background. Her thoughts have never been so loud.

Shenhe wants to stay? Here?

…With me?

No, she chides herself. It’s not about you. Why would it be? Shenhe has spent the last sixteen years hating you.

Somehow, the last few nights say more than sixteen years ever could.

~

Shenhe
It is a sunny afternoon in Mondstadt. A young boy stands on the bridge, throwing breadcrumbs at pigeons; Shenhe has already been here long enough to know his name is Timmie. Dandelions sway in the wind around them, and crystalline waters glisten in the sunshine.

“You’d better keep in touch with us,” Beidou says, wrapping Shenhe in a bear hug. “Tell us everything!”

“That would be a very long letter,” Shenhe murmurs, as Beidou laughs and lets her go. She still can’t quite believe she’s doing this: making impulsive decisions, staying in Mondstadt, staying with her.

Ningguang’s words ring in her head, then: everyone needs a reason to stay. I hope you can find yours soon.

Those words have hovered in her mind since she first heard them. Shenhe has already found reasons all across Liyue Harbour, and now, she has found the most compelling reason of all, right here.

She turns to look at Rosaria, standing just a little further back with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. So much time has passed, lost to bitterness and betrayal, lies and misunderstandings. It is time that Shenhe wants to - and will - make up for, now that she knows the truth.

She is not the only one who wants it. Shenhe remembers the way Rosaria had looked at her last night: like they were nine years old, when they wished those perfect nights could last forever. Back then, the circumstances drew them apart, but fate has given them a second chance. Shenhe would be a fool not to take it.

Together, they see Ningguang and Beidou off, and watch as their shadows disappear along the path back to Liyue Harbour. There is no turning back now. Rosaria has moved to stand at Shenhe’s side, and when Shenhe turns to face her, she feels… lighter, somehow.

“You’re staying,” Rosaria says softly, as if she can’t quite believe it.

“I’m staying,” Shenhe echoes.

“Why, though? Aren’t you going to miss Liyue Harbour? Your friends?”

Shenhe gazes at her for a long moment. Mere days ago, when she looked into Rosaria’s eyes, all she could see were fragments of her past: memories of loneliness, betrayal, hurt and anger. That face had been a portal to times Shenhe had been sure she’d left behind her.

But now, when Shenhe looks at her, all she sees are future possibilities. Rosaria’s presence - the cool glint in her eyes, that windswept hair - is a reminder of how much they’ve both grown, and how much more growing they have yet to do. They have been separated for so long, time and distance yawning like a chasm between them, and the past three nights helped Shenhe realise that she cannot let it grow any wider.

After all, Rosaria might be the only person in the world who really, truly understands what it’s like to spend a childhood walking on the edge of darkness, isolated from the world. Shenhe first met her when they needed each other most; now, with their childhood troubles behind them, fate has brought them back together again. Perhaps it is a reminder of where they came from; or perhaps it is simply an opportunity for Shenhe to learn more about the mortal realm, and about Rosaria, who has settled so comfortably within it.

Whatever the case, it is a second chance, and Shenhe is not going to squander it.

~

Rosaria
Shenhe is silent for a long, long moment. The question hangs between them; all Rosaria can hear is her own heart, beating a fraction too quickly. Shenhe is staring right into her eyes, her expression deep and raw and vulnerable. Rosaria has known these eyes for a lifetime, and they have never looked at her like this.

“Of course I’ll miss them,” Shenhe finally replies. “But you’re my friend too. And I wanted to spend more time with you.”

For a moment, it feels like all of the air has been whisked out of Rosaria’s lungs.

You’re my friend.

My friend.

Every part of her body feels lighter, somehow. Decades-old wounds are finally healing; that black cloud of misunderstanding finally seems to dissipate. Rosaria exhales, gazing anywhere but at Shenhe - the look in her eyes is too heavy, too vulnerable, and Rosaria feels like it’s slowly picking her apart.

In a way, it is. That look in Shenhe’s eyes seemed to peer right into Rosaria’s soul, finally extracting the weight that has hung over her for sixteen years.

“Archons above, you’re such a sap,” she manages. “And so impulsive. You’re lucky I took the day off.”

“So that we can… hang out? That is what mortals say, isn’t it?”

“That’s one way to put it. Hey, how much have you seen of Mondstadt’s wilderness?”

“Not much,” Shenhe says, confirming Rosaria’s suspicions - after all, none of her investigations led them far outside the city walls. “Is that where we’re going?”

“It will be… once we have some steeds. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

~

The question answers itself as soon as Rosaria sees Shenhe in the saddle.

Her back is ramrod straight, her hands pulling the reins up close to her chest. When the horse moves even the tiniest bit, she seems to tense, her shoulders raised up around her ears.

Rosaria exhales heavily. “Archons. You weren’t kidding.”

“I told you. I go everywhere on foot.” The horse shifts its weight, and a gasp catches in Shenhe’s throat. “Master used to have me carry rocks up and down the mountain every day as a part of my training. I’ve never needed a horse.”

“Sounds like you were the horse,” Rosaria says wryly. “Besides, you’re not here to train. I don’t know about you, but I’m not interested in trekking cross-country when I don’t have to.”

If Codi could hear her now, they would probably call her a lazy bastard. But this isn’t Dragonspine: this is Mondstadt, where the world is a little softer, a little kinder. In Mondstadt, Rosaria can breathe easy. She can rest.

And she can choose not to hike halfway across the country, if she doesn’t feel like it.

“Come on. You’re as stiff as a rod up there,” Rosaria says, reaching out to help Shenhe down from the saddle. Shenhe leans on her, exhaling in relief when her feet touch the ground.

“We’ll just take the one horse,” Rosaria tells the stablehand, before turning back to Shenhe. “You can ride with me.”

It isn’t until they are both in the saddle that Rosaria realises this might have been a terrible idea. Shenhe is close - too close, her chest pressed right up against Rosaria’s back, her arms tightly encircling her waist. Rosaria had almost forgotten how strong she is.

Still, it is faster - and easier - to tour the countryside on horseback, so they set off anyway.

And if Rosaria is being honest with herself, she doesn’t quite mind the closeness.

~

They spend the afternoon exploring the wilderness, and Rosaria watches with a strange sense of fondness as Shenhe experiences everything Mondstadt’s countryside has to offer. It’s nicer, following her around like this, when there’s no bad blood between them. In fact, everything feels brighter now that she can stand right at Shenhe’s side, quietly amused by her curiosity. That porcelain face is as inexpressive as ever, but Rosaria has long since learned to read the glint in Shenhe’s eyes - today, it sparkles like sunshine.

It’s early evening by the time they reach Starsnatch Cliff, their final destination. Rosaria walks ahead, guiding the horse by the reins; Shenhe remains in the saddle, calmer now than she was a few hours ago. Rosaria can only wonder if it has something to do with the valberry she’s eating.

She has to hide a smile at the thought. As they were passing through Stormbearer Mountains, Shenhe had asked curiously about the valberry bushes, so Rosaria leaned down from the saddle to pick one of the fruits for her.

“Here, try it.” Casually, she tossed it over her shoulder, knowing Shenhe would catch it with no trouble. The sound of Shenhe biting through its tender skin followed, before a moment of quiet contemplation, and then–

“Oh, archons.” Shenhe audibly took another bite before groaning in delight. “These are your wild plants?”

“Sure are. They’re a great pick-me-up… I eat them a lot when my work brings me out here.”

As soon as they’d dismounted, Shenhe made a beeline for the nearest valberry bush. She picked as many as she could find, gathering them in her arms and even passing some off to Rosaria to hold for her. Now, she’s still cheerfully making her way through her snack stash, her hands and mouth stained with sticky pink juices.

“Watch it,” Rosaria says, amusement lining the words. “At this rate, you won’t have room for dinner.”

“This is dinner,” Shenhe replies. “I wish we had plants like this back home.”

“Would’ve saved you a lot of crummy meals, huh?” Rosaria thinks back to the times Shenhe offered her stalks of medicinal herbs; to this day, she still hasn’t tried one, and she’s not sure she wants to. “Alright, we’re nearly there. This is the perfect place to watch the– fuck, they’re here again?”

Two people’s bodies are silhouetted against the golden sky. They’re sitting close together, one’s head resting on the other’s shoulder. Rosaria has to bite back a grimace.

“Is something the matter?” Shenhe asks, between mouthfuls of valberry.

“Our spot’s been taken,” Rosaria mutters. Still, she pulls the horse further up the mountain, waiting until they’re close enough for the couple to hear its footsteps. The pair finally look up, their faces brightening, and Rosaria’s frown deepens of its own accord.

“Marvin, look! Love has touched another pair of beautiful souls!”

Rosaria halts in her tracks. Love?!

“Oh, Marla, it’s so romantic! It reminds me of the days when we first found one another. Do you remember those blissful times, horseback riding through the countryside, your arms so delicately wrapped around my waist?”

This isn’t what it looks like–

“Oh, Marvin, I do remember! It was perfect!”

“Oh, Marla, you’re perfect!”

“Ahem.” Rosaria pointedly clears her throat, trying to keep her face level. “Are we interrupting something?”

“Not at all, not at all!” Marvin says brightly, taking Rosaria’s free hand in both of his. “It’s simply so lovely to see young love blossoming amidst the cecilias, just as ours did.”

“Did it hurt your legs, jumping to that conclusion?” Rosaria replies dryly.

“Jumping to conclusions?” Marla echoes. “Are you two not together?”

“No, obviously not–”

“We are,” Shenhe replies at the same time, turning to look at Rosaria quizzically. Rosaria isn’t quite sure what expression she makes back - her brain can’t process the mix of surprise and confusion fast enough for her to school her face into something neutral. She can deal with unruly criminals and sharp-tongued bandits, but this? How is she supposed to respond to this?

“Oh, this is simply too cute,” Marla gushes, and Rosaria tears her gaze away from Shenhe. “Are you two here to watch the sunset?”

“We were,” Rosaria mutters. “But we can find somewhere else.”

“No, no! Watching the sunset from Starsnatch Cliff is a rite of passage in a budding relationship,” Marvin declares. “You should stay, and feel your deep adoration for one another blossom beneath the blazing trails of this beautiful star, just as Marla and I did! You must watch the sky turn to fire, and remember that your own love shines just as bright!”

“…Right.” Rosaria stifles a deep sigh, wondering how this escaped her consideration. She had only wanted to show Shenhe something beautiful - something akin to the aurora borealis they never got to see together. It was never meant to be romantic, of all things.

She sneaks a glance at Shenhe, who has returned to happily munching on her valberries. Did she misinterpret this too?

Shenhe’s expression, as picturesque and innocent as ever, betrays nothing.

“We’ll leave you be,” Marla is saying, fishing around in her satchel. After a moment, she pulls out a handful of white flowers, and passes them to Rosaria. “Please, take these - freshly picked cecilias, symbols of a love at once tenacious, deep and true. Have a wonderful date.”

She winks as she departs, arm-in-arm with Marvin. Rosaria wishes this was the end of it - instead, she hears them gushing right until they’re out of earshot. This time, she cannot stifle a deep, long-suffering sigh.

~

Shenhe
“Are you alright?” Shenhe asks, descending from the saddle with Rosaria’s help. Something about the exchange seems to have troubled her - her brows are tightly knit now, a frown tugging at her lips. It’s a stark contrast to the way she looked earlier: relaxed, and free, all the worry-lines gone from her face. Shenhe rarely sees her with such a gentle expression, and now she can only wonder how to get it back.

“Why did you tell them we were together?”

“Because we are,” Shenhe replies, and Rosaria’s breath seems to catch in her throat. “We travelled here together, didn’t we?”

“That’s not–” Rosaria exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Shenhe, they were asking if we were a couple.”

“…A couple of what?”

“Lovers, you dumbass.”

This, at last, gives Shenhe pause. The rest of the conversation slowly starts to make sense, from the flowery tongue with which the strangers spoke to their strange insistence at bringing love up in every sentence. She’d had no idea what travelling together had to do with romance, sunsets and flowers… until now, anyways.

“…They thought we were wheels?”

The crease between Rosaria’s brows deepens. “They thought what?”

“They thought we were like Beidou and Ningguang,” Shenhe amends. “A pair of connected wheels.”

Rosaria finally breaks into an incredulous smile. “Is this what the adepti teach you?”

“No, Master rarely discusses such topics. I learned from one of Beidou’s crewmates,” Shenhe says. “But I don’t understand - why would they think we were a pair?”

Rosaria shrugs, absentmindedly playing with the cecilias in her hand.

“People like that just love jumping to conclusions,” she says, pulling a flower from the bunch and smelling it. “Have you eaten one of these before? It’s fragrant… but I can’t imagine that means it tastes very nice. Your herbs don’t smell half bad, either.”

Shenhe leans in closer, and Rosaria holds the flower up to her nose.

She’s absolutely right - the plant smells divine. What is it about everything in Mondstadt being so sweet?

Shenhe’s gaze drifts back to Rosaria at the thought. The sun is setting now; her wine-red hair seems to glow in the light, and even her porcelain skin looks warmer beneath the tangerine sky. Shenhe can’t help but think that this view is even lovelier than the sunset.

After all, she has seen a million perfect sunsets from the peaks of Jueyun Karst, where she can stand higher than the clouds themselves and watch as the setting sun turns them to fire. But this… this is a sort of beauty she has never laid eyes on before.

“Teyvat to Shenhe,” Rosaria says, waving the flower in her face and interrupting her train of thought. “You’re staring.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Shenhe’s gaze drops back to the cecilia, swaying gently in the stiff breeze coming in from the ocean. “Should I eat it now?”

“On second thought…” Rosaria leans over and tucks it in Shenhe’s hair, right beside the white jade comb. “This is better. It matches your headpiece.”

Shenhe reaches up to gently touch the flower, and something unknowable stirs deep in her chest.

“I thought you wanted me to eat it,” she murmurs.

“Nah. I’m not actually familiar with the medicinal properties of cecilias,” Rosaria admits. “I’d rather avoid poisoning you on your first day living here.”

Living here. It’s the first time either of them have said it aloud - that Shenhe will be living here now, in Mondstadt. It’s… thrilling. It’s real.

“And what are you smiling about now?” Rosaria asks, a playful lilt to her voice. When Shenhe looks up, she’s wearing that lopsided grin again, and Shenhe revels in its familiarity.

Shenhe can’t help but smile, too. “Nothing, it’s just… this is all truly happening. I’m here.”

“Well, obviously. Where else would you be, on the moon?” Rosaria huffs out a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”

“Of course not.” Shenhe looks at her for a long moment, watching the way the light softly traces her features. How could I ever?

~

By nightfall, they have returned to Angel’s Share.

They’re here to meet up with Rosaria’s friends. Shenhe spots them immediately: as she and Rosaria walk through the door, the two people sitting at the bar cheerfully wave them over, and the redhead mixing drinks acknowledges them with a nod. As Shenhe takes a seat on one of the barstools, she subconsciously reaches up to adjust her headpiece, resisting the urge to take it off and fiddle with it.

“Well, it seems miracles do happen after all! Rosaria, making friends of her own accord? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Shenhe looks up, making eye contact with one of Rosaria’s friends: a man dressed in regal shades of blue. He looks elegant and confident, with furs draped across one shoulder and long hair flowing down past the other. He nods at her, and Shenhe blinks owlishly back.

Rosaria, meanwhile, scoffs and rolls her eyes. “The true miracle will come when you can greet people properly.”

“Ah, yes, how rude of me. I appear to have forgotten my manners.” The man slides down from the barstool and wanders across to stand before Shenhe. He bows cordially, peering up at her from beneath his long hair. “It is a pleasure to meet you, friend-of-Rosaria. The name’s Kaeya - Mondstadt’s one and only cavalry captain. And you are?”

“Shenhe.” She hesitates, wondering if she, too, should add any grand flourishes to her introduction. Nobody has ever greeted her quite like this; for a moment, the tiresome assumptions of strangers back home seem almost favourable. They’d immediately jump to calling her an adeptus or a witch, and even if she could get a word in, it wouldn’t matter much.

Now, she has the opportunity to get as many words in as she’d like, but her throat is dry.

It is Rosaria who saves her.

“She travelled here from Liyue just last week,” Rosaria explains. “Shenhe, you’ve met Kaeya, who’s a bit of an asshole–”

“Hey!”

“–And this is Albedo, chief alchemist of the Knights of Favonius, who is not as much of an asshole–”

“A fair assessment,” Kaeya interrupts again. “He’s got a secret evil twin to play that part for him, after all.”

Albedo sighs good-naturedly. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

“–And Diluc is that perpetually angry redhead behind the bar,” Rosaria finally finishes.

“I heard that,” he says, not even bothering to look up.

Shenhe simply nods at them, unsure how she should respond. Of all the ways people have introduced her to new friends, this is by far the strangest one.

“Well, I can see why you two are friends,” Kaeya pipes up, his voice laced with amusement. “Are you sick of us talkers, Rosi? Had to go find yourself a quiet girl from out of town?”

“Are you sure you want me to answer that?” Rosaria turns her attention to the bar before Kaeya can get another word in. “Hey, Diluc! Could you fix me up with some dandelion wine? The stiffer the better… your brother’s in too good a mood tonight.” Kaeya interrupts her with a sharp laugh, which Rosaria promptly ignores. “And add on a valberry cocktail for my friend here. Put it on my tab.”

Diluc nods coolly, pulling a notepad from his shirt pocket to write it all down. Kaeya calls out to him, asking to add another drink to Rosaria’s tab, but Diluc offers no more acknowledgement than a roll of his eyes.

“Hey! I paid last time we were here,” Rosaria objects, glaring at Kaeya, but there is no venom behind her words.

“Well, it’s not like you can’t afford it… the Church pays you awfully well considering you show up once in a blue moon to stand around doing nothing.”

“Says you, cavalry captain missing half his cavalry!”

Shenhe glances quickly between them, her confusion mounting. This time, she can’t resist taking her headpiece off - carefully, so as not to dislodge the cecilia flower still tucked into her hair - to run her fingers along the teeth of the comb. It’s strange, the way they speak to each other: it’s insulting, enough that Shenhe would pound someone’s head into the table if they dared to talk to her that way, and yet Rosaria and Kaeya are laughing together like old friends.

Eventually, Shenhe’s drink arrives, offering her another means of distracting herself. She picks up her glass, carefully swirling the beverage around with her straw. Blocks of ice clink against each other in a liquid so bright Shenhe is loath to believe it’s ingestible - but then again, it wouldn’t be the first thing about Mondstadt to surprise her.

Rosaria leans over then, bumping Shenhe’s shoulder with her own.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” she says, her glass held aloft. “To Shenhe, who has decided to stay here in Mondstadt, with us!”

With you, Shenhe thinks, and something warm stirs quietly in her chest. When Kaeya and Albedo raise their glasses, Shenhe follows suit, and the resulting clink sounds like windchimes.

A mortal signifier of appreciation, or community. Shenhe can’t help but think back to that night on the Jade Chamber, when she and Aether, along with dozens of friends and strangers alike, raised their drinks to the sky. Mere months ago, Shenhe could not have imagined that she would do such a thing not just once, but twice, and each time with different groups of people.

That warmth flickers behind her ribs, gentle and soft. It feels like gratitude; how lucky she is, to be surrounded by so many friends.

Rosaria turns around to look at her again, and taps her glass against Shenhe’s once more.

“Cheers to us, too,” she says. “For clearing out those treasure hoarders, and ensuring the people of Mondstadt can safely live another day.”

“Cheers,” Shenhe echoes, that warmth spreading into a tiny, perfect smile.

~

Rosaria
“Shenhe, wait–”

It all happens so fast. One moment, they’re drinking and laughing, the night passing in a blissful haze of gold. The next, Shenhe is slamming the door behind her, hard enough to rattle the walls. The tavern falls eerily silent; even six-fingered José momentarily stops singing, and if Rosaria weren’t so preoccupied, she might even have felt a sense of relief.

Right now, though, all she can feel is anger, laced with a burning sense of worry.

“You!” she snarls, snatching the collar of the man on the ground. She pulls him up, just enough to look him dead in the eyes. “Keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll personally send you off to see Bartobas.”

The man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, quickly sobering. “D-Do you mean Barbatos?”

“Did I stutter?”

He shakes his head, and Rosaria roughly tosses him aside before storming out of the tavern.

How typical. He’s just another drunken idiot, filled with enough liquid courage to make a scene. It had all been going so well before that: Rosaria had been sandwiched between Kaeya and Shenhe, two of her favourite people, and Shenhe seemed to be settling in well enough despite the newness of it all. That telltale tension never quite eased from her shoulders, but Rosaria still caught her smiling in that soft, statuesque manner so unique to her. Her blunt honesty coupled with Kaeya’s playful charm had made for the most amusing banter, and even Shenhe seemed to realise it.

And then that drunken idiot had sauntered over, squeezing himself between Rosaria and Shenhe. He’d draped one arm over Shenhe’s shoulders, leaning in close to her ear.

“Hey, beautiful,” he’d slurred. “You’re not - hic - from around here, are you?”

“Don’t touch me,” Shenhe had replied, her voice eerily steady.

“Oh, relax, I’m not doing–”

“Are you deaf? She asked you not to touch her,” Rosaria snapped, shoving the man away from Shenhe.

It wasn’t enough.

“You don’t - hic - really mind, do you?” he’d said, sidling back up to her. “C’mon, talk to me, I just wanna–”

“Enough,” Shenhe hissed before Rosaria could interject, and in one swift movement, had risen from her seat and pinned the man’s head to the wall. “Say one more word and I’ll make you eat concrete.”

He’d laughed, giddy and drunk. “I can think of other things I’d like to - hic - eat.”

Shenhe had stayed silent for a long moment, her breaths visibly quickening. She pressed her arm even harder against the man’s throat, hard enough that his own breaths became laboured, the drunken stupor in his eyes morphing into something closer to fear. Soon enough, he was clawing at his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as his skin started to turn blue. Had Shenhe held him there any longer, he might have passed out.

“Go eat shit,” Shenhe had finally responded, throwing him carelessly to the ground before storming out of the tavern.

~

Shenhe
Something has gone very, very wrong.

Shenhe is sitting on the cold cobblestones outside the tavern, shrouded in shadow, one hand gripping her comb while the other clutches her pounding head. Her very brain seems to spin, a hint of panic thrumming through her veins. She feels like her ropes have fallen too loose. Like she’s losing control.

That accursed beast stirs beneath her skin, slipping through years of discipline and self-control. A familiar evil surges within her, acrid and dark. She wants to scream, or cry, or break something.

She doesn’t, though. Visions of splintered trees and deep craters flash behind her eyelids, and Shenhe takes a deep breath. She knows she’s better than this - that she is more than the evil that festers within her, even in these moments when all it wants to do is burst out. After all, was it not her who stayed perfectly in control, even as she stood beneath that great tsunami with anguish lighting a fire beneath her skin?

That Shenhe feels like a stranger. Now, it is as though she has become a little kid again: like she has returned to a version of herself that was lost and terrified, choked up by the demons she hid beneath mortal flesh. Everything had happened so fast: everyone’s voices had blurred into a chaotic amalgam of noise, and nothing seemed to slow the thrash of her hummingbird heart. All of it had been compounded by the strange, sharp flavour of her drink.

The drink. That’s it. When Shenhe had wrinkled her nose after a single sip, Rosaria had explained that she was probably tasting the alcohol. The sweet flavour of valberry juice had been hiding an unusual bitterness - something completely different to the medicinal taste Shenhe was used to. This bitterness was sharp, chemical.

She had continued drinking, though, unsure whether she was doing it more out of a liking for valberries or respect for Rosaria. The drink had settled strangely within her, like a soft fire in the pits of her stomach. At first, it made her a little more confident, enough that she found herself bantering with Kaeya, as if he was one of her old friends too. He had even complimented Rosaria’s choice in company, and Shenhe had never felt so proud.

But then, she felt her inhibitions loosen further, and with them, her rigid self-control. Her body didn’t quite feel like her own anymore; it was as though cracks had appeared within her. The noise and commotion she’d been trying so hard to ignore was suddenly explosive, and her beast itched to slip through the gaps and respond to it all. It was easy enough to sit here when it was just her and the lovely, fruity drink Aether had prepared for her, but tonight, she found herself drowning in a conversation that was moving too quickly amidst an ocean of other loud patrons.

And then that man showed up, and whatever self-control Shenhe had clawed back slipped through her fingers for good. Normally threats would be enough to make someone like him back off - Shenhe would know - but this man was different. He had… laughed. Like he was enjoying it. His response had only heightened Shenhe’s confusion: what could he have possibly wanted to eat?!

Everything about the interaction kindled the blackened evil within her. The fear, the disgust, the disorientation… it was all enough to throw her over the edge, and she had really, truly hurt him.

Maybe he deserved it; after all, if her usual threats and harmless shows of strength didn’t work, what else could she possibly have done? But Shenhe didn’t care. She had sworn never to let her curse bring harm to another mortal, ever again, and yet here she was: losing control and hurting someone. She was almost as disgusted at herself as she was at him.

Now, Shenhe runs her fingers along the teeth of the comb as she tries to slow her breathing down. One, two. Cloud Retainer’s soothing voice echoes in her head. Three, four. That’s it. Calm down, child. You are alright.

The tavern door creaks open behind her, but Shenhe doesn’t look up. She stays where she is, even as heels click onto cobblestone, taking careful steps towards her.

“Shenhe?”

She finally opens her eyes, and suddenly, everything feels just a little bit clearer.

~

Rosaria
When Shenhe looks up, Rosaria’s heart breaks just a little at the expression on her face. It is like cracked porcelain: perfection, crumbling slowly to reveal a jagged darkness within. Hints of bright blue glisten in the depths of her irises - the very same colour Rosaria first laid eyes on over a decade ago, when she watched as Shenhe’s cursed reared its head.

“Are you okay?”

Shenhe shakes her head, silent. Rosaria lets out a soft sigh before moving to sit beside her, just close enough for their shoulders to brush.

“Is your curse still under control?” Her gaze rakes over Shenhe’s body; every rope is still in place, wound tightly across her shoulders and back. “Do you… need any help?”

Still, Shenhe does not speak. Rosaria stays by her side, patient, quiet. Without thinking, she places a hand on Shenhe’s back, gently rubbing circles along it. Eventually, Shenhe raises her head, and her eyes are crystalline with sadness when they meet Rosaria’s.

“Are you scared of me?” she asks, voice small.

“Scared? Of you? Ha! That’s a funny joke, Shenhe.”

“I’m serious.” Shenhe’s voice breaks. “A few night ago, you said I was dangerous, and then I - I hurt that man, and now you’re asking about my curse again–”

Rosaria squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself. She’s not drunk - she never gets drunk - but she’s had enough wine for her head to start buzzing, and that alone is making it just a little too hard to focus.

“That bastard got what was coming to him,” she says eventually, leaning closer to give Shenhe’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “In fact, I’m going to ask Kaeya to make sure he really gets his dues.” She pauses for a moment, trying to properly word her next sentence. Maybe it’s the tingling in her fingertips, but the warmth of Shenhe’s body, and the hard muscle rippling beneath her skin, are far more distracting than usual. “I asked about your curse because… I want everyone to be safe. You, as much as all of Mondstadt… well, except for that idiot back in the tavern.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Obviously not. I would’ve beaten that guy to a pulp myself if I weren’t out here with you. Besides, Shenhe…” Rosaria draws in a deep breath, dizzy with the alcohol and the scent of mountain herbs. She traces the braided ropes running across Shenhe’s back, close enough now to notice the glistening threads of reddish-gold woven into them. “Nobody else here knows about your curse. Your master isn’t here, nor are your friends–”

“But you are,” Shenhe interjects.

“Yeah. So if you can’t control it… I need to know.” Then, I can help you, and we won’t have to repeat that awful day from so many years ago.

That day, Rosaria had been the catalyst of so much pain and destruction. She remembers the anguish in Shenhe’s eyes, wreathed with blue fire, and the cracks that snaked through the soil. If that were to happen again, it would put not one, but two of the things dearest to her in danger: her newfound home, and her oldest friend.

~

Shenhe
Rosaria is close - so close.

It isn’t like when they were on horseback, and the closeness of her body was born of necessity. Out here, they could sprawl out on the ground, limbs stretched out as far as possible, and still not touch each other. And yet, Rosaria is sitting right beside her, one arm draped across her back, her hand resting comfortably on Shenhe’s shoulder.

It’s hardly the most unusual thing she’s experienced today, but Shenhe still can’t help but marvel at it. She has never seen Rosaria so relaxed; the usual tightness in her muscles, as though she is always bracing for danger, seems to have momentarily dissipated. Quietly, she wonders if this is what alcohol does for someone of an ordinary constitution. If so, she can’t blame Rosaria for frequenting the tavern as often as she does - or for being able to drink several glasses before Shenhe even finished one.

Regardless, she rather likes this new side of Rosaria. In her presence, a comfortable warmth stirs beneath Shenhe’s ropes, and although she cannot put a name to it, she knows it’s a feeling she wants to bask in.

So she does. She leans into it, into her, resting her head comfortably against Rosaria’s shoulder. When she draws in a deep breath, all she can smell are roses and smoke, sweet and bitter all at once. All she can feel is Rosaria: soft skin and hard bone, the curve of her shoulder, the warmth of her touch. It’s… grounding, and slowly, Shenhe feels her breathing slow. Almost subconsciously, she lets go of her comb, letting it rest idly in her lap. She isn’t sure how long they stay there, silent save for the sound of their breaths. For once, Shenhe doesn’t even need to count them; the rhythm comes naturally.

She’s so caught up in Rosaria that she doesn’t notice the door creak open again. It isn’t until a shadow falls over them both that Shenhe startles, shifting out of Rosaria’s embrace to look back. She finds Albedo standing behind them, a strange expression on his face.

“Are you two alright?”

Rosaria sighs, quiet enough that only Shenhe could possibly have heard it, before drawing her hand away and turning around.

“We’re fine. How’s the drunken bastard? Make sure Kaeya gives him a few good whacks on my behalf.”

Albedo smiles, shaking his head slightly. “You two really have a one-track mind. He’s handling it.”

“Good. I’d hope so.” Rosaria rummages around in a pocket, pulling out a tattered box of cigarettes. “I need a smoke, so we’ll stay out here a little longer. You two go and enjoy yourselves. Don’t worry about us.”

“Alright. As long as you’re both okay,” Albedo says, hovering for a moment longer before heading back inside.

Once the door has shut again, Rosaria flicks a match to light her cigarette. Embers crumble from its tip as she draws in a breath, holding it for a moment before exhaling in a cloud of grey.

“Why do you smoke so much?” Shenhe finds herself asking.

Rosaria raises an eyebrow, inhaling again.

“Why not? It helps calm the nerves.” When she speaks, smoke billows from between her teeth. “You wanna try some?”

“What?” Shenhe blinks, her gaze dropping to the cigarette before returning to Rosaria’s face. “…How?”

“Here, I’ll show you. Just breathe in when I breathe out, okay?”

Shenhe nods mutely, watching as Rosaria takes another drag before she leans even closer, enough that Shenhe feels like she’s swimming in an ocean of pink and maroon. Rosaria brushes one hand lightly along her jaw, tilting her head until their mouths are level. Then she breathes out, slow and careful, and Shenhe inhales the steady stream of smoke that flows from her lips.

It tastes disgusting.

No amount of respect for Rosaria could get Shenhe to keep her face level. The acrid taste of ash assaults all of her senses, bitter and fiery all at once. She coughs gracelessly, wondering how long it will take for her mouth to feel normal again.

“Don’t worry. The first time is always the hardest,” Rosaria says, patting her lightly on the back. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“I think one time is enough,” Shenhe replies hoarsely.

“Not your thing, huh?” Rosaria takes another drag, looking perfectly unbothered. “Fair enough. Like I said, it’s not for everyone.”

“It helps you, though?”

“Yep. I’d wager that if you had to work with the other Sisters day in, day out, you’d pick up the habit too.” She tsks under her breath. “I swear, you’d need the patience of a saint to deal with that lot.”

“They seemed nice enough,” Shenhe murmurs.

“Maybe to you - you’ve only met one,” Rosaria snickers. “Don’t tell me Sister Grace has already succeeded in converting you.”

“Did you really follow me around for that entire day?”

“Only during my working hours,” Rosaria replies coolly, blowing smoke into the night air.

Shenhe isn’t sure whether to be more impressed or annoyed that Rosaria managed to tail her for so long without her noticing. When she looks at Rosaria now, however, the feeling that takes over is a strange sense of softness. Rosaria holds her gaze, a tiny smirk lifting the corner of her mouth.

It feels surreal. Shenhe still can’t believe that after years of pain and anguish, friendship and betrayal, she would find herself sitting at Rosaria’s side again. That Rosaria would be looking at her like this. That in the span of a single day, they would’ve gone horseriding together, watched the sunset, and shared a cigarette. As disgusting as it tasted, Shenhe cannot get that moment out of her head, from the warmth of Rosaria’s breath to the softness of her touch. And before that, when they had been sitting so close together… Shenhe can’t remember the last time she felt so at ease without meditating.

She shuffles closer again now, leaning over to rest her head back on Rosaria’s shoulder. Rosaria seems to startle, her body momentarily tensing against Shenhe’s, but she doesn’t push her away.

~

Rosaria
“Can we sit like this again?” Shenhe asks, looking up through her lashes, and Rosaria swears she feels her own heart stop.

“…Sure. If you want to.”

“I do. I think this will help me more than the cigarette.”

Rosaria huffs out a laugh. “You sound just like Barbara.” She reaches across with her free hand, draping it over Shenhe’s shoulders again and pulling her close. “She’s all, ‘oh, Rosaria, smoking is bad for your health… prayers and friendship and smiles will solve everything!’”

Shenhe breaks into a smile. “She sounds funny.”

“That’s one way to describe her.” Rosaria takes another drag of the cigarette, swirling smoke in her mouth as she looks down at Shenhe, still resting against her side. Rosaria has never seen her like this: relaxed and comfortable, her characteristically statuesque body now softer around the edges. Even that tiny spark of iridescent blue has faded from her irises.

Love has touched another pair of beautiful souls!

Rosaria frowns as Marla’s voice materialises in her head. She knows what this looks like - they’re sitting the same way Marvin and Marla were on Starsnatch Cliff, their bodies close enough to form a single silhouette.

She shakes the thought away. Those hopeful, sun-soaked citizens of Mondstadt can believe what they’d like; they’re optimists, after all. Rosaria has never shared their penchant for romance or flights of fancy.

This is simpler than that. She is merely doing her duties as a friend, and as a protector of Mondstadt. Someone like Barbara might call her kind-hearted, or sweet - or soft, that age-old voice whispers in the back of her mind - but Rosaria knows she’s just doing what’s necessary and right.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t nice, though. She is soft - softer than she ever was before, now that life in Mondstadt has sanded down her sharpest edges. She’s soft enough to stay like this, and soft enough to let herself enjoy it, even if it’s just for a little while.

After all, her head is still ever so slightly dizzy, and Shenhe is so warm, all gentle curves and soft skin. Even beneath the stench of smoke, Rosaria can detect the fragrance of wildflowers: qingxin, valberries, and the cecilia that’s still in Shenhe’s hair.

She smiles, just a little, before butting her cigarette out on the ground. Almost instinctively, she leans over, resting her head on Shenhe’s. Shenhe exhales softly, snuggling closer into Rosaria’s shoulder.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” When Shenhe smiles, Rosaria feels it against her skin. “Thank you.”

She squeezes Shenhe’s shoulder. “You really are such a sap.”

“I am a lot of things, according to you,” Shenhe replies lightheartedly, and Rosaria has to bite back a laugh.

After all, she’s right. Shenhe is a dumbass and a sap, but above all, she is finally Rosaria’s friend again. And while Rosaria would never admit it aloud, she is soft enough to know how much that one simple word means.

Chapter Text

Roses and smoke, qingxin and cecilias.

~

Rosaria
Rosaria wakes up to the scent of qingxin and cecilias. Sunlight streams in through half-shut curtains; she squints against the glare, her head still foggy from the night before.

The room is only vaguely familiar. Rosaria pushes herself onto her elbows, at once disoriented and confused: this plush bed isn’t hers, nor are the simple desk and chair in the opposite corner. When she looks out past the rays of sunlight, she doesn’t see the church’s courtyard, nor does she feel the watchful shadow of Lord Barsibato’s statue.

She glances sidewards then, catching sight of a glass full of cecilias, and it all comes flooding back to her.

~

“Here. I’ll leave these with you.” Rosaria places the bunch of cecilia flowers on the nightstand. “You’ll probably have more use for them.”

They’re in Shenhe’s room at the inn: a tiny, modest place, simple and sparsely decorated. The cecilias add some much-needed personality to the room… and besides that, Shenhe seems to like them. She’s still wearing one in her hair, even now. Rosaria chooses not to comment on how lovely it looks on her.

“Thank you,” Shenhe murmurs. “I’ll find something to put them in.”

“A glass of water should be fine.” It isn’t as though they have many other options. “Well… I’ll be off, then. Try and get some sleep. It’ll help with the effects of the alcohol.”

She hasn’t even reached the door before she hears Shenhe draw in a sharp breath behind her.

“Wait,” she says, and there it is again: the tiniest break in her voice, the slightest crack in that porcelain façade. When Rosaria turns around, she feels an odd sense of déjà vu.

They’ve been here before. And yet… so much has changed, in so little time. It would be hard to believe, if it weren’t for the woman standing one short step away, with a cecilia flower tucked into her hair and her hands clasped nervously before her.

“I’m waiting,” Rosaria says.

“Can you stay?”

The question is quiet, almost shy in its delivery. When Shenhe meets her eyes, Rosaria swears her heart stops, just for a moment.

“Here? Tonight?”

Shenhe nods. “I don’t feel well.” One hand drifts up to her chest, and she softly massages her sternum.

Seeing her like this, the decision is not hard to make.

“Okay.” Rosaria surveys the room, her eyes landing on the desk and chair in the corner. “I’ll sit here until you fall asleep.”

“Thank you,” Shenhe murmurs, watching quietly as Rosaria angles the chair towards the bed and takes a seat. Leaning back, she crosses one leg over the other and makes herself comfortable. Eventually, she hears Shenhe’s breathing slow in the darkened room, and wonders whether or not she should go home.

~

Shenhe
As usual, Shenhe rises before the sun.

The strips of light that spill into the room are dove-grey in the early morning. Shenhe rolls over to stare at the ceiling, tracing the patterns in the wood with her eyes. She notes, with a surge of relief, that her head is clearer today, her spirit calmer. Her limbs are warm and heavy, her mind unclouded by the lingering fragments of bad dreams… in fact, she cannot even remember the last time she slept so soundly.

Slowly, she pulls herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes–

–and almost leaps out of her own skin.

A shadowy figure sits in the corner, snoring softly. Even in this dim light, Shenhe can make out the soft lines of Rosaria’s face and the gentle curl of her hair, shifting slightly with every breath.

After the initial shock has worn off, Shenhe slips quietly out of bed and sneaks over to Rosaria’s side. She looks even softer up close: her mouth hangs slightly open, the worries of her day-to-day life having eased from her face. That sharp look in her eyes - her usual scowl, the crease between her brows - has all been softened by the caress of darkness.

Shenhe considers standing there and watching her for a while longer, if only to let the image settle in her mind before she loses it again. But Rosaria looks so uncomfortable, with her body slumped awkwardly in the chair and her head tilted back to expose the slender column of her neck. Shenhe can’t leave her like that.

A nameless, delicate warmth shifts beneath her ropes when she bends to pick Rosaria up. How long has she been here?

Shenhe counts the hours in her head, swallowing back the lump in her throat. Rosaria is so soft in her arms, her head tucked against Shenhe’s chest, strands of burgundy hair falling across her face. For a moment, Shenhe just watches her breathe.

She stayed.

The thought repeats itself in her mind, over and over again. Rosaria makes a soft noise in her sleep and huddles in closer to Shenhe’s chest, where her heart is beating just a little too fast and a little too loud. She can only hope that Rosaria cannot hear it, for fear of shattering this rare, delicate moment.

Rosaria stayed, longer than she ever really needed to.

The room is suddenly stuffy, even in spite of the open window. Rosaria’s skin is slightly cool to the touch - more than it normally is, at least, and that strange warmth curls behind Shenhe’s ribs again. Rosaria put up with so much discomfort just to stay here.

No wonder I slept so well.

Gently, she carries Rosaria over to the bed, tucking her sleeping body beneath the covers until only her head is exposed. Rosaria sighs softly in her sleep; Shenhe stands there, watching her for only a moment longer, before she silently climbs out of the window.

~

Now, Shenhe sits cross-legged beneath the open sky, a crisp breeze tickling her face. She breathes in slowly, counting the seconds, the air sharp with an early morning chill.

Oddly enough, meditating has never been quite so difficult.

She has spent years training to clear her mind and calm her spirit, and yet all it takes is a single, stubborn moment to distract her. It is almost as though she never left the room at all.

Giving up, Shenhe opens her eyes to watch the scattered clouds drift past. The sun is almost fully up now, the soft pinks and oranges of the sky fading into a dazzling blue. Daybreak over Mondstadt is picturesque.

She startles when something clatters nearby, whipping around to see a pair of rosy eyes peeking over the rooftop, half obscured by messy burgundy hair and a metal crown of thorns.

“I thought I might find you here,” Rosaria says, hoisting herself onto the roof. She shuffles across to sit next to Shenhe before leaning into a long, languid stretch. “It’s far too early for this. I don’t know how you do it.”

It is simply routine now. Shenhe is accustomed to mornings like these: rising before the sun, when the air is still stiff with the midnight chill and the fading stars glisten like dewdrops. Times like this, when she meditates beneath a frosty sunrise, give her a sweet taste of home no matter where she is.

She is silent for a long moment, lost in thought. Rosaria lounges beside her, her eyes trained on the sky.

“You were right, you know,” Shenhe finally says.

“Yeah?”

“About the rooftops. It really is nice up here.” When Shenhe exhales, she watches her breath coalesce into smoke, and her thoughts drift back to the night before: to the taste of ash on her lips, the warmth at her side. To the quiet walk back to the inn when the moon was high. To the way she found Rosaria hours later, still sleeping quietly in the pre-dawn grey.

It hits her then that Rosaria hasn’t left her side once since yesterday morning.

The thought is… so warm. Shenhe massages her chest again.

“Is the alcohol still bothering you?”

Shenhe shakes her head. “I’m just thinking.”

Her mind is an endless whirlpool of silk-flower eyes and smoke, of crooked smiles, warm breath and soft touches. Every moment converges into a single shape: the silhouette of the woman sitting right by her side, her body framed by the brightening sky. In the distance, Shenhe catches sight of Barbatos’ statue, his wings like shadows blossoming from Rosaria’s back.

Rosaria has always been here.

Even when the air between them was tainted with mistrust, Rosaria was never far from her side. (The thought still stings, just the tiniest bit, but Shenhe brushes it away.) And when she needed help, Rosaria never turned her down, even after Shenhe had thrown steel-tongued insults straight at her heart. Now, she’s still here, sitting comfortably, like nothing had ever gone wrong at all.

“What are you thinking about?” Rosaria asks, one eyebrow rising ever so slightly.

There is no way Shenhe could put all her thoughts into words - not right now, when everything is flooding her mind all at once. She bites her tongue for a moment, and then–

“Does Albedo really have an evil twin?”

~

Rosaria
Rosaria can’t help it: she bursts out laughing, her early-morning fatigue momentarily forgotten. It’s too early to be awake - too early to think, to speak, to do anything - and yet somehow, being with Shenhe makes it all so much easier.

A crease appears between Shenhe’s brows. “Why are you laughing? I genuinely cannot picture it. He’s so nice.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Rosaria catches her breath. “I can’t believe that’s what’s troubling you at this unholy hour. Don’t you think the nicest people are more likely to have an evil twin? Someone already shrouded in darkness doesn’t need an evil doppelganger.”

“I suppose so.” A pause. “Did you ever meet the evil Albedo?”

“I did, actually. I tracked him halfway across Dragonspine once. Believe it or not, I ended up back in Starglow Cavern.”

“Did you get trapped again?”

“No, no, of course not. I didn’t have a raging adeptus’ disciple there to cause an avalanche, after all.” Rosaria has to stifle a smile when Shenhe huffs through her nose. “The whole cave system was much less terrifying the second time around… I guess almost dying took the fun out of it.”

“‘Fun?’” Shenhe echoes, leaning closer as the crease between her brows deepens. “Starglow Cavern was not fun.”

“Wasn’t it?” Rosaria counters. “I got to spend the day watching you be stupid instead of trailing after the bandits. That’s pretty fun.”

“You have a strange definition of fun.”

Rosaria snickers, half to herself. A week ago, Shenhe would’ve pointed a spear at her throat for calling her stupid; today, she hardly seems to mind.

“So do you. I don’t suppose you come up here at the ass-crack of dawn because you think it’s boring?”

“Hardly. But…” the look in Shenhe’s eyes is suddenly earnest, and Rosaria struggles not to tear her gaze away. “It is much more fun with you here.”

Rosaria swallows thickly, wondering whether she’d startle awake if she pinched herself hard enough. If this is a dream, then…

It might be the most pleasant dream she’s ever had.

~

Much to Rosaria’s disbelief, the pleasant dream continues. Nowadays, she finds herself spending her free time in that tiny room at the inn more often than not. She and Shenhe don’t ever do very much; they talk, filling each other in on the long years they spent apart, and sometimes Shenhe will meditate. Rosaria often watches her in silence, intrigued by the way a blanket of tranquillity seems to wrap itself around her. In those still moments, Shenhe looks more statuesque than ever, ethereal and unreal. The only thing giving away her mortality is the soft rise and fall of her chest. Oftentimes, the silence will take Rosaria in its downy arms, and she too will close her eyes, forgetting for a moment the burdens of her work and those long, sleepless nights.

Today, though, she is rummaging through the sturdy chest of drawers on one side of the room. Once again, she is here to kill time - never before has she found a place quite so undetectable by the other Sisters - but instead of sitting around, curiosity about Shenhe’s life has gotten the better of her. It was sparked by the small, aged photograph sitting atop the cabinets, one edge lifting in the slightest curl.

“That was my home village,” Shenhe had said, when she’d picked it up.

It’s a beautiful photo. Colourful plants trail from the eaves of buildings; beneath them, the cobbled pathways are bustling and alive, populated by villagers with smiles bright beneath the sunshine. When the old Liyuean architecture brings Rosaria too close to a childhood journey through Jueyun Karst, she returns the photo to its place on the cabinets.

Now, she is holding a dagger, which she has carefully pulled out of the topmost drawer. It is quite possibly the most beautiful knife she has ever laid eyes on: delicate symbols have been carved into the hilt, gleaming in summer shades of white and gold. It has evidently been years since the blade was last sharpened, but the weapon is otherwise in immaculate condition. It is a far cry from the daggers Rosaria was forced to handle as a child.

“This is beautiful,” she says, turning the weapon over in her hands. Sunlight catches the gilded symbols, spraying spots of golden light onto the nearby wall. “What’s it for?”

“It’s an exorcist’s dagger. It was my mother’s,” Shenhe replies. “I haven’t fought with it for many years now, but… I like to keep it close.”

“You’re not one for knife-fights either then, huh?”

“No.” Shenhe shakes her head, and a quiet understanding seems to pass between them. “I never quite acclimated to it.”

“Mm.” The air feels suddenly heavy, and Rosaria returns the dagger to the chest of drawers. “Neither did I.”

The silence hangs for a moment before Shenhe reaches up and removes her ornate headpiece. Gently, she places it in Rosaria’s palm, and their hands brush for a split second. Shenhe’s fingers are cold, her touch delicate and light, betraying none of the strength that lies beneath her skin.

“I keep this comb with me, too,” she says, by way of explanation. “It was a gift from my master.”

“A comb–? Oh. It is a comb.” Rosaria runs a finger along the bristles, each one smooth and stiff beneath her touch. It has clearly been fashioned, with impeccable handiwork, from some of the finest stone - jade, if she is not mistaken. A treasure like this could’ve fed the bandit gang for weeks, if not months.

Still, it looks far better where it belongs: adorning Shenhe’s hair, where it catches the moonlight as she runs along the rooftops at Rosaria’s side.

“My master made some adjustments to it before I left the mountains,” Shenhe admits. “But yes, it was originally an ordinary comb. Or– perhaps ‘ordinary’ isn’t the correct word.”

“Wait a second. Is this the comb that turned your hair white?”

Shenhe nods, and it is with a start that Rosaria realises how many years have passed since she first heard that story.

They were just kids, back then, bathing in starlight and whispered secrets, their hushed voices echoing in hidden tunnels and forest clearings. In a childhood wreathed in shadows and blood, Rosaria had found a beacon of white-haired light: someone whose spirit shone like the stars they gazed upon together. Someone who understood the aching hurt and bitter cold of an ordinary childhood ripped away too soon, but who pressed on regardless, reaching for a brighter future.

It’s a future they’ve both found. How strange it is, though, for Rosaria to be catching up on Shenhe’s story so long after the fact. She remembers Shenhe’s master as a terrifying beast, all glinting animal eyes and razor-sharp talons; she remembers the air of mystery with which Shenhe spoke of her. But now, it is easy to see how decades of guidance and care have shaped Shenhe, granting her the strength to return to the world from which her childhood self had been so abruptly cast away.

“You know,” Rosaria says, carefully studying Shenhe’s face, “I can’t quite picture you with black hair.”

“Really?”

“Nah. This feels much more like you.” She reaches out, lightly brushing one hand through the moonstone strands near Shenhe’s face, their colour symbolic of the life she fought so hard to make for herself. “I’ve always known you like this.” Someone who looks like starlight, and dewdrops in the early morning. Someone who smells like the mountain air, or fresh snow over the cliffs.

Someone who understands me.

It’s a thought she can’t bring herself to voice aloud, so she turns away again, returning her attention to that simple chest of drawers.

~

“So, you and Shenhe, huh?”

Even with half of his face obscured, Kaeya’s expression is unmistakable.

Rosaria offers him a withering glare. “What about us?”

“A little birdie tells me you two are… perhaps more closely involved than I realised.” He leans closer conspiratorially, his grin widening behind the rim of his glass. “Multiple little birdies, actually.”

Rosaria’s frown deepens into a scowl of its own accord. “Whoever they are, your ‘birdies’ are hopelessly misinformed.”

“Are they, though? One told me you never returned to your quarters after we went out for drinks. I can’t help but wonder where else you ended up…”

“Archons above. You must be desperate for gossip, if you went to Barbara of all people.”

“Hardly - in fact, she came to me. Said you weren’t in your quarters, even though you promised her you’d show up for morning prayers.” Kaeya sighs in faux disappointment. “Oh, Rosi, you should learn to stop making promises you can’t keep.”

“I did keep it,” Rosaria corrects him flatly. “I showed up for the last five minutes.”

Kaeya’s grin is positively wicked. “And how did you spend the rest of that time?”

“Minding my own business. You could learn a thing or two.”

“This is my business. How quickly you forget that you left me to go cuddle with her on the sidewalk… as your longtime drinking partner, I can’t help but feel a little put-off.” Kaeya fakes a pout, dramatically bringing one hand to his chest.

“Cuddling on the– oh, archons, never mind.” Rosaria lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You lot are hopeless. Besides, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She had offered for Shenhe to come along, but Shenhe - perhaps still shaken by their last night in the tavern - had turned her down, saying she planned to write a letter home instead.

“It’s a miracle, really,” Kaeya says. “I’m surprised you haven’t taken her gallivanting around the wilderness on horseback again.”

“Just how many people have you talked to?!”

“You know me, Rosi, I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.”

That much is true, she supposes. But his fantastical conclusions, on the other hand, couldn’t be further from the truth.

Labels are meaningless to someone like Rosaria. A “mentor” is supposed to be a kindly teacher, or a guide; hers was anything but. In some respects, she has one “father”, like most children; in others, she has half a dozen. A “sister” should be a member of one’s family, but the other Sisters are merely colleagues - and hardly even that, considering her long record of truancy.

And a “lover”?

Rosaria stares pensively into her glass, watching her own reflection ripple in the amber liquid.

That word, lover, is a thing so sweet and shiny that it could never belong to her. She has not known love since she was snatched from its embrace so many years ago, when fires ripped through her home village, washing the sky with blood. Over the years, she has come to understand her own softness, but love is a concept still buried deep, far beyond her reach. It is a word that glitters in shades of pink and gold, as bright as sunlight - something beautiful, dazzling and warm. For a child of darkness, it is enough to simply stand alongside those that bask in the light, and to feel its warmth from a careful distance. She isn’t sure she could get closer than that.

“Look, Kaeya. I don’t care what it looks like. You’ve got it all backwards.” She takes a long, slow sip of her drink, contemplating what to say next. “Maybe it is different with her. But not in the way you think.”

“Then what is it? That might’ve been the first time I’ve seen you run from a fight,” Kaeya points out. “You wouldn’t do that for just anyone.”

She levels him with a glare.

“Let me finish,” she snaps. “We’re friends - old friends. I’ve known her longer than anyone else. You of all people should know what that means.”

Kaeya stays silent, thoughtful.

“And besides,” she continues, when it becomes clear that, for once, he has nothing to add, “even if I did like her that way, it wouldn’t mean anything. You know that.” She glances sidewards at a couple sharing drinks in the corner of the tavern; in the back of her mind, she pictures Marvin and Marla, a single silhouette against the setting sun. “I don’t do all that mushy shit.”

Deep down, she knows how Kaeya - and all of his sources - reached the conclusion that they did. Unlike the bandits, people here love their labels: they wear them proudly, as Knights or as Sisters, or even as Cavalry Captains with a shocking lack of cavalry. Their interpersonal bonds are labelled just as carefully: parents and children, husbands and wives, friends and lovers, accomplices and enemies. She can observe them all she likes, but Rosaria has no way of knowing how she fits into all of their boxes - in fact, she chafes at the rigidity.

“Alright then, Sister, I relent. After all these years, you’d think I’d realise you’re not one for feelings.” He leans on his elbow, offering her a devious grin. “I should know better than anyone - you just like the things you can touch.”

She shoves him good-naturedly. “Is this your way of asking if I’m free later tonight?”

Kaeya’s grin widens. “Is this your way of offering?”

~

Shenhe
“Well fought.” Rosaria tosses her spear aside, and it disappears in sparks of golden light. “I could get used to this, you know.”

“Used to… the fighting?” Shenhe wrinkles her nose, perplexed. “Are you not already familiar with it?”

“No, stupid, I mean working with you.” Rosaria isn’t looking at Shenhe now - rather, she’s examining the bloodstains on her gloves - but Shenhe can still see the corners of her lips, lifting in a tiny smile. “What was it that you said to the masked thief?”

“‘One more word and I’ll pull your esophagus through your backside?’”

“Yes! That’s it.” Rosaria’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “Would you really?”

“I could.” A pause; Shenhe thinks back to a few unfortunate encounters with some hilichurls, which aren’t a particularly different case. “Mortal bodies are hardly difficult to rearrange.”

“And you wonder why I was so suspicious of you when you first came here.”

“I will only rearrange the mortals you give me permission to.”

“Ooh, how obedient.” Rosaria flashes that signature crooked grin. “See, this is why I like y– working with you. You’re efficient.”

“I like working with you too,” Shenhe says, and she means it. There’s something comforting about Rosaria’s company, even when they’re slaying thieves and bandits under the cover of moonlight. In many ways, it reminds her of the fight against Beisht - the fight that changed her life forever. She can still feel the black smoke and blue fire burning beneath her ropes, but it is controlled, the reins steady in her hands. Power rushes through her veins, deadly but not dangerous; in fact, it’s helpful, as Rosaria has told her time and time again. After all, Shenhe knows by now that she is the only person Rosaria has consistently worked alongside.

“I’ve encountered others in this line of work,” she had said one night, on their way to the rooftops. “But it’s always chance. Two hunters after the same bit of prey.” A pause. “Ever heard of the Darknight Hero?”

She had told the story then and there, of a masked man in a night-black cloak, at once surveilling and defending Mondstadt behind a shield of anonymity. He’s somewhat of a folk legend now, but Rosaria has met him once or twice.

He sounds fascinating, but not as fascinating as Rosaria herself, whose very existence fills Shenhe with such intrigue she thinks she could get drunk off of it - in which case she’d thankfully never need to touch another drop of alcohol again. Rosaria is so unpredictable, like a mechanical component that doesn’t quite fit anywhere, and yet somehow fits everywhere at once. And despite this, or perhaps because of it, her presence has been nothing but steadying for Shenhe over the past week or so. It’s not unlike the gentle echo of Cloud Retainer’s voice, guiding Shenhe through a meditation, or Aether’s dazzling spirit, as bright as sunshine.

If Aether is the sun, then Rosaria is the moon - a light that is cold and distant, yet watches lovingly over everything all the same. In her company, Shenhe feels not only anchored but alive, like the black smoke could run through every vein and still not take over.

“Alright, I guess we’re done here,” Rosaria says, hiding a yawn behind one hand. “I’d better head back to the church. I just know Barbara’s going to come knocking at some ungodly hour again.”

An idea occurs to Shenhe then, and she blurts it out before she can even stop to consider it.

“Why don’t you stay with me?”

“What?”

“If you want some peace,” Shenhe clarifies, “come and stay at the inn with me.”

“In what bed? Last I checked, your room could barely house one.”

“I am aware. I can sleep on the floor.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’s slept in uncomfortable conditions.

“No, Shenhe, I’m not making you sleep on the floor–”

“It is alright,” Shenhe assures her. “I am used to it. I will meditate.”

One of Rosaria’s eyebrows inches ever closer to her hairline.

“If that’s a part of your training regimen, then that’s fucked up,” she says. “And that’s coming from me, which is saying something.”

“It strengthens the spirit,” Shenhe starts to explain, but Rosaria hushes her with a finger on her lips. Shenhe can smell the iron tang of blood, still fresh on her gloves.

“Frankly, your spirit is strong enough already,” she says, stepping back to gesture at the carnage around them. “Besides, last I checked, you weren’t here for training. So no, I’m not letting you sleep on the floor. You’re obedient, not a dog.”

“Then shall we try and fit on the bed?” Shenhe offers. She’s not sure why she says it - the bed is so tiny, squeezing into it could easily be less comfortable than sleeping on the floor - but something within her, that part she cannot quite name, doesn’t want Rosaria to leave. Not yet.

It’s peculiar. Shenhe is used to solitude; there has been many a day where she relaxes into the embrace of the mountain winds, listening to the birdsong through the trees. Cloud Retainer has always watched over her, but it has never stopped her from exploring the wilderness on her own, discovering hidden tunnels and the perfect vantage points from which to watch the sunrise.

Yet now, despite already spending several hours a day at Rosaria’s side, the last thing Shenhe wants her to do is leave. The moon is high, and the scent of blood is heavy in the air; realistically, Shenhe should go back to the inn, clean up, and crawl straight into bed. Even so, that part of her, that unnameable, incomprehensible part of her, wants anything but.

Rosaria doesn’t leave her much choice.

“This is stupid,” she says, waving the idea away like it’s a bad smell. “I’ve got work to get ready for, and you’ve got a bed to sleep in. I’m going back to the cathedral. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Shenhe nods, finally relenting.

“See you tomorrow.”

~

Once again, Shenhe rises before the sun.

Traces of the night before litter her flesh - a bruise here, a cut there, the tiniest ache still humming beneath her skin. It’s a dull pain, easily ignored, easily hidden behind the magic woven into her ropes. At any rate, she’s having an easier time than her opponents, whose digestive tracts may well be functioning in reverse.

A tinge of fatigue tugs at her when she sits up, turning her hands to the sky in a long stretch. Shenhe ignores it; Rosaria will only be asleep for a few more hours.

It is time to get to work.

She meditates first, centreing her spirit and counting breaths of cool morning air until she feels sufficiently awake. Her trip through the markets is quick, her journey concluding the moment she sees a Liyuean vendor and a cart full of familiar ingredients.

The work is not unfamiliar, per se, but it is still foreign enough that Shenhe takes it slowly. Each cut is deliberate, each step perfectly timed. In the back of her mind, she replays afternoons spent with her friends and family. The noodles cook for as long as Yuewen said they should. She flips eggs the same way Ningguang does. And when Shenhe cuts the mushrooms, she does it with the same finesse as one of Cloud Retainer’s many culinary machines.

By the time she returns to the rooftops, the sun has risen, washing Mondstadt in its golden light. Shenhe tilts her face towards it, drinking in its warmth and tasting freedom in the gentle breeze.

The cathedral is not hard to find. Shenhe leaps gracefully back onto the ground, trailing around Barbatos’ statue before wandering up the building’s front steps, where she passes several women bustling by in habits and long dresses. It is still endlessly entertaining to think of Rosaria, with her bloodied gloves and torn-up veil, being a part of their ranks.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sor— ah, I mean, hello,” a voice stammers, and Shenhe looks down to see a young woman with bouncy blonde pigtails, having stopped just short of running into her. “Welcome to the Church of Favonius. I don’t believe we’ve met… I am the Deaconess, Barbara. Can I be of assistance this morning?”

We meet at last. Shenhe looks her up and down, pleased to finally be able to put a face to Rosaria’s many stories.

“My name is Shenhe,” she says. “I am looking for Sister Rosaria.”

“Oh, you must be her friend,” Barbara says, and her smile is suddenly dazzling. “She’ll still be in her quarters at this hour. I’ll show you the way.”

Shenhe follows her through winding hallways and up spiral staircases until they finally stop at a nondescript wooden door, tucked away in some distant wing of the cathedral. Barbara dips her head politely, murmuring a blessing before she departs, and Shenhe is left alone in the long hallway.

It is only then that she hears the singing.

The voice comes through the door before her: something rough around the edges, hard and sweet all at once. The notes rise and fall as gently as the breeze outside, thoughtless, free. Even as the steam dissipates from the tray in her hands, Shenhe doesn’t knock on the door.

Would I get to hear you sing?

Of course not. I don’t sing.

Liar, Shenhe thinks, making no move to stop the smile that is creeping onto her face. Despite listening to it through a closed door, she feels lulled by Rosaria’s voice: it has none of the power or grandeur of Yun Jin’s opera, but somehow, it’s just as sweet.

It could be hours, or seconds, before Shenhe finally raises a hand to knock. Much to her chagrin, the singing immediately ceases.

“I’m already up, Barbara,” Rosaria grumbles, the door remaining firmly shut. “You can get off my back.”

“I’m not Barbara,” Shenhe replies.

A moment of silence follows before the door creaks open, and Shenhe almost drops her tray of noodles.

Rosaria stands shamelessly in the doorway in a state of half-dress, one hand on the wooden frame and the other running through unkempt hair. She offers Shenhe a crooked smile.

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bit of an inconvenient time,” she says, tugging at the waistband of her stockings. “How’d you even know where to find me? And what’s this?”

She gestures at the noodles, so Shenhe holds the tray out in between them, letting the rising steam cover Rosaria’s exposed torso. She’s wearing little more than a nondescript white bra, and it shouldn’t bring that strange and delicate warmth back to life, but it does. Shenhe casts her gaze to the floor.

“...Noodles,” she manages. “I made them myself. Barbara told me where to find you.”

“Of course she did. She’s been talking too much lately, that one.” When Rosaria rolls her eyes, it is not without its fair share of fondness. She steps aside, gesturing inwards. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”

Shenhe steps across the threshold, placing the noodles on Rosaria’s dining table before looking around. The room is simple, small and nondescript; if it weren’t for the ripped-up habit hanging from a coat rack, the unmade bed and the open pack of cigarettes on the table, the space would hardly look lived-in.

Over by the bed, Rosaria is tugging on an oversized shirt, and for a moment Shenhe catches sight of the rippling muscles of her back, normally hidden behind her draping veil. That strange, nameless feeling grows stronger, flickering deep within her, bright and warm and yet so incomprehensible. For a moment she is terrified her beast has awoken again - it shouldn’t, not anymore, not in quiet moments like this - but when she looks away, taking a moment to steady her breathing, she realises that this feeling, as strong as it has become, is completely different.

If her beast is black smoke and blue fire - intense, unyielding, dangerous - then this is the sky breaking through after a storm. This is springtime rain, when the last tender rays of sunlight through the clouds turn the mountainside into a mosaic of colourful glass. This is the first fall of snow on Mount Aocang; it’s the breeze through flame-red trees, reaching forward, reaching out, wanting–

Wanting what? Shenhe has everything she wants already: she has her adeptus family in Jueyun Karst, and her mortal friends and relatives in Liyue Harbour. She has Aether and Paimon, who helped her find courage she didn’t know she had. And now, she even has Rosaria, a fragment from her childhood that she never thought she would be able to piece back into her life.

Rosaria, the very woman who stands before her now, with her shirt slipping loosely off one shoulder and her hair falling in gentle waves past her face. She holds Shenhe’s gaze, careful and contemplative, stopping only to blow unkempt bangs out of her eyes.

“You alright there?” she asks, once the silence has become awkward, and Shenhe has returned to looking at the floor. “You can sit down, you know. I’ll pull up another chair.”

Much like the room at the inn, this truly is a space designed for one person. Shenhe takes a seat at the little table, waiting until Rosaria joins her and the smell of cigarette smoke and roses takes over her senses. She watches, silent, as Rosaria leans down and inhales deeply, drinking in the rich, warm aroma of the noodles.

“Wow,” she murmurs, a delighted noise escaping from the back of her throat as she takes a bite. “These are great. Is this your mother’s recipe?”

“No… not exactly.” Shenhe stirs the broth around in her own bowl, disturbing the sliced mushrooms she so carefully arranged beneath a heart-shaped egg. That strange sensation curls in her chest again, warm and delicate. “It’s the closest I could get to it, though.”

She knows, by now, that she will never taste her mother’s noodles again. It is a wound she has carried since childhood, and yet… as time has moved forward, its weight on her soul has lightened. The dish before her, though different to the one from her long-buried past, still harbours her mother’s memory - and so much more now, beyond even that.

~

Rosaria
It’s fascinating, really, how Rosaria can still be surprised by how much Shenhe has grown, despite spending almost two weeks in her company.

The woman who sits beside her now is like every version of Shenhe she’d met in the past combined. There’s the softness of her childhood self: the one who rested in quiet reminiscence, who preserved memory in tiny stone sculptures. The girl whose eyes were filled with mortal sorrow.

Then, there’s the coldness of a teenage Shenhe, who had shed her human warmth to become as sharp and rigid as the deadliest blade. Like her elusive master, she was distant, ethereal, a figure more akin to poised porcelain than human flesh.

Now, Rosaria looks upon a woman like the snowfall on Dragonspine: elegant and deadly, beautiful and gentle all at once.

No, she thinks, staring at Shenhe a little longer. That’s not right.

The snow on Dragonspine is frigid and cold. Shenhe is no crackling bonfire, but she is warmer now, like the red of her ropes has seeped through her skin. Like she felt the kiss of life and leaned into it.

She looks up from her noodles then, catching Rosaria staring. Those eyes like condensed starlight widen ever so slightly, childlike and curious.

“Are you alright?” Shenhe asks through a mouthful of food. “Is it not suited to your palate?”

Rosaria shakes her head, a little too quickly. “No, no, the noodles are amazing. I’m just thinking.”

They seem to do this a lot.

“What about?”

“Well… this.” Rosaria stirs the soup around a little. “You didn’t have to do all this, you know. Not that I’m complaining, of course, since you’ve saved me a trip to the kitchen.”

“I missed you,” Shenhe says immediately, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, before returning to her noodles.

Rosaria lets out a slow breath, her heart feeling too big for her chest.

“You saw me just last night, though,” she manages.

“I know. And I wanted to see you again,” Shenhe replies. “The inn is rather boring without your company.” She looks up then, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Was I not supposed to?”

“It’s fine. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

Shenhe nods, visibly relaxing. Rosaria watches her for a little longer as she continues to eat.

This woman… Rosaria wonders if she’ll ever stop being fascinated by her. Even after stepping along the ghosts of their own footprints in Dragonspine, where she’d accepted that Shenhe was nothing more than a part of her past - a beautiful part, sure, but a part she never expected to hold again - all it took was a glance for it to all come rushing back. Visions of snow-white hair, scarlet ropes… distractions.

The Shenhe that first arrived in Mondstadt was… just another job, really. As much as she wished Shenhe well, Rosaria had assumed a bright path as an adeptus’ disciple would lead her anywhere but Mondstadt. The beauty, the danger that she embodied was never supposed to come here.

But it has, and now Shenhe has become so much more than a mere distraction. She has transformed from a bright spark in a crimson childhood to the woman who fights at Rosaria’s side and brings her freshly-cooked meals in the morning. For once, she doesn’t have to do any of this alone.

The thought leaves her feeling… strange, and warm, but perhaps it’s just the noodles. The broth is delicious and still steaming-hot, as though Shenhe had sprinted across the rooftops to get here (and maybe she had; Rosaria wouldn’t be surprised).

“You should eat,” Shenhe says gently. “They’ll get cold.”

“Right, of course.” Rosaria slurps up a mouthful of noodles, hoping that it hides the smile she simply cannot fight.

~

Shenhe
Shenhe stands at the foot of Barbatos’ statue, watching as rays of sunlight stream between his outstretched fingers. If she stays still enough, she thinks she might be able to see his feathered wings shifting in the wind.

Rosaria is busy today, caught up in “some boring church shit” that Sister Victoria wouldn’t let her get out of.

“You know,” she had said, looking more than a little annoyed, “she once sent Barbara all the way out to Dragonspine to try and drag me back for some menial crap.”

“Dragonspine again? Do you work there often?”

“Occasionally,” Rosaria had replied, casually shrugging one shoulder, and that was that.

Now, Shenhe is standing in the courtyard outside the cathedral, wondering where Mondstadt’s gentle breezes might take her. She had hoped the other Sisters might let her sit in on the event, but it ended up being Rosaria who barred her from attending, insisting that it would be “stuffy, boring, and a complete waste of your time.”

“It’s not a waste,” Shenhe had argued. “I’ll be with you.”

Rosaria’s expression had flickered, ever so slightly, quickly enough that Shenhe couldn’t quite catch it.

“I’m sure you can find better things to do,” she’d said, shoo-ing Shenhe away from the church before disappearing inside its gilded doors.

Shenhe ponders whether it might have been worthwhile to tell Rosaria that she has already heard her sing, and that hers is a voice that Shenhe would rather like to hear again. Besides, she still hasn’t heard a choir perform yet, and until she has, how can she possibly say she has experienced everything Mondstadt has to offer?

“Shenhe! Fancy seeing you out here.” A voice snaps Shenhe out of her thoughts, and she whirls around to meet a single, bright blue eye. “And without Rosaria, too? Well, now I’ve seen everything.”

“Kaeya.” She greets him with a cordial nod. “Rosaria is attending to her church duties today.”

“And you? I don’t suppose you’ve decided to become a devoted follower of our Lord Barbatos in her absence?” He grins. “I can’t say she’d be too pleased with that.”

Shenhe smiles, despite herself. “Hardly - I am simply admiring the craftsmanship. Truthfully, I have little else to do.” Time alone in Mondstadt has been so rare that she isn’t quite sure how to occupy herself without company. Back home, it would be so easy - but here, things are still too unfamiliar.

“Oh? Well, you’re in luck, then,” he says. “I’ve got just the thing. Another friend of mine is rather unoccupied today… I’m sure you can help each other out.”

He leads her to a large, heavily guarded building near the city’s centre. The knights stationed outside greet them both with respectful nods, acknowledging Kaeya as “Captain” as he leads Shenhe inside.

“Welcome to the Knights of Favonius’ headquarters,” he says with a flourish, gesturing outwards at the rows of doors lining the chequered marble floors. “Much nicer than the church, don’t you think?”

The Favonius Cathedral is far grander, a building so beautiful and ornate that it could take anyone’s breath away, but Shenhe doesn’t tell him that - she doesn’t get a chance to, anyways, because he has already started towards a side door, which he gently pushes open. Shenhe wanders in after him, and the sight that greets her is almost as marvellous as the cathedral.

She is surrounded by books. Bookshelves stretch from floor to ceiling; paperbacks and hardcovers alike cover every available surface, as though there is simply not enough room to contain them all. It is almost impressive enough to rival her own master’s collection.

“Kaeya! My, what a pleasant surprise,” an unfamiliar voice says from one corner of the room. Shenhe hears a chair scrape along the wooden floor, and she looks over in time to see a woman in a wide-brimmed purple hat striding towards them. “And who’s this cutie?”

She reaches up to tap the tip of Shenhe’s nose, and she’s close enough that Shenhe can see every vivid green fleck in her eyes and smell the sweet, powdery scent of her floral perfume. Shenhe hesitates; is everyone in Mondstadt so forward?

“Name’s Shenhe,” Kaeya says, clapping her lightly on the shoulder. “She’s a friend of Rosaria’s, believe it or not. Shenhe, this is Lisa, our head librarian.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, cutie,” Lisa says, smiling.

Shenhe wants to ask what she means by finally, but Kaeya interrupts before she can get a word in.

“Rosi’s caught up in some work today,” he says, “so I figured you could do a bit of your own, and show Shenhe around the library? Give her a few books to check out, you know the drill.”

“Ah, yes - if you’re looking for a cure for boredom, then you’ve come to the right place.” Lisa gestures out at the endless shelves, but her glittering eyes never leave Shenhe’s face. “I have the perfect remedy.”