[ he taps his boot against the floor, too softly to be heard. around him, men of circumstance speak of things lacking circumstance: they've long since finished discussion of crop yields, trade routes, and fluctuating prices, and have now moved on to politics and prospecting. a lifetime ago, diluc ragnvindr had been raised to navigate such conversation with ease. in his current state, he uses those skills to apply as little of himself as possible without appearing to be an ungracious host.
he would have sent elzer to this meeting on any other occasion, but this meeting was set up for more than economic communion; several of these merchants-turned-aristocrats have ties to the fatui, and one had openly spoken of claiming land upon notorious leylines. unlike the winds of monstadt, the way money flows through teyvat has little to do with freedom. men like these, who wear their corruption like a glassy vision upon a belt - as something to boast about - are invaluable sources of information, especially when their blood runs rich with dandelion wine.
diluc comes away from the meeting six hours later with a belly full of grape juice and a headache storming upon his brow. nonetheless, it had been an evening well spent. he'd needed information before he'd deign to reach out to the damned knights of favonius, and he's been given more than he needs. now, as to actually making contact --
--
two days later, diluc slips out from his rooms into an unseasonably balmy night. pyro burns within him always, elevating his core body temperature, wicking the sweat from his skin. even before he'd been blessed by the gods, he'd preferred the cold.
it means that he's already nursing an ill temper by the time he arrives at the ruin where he'd agreed to meet his favonius contact.
the only one he'd be able to use in a situation like this. to go to official channels would spark a maelstrom beyond which diluc's ready to tie the ragnvindr name. so he ties his tongue in a knot, steels himself, and reaches out to kaeya. to speak within the city of song and drink would be folly: wagging tongues spread rumors faster than they can be contained, and the knights have a poor reputation at containing anything.
so here he is, meandering at the entrance of the ruin, greatsword in hand. the night blooms around him, the smell of sweetflowers heady in the air; the moon peers out from its shroud of clouds to pool its quiet light across the earth. a clear, clean night, the perfect sort for taking down a camp of abyssals or fatui. he could be cleaving great furrows of destruction into an enemy fortification now, instead of showing up too early to a meeting that he'd been uncertain about organizing in the first place.
diluc leans back against the stone archway leading into the ruin, crossing his arms over his chest. even dressed all in black, he stands out against the muddled stone.
well, nothing to be done now. if kaeya has any sense, he won't make him wait too long. ]
[the request—which is, quite honestly, more of a demand—comes across kaeya's desk so early in the morning that there is little doubt as to its origin. even jean allows kaeya a grace period, of sorts—and her messages are never so succinct as to be rude. captain kaeya is well-respected, well-liked, by both his fellow knights and the people he's tasked to protect; only those whose plans kaeya all-too-frequently foils wish him anything but the best.
and then, of course, there is diluc.
which is not to say that diluc wishes him ill, per se, but—well. everything that was once so easy between them is now so difficult; each interaction is akin to stepping up to some deep, dark pit, toes hanging over its edge even as they do their best to ignore it entirely. what good would it do, acknowledging all that is contained within? what would be the point?
so: this, then. diluc, sending a summons; kaeya, offering the sort of wishy-washy response he knows diluc finds irritating—and that belies his own interest. it isn't every day that diluc reaches out to him. something interesting is going on, kaeya is sure, and thus kaeya spends the next two days ignoring the stacks of paperwork growing ever higher in his office in favor of making his rounds. he has friends ("friends") in low, low places; it's amazing, really, what one can learn from them after sharing a few drinks.
but armed as kaeya is, as he approaches their agreed-upon meeting place near the agreed-upon time, there remains some degree of uncertainty. possessing pieces of a puzzle does not guarantee they will neatly fit together? especially not for this puzzle. certain things add up; certain things do not...
...which makes this fun, hence kaeya's good mood as he all but saunters into view. more fun things: the warm, still night air, perfectly comfortable for someone possessing a cryo vision. the light of the moon overhead. the sight of diluc standing in the shadows, obviously less than pleased with the world at large. let it be known that kaeya isn't late so much as kaeya is on time—but as kaeya knows the way diluc's mind works, more or less, kaeya spreads his arms, offering his grumpy counterpart an easy smile.]
Lovely night, wouldn't you say? [he would not, as kaeya well knows.] The perfect weather for a walk. You chose well, Master Diluc.
[reminding diluc that he only has himself to blame for his current suffering! just, you know. kaeya things™.]
[ sweat pricks over his skin, his heavy clothing only worsening the problem. he can feel it slicking his throat, pooling in his clavicle. the oppressive heat had been less noticeable when he'd been in motion, the scant breeze flickering over him, but now, in what feels like an interminable wait - even his own fire, burning at the hearth within, mewls like a defanged beast. unwilling to roar.
the countryside, too, should have been swept up in the archon's winds, never succumbing to the worst extremes of the seasons. perhaps the loss of barbatos' gnosis is to blame for diluc's current ill temper.
but he's not thinking about venti when kaeya makes his approach, exuding cheer. it's the sort of cheer he wears in the tavern when diluc has the misfortune of tending bar; the one that feels like it was engineered solely to irritate. diluc glares, knowing full well that the effect must be dampened by the locks of hair sticking to his temples. nonetheless, a blunted glare is better than no glare at all.
kaeya, of course, looks as if the winds have always blown in his favor. as fresh as a newly-cut daisy, ready for the master's table.
diluc turns sharply from him, gesturing towards the entrance to the ruin with a curt - ]
[diluc's glares have long since lost their effectiveness; kaeya remains unruffled as he draws closer, as diluc makes a point of turning away from him as quickly as possible. ah, well. it isn't as though kaeya expected a warm welcome—and thus kaeya hums, equal parts amused and indulgent, as he shifts his attention to this ruin. time to find more pieces of this puzzle! to delve into that which is familiar, yet unknown.
but first—]
Have I? If I'd only known you were so eager to see me...
[just another needling thing to leave hanging between them—is it my fault you arrived well before you needed to?—before he presses forward, pressing a hand to cool stone. a brief flash of light; a shudder as ancient mechanisms awaken, cracking open doors far too heavy for two idiots to even dream of moving. handy. kaeya, as ever, takes a second to appreciate the handiwork—and then slips into the darkness, casting a brief glance back diluc's way in the process.]
Expecting trouble?
[aside from the usual variety, he means—though the entrance is clear; kaeya takes a few steps forward, listening while allowing his eye to adjust to the dim light offered by the blue moss growing along the wall.]
[ diluc's answer to the goading is a loquacious grunt.
the cool darkness of the ruin is a balm to his rising temper, at least. the circular chamber they stand in now is clearly well-known to him; he steps further into it, kneeling to remove a loose stone in the floor. below it lies a hollow just long and wide enough to hide a leather satchel, encasing something that emits a sulphurous glow, visible through the crude stitching holding the bag together. ]
Further in, though I have no need of your help to take care of it.
[ he says softly, once he straightens. it might have come off as a taunt, and perhaps he means it as one, but he speaks without inflection, without even glancing in kaeya's way. it's easier this way. when he thinks about the role he's playing tonight, protector of a precious thing, not of the difficulty he has in shaping words that might fly true. he's always been better at letting his flames speak for him. ]
A Fatui invention. Still being researched.
[ he tips a small yellow bauble out of the bag, careful not to touch it. it's encased in a fine chrysalis of glass, cracking at the edges. without the sheathe of leather to shroud the glow, it pulses like a heartbeat. ]
It's meant to target Vision users. Upon touching it, the effects are not immediate, nor are they long-lasting, but eventually it loosens control and inhibitions both, all the while exacerbating power. If you were to touch it, you might engulf the entirety of this chamber in ice, freezing yourself to death in the process.
[ he does not explain how he knows this, nor how such a thing came into his possession. kaeya can draw his own conclusions. ]
Widespread use is not yet of concern, at least. The effects are limited to this ruin.
[it's fun to rile diluc up? or to attempt to, anyway. an unfortunate and unavoidable side effect of kaeya's good mood—but kaeya recognizes that he's pushing his luck, given that which diluc currently knows and that which he currently does not. it's diluc with the advantage, here; time, then, for kaeya to dial it back a bit, merely lifting a brow as diluc brushes past him, as diluc says the sort of thing that is all but begging for a riposte. ah, well...
but more interesting than diluc's confidence is diluc's treasure, the light of which draws kaeya that much closer. a fatui invention, diluc says. ah. that explains a great number of things, really—and raises a great many more questions, though kaeya keeps them to himself, merely bringing a hand to his chin as he studies the small thing that is (allegedly) capable of wreaking so much havoc... in this space. this particular space, because of—]
...The leylines.
[a not-quite-question, murmured more for his own benefit than anything else. the ruins scattered across teyvat are—well, mysterious is an understatement; using them to contain and/or amplify certain creations is a tale as old as time. kaeya takes this puzzle piece and promptly places it with the others, eye flicking back up to diluc's face.]
That explains the actions of some. Friends of yours, if I'm not mistaken.
[they're not. of course they're not. kaeya knows this, just as kaeya knows that diluc is aware which organization is lining their pockets, and why the knights couldn't be drawn into such an affair, and what kaeya brings to the table in a situation such as this. he's already connecting newly proven fact(s) to rumor(s).
and yet.]
Well then, Diluc, [he says, smoothly, as though he isn't busy sifting through the possibilities.] If you don't need my help with whatever is lurking in these ruins, then what do you need?
[ friends of yours. diluc's frown deepens at that, though he doesn't deny his association. if anything, kaeya's so-called friends are of a blacker character than any of diluc's.
he's not surprised that kaeya knows about the merchants with ties to the fatui, at any rate; he's seen for himself the deftness with which kaeya extricates information from - anyone, really. all the while keeping up the appearance that he's on the cusp of black-out drunkenness.
but diluc had asked kaeya here for a reason, and not merely to ignite his temper. in lieu of an answer, he summons his greatsword to hand, the heft of it always providing an immediate sense of comfort. diluc ragnvindr is at his best in the moments between readiness and a strike, where thoughts give way to action. the blade bursts into flame, engulfing the innocuous-looking yellow bauble lying upon the stone. diluc swings the blade, once and again, once more for good measure; his control such that the metal never touches the stone below.
when he's done, and the flame quiets to silence, nothing has changed. the glass chrysalis has been ground nearly to dust, but the bauble itself is unharmed, still pulsing in that strangely human rhythm.
last of all, he flicks it upwards with the tip of his sword, up in an arc towards the doorway. it dissolves before it hits the door, and reappears at diluc's feet. ]
There's a stockpile of several dozen further into the ruin.
[ as demonstrated: they cannot be destroyed, nor can they be transported out of the ruin. if touched, they induce madness.
he won't say what he means, which is: I couldn't figure this out. You were the only one I could ask for help.
only after he'd exhausted all of his other resources, of course. ]
[why bother with an explanation when a demonstration takes, like, half the time? or: of course diluc chooses show over tell—and kaeya resists the urge to take a step back, choosing, instead, to keep his front row seat. he can't help himself, really. diluc caught his interest two days before, dangling the exciting prospect of something new over his head; diluc cements his interest now, with kaeya ignoring the (impressive, as always) skill on display in favor of the object that is sent soaring through the air—
—only to return a scant second later. ah. a good thing; a very, very bad thing, hence kaeya's quiet hum as he considers the expertise required to engineer dozens of these.]
They've certainly been busy.
[and so have you—but more importantly, as a far-off clatter draws kaeya's gaze sliding to the side:]
But not too busy to ignore their guests, I see. How kind of you to announce our arrival.
[sir! the briefest Look, then—it's not like kaeya has any problems sneaking about—before kaeya slides closer to the wall, summoning his sword with a flick of his wrist. small comfort: it doesn't sound as though the group heading their way is particularly large, and thus kaeya motions for diluc to also step back, to stay out of their immediate line of sight. if they all rush in, kaeya can swiftly blast them with a burst of cryo, priming them for an elemental reaction...
...well, you know. it's worth a shot, unless diluc has other plans.]
[ his travels through teyvat in the years after his father's death had taught diluc much about the way the world functioned outside of the gilded cornucopia in which he'd been raised. still, though he'd absorbed survival skills, though he'd become an even more fearsome fighter in the process, he'd never taken the time for the quieter pursuits. he had a superficial understanding of alchemy and elemental science. dismantled a fatui plot involved the application of force and fire. their plans could not be carried out if all those instrumental to its success were now ashes scattered into barbatos's blessed winds.
so it's not trepidation that diluc feels when footsteps thunder down the hallway towards them, even if the magnitude suggests a larger group of enemies than anticipated.
for the first time tonight, he looks up and takes in the sight of mondstadt's notorious cavalry captain. he looks no different than he does when he's tucked away in angel's share, giving off the impression of playful blasé.
they've fought together since their falling out, once and again, but there has always been a buffering presence. most often it has been the traveler, whose presence outshone all else, who made it impossible to think about how easily he'd fallen into step once again with kaeya. there had always been more pressing matters to focus upon.
now, he kicks the leather satchel in the direction of the yellow-glass bauble. it's a haphazard shroud for the pulsing glow, but it'll do. anticipation flickers through him, as hot and urgent as flame. he doesn't need kaeya's help. no matter the number of fatui sycophants that comprise the impending deluge, he need only call for the fire in his blood, and he'll manage on his own. he's been waiting for this moment for days, for weeks, buttoned up and mild as milk in his gold-threaded finery. listening to grown men bicker and squall like children.
he'd been the one to call kaeya to his side tonight, circumstances be damned.
with a rough exhale, he does as kaeya indicates, stepping back against the wall on the other side of the doorway. his gaze is fixed towards the incoming storm of footsteps when he mutters - ]
[once upon a time, working together was a foregone conclusion. diluc, the prodigy, taking on—and taking down—opponents with ease, all while kaeya supported him from the shadows. it was never about one-upping one another, then; kaeya never sought the spotlight, more than content to allow diluc to bask in its glow. they were a team.
now, however, working together is all too often a last resort, each of them warily eyeing the other while waiting for the worst. even with a shared goal—say, eliminating the fatui storming closer—keeping them together, there remains a shred of uncertainty? the feeling that they're off-beat, out of step, destined to step on one another's toes.
but diluc, to his credit, (begrudgingly) follows kaeya's lead—and is thus offered a small, sly smile in return. we'll see.
and soon, too, for the fatui crash into the room with all the grace of an elephant. vanguards and legionnaires, it seems. simple, if not, like, incredibly boring; they rush forward without any apparent care, making it almost embarrassingly easy for kaeya to seal the entryway behind them with a single snap of his fingers. good luck breaking through that chest-high wall of ice, sirs...
...and better luck dealing with diluc, because the fact of the matter is this: while working together does not come as easily as it once did, some things are difficult to forget. it's like a reflex, honestly. kaeya, thinking of how to best utilize diluc's skills as he blasts this group with a jolt of cryo, sending them staggering back into diluc's space before he swiftly ducks to the side. far be it from him to serve as, ah, collateral damage, given how much ground diluc's attacks cover; he knows how to stay just out of the way, sending any and all stragglers back into diluc's line of fire with an almost playful, "ah-ah."]
after the riot of footsteps thundering towards them, diluc had expected more than a scant dozen fatui, bruisers upon bruisers. even though years of estrangement has soured their once-perfect battlefield coordination, the natural resonance of cryo and pyro makes the fight a straightforward one. diluc falls into the rhythm of it, mind calming to a distant roar. to wield the greatsword requires strength and focus; to wield it well requires the ability to block out all else. he swallows past the acrid tang of elemental resonance that coats his tongue, expression twisted into a grimace. if anyone who knew him in the daylight saw him now, they might not recognize him: sweat slicks his hair to his face, and something like fury darkens his normally placid gaze.
something like, but not quite. in these moments, diluc feels most like himself. drinking the power from the air, and flicking his blade wherever instinct dictates; like this, he's not thinking about how difficult it will be to see kaeya in the tavern tomorrow or next week. there is no dwelling on resentment and regret when kaeya is simply another chesspiece on the board, one that moves in imperfect agreement without diluc having to direct him. imperfect, but effective all the same.
still -
even through the haze of a skirmish almost won, diluc knows that something is wrong. the attacks are coordinated and well-planned, because the fatui are nothing if not trained to excellence. but he'd seen a veritable storm of mages when he'd first followed the trail of information down to its source. the value of what these ruins contain cannot be underestimated, given the number of vision holders in mondstadt. if even a single one suffered the untethering of mind from will - the destruction would be implacable.
the only issue with the compatibility of cryo and pyro: it leads to a fine vapor filling the room, obscuring their sight. diluc hears the grind of stone against stone, and doesn't register the source until it's too late:
the mages had been smarter than their heavy-footed brethren. apparently there was a hidden door fitted into the chamber where he'd brought kaeya initially. it rolls open now, and a single mage drifts into the fray. or not quite into the fray - she lingers at the edges, smiling like she's holding a secret between her teeth; it's only then that diluc notices her.
he shouts for kaeya - move! - as she raises her hand in their direction, but she's not readying a spell. she's loading a tiny yellow bauble into a silver casing and pointing it at him; even a blast of flame doesn't stop the ensuing shot from piercing through him.
a curious sensation. a familiar one.
oh, much of his knowledge about the fatui's research had been gathered through his information network. but the reason he'd tapped into his network in the first place -
it was only a few weeks ago, in this very chamber. he'd been on a reconnaissance mission, careful to seek and not to let himself be sought in turn. they must have spent weeks bringing in the machinery necessary for their alchemical experiments, as the entirety of the ruin looked as if it were taken over by a great creature's vascular system. great pulsing veins of gold and green, a thousand capillaries beating to the same soft rhythm. he'd leaned in to peer into one of the metal flanges that had cracked down the center due to the pressure within; for his efforts he'd been rewarded a lungful of golden dust.
he'd spent the next hour pressed up against a wall in the shadows, feeling as if his flame was trying to burst from his body. incandescent. as if at any moment his fire might leap from soul to heart to flesh until it ate away at everything. he'd needed to burn, to burn anything at all, to burn until the stone melted to lava, until the air itself glittered with sparks. the only reason he hadn't given himself away to the patrol of mages and alchemists was his iron-clad will. the sound of his father's voice, echoing through his mind - shine true. shine true. shine true. afterwards, when he'd scattered his madness away from him and limped how to the winery, he'd spent another twelve hours locked in his study, reviewing every document pertaining to the fatui plot that he'd managed to amass.
all of that, after a single inhale.
and now, the entire damn artifact has been shot into him, into that soft hollow place under his clavicle. he feels no pain. no projectile entry, and certainly no exit. but it had struck him: his skin tingles with a pleasant warmth. he drops his greatsword in a noisy clatter, and presses a hand to his chest.
leave them, the mage says. diluc hears the words, but does not understand them. someone is breathing in his ears, and it's too loud. too much. he's being scalded from the inside out. flame leaps to his hands, flame weeps from his closed eyes. we'll clean up what's left after ragnvindr is done.
he's thinking about parchment in the fire. how it blackens and curls at the edges before disintegrating entirely.
he's more flame than flesh, and everything around him must know the same burn.
it isn't so different from the way diluc usually feels. but now - there's no human fetters to stop him from acting upon that impulse. ]
[the best thing about the fatui, in kaeya's opinion, is their confidence? their self-righteousness. even—especially—the lowest-ranking members see themselves as key cogs in some glorious machine, which is useful, honestly; they tend to stick to small groups more often than not, thinking of themselves as being a) invincible, b) the only worthy sacrifice(s), or c) some combination of the two. the sort of mindeset kaeya might pity, if it didn't so often work out in mondstadt's favor.
(harbingers, of course, are another matter entirely. kaeya's liyuen contacts kept him well informed, once the traveler breached liyue's borders; he's well aware of what one harbinger can do.)
so a handful of low-ranking fatui sent to investigate a possible breach into what is, without a doubt, a key facility—no, this doesn't surprise him. not really. it's why he presses the advantage; it's why he blocks the entrance behind him with a chest-high wall of ice, driving the fatui forward while refusing to allow even a single soul to escape from whence they came. this, at least, is easy, so long as he doesn't consider how similar this is to all that was. better for it to be mindless! methodical. kaeya, snapping his fingers again and again and again in an effort to assist diluc with what diluc does best. he would know.
but as single-minded as he is, in this moment, the sound of something creaking open is impossible to ignore; something, he thinks, for him to handle, even as he takes the time to drive one more idiot back into line. there is time. diluc is yelling for him, yes, yet there is time.
except, of course, that time is a curious thing, for there's never enough when one needs it; there's far too much when one doesn't, which kaeya is, unfortunately, reminded of as he twists about just in time to see a projectile slam into diluc's chest. ah.
ah.
it's far from the first time diluc has wound up injured; kaeya patched up all manner of wounds, once upon a time—and considered each one a personal failing, given how closely they'd worked together. to support diluc was to protect him? failing him would come with both crushing guilt and the weight of crepus' disappointed gaze, and kaeya couldn't, wouldn't.
now, however, diluc is knocked back a half-step—and kaeya wants to run to him. he does. it's as though every cell in kaeya's body urges him forward—which is, perhaps, why kaeya steps back, registering the mage's words a split-second before he lunges toward her. the purely practical reason: he—they—can't afford for her to escape, for who knows what she'll send to check up on them.
(the selfish reason: she'd wounded diluc, and thus kaeya is obligated to cut her down.)
but the way the mage laughs as kaeya cuts through her shield is every bit as dangerous as the rising heat keaya feels at his back, for he isn't a fool; he doesn't think the fatui would be so foolish as to shoot diluc with a simple bullet, hence the way he grits his teeth as the mage finally falls. somewhere behind him, what remains of the vanguard hurry toward their now-unsealed exit. they, too, can—will—bring all manner of trouble; kaeya, listening to yet another stone door roll closed, knows what is to come if they manage to survive this. other things kaeya thinks of, as he turns to face the one person he'd rather not: the leylines. what, exactly, it would cost mondstadt, were someone to take advantage of them. this domain is a nexus, of sorts.]
Temper, temper.
[easier to joke about this than to deal with it—though, as kaeya tightens his grip on his sword, kaeya is committed to dealing with it. later, he will consider his many failings; later, he will consider the way his own confidence-slash-self-righteousness led to this. he isn't so far gone as to fail to realize the role he's played.
and yet, as he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, refusing to blink while diluc blazes before him:]
We've done this before, haven't we? Diluc. [that fated fight! never far from kaeya's mind. he'll always remember the determined set of diluc's jaw as he'd charged forward—which is one reason kaeya raises his sword now, sweat dripping down his temple as he offers diluc the smallest of smiles.] No one enjoys a repeat performance.
[because... can he actually cut down diluc, of all people? can he. he'd like to think he can as much as he'd like to think he couldn't, even as he releases a breath, chilling the air around him. the temperature in this room is borderline unbearable; kaeya has little choice but to call upon his cryo vision, summoning a shield of icicles as he presses closer. to test the extent of diluc's madness...]
[ one of the first lessons that pyro users ever learn: control.
flame destroys everything it touches, after all. friend or foe, living flesh or dead kindling, everything lights up in much the same manner. the scarcity of vision holers means that formal lessons are a rarity: you learn by painful experience. hold the flames away from skin and cloth, lest you wish to visit the mondstadt's healers on a daily basis. modulate the temperature of the flame as you call to it, cooler in the palm of your hand, hotter as it reaches a target. lest you set fire to the brand new hawking gloves that your father bought you for you for your eleventh birthday, or the extra hair ribbon you keep in your pocket just in case kaeya loses his.
the loss of inhibition burns everything else away. pyro, the element of passion, of fury, of destruction. his gloves burn away first, flames dancing over hands that don't feel the pain. scarred and patchy already, proof of a vision granted far too young.
diluc feels nothing but the roar of power in his ears, a thousand times more concentrated than he's ever known it to be. he could tear his vision off his belt and fling it to the stone and still the flame would rise within him, burning him from the inside out.
if there is awareness, it exists only in the animal way that diluc tracks kaeya's movements. stock-still, like a hunter waiting for its prey to tire before pouncing.
the fine hair on the back of his hands begins to smoke. the fire spreads to his fingers, catches at the hem of his coat. sweat pours down his brow; he tastes salt and silt at the back of his throat. ]
My - my Vision.
[ says this hoarse, charred version of mondstadt's uncrowned king, as he fights to swallow the blind rage that lingers in the periphery. it would be so easy to give in. he'd spent years wandering, letting his rage guide his steps: he'd come away from it a better man.
this is different. kaeya is a glaring blindness, a cool sanctuary against the heat that overwhelms, and diluc is ready to char flesh away from bone. everything is so much simpler when reduced to its base components. good and evil, that which must be protected, and those wicked things that must be torn apart lest mondstadt's freedom pay the price. kaeya's cold touch in the air gives him a few scarce seconds of lucidity, and he reaches for it like a dying man. good and evil, and kaeya.
he takes a slow step forward, the toe of his boot dragging against the ground. kaeya's powers mean nothing in the face of diluc's newfound rage. pyro sings through him; he loses track of what burns. his gloves, his hands, the hollows of his elbows. his throat. tendrils of his hair.
the air around him heats, combating kaeya's chill. the temperature differential creating a gust of wind that buffets them both. ]
Forget - forget the theatrics. Take it. Quickly, damn you.
[ it will take a brave man to approach him as he is, alight in fire, teeth bared like a ravening beast.
he has no idea if removing his vision will neutralize the threat. he doesn't know much about how elemental power differs from leyline to human host, from vision to vision. but it's his only option, when he knows moments from now it will be kaeya's skin set alight under his terrible focus. ]
[flame is straightforward? as forthright as the person it currently threatens to consume, for when one strips away all safeguards—all control—fire is only as powerful as its fuel; there must be something to build upon, something to keep it from flickering out—and as kaeya stands before diluc now, hearing the pitter-patter of a long-ago rain, kaeya knows he's provided this particular fire with more than enough kindling.
how fitting, then, to be responsible for quenching it.
but it's a question of how, really. in the time it takes diluc to step forward, kaeya sorts through a half-dozen options, knowing that the best of them require too much time. there is no luring diluc deeper into the ruins, triggering traps along the way; there is no making a mad dash for the entrance, no way to know if the bauble lodged within diluc will wink out of existence once diluc crosses the threshold. kaeya can smell the acrid scent of burning hair.
(and isn't it curious, how it pains him? how it reminds him, stupidly, of all the times he'd combed fingers through that hair, helping to tie it all back. the notion of losing any part of diluc cuts kaeya to his very core; diluc could reduce them both to cinders, and all kaeya would think, in those last moments, would be: ah, what a pity. what a waste. you didn't deserve any of this.)
ice, however, is subtle; kaeya remains cool as his sword disappears from his hand, refusing to so much as glance down at the vision dangling by diluc's hip. there's no telling if diluc's control will hold—
—and thus kaeya surges forward without any warning whatsoever, temperate dropping as he summons a dagger of ice in one hand, rips his cape from his shoulder with his other. a useless, showy thing—which kaeya hopes will provide an extra layer of protection as he sweeps by diluc's side, fabric-covered fingers finding, and then freeing, that searing vision. the heat emanating from it is brutal; all it takes is a solid strike to free it from cracking, blackening leather—and a single heartbeat for it to eat through kaeya's cape, melting the protective ice covering kaeya's hand.
it hurts, of course. kaeya can feel his fingertips blistering, peeling—but he tightens his grip, ignoring the pain as he directs more cryo toward diluc. this isn't the first time he's been scorched by flame; he wonders what it says about him, that he hopes this isn't the last.
but with each passing second, there's more steam, less air; kaeya can't afford to linger, and thus kaeya does what kaeya does best: sprints. leaves one last, ice-cold breeze in his wake as he summons a wall of ice between them, hoping to put as much distance between them as possible.]
[ when he was a child, diluc had asked his father why he'd been given a pyro vision. why fire? all fire did was destroy and destroy: he'd been tired of the bitter-smelling paste that adelinde pressed to the blisters that he'd constantly develop, tired of waking to singed sheets and soot-black fingertips. why not a cryo vision, so he could have snowball fights with kaeya in the middle of summer? why not anemo, so he could lift them both into the air, suspended as if in flight? why not hydro, or dendro, or geo?
he doesn't remember his father's answer. some days he doesn't remember the sound of his father's voice.
he watches kaeya dance away from him, watches his shadow distort across the uneven ground. his footsteps echo, a hollow pitter-patter like rainfall. diluc watches him with a stranger's gaze, and he burns.
this is why diluc was touched by pyro, by power edged with destruction: because, oh, how he burns. his flesh a paltry shroud for the flame within, raging without the elemental manifestation that his vision allows. his fingernails crack and bleed at the quick, and he can taste ash at the back of his throat; the walls loom about him, the ceiling is too low. somewhere in the back of his mind, he's fighting, fighting harder than he's ever fought anything, but his thoughts are like leaves scattered in a storm.
the only thing that matters: the fire. the cleansing rage of pyro. without his vision, he can't let loose everything coiled within him, and he'll die - he'll die. wreathed in flames from the inside out, he'll breathe his last in a coil of smoke, oily with the remnants of human fat.
but - that's not true, is it?
with triumph hot in his veins, the mindless creature once known as diluc shoves bleeding blistered burning hands into the pack slung across his chest, and surfaces with something worse than a vision.
the delusion sends a wave of black fire in the thief's direction, melting away the wall of ice in one fiery push.
he's murmuring invectives under his breath, staggering forward through the steam. somewhere up ahead, stone drags against stone; had he been in his right mind, he would have recognized the sound as the ruin's door being activated. kaeya must have worked out the mechanism.
as he is now, he only registers the moon's silver eye cutting through the haze, and the fire redoubles in heat around him. his coat has been burnt to shreds, and slivers of burned flesh are visible through the remainder of his clothing.
another step forward. another. another. the inevitability of the hunt. the heartbeat of a long-dead dragon still resounding through an icy apocalypse. so long has he suffered, so should all cursed scions of celestia suffer.
and then, just like that, it's over. diluc passes over the threshold of the ruins, the delusion falls from his insensate grip. his body stops before his mind does, the sudden arrowpoint clarity too much to process all at once. he hits the ground face-first. ]
[kaeya does not panic. even with his back pressed against the wall, fingers of his free hand fumbling, blindly, with the door's triggers as black flames lick ever closer, kaeya does not panic—for cooler heads always, always, prevail. what matters, in this moment, is removing diluc from the equation? diluc, the person. if that fatui invention does not dissipate upon crossing the threshold—if it somehow anchors itself to diluc's delusion, which kaeya does not, despite his best efforts, fully understand—then kaeya will need to do more than act as a lure; kaeya will need to strike, to remove a threat to—
—well.
there are various reasons he should be prepared to cut diluc down, he knows, and yet, as the entrance shudders open behind him, kaeya does not summon his sword; he simply darts back into the stuffy night air, clutching diluc's vision while ignoring the smell of burnt flesh. his? or diluc's, perhaps, as the man stumbles into the open, delusion still in hand. his wounds are clear in the moonlight; kaeya—whose fingers, wrapped tightly about a vision that is not his, have long since lost sensation—tenses, breath catching in his throat as he steels himself for whatever is to come.
but diluc does not surge forward so much as fall forward, collapsing atop the ancient cobblestones. a relief, really. something kaeya chastises himself for as he presses closer, nudging the delusion from diluc's limp grip (why does he have it, why does he use it) before kneeling beside him, for he should feel nothing; close ties, no matter how useful, remain far too risky to entertain.
and yet.
how kaeya hauls diluc to dawn winery isn't as important as the fact that kaeya does? that kaeya manages, somehow, to bring the man back to his manor, hauling him up the stairs while fielding adelinde's many, many questions. maybe it's easier than it should be; adelinde, having cared for them both since their earliest years, winds up pressing her lips into a thin line while assisting kaeya with stripping diluc, washing diluc, smearing salve across the worst of diluc's burns.
(and then, despite kaeya's protests, tending to kaeya's burns, wrapping his hand in gauze as he insists upon sitting by diluc's bedside.)
but once the worst of their wounds have been patched up—once kaeya has reached out to a certain subset of his contacts, hoping to find a healer not tied to the church—it becomes a waiting game? kaeya, maintaining a vigil, of sorts, as diluc slumbers, eye trained on both the pyro vision and the delusion lying side-by-side atop the nightstand. if he spies so much as a flicker of life in either of them...
(he thinks, tiredly, of the years he'd spent watching over diluc's inert vision, hoping that it would warm beneath his touch every bit as much as he'd hoped that it wouldn't. there was something to be said for the distance between them, then; there is something to be said for the distance between them now.)
there is, however, no such flicker to be seen, which is as good a sign as it is bad? if there is anything to count on, in this world, it is diluc's anger—hence the way kaeya tenses as he catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye. the briefest, barest ruffling of sheets; diluc, seemingly stirring back to life.
and there it is again, despite all odds: a swell of relief. the sort of thing to spurn, were he sensible; the sort of thing he allows to sweep over him, lips curling into the smallest of smirks.]
Ah, ah, [he chides, softly, as he leans forward, pressing preternaturally cool fingers to diluc's sweat-slick forehead.] I'm under strict instructions to keep you still. An angry Adelinde is as terrifying as ever.
[or: you're home.]
Edited (sometimes you rework dialogue a day late) 2021-12-24 05:14 (UTC)
a falcon alights upon his windowsill, and he leans forward to examine it. feathers too sleek to be a wild bird, its eyes too fierce to be tame. diluc reaches for it, open palm and naked wrist, and the creature only stares at him with pity in its eyes. it beats its wings twice before it takes flight.
he could send his phoenix of flame after it. burn the feathers from the bone before the bird knows what's happening. only a sprinkling of ash upon the earth below would mark its passing.
it might give him satisfaction. scratch that itch deep below the surface that cares only for violence and destruction. is he not made for such things? a greatsword to cut and pierce and bludgeon, plumes of flame growing into a conflagration.
he doesn't. he only sets his hands upon the sill and watches the bird disappear into the gray distance. once it's gone, he closes the window to keep the chill out.
the next time he looks up, he finds the bird tapping at the glass. it does so with such force that it's a wonder that the pane stays intact. he stands, he opens the window, and the bird presses its beak against his palm. it's cool from the outside air, and it feels like a blessing upon his aching hands. only then does he realize the pain: he's racked with it, shot through like a bough in a lightning storm. the bird turns its head so it can look up at him, and diluc hears his name on the next exhale.
kaeya's voice. soft, like it used to be, in the golden halls of his memories. the kaeya that no longer existed, banished only to the days where innocence trumped all else. a bird in a storm, one that even pyro can't touch.
he wakes in measures, marked by the strange absence of pain: his hands first, his fingertips. his heaving lungs, and his throat full of wool. his calves, his knees, his hips. he feels tender, like the skin underneath a scab, and a headache pulses in his temples. when cool fingers press against his forehead, he leans into the touch, grateful.
until, of course, his mind starts ticking again. he turns away with such violence that his vision goes black for a moment, the headache screeching.
he doesn't speak for a long moment, letting himself acclimate. kaeya's still here, and upright, which means he must have escaped from the ruins mostly unscathed. if adelinde was involved, that meant they're back at the winery. his own wounds are difficult to gauge; the lack of pain might be a temporary stopgap. he can only hope that kaeya had the good sense not to involve jean or the deaconess.
once the spike of pain abates, he cracks open his eyes. a glance about the room confirms that they're both in his room, and a glance in kaeya's direction confirms his state of health, as well. that, despite himself, is the greatest relief of all. he relaxes, though his dark expression most certainly doesn't. ]
Why are you still here?
[ he rasps out. it sounds like rejection, and diluc winces after he says the words - he hadn't meant it as such. just - why would kaeya be here, after diluc had once again tried to kill him? doesn't he have duties, far and away from sitting uselessly at diluc's bedside? ]
[it's far too much, expecting diluc to endure his touch? far too selfish, for offering diluc a bit of comfort now does not make up for denying diluc comfort when he needed it most; kaeya is, as always, aware of that long ago night, hence the wry twist of his lips as diluc promptly jerks away. so it goes! even as something within kaeya's chest twists, tightens, as he pulls his hand back into his lap, fingers curling in on themselves: so it goes.
(he made this bed; he's no choice but to lie in it.)
but kaeya says nothing in response, choosing, instead, to allow the silence to stretch between them while watching what bit of diluc's face remains visible. a sliver, really. just enough to track diluc's gaze, to let him know that diluc is, in fact, awake—which means that diluc's sudden question does not truly catch him off guard. why are you still here?
...well.
kaeya settles back into his chair with a quiet, almost amused hum, weighing his many, many answers—for the truth is never as simple as others claim. to watch over you, of course. to ensure there are no adverse effects, given how long that fatui creation remain lodged within you. to summon further help, if needed. to bear that burden. to plan for the fatui's inevitable response, preferably before they move their operation too far away. to avoid the watchful eyes of others, as well as my sparsely furnished, rarely visited apartment; to slip a blade between your ribs if you proved a danger to mondstadt. you couldn't bear to endanger mondstadt.
(could i bear to kill you?)]
I wonder. [hmm! so quiet as to be thoughtful, before he follows it with the comparatively lighter:] Perhaps I was hoping for a token of your gratitude.
[he absolutely wasn't, as they both well know—but dodging the truth is better than copping to it, so, as ever: this? kaeya not so much lying as twisting it all about, all as his eye oh-so briefly flicks to the inert vision still lying atop the nightstand. it would be nice, hearing diluc say those two, simple words—just as it would be nice to once again press the back of his unburnt fingers to diluc's forehead, cooling while monitoring. alas.]
Or perhaps I was just curious to hear what you'd say.
[let it be known that diluc's question is, on some level, far better than kaeya expected, given diluc's thrashing, diluc's odd mumbles. what was diluc dreaming of? maybe it's better for kaeya to remain ignorant.]
[ of course he'd stayed. it was only rational. diluc had been a threat, not just to the fatui holed up in the ruins, but to kaeya, too. what more might he had done, had the fatui's machinations been just the slightest bit more sophisticated?
he'd severed their brotherhood over the mere suspicion that kaeya was a threat to everything that diluc held dear. what diluc had done was much more than a simple threat. of course he's here, as a knight of favonius, and as a protector of mondstadt.
diluc ought to thank him, of course. not just for saving his life (an insurmountable debt in and of itself), but for taking his duties to mondstadt seriously. no matter what twisted, once-sweet thing ties them together, at the end of the day duty comes before all else.
he wishes he could close his eyes again. return to the warm red oblivion behind his eyelids, and feign sleep long enough for kaeya to lay his hand upon his brow again.
wishful thinking, and diluc is a pragmatist. he banishes the thought before it takes root.
(because it had felt strangely freeing, to let go of rational thought and let the fire burn within him. where diluc and all his myriad problems fell away, and what was left behind was only rage. it hadn't terrified him. it had pleased him.)
instead of responding immediately, he takes his time coming back to himself. he won't know the full extent of his injuries until he has the energy to stand and examine himself; healing magic is useful in how it speeds recovery, but he still tastes ash and blood at the back of his throat. it will take time and attention to his body's needs, and diluc has the patience for neither.
he attempts to sit up, grimacing with the effort. he manages, eventually, and will not accept a hand from kaeya even if it's offered. once he's finally managed to prop himself up against the headboard, it feels as if he's spent the last several hours running laps around the manor; his irritation must show in his face.
he breathes, and re-centers himself. there will be time for lamenting over his stupidity later, when he doesn't have an audience that's too prescient for his own good. ]
How severe are your injuries?
[ is the response kaeya will finally receive. it's not gratitude, but the concern is genuine. ]
Edited (do you ever stick an italics tag in for no apparent reason ) 2022-01-06 01:05 (UTC)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he would have sent elzer to this meeting on any other occasion, but this meeting was set up for more than economic communion; several of these merchants-turned-aristocrats have ties to the fatui, and one had openly spoken of claiming land upon notorious leylines. unlike the winds of monstadt, the way money flows through teyvat has little to do with freedom. men like these, who wear their corruption like a glassy vision upon a belt - as something to boast about - are invaluable sources of information, especially when their blood runs rich with dandelion wine.
diluc comes away from the meeting six hours later with a belly full of grape juice and a headache storming upon his brow. nonetheless, it had been an evening well spent. he'd needed information before he'd deign to reach out to the damned knights of favonius, and he's been given more than he needs. now, as to actually making contact --
--
two days later, diluc slips out from his rooms into an unseasonably balmy night. pyro burns within him always, elevating his core body temperature, wicking the sweat from his skin. even before he'd been blessed by the gods, he'd preferred the cold.
it means that he's already nursing an ill temper by the time he arrives at the ruin where he'd agreed to meet his favonius contact.
the only one he'd be able to use in a situation like this. to go to official channels would spark a maelstrom beyond which diluc's ready to tie the ragnvindr name. so he ties his tongue in a knot, steels himself, and reaches out to kaeya. to speak within the city of song and drink would be folly: wagging tongues spread rumors faster than they can be contained, and the knights have a poor reputation at containing anything.
so here he is, meandering at the entrance of the ruin, greatsword in hand. the night blooms around him, the smell of sweetflowers heady in the air; the moon peers out from its shroud of clouds to pool its quiet light across the earth. a clear, clean night, the perfect sort for taking down a camp of abyssals or fatui. he could be cleaving great furrows of destruction into an enemy fortification now, instead of showing up too early to a meeting that he'd been uncertain about organizing in the first place.
diluc leans back against the stone archway leading into the ruin, crossing his arms over his chest. even dressed all in black, he stands out against the muddled stone.
well, nothing to be done now. if kaeya has any sense, he won't make him wait too long. ]
no subject
and then, of course, there is diluc.
which is not to say that diluc wishes him ill, per se, but—well. everything that was once so easy between them is now so difficult; each interaction is akin to stepping up to some deep, dark pit, toes hanging over its edge even as they do their best to ignore it entirely. what good would it do, acknowledging all that is contained within? what would be the point?
so: this, then. diluc, sending a summons; kaeya, offering the sort of wishy-washy response he knows diluc finds irritating—and that belies his own interest. it isn't every day that diluc reaches out to him. something interesting is going on, kaeya is sure, and thus kaeya spends the next two days ignoring the stacks of paperwork growing ever higher in his office in favor of making his rounds. he has friends ("friends") in low, low places; it's amazing, really, what one can learn from them after sharing a few drinks.
but armed as kaeya is, as he approaches their agreed-upon meeting place near the agreed-upon time, there remains some degree of uncertainty. possessing pieces of a puzzle does not guarantee they will neatly fit together? especially not for this puzzle. certain things add up; certain things do not...
...which makes this fun, hence kaeya's good mood as he all but saunters into view. more fun things: the warm, still night air, perfectly comfortable for someone possessing a cryo vision. the light of the moon overhead. the sight of diluc standing in the shadows, obviously less than pleased with the world at large. let it be known that kaeya isn't late so much as kaeya is on time—but as kaeya knows the way diluc's mind works, more or less, kaeya spreads his arms, offering his grumpy counterpart an easy smile.]
Lovely night, wouldn't you say? [he would not, as kaeya well knows.] The perfect weather for a walk. You chose well, Master Diluc.
[reminding diluc that he only has himself to blame for his current suffering! just, you know. kaeya things™.]
no subject
the countryside, too, should have been swept up in the archon's winds, never succumbing to the worst extremes of the seasons. perhaps the loss of barbatos' gnosis is to blame for diluc's current ill temper.
but he's not thinking about venti when kaeya makes his approach, exuding cheer. it's the sort of cheer he wears in the tavern when diluc has the misfortune of tending bar; the one that feels like it was engineered solely to irritate. diluc glares, knowing full well that the effect must be dampened by the locks of hair sticking to his temples. nonetheless, a blunted glare is better than no glare at all.
kaeya, of course, looks as if the winds have always blown in his favor. as fresh as a newly-cut daisy, ready for the master's table.
diluc turns sharply from him, gesturing towards the entrance to the ruin with a curt - ]
Inside. You've kept me waiting long enough.
no subject
but first—]
Have I? If I'd only known you were so eager to see me...
[just another needling thing to leave hanging between them—is it my fault you arrived well before you needed to?—before he presses forward, pressing a hand to cool stone. a brief flash of light; a shudder as ancient mechanisms awaken, cracking open doors far too heavy for two idiots to even dream of moving. handy. kaeya, as ever, takes a second to appreciate the handiwork—and then slips into the darkness, casting a brief glance back diluc's way in the process.]
Expecting trouble?
[aside from the usual variety, he means—though the entrance is clear; kaeya takes a few steps forward, listening while allowing his eye to adjust to the dim light offered by the blue moss growing along the wall.]
no subject
the cool darkness of the ruin is a balm to his rising temper, at least. the circular chamber they stand in now is clearly well-known to him; he steps further into it, kneeling to remove a loose stone in the floor. below it lies a hollow just long and wide enough to hide a leather satchel, encasing something that emits a sulphurous glow, visible through the crude stitching holding the bag together. ]
Further in, though I have no need of your help to take care of it.
[ he says softly, once he straightens. it might have come off as a taunt, and perhaps he means it as one, but he speaks without inflection, without even glancing in kaeya's way. it's easier this way. when he thinks about the role he's playing tonight, protector of a precious thing, not of the difficulty he has in shaping words that might fly true. he's always been better at letting his flames speak for him. ]
A Fatui invention. Still being researched.
[ he tips a small yellow bauble out of the bag, careful not to touch it. it's encased in a fine chrysalis of glass, cracking at the edges. without the sheathe of leather to shroud the glow, it pulses like a heartbeat. ]
It's meant to target Vision users. Upon touching it, the effects are not immediate, nor are they long-lasting, but eventually it loosens control and inhibitions both, all the while exacerbating power. If you were to touch it, you might engulf the entirety of this chamber in ice, freezing yourself to death in the process.
[ he does not explain how he knows this, nor how such a thing came into his possession. kaeya can draw his own conclusions. ]
Widespread use is not yet of concern, at least. The effects are limited to this ruin.
no subject
but more interesting than diluc's confidence is diluc's treasure, the light of which draws kaeya that much closer. a fatui invention, diluc says. ah. that explains a great number of things, really—and raises a great many more questions, though kaeya keeps them to himself, merely bringing a hand to his chin as he studies the small thing that is (allegedly) capable of wreaking so much havoc... in this space. this particular space, because of—]
...The leylines.
[a not-quite-question, murmured more for his own benefit than anything else. the ruins scattered across teyvat are—well, mysterious is an understatement; using them to contain and/or amplify certain creations is a tale as old as time. kaeya takes this puzzle piece and promptly places it with the others, eye flicking back up to diluc's face.]
That explains the actions of some. Friends of yours, if I'm not mistaken.
[they're not. of course they're not. kaeya knows this, just as kaeya knows that diluc is aware which organization is lining their pockets, and why the knights couldn't be drawn into such an affair, and what kaeya brings to the table in a situation such as this. he's already connecting newly proven fact(s) to rumor(s).
and yet.]
Well then, Diluc, [he says, smoothly, as though he isn't busy sifting through the possibilities.] If you don't need my help with whatever is lurking in these ruins, then what do you need?
no subject
he's not surprised that kaeya knows about the merchants with ties to the fatui, at any rate; he's seen for himself the deftness with which kaeya extricates information from - anyone, really. all the while keeping up the appearance that he's on the cusp of black-out drunkenness.
but diluc had asked kaeya here for a reason, and not merely to ignite his temper. in lieu of an answer, he summons his greatsword to hand, the heft of it always providing an immediate sense of comfort. diluc ragnvindr is at his best in the moments between readiness and a strike, where thoughts give way to action. the blade bursts into flame, engulfing the innocuous-looking yellow bauble lying upon the stone. diluc swings the blade, once and again, once more for good measure; his control such that the metal never touches the stone below.
when he's done, and the flame quiets to silence, nothing has changed. the glass chrysalis has been ground nearly to dust, but the bauble itself is unharmed, still pulsing in that strangely human rhythm.
last of all, he flicks it upwards with the tip of his sword, up in an arc towards the doorway. it dissolves before it hits the door, and reappears at diluc's feet. ]
There's a stockpile of several dozen further into the ruin.
[ as demonstrated: they cannot be destroyed, nor can they be transported out of the ruin. if touched, they induce madness.
he won't say what he means, which is: I couldn't figure this out. You were the only one I could ask for help.
only after he'd exhausted all of his other resources, of course. ]
no subject
—only to return a scant second later. ah. a good thing; a very, very bad thing, hence kaeya's quiet hum as he considers the expertise required to engineer dozens of these.]
They've certainly been busy.
[and so have you—but more importantly, as a far-off clatter draws kaeya's gaze sliding to the side:]
But not too busy to ignore their guests, I see. How kind of you to announce our arrival.
[sir! the briefest Look, then—it's not like kaeya has any problems sneaking about—before kaeya slides closer to the wall, summoning his sword with a flick of his wrist. small comfort: it doesn't sound as though the group heading their way is particularly large, and thus kaeya motions for diluc to also step back, to stay out of their immediate line of sight. if they all rush in, kaeya can swiftly blast them with a burst of cryo, priming them for an elemental reaction...
...well, you know. it's worth a shot, unless diluc has other plans.]
you saw nothing
so it's not trepidation that diluc feels when footsteps thunder down the hallway towards them, even if the magnitude suggests a larger group of enemies than anticipated.
for the first time tonight, he looks up and takes in the sight of mondstadt's notorious cavalry captain. he looks no different than he does when he's tucked away in angel's share, giving off the impression of playful blasé.
they've fought together since their falling out, once and again, but there has always been a buffering presence. most often it has been the traveler, whose presence outshone all else, who made it impossible to think about how easily he'd fallen into step once again with kaeya. there had always been more pressing matters to focus upon.
now, he kicks the leather satchel in the direction of the yellow-glass bauble. it's a haphazard shroud for the pulsing glow, but it'll do. anticipation flickers through him, as hot and urgent as flame. he doesn't need kaeya's help. no matter the number of fatui sycophants that comprise the impending deluge, he need only call for the fire in his blood, and he'll manage on his own. he's been waiting for this moment for days, for weeks, buttoned up and mild as milk in his gold-threaded finery. listening to grown men bicker and squall like children.
he'd been the one to call kaeya to his side tonight, circumstances be damned.
with a rough exhale, he does as kaeya indicates, stepping back against the wall on the other side of the doorway. his gaze is fixed towards the incoming storm of footsteps when he mutters - ]
Just don't slow me down.
barok genshin au... oh, i Saw
now, however, working together is all too often a last resort, each of them warily eyeing the other while waiting for the worst. even with a shared goal—say, eliminating the fatui storming closer—keeping them together, there remains a shred of uncertainty? the feeling that they're off-beat, out of step, destined to step on one another's toes.
but diluc, to his credit, (begrudgingly) follows kaeya's lead—and is thus offered a small, sly smile in return. we'll see.
and soon, too, for the fatui crash into the room with all the grace of an elephant. vanguards and legionnaires, it seems. simple, if not, like, incredibly boring; they rush forward without any apparent care, making it almost embarrassingly easy for kaeya to seal the entryway behind them with a single snap of his fingers. good luck breaking through that chest-high wall of ice, sirs...
...and better luck dealing with diluc, because the fact of the matter is this: while working together does not come as easily as it once did, some things are difficult to forget. it's like a reflex, honestly. kaeya, thinking of how to best utilize diluc's skills as he blasts this group with a jolt of cryo, sending them staggering back into diluc's space before he swiftly ducks to the side. far be it from him to serve as, ah, collateral damage, given how much ground diluc's attacks cover; he knows how to stay just out of the way, sending any and all stragglers back into diluc's line of fire with an almost playful, "ah-ah."]
no subject
after the riot of footsteps thundering towards them, diluc had expected more than a scant dozen fatui, bruisers upon bruisers. even though years of estrangement has soured their once-perfect battlefield coordination, the natural resonance of cryo and pyro makes the fight a straightforward one. diluc falls into the rhythm of it, mind calming to a distant roar. to wield the greatsword requires strength and focus; to wield it well requires the ability to block out all else. he swallows past the acrid tang of elemental resonance that coats his tongue, expression twisted into a grimace. if anyone who knew him in the daylight saw him now, they might not recognize him: sweat slicks his hair to his face, and something like fury darkens his normally placid gaze.
something like, but not quite. in these moments, diluc feels most like himself. drinking the power from the air, and flicking his blade wherever instinct dictates; like this, he's not thinking about how difficult it will be to see kaeya in the tavern tomorrow or next week. there is no dwelling on resentment and regret when kaeya is simply another chesspiece on the board, one that moves in imperfect agreement without diluc having to direct him. imperfect, but effective all the same.
still -
even through the haze of a skirmish almost won, diluc knows that something is wrong. the attacks are coordinated and well-planned, because the fatui are nothing if not trained to excellence. but he'd seen a veritable storm of mages when he'd first followed the trail of information down to its source. the value of what these ruins contain cannot be underestimated, given the number of vision holders in mondstadt. if even a single one suffered the untethering of mind from will - the destruction would be implacable.
the only issue with the compatibility of cryo and pyro: it leads to a fine vapor filling the room, obscuring their sight. diluc hears the grind of stone against stone, and doesn't register the source until it's too late:
the mages had been smarter than their heavy-footed brethren. apparently there was a hidden door fitted into the chamber where he'd brought kaeya initially. it rolls open now, and a single mage drifts into the fray. or not quite into the fray - she lingers at the edges, smiling like she's holding a secret between her teeth; it's only then that diluc notices her.
he shouts for kaeya - move! - as she raises her hand in their direction, but she's not readying a spell. she's loading a tiny yellow bauble into a silver casing and pointing it at him; even a blast of flame doesn't stop the ensuing shot from piercing through him.
a curious sensation. a familiar one.
oh, much of his knowledge about the fatui's research had been gathered through his information network. but the reason he'd tapped into his network in the first place -
it was only a few weeks ago, in this very chamber. he'd been on a reconnaissance mission, careful to seek and not to let himself be sought in turn. they must have spent weeks bringing in the machinery necessary for their alchemical experiments, as the entirety of the ruin looked as if it were taken over by a great creature's vascular system. great pulsing veins of gold and green, a thousand capillaries beating to the same soft rhythm. he'd leaned in to peer into one of the metal flanges that had cracked down the center due to the pressure within; for his efforts he'd been rewarded a lungful of golden dust.
he'd spent the next hour pressed up against a wall in the shadows, feeling as if his flame was trying to burst from his body. incandescent. as if at any moment his fire might leap from soul to heart to flesh until it ate away at everything. he'd needed to burn, to burn anything at all, to burn until the stone melted to lava, until the air itself glittered with sparks. the only reason he hadn't given himself away to the patrol of mages and alchemists was his iron-clad will. the sound of his father's voice, echoing through his mind - shine true. shine true. shine true. afterwards, when he'd scattered his madness away from him and limped how to the winery, he'd spent another twelve hours locked in his study, reviewing every document pertaining to the fatui plot that he'd managed to amass.
all of that, after a single inhale.
and now, the entire damn artifact has been shot into him, into that soft hollow place under his clavicle. he feels no pain. no projectile entry, and certainly no exit. but it had struck him: his skin tingles with a pleasant warmth. he drops his greatsword in a noisy clatter, and presses a hand to his chest.
leave them, the mage says. diluc hears the words, but does not understand them. someone is breathing in his ears, and it's too loud. too much. he's being scalded from the inside out. flame leaps to his hands, flame weeps from his closed eyes. we'll clean up what's left after ragnvindr is done.
he's thinking about parchment in the fire. how it blackens and curls at the edges before disintegrating entirely.
he's more flame than flesh, and everything around him must know the same burn.
it isn't so different from the way diluc usually feels. but now - there's no human fetters to stop him from acting upon that impulse. ]
no subject
(harbingers, of course, are another matter entirely. kaeya's liyuen contacts kept him well informed, once the traveler breached liyue's borders; he's well aware of what one harbinger can do.)
so a handful of low-ranking fatui sent to investigate a possible breach into what is, without a doubt, a key facility—no, this doesn't surprise him. not really. it's why he presses the advantage; it's why he blocks the entrance behind him with a chest-high wall of ice, driving the fatui forward while refusing to allow even a single soul to escape from whence they came. this, at least, is easy, so long as he doesn't consider how similar this is to all that was. better for it to be mindless! methodical. kaeya, snapping his fingers again and again and again in an effort to assist diluc with what diluc does best. he would know.
but as single-minded as he is, in this moment, the sound of something creaking open is impossible to ignore; something, he thinks, for him to handle, even as he takes the time to drive one more idiot back into line. there is time. diluc is yelling for him, yes, yet there is time.
except, of course, that time is a curious thing, for there's never enough when one needs it; there's far too much when one doesn't, which kaeya is, unfortunately, reminded of as he twists about just in time to see a projectile slam into diluc's chest. ah.
ah.
it's far from the first time diluc has wound up injured; kaeya patched up all manner of wounds, once upon a time—and considered each one a personal failing, given how closely they'd worked together. to support diluc was to protect him? failing him would come with both crushing guilt and the weight of crepus' disappointed gaze, and kaeya couldn't, wouldn't.
now, however, diluc is knocked back a half-step—and kaeya wants to run to him. he does. it's as though every cell in kaeya's body urges him forward—which is, perhaps, why kaeya steps back, registering the mage's words a split-second before he lunges toward her. the purely practical reason: he—they—can't afford for her to escape, for who knows what she'll send to check up on them.
(the selfish reason: she'd wounded diluc, and thus kaeya is obligated to cut her down.)
but the way the mage laughs as kaeya cuts through her shield is every bit as dangerous as the rising heat keaya feels at his back, for he isn't a fool; he doesn't think the fatui would be so foolish as to shoot diluc with a simple bullet, hence the way he grits his teeth as the mage finally falls. somewhere behind him, what remains of the vanguard hurry toward their now-unsealed exit. they, too, can—will—bring all manner of trouble; kaeya, listening to yet another stone door roll closed, knows what is to come if they manage to survive this. other things kaeya thinks of, as he turns to face the one person he'd rather not: the leylines. what, exactly, it would cost mondstadt, were someone to take advantage of them. this domain is a nexus, of sorts.]
Temper, temper.
[easier to joke about this than to deal with it—though, as kaeya tightens his grip on his sword, kaeya is committed to dealing with it. later, he will consider his many failings; later, he will consider the way his own confidence-slash-self-righteousness led to this. he isn't so far gone as to fail to realize the role he's played.
and yet, as he tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword, refusing to blink while diluc blazes before him:]
We've done this before, haven't we? Diluc. [that fated fight! never far from kaeya's mind. he'll always remember the determined set of diluc's jaw as he'd charged forward—which is one reason kaeya raises his sword now, sweat dripping down his temple as he offers diluc the smallest of smiles.] No one enjoys a repeat performance.
[because... can he actually cut down diluc, of all people? can he. he'd like to think he can as much as he'd like to think he couldn't, even as he releases a breath, chilling the air around him. the temperature in this room is borderline unbearable; kaeya has little choice but to call upon his cryo vision, summoning a shield of icicles as he presses closer. to test the extent of diluc's madness...]
no subject
flame destroys everything it touches, after all. friend or foe, living flesh or dead kindling, everything lights up in much the same manner. the scarcity of vision holers means that formal lessons are a rarity: you learn by painful experience. hold the flames away from skin and cloth, lest you wish to visit the mondstadt's healers on a daily basis. modulate the temperature of the flame as you call to it, cooler in the palm of your hand, hotter as it reaches a target. lest you set fire to the brand new hawking gloves that your father bought you for you for your eleventh birthday, or the extra hair ribbon you keep in your pocket just in case kaeya loses his.
the loss of inhibition burns everything else away. pyro, the element of passion, of fury, of destruction. his gloves burn away first, flames dancing over hands that don't feel the pain. scarred and patchy already, proof of a vision granted far too young.
diluc feels nothing but the roar of power in his ears, a thousand times more concentrated than he's ever known it to be. he could tear his vision off his belt and fling it to the stone and still the flame would rise within him, burning him from the inside out.
if there is awareness, it exists only in the animal way that diluc tracks kaeya's movements. stock-still, like a hunter waiting for its prey to tire before pouncing.
the fine hair on the back of his hands begins to smoke. the fire spreads to his fingers, catches at the hem of his coat. sweat pours down his brow; he tastes salt and silt at the back of his throat. ]
My - my Vision.
[ says this hoarse, charred version of mondstadt's uncrowned king, as he fights to swallow the blind rage that lingers in the periphery. it would be so easy to give in. he'd spent years wandering, letting his rage guide his steps: he'd come away from it a better man.
this is different. kaeya is a glaring blindness, a cool sanctuary against the heat that overwhelms, and diluc is ready to char flesh away from bone. everything is so much simpler when reduced to its base components. good and evil, that which must be protected, and those wicked things that must be torn apart lest mondstadt's freedom pay the price. kaeya's cold touch in the air gives him a few scarce seconds of lucidity, and he reaches for it like a dying man. good and evil, and kaeya.
he takes a slow step forward, the toe of his boot dragging against the ground. kaeya's powers mean nothing in the face of diluc's newfound rage. pyro sings through him; he loses track of what burns. his gloves, his hands, the hollows of his elbows. his throat. tendrils of his hair.
the air around him heats, combating kaeya's chill. the temperature differential creating a gust of wind that buffets them both. ]
Forget - forget the theatrics. Take it. Quickly, damn you.
[ it will take a brave man to approach him as he is, alight in fire, teeth bared like a ravening beast.
he has no idea if removing his vision will neutralize the threat. he doesn't know much about how elemental power differs from leyline to human host, from vision to vision. but it's his only option, when he knows moments from now it will be kaeya's skin set alight under his terrible focus. ]
no subject
how fitting, then, to be responsible for quenching it.
but it's a question of how, really. in the time it takes diluc to step forward, kaeya sorts through a half-dozen options, knowing that the best of them require too much time. there is no luring diluc deeper into the ruins, triggering traps along the way; there is no making a mad dash for the entrance, no way to know if the bauble lodged within diluc will wink out of existence once diluc crosses the threshold. kaeya can smell the acrid scent of burning hair.
(and isn't it curious, how it pains him? how it reminds him, stupidly, of all the times he'd combed fingers through that hair, helping to tie it all back. the notion of losing any part of diluc cuts kaeya to his very core; diluc could reduce them both to cinders, and all kaeya would think, in those last moments, would be: ah, what a pity. what a waste. you didn't deserve any of this.)
ice, however, is subtle; kaeya remains cool as his sword disappears from his hand, refusing to so much as glance down at the vision dangling by diluc's hip. there's no telling if diluc's control will hold—
—and thus kaeya surges forward without any warning whatsoever, temperate dropping as he summons a dagger of ice in one hand, rips his cape from his shoulder with his other. a useless, showy thing—which kaeya hopes will provide an extra layer of protection as he sweeps by diluc's side, fabric-covered fingers finding, and then freeing, that searing vision. the heat emanating from it is brutal; all it takes is a solid strike to free it from cracking, blackening leather—and a single heartbeat for it to eat through kaeya's cape, melting the protective ice covering kaeya's hand.
it hurts, of course. kaeya can feel his fingertips blistering, peeling—but he tightens his grip, ignoring the pain as he directs more cryo toward diluc. this isn't the first time he's been scorched by flame; he wonders what it says about him, that he hopes this isn't the last.
but with each passing second, there's more steam, less air; kaeya can't afford to linger, and thus kaeya does what kaeya does best: sprints. leaves one last, ice-cold breeze in his wake as he summons a wall of ice between them, hoping to put as much distance between them as possible.]
no subject
he doesn't remember his father's answer. some days he doesn't remember the sound of his father's voice.
he watches kaeya dance away from him, watches his shadow distort across the uneven ground. his footsteps echo, a hollow pitter-patter like rainfall. diluc watches him with a stranger's gaze, and he burns.
this is why diluc was touched by pyro, by power edged with destruction: because, oh, how he burns. his flesh a paltry shroud for the flame within, raging without the elemental manifestation that his vision allows. his fingernails crack and bleed at the quick, and he can taste ash at the back of his throat; the walls loom about him, the ceiling is too low. somewhere in the back of his mind, he's fighting, fighting harder than he's ever fought anything, but his thoughts are like leaves scattered in a storm.
the only thing that matters: the fire. the cleansing rage of pyro. without his vision, he can't let loose everything coiled within him, and he'll die - he'll die. wreathed in flames from the inside out, he'll breathe his last in a coil of smoke, oily with the remnants of human fat.
but - that's not true, is it?
with triumph hot in his veins, the mindless creature once known as diluc shoves bleeding blistered burning hands into the pack slung across his chest, and surfaces with something worse than a vision.
the delusion sends a wave of black fire in the thief's direction, melting away the wall of ice in one fiery push.
he's murmuring invectives under his breath, staggering forward through the steam. somewhere up ahead, stone drags against stone; had he been in his right mind, he would have recognized the sound as the ruin's door being activated. kaeya must have worked out the mechanism.
as he is now, he only registers the moon's silver eye cutting through the haze, and the fire redoubles in heat around him. his coat has been burnt to shreds, and slivers of burned flesh are visible through the remainder of his clothing.
another step forward. another. another. the inevitability of the hunt. the heartbeat of a long-dead dragon still resounding through an icy apocalypse. so long has he suffered, so should all cursed scions of celestia suffer.
and then, just like that, it's over. diluc passes over the threshold of the ruins, the delusion falls from his insensate grip. his body stops before his mind does, the sudden arrowpoint clarity too much to process all at once. he hits the ground face-first. ]
no subject
—well.
there are various reasons he should be prepared to cut diluc down, he knows, and yet, as the entrance shudders open behind him, kaeya does not summon his sword; he simply darts back into the stuffy night air, clutching diluc's vision while ignoring the smell of burnt flesh. his? or diluc's, perhaps, as the man stumbles into the open, delusion still in hand. his wounds are clear in the moonlight; kaeya—whose fingers, wrapped tightly about a vision that is not his, have long since lost sensation—tenses, breath catching in his throat as he steels himself for whatever is to come.
but diluc does not surge forward so much as fall forward, collapsing atop the ancient cobblestones. a relief, really. something kaeya chastises himself for as he presses closer, nudging the delusion from diluc's limp grip (why does he have it, why does he use it) before kneeling beside him, for he should feel nothing; close ties, no matter how useful, remain far too risky to entertain.
and yet.
how kaeya hauls diluc to dawn winery isn't as important as the fact that kaeya does? that kaeya manages, somehow, to bring the man back to his manor, hauling him up the stairs while fielding adelinde's many, many questions. maybe it's easier than it should be; adelinde, having cared for them both since their earliest years, winds up pressing her lips into a thin line while assisting kaeya with stripping diluc, washing diluc, smearing salve across the worst of diluc's burns.
(and then, despite kaeya's protests, tending to kaeya's burns, wrapping his hand in gauze as he insists upon sitting by diluc's bedside.)
but once the worst of their wounds have been patched up—once kaeya has reached out to a certain subset of his contacts, hoping to find a healer not tied to the church—it becomes a waiting game? kaeya, maintaining a vigil, of sorts, as diluc slumbers, eye trained on both the pyro vision and the delusion lying side-by-side atop the nightstand. if he spies so much as a flicker of life in either of them...
(he thinks, tiredly, of the years he'd spent watching over diluc's inert vision, hoping that it would warm beneath his touch every bit as much as he'd hoped that it wouldn't. there was something to be said for the distance between them, then; there is something to be said for the distance between them now.)
there is, however, no such flicker to be seen, which is as good a sign as it is bad? if there is anything to count on, in this world, it is diluc's anger—hence the way kaeya tenses as he catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye. the briefest, barest ruffling of sheets; diluc, seemingly stirring back to life.
and there it is again, despite all odds: a swell of relief. the sort of thing to spurn, were he sensible; the sort of thing he allows to sweep over him, lips curling into the smallest of smirks.]
Ah, ah, [he chides, softly, as he leans forward, pressing preternaturally cool fingers to diluc's sweat-slick forehead.] I'm under strict instructions to keep you still. An angry Adelinde is as terrifying as ever.
[or: you're home.]
no subject
a falcon alights upon his windowsill, and he leans forward to examine it. feathers too sleek to be a wild bird, its eyes too fierce to be tame. diluc reaches for it, open palm and naked wrist, and the creature only stares at him with pity in its eyes. it beats its wings twice before it takes flight.
he could send his phoenix of flame after it. burn the feathers from the bone before the bird knows what's happening. only a sprinkling of ash upon the earth below would mark its passing.
it might give him satisfaction. scratch that itch deep below the surface that cares only for violence and destruction. is he not made for such things? a greatsword to cut and pierce and bludgeon, plumes of flame growing into a conflagration.
he doesn't. he only sets his hands upon the sill and watches the bird disappear into the gray distance. once it's gone, he closes the window to keep the chill out.
the next time he looks up, he finds the bird tapping at the glass. it does so with such force that it's a wonder that the pane stays intact. he stands, he opens the window, and the bird presses its beak against his palm. it's cool from the outside air, and it feels like a blessing upon his aching hands. only then does he realize the pain: he's racked with it, shot through like a bough in a lightning storm. the bird turns its head so it can look up at him, and diluc hears his name on the next exhale.
kaeya's voice. soft, like it used to be, in the golden halls of his memories. the kaeya that no longer existed, banished only to the days where innocence trumped all else. a bird in a storm, one that even pyro can't touch.
he wakes in measures, marked by the strange absence of pain: his hands first, his fingertips. his heaving lungs, and his throat full of wool. his calves, his knees, his hips. he feels tender, like the skin underneath a scab, and a headache pulses in his temples. when cool fingers press against his forehead, he leans into the touch, grateful.
until, of course, his mind starts ticking again. he turns away with such violence that his vision goes black for a moment, the headache screeching.
he doesn't speak for a long moment, letting himself acclimate. kaeya's still here, and upright, which means he must have escaped from the ruins mostly unscathed. if adelinde was involved, that meant they're back at the winery. his own wounds are difficult to gauge; the lack of pain might be a temporary stopgap. he can only hope that kaeya had the good sense not to involve jean or the deaconess.
once the spike of pain abates, he cracks open his eyes. a glance about the room confirms that they're both in his room, and a glance in kaeya's direction confirms his state of health, as well. that, despite himself, is the greatest relief of all. he relaxes, though his dark expression most certainly doesn't. ]
Why are you still here?
[ he rasps out. it sounds like rejection, and diluc winces after he says the words - he hadn't meant it as such. just - why would kaeya be here, after diluc had once again tried to kill him? doesn't he have duties, far and away from sitting uselessly at diluc's bedside? ]
no subject
(he made this bed; he's no choice but to lie in it.)
but kaeya says nothing in response, choosing, instead, to allow the silence to stretch between them while watching what bit of diluc's face remains visible. a sliver, really. just enough to track diluc's gaze, to let him know that diluc is, in fact, awake—which means that diluc's sudden question does not truly catch him off guard. why are you still here?
...well.
kaeya settles back into his chair with a quiet, almost amused hum, weighing his many, many answers—for the truth is never as simple as others claim. to watch over you, of course. to ensure there are no adverse effects, given how long that fatui creation remain lodged within you. to summon further help, if needed. to bear that burden. to plan for the fatui's inevitable response, preferably before they move their operation too far away. to avoid the watchful eyes of others, as well as my sparsely furnished, rarely visited apartment; to slip a blade between your ribs if you proved a danger to mondstadt. you couldn't bear to endanger mondstadt.
(could i bear to kill you?)]
I wonder. [hmm! so quiet as to be thoughtful, before he follows it with the comparatively lighter:] Perhaps I was hoping for a token of your gratitude.
[he absolutely wasn't, as they both well know—but dodging the truth is better than copping to it, so, as ever: this? kaeya not so much lying as twisting it all about, all as his eye oh-so briefly flicks to the inert vision still lying atop the nightstand. it would be nice, hearing diluc say those two, simple words—just as it would be nice to once again press the back of his unburnt fingers to diluc's forehead, cooling while monitoring. alas.]
Or perhaps I was just curious to hear what you'd say.
[let it be known that diluc's question is, on some level, far better than kaeya expected, given diluc's thrashing, diluc's odd mumbles. what was diluc dreaming of? maybe it's better for kaeya to remain ignorant.]
no subject
he'd severed their brotherhood over the mere suspicion that kaeya was a threat to everything that diluc held dear. what diluc had done was much more than a simple threat. of course he's here, as a knight of favonius, and as a protector of mondstadt.
diluc ought to thank him, of course. not just for saving his life (an insurmountable debt in and of itself), but for taking his duties to mondstadt seriously. no matter what twisted, once-sweet thing ties them together, at the end of the day duty comes before all else.
he wishes he could close his eyes again. return to the warm red oblivion behind his eyelids, and feign sleep long enough for kaeya to lay his hand upon his brow again.
wishful thinking, and diluc is a pragmatist. he banishes the thought before it takes root.
(because it had felt strangely freeing, to let go of rational thought and let the fire burn within him. where diluc and all his myriad problems fell away, and what was left behind was only rage. it hadn't terrified him. it had pleased him.)
instead of responding immediately, he takes his time coming back to himself. he won't know the full extent of his injuries until he has the energy to stand and examine himself; healing magic is useful in how it speeds recovery, but he still tastes ash and blood at the back of his throat. it will take time and attention to his body's needs, and diluc has the patience for neither.
he attempts to sit up, grimacing with the effort. he manages, eventually, and will not accept a hand from kaeya even if it's offered. once he's finally managed to prop himself up against the headboard, it feels as if he's spent the last several hours running laps around the manor; his irritation must show in his face.
he breathes, and re-centers himself. there will be time for lamenting over his stupidity later, when he doesn't have an audience that's too prescient for his own good. ]
How severe are your injuries?
[ is the response kaeya will finally receive. it's not gratitude, but the concern is genuine. ]
( plot ideas )
- Scars
- ...i've forgotten everything else, more to come later