discrepancy | genshin impact | lumine & childe

dream

Mondstadt's Grand Goth Hotel is a magnificent place, a fact that goes unnoticed by its newest guest. After leaving the cathedral, Childe makes his way to what will be his lodgings for the time being, the day's events weighing so heavily on his mind that there is little room for anything else. The guard out front gives a prompt salute, though his eyes betray confusion upon seeing the Harbinger. Inside, diplomats and soldiers alike share uncertain glances, clearly disrupted by the sudden appearance of one as high in rank as himself. In his stupor, he bumps into an electro cicin mage, who sneers at the interruption to her cooing at said cicins. She does a double take, startling into a salute as she realizes who stands before her.

Childe doesn't particularly care. As he looks over her face with tired eyes, he can only see the dead eyes and hear the maniacal laughter of the mages caught in the Spiral Abyss. What causes such corruption? He wonders. Is it the abyss itself, or does this bloodlust and pain already exist in the hearts of those who succumb to the abyss? He doesn't want to think about the numerous times in his life that someone has commented on the lack of light in his own eyes.

And on the thought of light, his mind returns to Lumine. After his grand lie, she had retreated into a hollow shell, blank expression settling once again on the window from which she could not possibly be looking at anything. They sat this way for several minutes, and each time he thought about reaching out a hand, his courage failed him, and his hand fell short, hovering just above her shoulder before ultimately retracting. Then, as suddenly as she had gone silent, she smiled. It was a cruel and translucent smile, one that did nothing to conceal the sorrow and anguish beneath. But still she smiled, forced a happy note in her voice, and spoke in a measured tone.

"Well, it's good that he isn't lost in the abyss. I'll just have to find him somewhere else in Teyvat."

He can do nothing but stare. "I—" he begins, at a loss for a response. Her smile is not convincing, and he knows that she wants it to convince herself as much as anyone else.

"The abyss is dangerous," she continues. "If I had to go back down there, I'd have to rethink my whole journey. Besides, I can spend time in Teyvat while I search."

She forces a soft laugh, and he flinches as if the sound had inflicted physical damage.

"The scenery up here is a lot nicer than down there," she says. It's probably a joke—some facsimile of humor in this impossible situation—and she laughs again, that horrible breathy laugh that seems to be little more than a sob in disguise.

"Yeah," he replies. It is an entirely lame response, but the situation is balancing on the edge of a sword, and he doesn't want either of them to end up bloody once more. "It's a good thing."

She squeezes her eyes shut, swaying slightly. "I think—" she breathes. "I think I need to rest more."

There is a note of pleading in her voice, and he cannot tell what she is pleading for. Is it a plea for him to leave, or a plea for him to stay?

In the end, he nods stiffly and stands, leaving the room without a look back at the false reality of his own making. The guilt of it lives inside him anyways—what good will it do to see it?

She had echoed every one of the reasons he had given himself, but they suddenly seemed so irrational. Despite believing it was his best choice, he can't seem to believe the reasoning when it comes from her lips.

And what does he expect to come from this choice? What future has he built for himself? He can only hope that whenever the twins finally reunite, it is far from the abyss, and her brother's experience goes unspoken. If she discovers his lie, she will surely hate him—perhaps into eternity. Are a few moments of happiness worth a potential eternity of resentment? If she finds out, will she depart this world with a grudge held tightly in her heart? Will his betrayal be carried through the stars?