Pray, for the day when I die in your arms

Chapter 1

Diluc took a break from walking when he arrived at the end of the wooden bridge crossing the Stone Gate river. He had made the trip on foot and incognito all the way from LiYue harbor in barely a few days, fueled by an energy he was surprised he could even muster. The long, exhausting boat trip from Snezhnaya should have drained him of his last strength, but the final miles that separated him from Mondstadt had gone in a flash – partially because he felt like an ambush would be on his if he lingered unnecessarily for as much as a few minutes.

As gravel rolled under his worn-out travel boots, the realization settled in that those were the first steps he made back in Mondstadt ever since he had left the Ordo Favonius – a lifetime ago. He pulled back the hood from his ragged cloak, letting his scarlet hair wave freely in the wind. His pace slowed down. To think that he had missed three of Mondstadt's gentle summers already... The fear that had been twisting his stomach for long, cold months of Snezhnayan winter was starting to feel like a bad dream, already dissipating under the sunlight.

Sitting on a rock, he took a deep breath, basking in the mid-afternoon sun. The air by the river's bed washed over his tired body, pleasantly chill. His eyes closed slightly in delight, his muscles gradually relaxing as he took in the light of the sun and the softness of the spring breeze.

The scenery hadn't changed much in three years – or rather, not as much as he had expected it to. Maybe the trees had become a little bit taller, maybe their foliage had grown thicker than he remembered them to be – but the millenia-old rocks remained unchanged, the ancient ruins still stood proud against the blue sky, the rivers kept on flowing like they always did. And as he made his way along mossy cliffs, the old hills that were so dear to his memory rolling their gentle curves before his eyes, a gust of wind carrying the distinct scent of dandelions came caressing his face – welcome back, welcome home, whispered the gods in the gale.

The winery, too, was still here, all creamy stones and glistening tiles, overlooking the lush vineyards, majestuous – ominous, like a gravestone, an elegia to all of his buried memories. Strange... he used to call that place home, he thought to himself, as he nonchalantly walked down the dusty path that followed the manor's estate.

For a while, he had built up in his mind the idea that coming back to Mondstadt would give him some kind of revelation – that somehow, everything would make sense. But of course, that would have been too easy. He kept walking, half waiting for something to happen; nothing did. Far above his head, the trees murmured; the wind fluttered in the copses.

Maybe it was what he had longed for all this time – a walk through the woods, some peace and quiet, a place where he belonged... A hesitant smile lit up his face. The trunks made way before him, presenting him with the familiar sight of tall stone walls and whirling windmills. He picked up the pace, towards the city of freedom that was so dear to his homesick heart. To hell with the complex mechanics of fate! For one day, only one day, he wanted to pretend nothing had changed.

***

Out of all the people Kaeya had deemed likely to come to disturb his evening drinking, his former sworn brother was by far the least expected. The night was still young, and the Angel's Share was packed full of ordinary civilians and off-duty knights alike. Kaeya was one of the latter, enjoying some well-deserved liquor at the tavern's bar. He was the first person to see him enter the establishment.

Although he was already a few drinks in, seeing his ever so familiar silhouette walking through the door made him sober up instantly. He was grateful to be seated – if he hadn't been, he feared his legs would have given out.

As the newcomer made his way to the counter, the regulars' conversations gradually faded until no sound could be heard other than the wooden floor creaking under his feet. Kaeya took the opportunity to have a closer look at him, still in disbelief. He had resolved to never see that man again. To him, he was nothing but a silhouette leaving without luggage in the morning sun, burnt in the back of his mind, but about as real as the landscapes in the pictures hanging on the wall of his bedroom. And yet, there was no mistaking it, it was definitely him. The way he gauged each person in the room he entered, the barely visible freckles on his white throat, his venous hand mechanically brushing his fiery hair in a vain attempt to tame it... In a million little ways, he was still the same man, but it was apparent he had changed, too; he seemed to have grown taller, or maybe more muscular. His face was sunken and his eyes were like two scarlet orbs hollowed into their orbits – still, he could tell, a fire was dancing inside him. It only needed a little care to start raging again.