Those Who Share the Memory

1.

It festered in him, creeping through his body and seeping into his heart. It rattled his bones and left his skin sticky. At the roots of the Windrise tree, Venti crouched weakly, mustering up the little remaining strength he had left to ward off the abyssal corruption that threatened to consume him. Head heavy and his hands digging into the dirt, he clung to his last sliver of hope that stood both miles away from him, high in the sky, and rooted into the ground a few feet away from him. All that greeted him was a cold silence.

Had Celestia abandoned him?

He sucked in a deep breath. Yes.

Admitting it somehow stung more than the pain that threatened to split his skull. Not that he blamed them, he was after all, a rather pitiful archon. A puppet that had dreamt too big and a puppet that had strayed too far in its attempt for freedom, only to tangle itself in the strings that weighed it down.

Was this how he'd fall – like an angel with its wings stripped off, plummeting to the ground? The open field in front of him started swimming in his vision. He let out a grunt.

It was painful, trying to hold the corruption back. It was painful, knowing that if he failed, there was a chance he'd hurt his people and Mondstadt. Time was making him weaker and the corruption stronger and now it was only a matter of waiting.

Before he what? What would become of him? Death? The thought echoed silently in his mind. What would become of a discarded puppet picked up by a new master – one devoid of humanity and made of darkness that did nothing but take? The abyss was a cruel place – he had learnt that lesson too soon.

He didn't get to think any further as the world around him fell into pitch black and his body plummetted flat onto the ground, the only movement being soft twitches of pain. Under the cold shade of the Windrise tree, the grass cut into his skin and the wind howled in despair.

In ways, the darkness was comforting; a blanket that protected his wings from the harsh rays of the sun. In other ways, the darkness was cold and bitter leaving nothing but nausea. It was all around him, and despite how infinitely the darkness around him stretched, it was as if he was stuck in a small box, unable to escape.

His understanding of the passing of time around him was weak - time was rather funny when you had lived so long. Nor did the passing of time hold much meaning to him. He had been young when he had learnt how fleeting mortal lives were. One could say that it was cruel to be the lone one remaining and see those he cherished fade into memories that disintegrated between his fingers every time he tried to hold onto them. A cruel fate in many ways, a curse more than a gift – that was what immortality had left him.

He didn't realise it when he first gained consciousness, his mind still stuck in the crawling depths of the darkness. What fully woke him up was the glint of gold that broke the abyss around him. Venti limply reached his arms out to grasp it, only to have cold metal press against his neck. With a jolt, he found himself with a long and sharp spear pointed at his neck. The rest of his surroundings were left to his imagination, eyes too bleary to make more than the faint silhouette of a figure towering over him. Who?

A rough voice resonated callously through the air. "Explain yourself, intruder."

Venti blinked slowly. He recognised that voice.

Zhongli. A rather angry-looking Zhongli dressed in his archon outfit. It had been years since Venti had last seen his friend don said outfit and his mind failed to recall any possible occasions it could be. Plus, what exactly was Zhongli doing out in Mondstadt? He decided to settle on a quick apology. "Ehe, I'm sorry Zhongli, I'll get going now."