cursed wings of grief | genshin impact x f.reader

𝐀 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

Beneath the pale light of a half-hidden moon, Xiao’s sharp senses stirred. Something was wrong. Aether’s voice, distant but urgent, echoed in his mind, calling his name.

Without hesitation, Xiao vanished from the wind-swept plains of Liyue, reappearing in a blur of movement above the vast, silent desert of Sumeru. The air was thick with tension and an unfamiliar presence, demonic, yet different from the usual monsters he dealt with. He could feel it gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. His golden eyes scanned the scene beneath him.

The ground gave way to a deep crater where the temple of the Pyro Yaksha was hidden. Sand stirred ominously around the temple’s entrance, illuminated by the faint glow of distant torches. His gaze narrowed as he spotted a cluster of bodies. Millelith guards, forest rangers, and… Aether. They lay strewn about, unconscious or severely wounded. Paimon fluttered helplessly beside them, calling out in a panicked voice, relieved to see Xiao.

Xiao landed soundlessly beside Aether’s motionless form. His heart raced, though his face remained cold. Aether’s chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. Alive. Relief flooded him, but it was brief. The demonic aura still hung in the air, stronger than before.

"Who is responsible for this?" He asked, voice stoic.

"They went that way!" Paimon pointed.

Xiao’s head snapped toward the temple ruins below, the sensation of evil growing heavier by the second. The Pyro Yaksha’s temple, long forgotten beneath the shifting sands, had been disturbed. He felt it, a sharp prickle along his spine. It was here. The artifact they had all come to protect was in danger.

Without hesitation, Xiao plunged into the depths of the temple, the sound of the wind and his allies’ labored breaths fading behind him. The stairs spiraled into the earth, ancient carvings of the Pyro Yaksha’s battle with demons etched into the stone. But something more recent, more dangerous, awaited him below.

As he descended, he noticed something off. The air was thick with a familiar, acrid scent. Smoke. Flickers of flame reflected off the walls, twisting shadows in strange and unsettling ways. His keen eyes caught a trail of blackened scorch marks marring the temple’s floor, along with the corpses of ruin guards. There had been a battle, and it wasn’t over yet.

Xiao’s footsteps halted at the final chamber. The central hall of the Pyro Yaksha’s temple was vast and cavernous, its once-majestic pillars crumbling under the weight of time. At the heart of the chamber sat the artifact, a golden relic imbued with some of the raw, volatile power of the Pyro Yaksha. It pulsed with a faint red glow, housed in a pedestal surrounded by protective barriers and ancient traps.

But standing before it, just beyond the altar, was a figure cloaked in shadow.

She was tall, poised, and unrelenting as she approached the artifact with an almost reverent air. Her cloak billowed slightly from the residual flames and winds that still hung in the air. Xiao could feel the power radiating from her. Her movements were precise, practiced, like someone who was sticking to every little detail of a carefully revised plan.

He stepped forward. “Stop.”

The figure’s hand froze inches away from the artifact. Slowly, she turned her head toward him. In the dim light, her fierce, glowing eyes met his, sharp with a certain darkness. Her lips curled into a humorless smirk.