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On the eve of Lantern Rite, Liyue Harbor is beautiful.
More beautiful than usual, Xiao corrects himself, because even his adversity towards humans cannot make him deny that the harbor city is anything short of exquisite. But today it is especially so, filled with crimson and yellow, fire and gold. Lanterns adorn poles and houses, carpets of red welcome guests and residents alike. A shimmer of golden dust, like the wings of geo crystalflies scatter across the city grounds, casting an ethereal light on all that it touches. Liyue is a land of riches, a land of gold and fortune and today, it shows just that.
But a land like Liyue necessitates a long history. Fortituity necessitates sacrifice, and prosperity necessitates loss. In Liyue, history is a powerful thing, as is family. History and necessity has crafted a harbor out of a beach, a city out of a port. And family built Liyue, built its heart, carved it into the mountain soil and rock walls. Fittingly, the Lantern Rite had been formed not just to appreciate Liyue's long history but for the families that have given it a soul.
Which is to say, it is not something Xiao partakes in.
On the surface, it's a frivolous human activity. A pastime for people who don't have better things to do than to drown the year's sorrows in food and lights and partying. Xiao cannot give less of a damn about frivolous human activities. And he cannot, in good conscience, stand amongst the crowds and smile at the descendents of his collateral damage, generations later.
But on a deeper level, it reminds him of everything he's lost along the way. Everything he's given to make Liyue what it is today, everybody. In the smiles of the children playing by the sea, in the songs of the performers under the sky, is every memory, every brother and sister he's lost to the fight that birthed the city of lights. They gave their lives to save the people he killed; their blood was on his hands. He cannot wash away the guilt; he can only mourn their memory.
And so for countless years and countless Lantern Rites, he'd stayed as far away from the city as possible, deep in the forests of Jueyun Karst. There, he meditates, and he admires the moon. It stares down at him, like a mirror of judgement, and he takes in its reflection. Like a silver serpent in the lakes, silver eyes, silver tongue. He lets it cut sharply into his heart, his mind, lets it cleanse his very soul of its poison, until the clear lake water turns black like ink and Xiao can no longer stain this world. He steps inside his head, into another world, a world without a past or a future and only consists of him and the trees and the melodies he remembers. The flute that rings through pillars of stone, clouds of ash. There, he is not the last of his brothers. He is not an adeptus; a yaksha. He is just Xiao. He meditates because the cries and wishes become too much for him otherwise; each one wrapped up in a neat little Xiao lantern and sent into the skies of Liyue. Each one holding the precious, precious hopes of a measly little human. More wealth, better health, love, excellence... The same echoes of impatient wants merely a cry into the void, lighting the depths of Liyue's oceans with the very hope for a brighter future.
Xiao lanterns... Ironically, almost hysterically, named by some scholar or another. Someone reading glorified fanfiction about the yakshas, someone pretending or believing themselves to be honoring their memory, to dedicate an entire festival to his name. Xiao scoffs. Most people don't even know he exists. The ones who do are usually afraid. As they should be; he cannot promise that he will never repeat his past, as the demonic bonds strain against the heart of his soul.
He wonders what other tales have been told about him; if he remains the villain in anybody's mind. Surely someone remembers his past, someone else suffers the knowledge and guilt he suffers himself. He can try but he cannot atone for all of his sins, and when the lanterns call out his name, he remembers the same cries that fall silent when dreams die.
But this year... This year is different. Previous years he had the company of Morax and the adepti, at the very least. When Morax was feeling festive, he'd insisted they gather together like a makeshift family, even with the half-blood secretary Ganyu. A little piece of Liyue's history hidden in its mountains, celebrating the festival of their creations. It took a while, a few thousand years after Guizhong's death for Morax to find his footing again, but once he did, Morax found amusement and fondness in humanity's creations, and he loved them with all his heart. He wears his love like a crown atop his head, and it manifests in his habits, his collections of jewellery and ornaments and his archival knowledge. He studied them like a scientist, like a father.
Today, Morax is gone.
Xiao knows that he's in the harbor somewhere, basking in all the festivities and probably talking some poor soul's ear off about the history of the Rite. Laughing and chatting with that Fatui boy he'd taken such a liking to (gods, and that's a story for another day), carving their names together on a lantern or a ship, releasing it into the sky like the sky would care. Yes, Zhongli would be enjoying the Rite, finally, as a human, among the humans. Xiao is happy for him, he really is, and maybe if he squints hard enough he'd see him in the crowd, but he doesn't and he won't. The traveler makes a passing remark about visiting Zhongli with some gifts (read: strange glowing rocks) from his travels, and asks if Xiao wants to join him, but Xiao only shakes his head. He lets the traveler pass on a greeting for him, but he won't see Zhongli today. Zhongli deserves a break, deserves to be mortal, be with his new found family. Zhongli had wished to be mortal, and Xiao will always honor his wishes, even if he isn't a god anymore. His gratitude and loyalty towards him will carry on through this life and onto the next.
No, Xiao won't impose today.
He muses this over as plates upon plates of delicacies are brought to him, in a secluded corner at the base of Wangshu Inn. The traveler sits opposite him and his little fairy floats nearby. They make an odd group, but the people of Wangshu Inn are understanding and leave them be.
The traveler is an enigma. Xiao sees it in his eyes that he's also different. He's also alone. They reflect his own idle sadness when they stare off into the sky, like they are searching, for something, anything. He wonders what happened, but it's not his place to ask. The traveler has helped Liyue a great deal; Xiao does not forget fighting alongside him when Osial's waves threatened to drown the harbor. He might be annoyingly insistent, with his kindness and excitement, almost as much as a certain bard, but Xiao can count on him where it matters. And for this, he has Xiao's respect. He will protect him, and he's told him as much, if he needs protection. Xiao's respect is hard to earn and even harder to be repaid. The traveler seems to get this.
They find companionship in each other, in the setting sun of Dihua Marsh, and though Xiao will not admit it, he is warmed by the lengths that he and his little fairy friend have gone to "bring the Rite to him" so to speak.
Maybe they, too, are without family to be with. Xiao understands. He does not prod, and the traveler does not question Xiao back. One lonely soul finds another. They eat in amicable, bittersweet silence, two warriors from different worlds whose destinies collide for just a split second, a momentary blip in the universe's timeline. Though Xiao has a feeling it will not be the last he hears of them.
And because Xiao cannot bear to break their little hearts, he does not tell them why he doesn't celebrate the Lantern Rite. He chews on Pervases' favorite grilled tiger fish in silence. It is crisp and too tough for Xiao's tastes, but it reminds him of friendlier times and warm smiles and he eats it out of honor. Paimon's incessant chattering adds a lightheartedness to the sombre mood, and Xiao enjoys his dinner with a soft smile on his face. She drowns out the beginnings of the wishes.
The traveler leaves at sunset; Xiao insists upon it. He tries to get Xiao to visit the harbor with him, but Xiao is adamant on remaining behind. He accompanies them to the edge of the city under the guise of protection, but even the traveler can see that he enjoys the quiet walk under the canopy of Liyue's trees that seem to leak molten gold. The traveler banters with Paimon as they walk, and Xiao quips in occasionally, eliciting a surprised laugh from them every time. It is comfortable company and a relaxing walk. Xiao is almost reluctant to leave them. They bring him back to memories of friendship and brotherhood, a younger Morax and training Adepti. In a small corner of the mountains, ignorant to what they will have to conquer. When music and sweet wine make him forget his past for just a second.
But then they part ways, and the nostalgia leaves with them. Xiao is left with a strange emptiness, a gentle longing. The fresh mountain scent grounds him, as do the binds on his soul whenever he dwells too long on the past. He swallows hard.
When the moon begins to rise and the traveler and Paimon's voices blend in with the dull, distant chatter of people in the harbor, Xiao settles next to a patch of Qingxins on the top of a cliff that overlooks the city. He lets his legs dangle off the edge; the cool Qingxin-infused breeze sends a shiver down his spine. He tunes out the sounds of humanity, and in the silence of dusk, the mood turns sombre once more. It is a familiar position to be in.
Xiao tracks the moon idly as it makes its way into the sky, as gold melts to silver in the clouds. This year's Lantern Rite is centered around Skybracer, as he'd learned from Paimon. Like Pervases, he hadn't known Skybracer all that well, but he was there when Skybracer had given his life for the city. The human records were always a little off, and he doubts they would recognise the ancient trees that twisted their way around Mt. Tianheng to be the same steel antlers that held it up. He leans back, runs his hands through the soft uncut grass. The humans don't know the bloodshed, soul-sacrifice that went into Liyue's soil. The sheer number of fallen archons that never truly die, and the loyal servants that give their life to lock them beneath mountains and oceans and forests and hills. They learn from history books written by other humans, none of them accurate, none of them able to truly portray the courage, the loyalty one must possess to not just die for their land but to become it. They walk on the spines of dragons, scale the wings of phoenixes, and never really realise that the land they live on and harvest and strip and burn are the very deities they worship.
Ironic, really, that they cut down the horns and talons of gods just to turn them into sacrifices and offerings for their owners.
Xiao is old; he has seen it all. He knows they do not understand. He cannot make them understand. They are quick to forgive, quick to forget, one generation after the next passing in the blink of an eye. But he has sworn to protect them, and he will die by his promise. It doesn't forgive his past, but it's the least he can do.
The people forget, but the land remembers.
He is lost in the past, numb to his memories when the festival truly begins. The people sing; they sing to him, sing to him with prayers and wishes and hope so strong he swears it lifts him. Every lantern, every wish calls his name; he wonders if the creator of the Rite had known this curse they'd put on him. Near the harbor, it is stronger than ever; it steals his breath, and he feels power bubble up inside him. Not the same karmic strength his mask gives him, but the featherlight potential blessed upon him by Rex Lapis when he first swore his allegiance to the adepti. A contract, binding him to the citizens of Liyue, to their every call, their every wish. It rings through him like a bell. It weighs him down but it elevates him at the same time, to an astral plane that lets him see through the eyes of every human, every child.
And through them, he sees their laughter, their love, their pain. He sees newborn babies with lanterns tied to their wrists, lovers holding hands and gazing at the sky, elderly next to pictures of their sons, working in faraway lands. He sees through the eyes of an old enemy that's made his home in this foreign land, and through them he sees Zhongli's fond smile, and unknowingly Xiao matches it. He sees through the eyes of the traveler, staring into a world far beyond this one, deep, deep into the galaxies. The traveler whispers a quiet thank you to Xiao because he knows Xiao is listening, he told him as much. Xiao huffs a quiet laugh, but it warms his heart.
Too long, he has been doing his duties in silence, without appreciation. As he should; he does not need gratitude, as a knight fends for his queen without thanks, as a spider protects its web. He does not need gratitude because there is no possible way the humans he protects can understand the lengths he's gone to, the things he's seen and those he's done. It is like a mouse thanking a lion, a flower thanking the rain. Adepti do not thank him, as they shouldn't, because they, too, have suffered like him; they offer only understanding, only solitude. But Xiao does not need their understanding nor their solitude, he is not like them, he is aware. They did not lose their family. They were trained to protect, he was trained to kill. They are not the last yaksha; they are not him.
Morax thanks him, and often, but that is because he is Morax and he is polite.
But the traveler... The traveler cannot begin to understand; he might as well be human, yet he understands more than any human will. He has sought out Xiao and will likely seek him out again, because maybe he understands Xiao's loneliness. He cannot understand Xiao's past, Xiao's reasons, and he is so alike the gullible humans in the harbor, but he understands Xiao's reasons and that is enough. So Xiao accepts his thanks, lets it sit in his chest, contemplates the prospect of making a friend.
His trance is broken by a soft voice that very insistently calls out his name in a tune. He looks up; the sea of stars continues its arduous journey across the sky. The Mingxiao lantern, in Skybracer's form, prances through them in a seemingly impossible pattern. The people do not know how plaustrite works, so they do not question it, but Xiao knows it's not purely the work of man. Somewhere in the crowds, someone blessed with a vision or other celestial power does care for the humans, and every year without fail he knows they help make the Lantern Rite just a bit more special.
He scoffs gently, because he never understood them, and he is not sure if he ever will. But he cannot be them, and he is glad someone can. He does not know who they are, and maybe he will never know, but they do their duty as he does his.
His eyes focus on a particular lantern that seems stray away from the rest. While all the other lanterns float gently, weightlessly into the air, this one moves in a haphazard pattern, all too fast. He squints his eyes as he watches it zip between the other lanterns, like a living thing, almost like an anemo slime running out of air.
His first thought is maybe it's a toy, made brilliantly to fly through the air like a bird. He's seen kids playing with them in the plains near the city, helped some little girl take down one that crashed into a tree. She'd looked at him with mesmerized eyes then, but he had to hide his face so she wouldn't see the blood.
But then, the lantern deviates from the group and flitters in his direction. A few seconds later, as if spotting him, it flies at him full force. A normal person would be taken aback, unarmed and vulnerable. But Xiao is trained, and he is always wary, and though he does not have time to stand up or get his spear, he traps the lantern in a tiny wind tunnel that makes it spin like a mini tornado, before gently coming to a rest before him.
He holds his hand out for it; it lands softly on his palms. He frowns. Funnily enough, it seems like your every day Xiao lantern - handcrafted with wild fibers, though not the kind you'd find near the city. The city's grass is trimmed and maintained and this smells of the wilderness, of rivers and hills, and if he concentrates on it, a hint of mist grass. This lantern has been through places.
Xiao prides himself in his composure, but even he is startled when a small groan comes from within the lantern. He peers inside carefully; it envelopes his face in a warm glow, and he's surprised to see a small being leaning against the wall, looking as dizzy and tired as a little wisp could look. Beside it, he finds a note, hastily scribbled on a receipt from a food kiosk.
He made me do this, said he wanted to surprise you. Go figure. Happy Lantern Rite!
-A
A. A for Aether, of course. Xiao chuckles; picks up the little wisp that's all but slumped into the corner of the lantern. He realises he trusts the traveler, as much as he could trust someone he's known for such a short while. It seems like he genuinely wants to impress Xiao, wants to befriend him, and well, Xiao hasn't had that for a long time. He places the lantern aside.
The wisp looks harmless enough, especially in this state. It sits on his hand and stares at him with beady eyes and Xiao stares back; it seems familiar, somehow. Like it knows Xiao. Like Xiao knows it. It emits a soft white glow, like an anemograna, like a star that fell from the sky. Against the backdrop of a thousand lanterns, it might as well have been one. The wisp places its hands on his, like someone feeling the ground they're sitting on. They tickle him softly. Xiao tilts his head in confusion, raising the wisp to eye level.
And then the wisp laughs, that unmistakable cheerful giggle, and immediately, Xiao understands.
He stands up quickly, almost dropping it. "What the hell, Venti?" he exclaims, and it gets a surprised laugh out of him. Venti the wisp seems to be pleased by that, until he tumbles to the ground, just to catch himself before he smashes his tiny little head on a rock and transforms back to his human form.
"Hello to you too, Xiao. That was quite the landing just now!" Venti replies in a singsong voice, out of breath from his little adventure.
"Why are you here?" Xiao asks, genuinely, though it comes across as accusatory, as he often does. He grits his teeth when the words leave his mouth; he does not mean to offend. But he isn't familiar with pleasantries, and it is indeed strange for someone, anyone, to visit him in this manner, at this time. He's used to being alone, having two different visitors in a day is almost too much.
"Why, now, that's no way to greet a friend! Though the traveler's ideas, I must commend." Venti laughs, seemingly making no note of Xiao's gruff tone. He takes a step backwards then, stumbles, and almost slips off the cliff. In a flash, Xiao catches him with an arm behind his back, and hauls him back onto land. Venti has the audacity to giggle. When Xiao lets go, Venti holds onto the front of his shirt and practically falls on him. He smells of sweet wine and cecilias and wild grass fibre, and howling wind in a land without rest. A warm feeling settles in Xiao's stomach - familiarity. With the Rite of Descension, working with the Qixing and then the whole Starsnatcher ordeal, it's been a while since Xiao's had his quiet nights at Wangshu Inn. A while since Xiao's seen Venti. Xiao finally gets Venti to release him when he sits them both down in the soft grass.
"Venti," he says, seriously now, "are you drunk?"
"Maybe," Venti answers coyly, and looks up at him with bright turquoise eyes. They reflect the summer sky, its clouds and its birds and the breeze through fields of aquamarine. "I thought you might want company," he continues, "sitting up here so sullenly." He hiccups, tipsy, but not enough to forget his rhymes. Xiao sighs, but it is with a fond undertone that he can't seem to get rid of, oddly fitting for the bard that he also cannot leave.
"I... prefer to be alone on nights like these." He replies. Sees the light in Venti's eyes dim just a little, before it's replaced by the same nonchalance he boasts. That he covers himself in, a mask made of the same sweetness in song and in wine. In a beat Xiao hates it, hates how familiar it is, his own mask hanging heavily at his side. One of evil and one of innocence, both guarding the emotions within.
There's a pause between them that drags on for a beat too long. Xiao looks away, back into the sky, lost in his thoughts, lost in the past. He should be alone. He has always mourned alone, honored his brothers alone. Grief is a lonely ordeal, and it cannot be shared. Guilt is even lonelier.
Still, he hears the celebratory laughter down by the harbor, the prayers of love and family drifting away into the moonscape. They are contagious, and they are part of why he stays away from the humans. Morax had stopped sharing this sentiment of his, and look at him now... But Xiao cannot afford to be so... careless. Carefree. He cannot afford to be, well, not alone. He gets hurt himself, often. But he cannot allow someone else to get hurt because of him. He has inflicted enough pain for a lifetime, for ten lifetimes.
And still.
(He remembers telling Venti exactly this, one night when the moon was high and Venti had strummed his lyre, engulfing Tianqiu Valley in a slow, sad song. The words he couldn't say hung heavy in the air - I'm afraid of hurting you. But Venti got the message, he always gets the message, and he had laughed, replying with you can't hurt me, I'm still a god, you know, because it was before that bitch Signora had stolen his gnosis and Venti was in a good, jestering mood, which he usually was. Xiao scoffed a little because they both knew he has killed archons and likely will again, because they never truly die and he is forever bound to his promise. But the night was warm and the music was soothing and if Xiao's eyes sparkled more than usual, if his heart beat a little quicker, Venti sat a little closer, well, nobody has to know.)
And still, bathing in the warm golden hue of lanterns like stars, Xiao's memories are filled with his old family, his occasional acquaintances. His current friends, if they would wish to call him as such. People with unbounded kindness in their hearts to extend their warmth to someone like him, someone who can never ever return it. As he grew in age and isolation, he has begun to find them heartwarming instead of silly, honorable instead of stupid. The people at Wangshu Inn, who allow him a place to return to in the deepest of nights, show him nothing but gratitude in a land of contracts. It is his duty to protect them, but it is not theirs to return this favor. The traveler, who busies himself in the affairs of Gods in such desperate search for their kin, but who stops for villagers and merchants and adepti he cannot begin to understand. An ex-god, ex-archon who seeks Xiao out again and again, who's seen sights of him that no one else has, who's seen more because, well, he was a god after all. Who's stayed despite all that, the family, the friend that Xiao never could have had.
And so.
And so, when Venti says softly, "Okay, I understand," and turns to leave, in a moment of weakness and nostalgia and hope, Xiao grabs onto his sleeve.
"No- I. You can stay," he says, eyes downcast. He counts the blades of grass on the ground and feels his face heat up, even in the chilly February breeze. His voice is gruff and betrays his anguish. Regret. Embarrassment. He feels Venti still.
"It's okay, Xiao. I know how it feels." Venti's tone is soft, but it is a serious one. It is the voice he uses late at night in Wangshu Inn, when he drops his rhymes and nonchalance and they talk about their countries and anecdotes and very carefully avoids the topic of war. The Venti that is without walls, without pretenses. That is open, maskless, the Venti that sees through Xiao's. Not really the jolly bard, not the worshipped archon either. Somewhere in between where Venti met Barbatos and found himself, of a time long past stuck in the present. He smiles with a wisdom that betrays his true age. He makes Xiao feel young.
And when Venti smiles a ghost of a smile, fond and understanding and sad all at once, Xiao is selfish, selfish to think himself to be one of the few people to see Venti like this. To see the true Venti even though he knows there's more to him than even Xiao sees. An archon that lives means a thousand others slayed, Venti is no different. But Xiao is selfish and he treasures his moments and he remembers them in times like these, when he is weak and small and horribly, stupidly, human.
And when- and when did Venti crawl his way under his skin, into his head? He remembers meeting him for the first time, the memory fuzzy with age. Introduced by Morax; Xiao hadn't taken him seriously then, didn't for a long time. He remembers thinking Venti weak, disconnecting the stories of Barbatos from the happy-go-lucky bard. So when did annoyance turn to fondness? When did Xiao turn to this - to seek approval and affirmation and something that lies beneath the surface of his chest and at the tip of his tongue, that, between one breath and the next, threatens to swallow him. When did Morax's friend become his?
(Because he is efficient and intimidating and vicious, and the monsters and demons that are lucky enough to escape spread tales of the unkillable yaksha and when he looks them in the eye he sees only eons of evil and eons more. And he kills without hesitation and without losing focus, but when his duties take him to Stone Gate or Dragonspine, when the night is quiet and Mondstadt is on the horizon, he looks at the stars and sees Venti's eyes.)
"Please," Xiao says, then, uncharacteristic, through gritted teeth. He hears his heart in his chest, he is sure Venti hears it too. Human. His grip on Venti's sleeve is tight, and when he turns to face him, he is met with wide eyes and a surprised look. It melts away to a smile, just on the edge of fond and teasing, and Venti sits back down. Xiao releases the breath he didn't know he was holding, and relaxes. He is aware of the eyes on him, the red in his cheeks, the flush that extends past his neck to his shoulders. He is aware that he is frowning, at himself, at Venti, at something. He is good at hiding his expressions, his feelings, but he doesn't with Venti. Doesn't want to. Can't. What's the difference?
Xiao moves to lean against the cliff, and Venti follows. The stone is cool against Xiao's back, sends a chill down his spine, but his companion is warm against his side and his face is even warmer. Venti seems to understand, then, as he often does, and moves to lean against Xiao, his braids tickling Xiao's bare arm. An anchor; a flame. A warm spirit in a winter tavern that sets him on fire from the inside. Xiao has never been a drinker, but he thinks he might be drunk all the same.
Drunk on hope and contentment, on surprise, delight, a brightened day and a lighter night, on ten thousand wishes that call out his name, like buzzing in his ear, and the buried ones in his chest.
Thank you, he wants to say, but the words don't come out. He smiles instead, looks at Venti look at the stars, and hopes he understands.
He wonders what Venti sees in them; he has an idea but he does not yet know Venti's story. He has read history books but history often lies, as is the case when the narrator is inherently biased. He knows Venti sits at the tip of Mondtstadt's Starsnatch Cliff sometimes and sings to the stars; maybe one day he will join him to see a different sky. But they are in Liyue now, and the stars melt into the lights of the city, reflected by the dark ocean waves. They betray the depth of the sky, the stars and worlds that lie beyond. Venti is warm against his side, his breathing even. Tell me your story, Xiao wants to say, but he doesn't. Maybe one day Venti will tell him his story himself, and maybe one day Xiao will tell his.
It is with a soft surprise that Xiao realises he is thinking of the future - something he is not familiar with. At some point, Xiao's arm had moved to rest behind Venti's back, fingers playing idly with the feathers dangling from his vision. Venti's sighs, his breath skirts across his shoulder and the night turns too warm all at once. Sweet wine and cecilias. Intoxicated; Xiao is intoxicated by association, by exposure. He tastes phantom wine, hears the echoes of Venti's songs, Venti's borrowed flute that he'd carved his name on on a tipsy summer night in Wangshu Inn. Xiao had caved and joined Venti then, for the first time, and he remembers laughing and singing and doing everything he'd hoped Venti would forget, and they'd never brought it up again but sometimes he knows when he looks at Venti that he remembers it all. The feathers are soft in his fingers. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, thinks of long nights in the mountains of Liyue and Zhongli's words before he had left for the city.
That he has completed his duties, with his final contract, and that he has spent too long chasing the past. The memories of old gods and the beginnings of Liyue and Guizhong, that he had spent centuries picking apart until he could no longer tell what was real and what was a dream. Xiao is too much like who Zhongli used to be, alone, isolated. When you transcend time you transcend dimensions, and the past and present melt together until they no longer make sense.
Maybe there is some truth to his words. Xiao's days are marked by the passing of seasons, the animals and birds that pass by. Time is nothing to adepti, and it is nothing to him. A decade passes in the blink of an eye and the world gets older but not him, not him nor the immortal undead gods that lie under Liyue's soil.
But Venti is also a god.
Venti is also immortal, and between them, they have nothing but time.
And he thinks of the long stretch of infinity ahead of them, time that stretches into the stars and beyond. Long nights guarding the city peppered by Venti's visits, and how time always seemed to pass more quickly then, falling through his fingers like sand as he trudged through time's never-ending desert.
Xiao thinks until he cannot think anymore, until the sun has long set and the lanterns are long gone. The harbor's noise dims to a buzz as the people prepare for midnight, for the lunar period. They continue sitting like this, the last yaksha and his ex-archon friend, until the moon is high and the wind is still. Venti is lost in his own world, has been for some time. But with him, Xiao is content, and he thinks, maybe this was one of the best Lantern Rites he's had.
Xiao opens his eyes when the roar of the harbor rises once again. People are shouting, cheering, numbers, he realises. He's never been near the harbor for this part of the Rite; usually the lanterns and their prayers are enough for him to leave. His annoyance, exasperation is long gone; he is at peace. He only finds peace in the quietest of nights, atop the highest of mountains, but here, with the archon of freedom nestled at his side, he is free, and he is at peace. Slowly, he pushes Venti off of him and stands up.
"Shh, look," he replies to Venti's confused look, even though he hasn't said anything. He moves to the edge of the cliff, and looks down. Families are gathered in the harbor, at their doorsteps, children bundled up in blankets on the shoulders of their fathers.
The crowd counts down in messy unison, until the clock strikes twelve and the first fireworks burst open in the sky.
Golden sparkles shower down from the clouds like rain, dazzling everything it touches. The people's cheers are drowned out by the crackle of the fireworks, the loud boom when they explode into flowers of fire and ice and rain back onto the ground like a million autumn leaves, a million butterflies, wings beating with the brilliance of sunlight. Like powder grinded from the finest Cor Lapis, the pure mercury that flows from a burst ley line.
"Wow," Venti breathes, and it is only then that Xiao realises he's joined him. "They always said Liyue held the best festivals," he jokes, and his eyes sparkle like the fireworks they reflect, like comets that shower down from the galaxies.
Xiao turns to him, and realises that he is smiling. Xiao is smiling, not a polite, small smile but a full on grin that reaches his eyes, lit up by the golden fireworks that mesmerize. He has seen millennia of stars, even the odd meteor shower or two, but never so, so many stars like dust so within reach, filling up the quiet skies he's grown to see as home. Never with someone by his side, someone so different yet so similar, a wildcard that understands, a god that talks with men but walks alone, that has chosen him, out of everyone in the world, him, who sees him as exactly who he is but more than himself at the same time. So much more that Xiao cannot comprehend, cannot accept that Venti would understand because to understand is to have gone through the same millennia of anguish and regret and grief that Xiao has, and Xiao cannot accept that. Backlit by bursts of light, Venti is Barbatos, the angel of freedom, the archon of the wind. His wings are white tinged with gold and a blooming halo sits above his head, and his eyes are kind and joyous as ever, with the innocence of a child but the wisdom of a god. He is... he is the most beautiful sight Xiao has ever seen.
Ten thousand wishes and he's only ever had one.
Venti laughs at Xiao's childish joy, and it rings in his ears, like music, like bells. His heart is beating so, so fast and when he reaches out to touch Venti's phantom wings, they fade away into the night sky, the sparkles of a disappearing crystalfly, beautiful and transient. Just to be replaced by a new set of wings, this time aquamarine like his eyes, that burst to life behind him and shower him in light, in diamonds. His hand lands somewhere between Venti's shoulder and his face, hovering and unsure, until Venti turns into it, places his hand on top of Xiao's. He is beaming, there's something unreadable behind his eyes, and Xiao's mind is going a million miles an hour but he thinks of nothing, only the boy god before him, and how suddenly, like Liyue, Xiao realises he would do everything to protect him.
Venti's face is cool from the breeze and Xiao's hand is warm, Xiao's entire body is warm and cold all at once and he's sure he's red as ever but Venti says nothing, just mirrors his smile as Liyue's people paint the sky with stars and fire. He comes to his realisation with a start, not a shock but a soft oh, oh like a lock that clicked into place, like the final piece of a puzzle. Beside him the fireworks continue, bigger and brighter as ever, but suddenly Xiao cannot look away from Venti's gaze, cannot breathe from the wind in his chest that threatens to rip out his heart.
And he realises that he would gladly let it. In the name of the anemo archon, he would sacrifice his life and his honor to protect his god. The boy that stood before him, a thousand stories and a thousand songs wrapped into one, his god, his god. Because it was Rex Lapis who saved him from the clutches of his past, but it was Barbatos who freed him. Somewhere in between the sleepless nights and echoing melodies, a foreign god had become a friend, and a friend had become something more.
Xiao has never been one to feel, to fall; he is far too rational for that. He is a hunter, a sinner, born to hurt and to kill. He came to this world alone, he serves the land alone and he will die alone; these are the terms of his contract, and he has come to accept them.
But if under the fading fireworks that dazzle the skies like flames from heaven, if an ex-archon kisses a loyal adeptus, still, no one has to know.