Archive of Our Own

After Barbara stomps away with the Lyre of Himmel, Aether manages the first real breath he's been able to take in a while.

Seeing this, leftover mischief on Venti’s face morphs into pride for his new friend, and it’s that look that Aether once again sees the god behind the bard. Venti, Barbatos, holds his head high, feet barely touching the ground as if he weren’t afraid of the wind whisking him away. A god, Aether thinks, I’ve befriended a god.

That thought last for a good second before said god yelps and dives into the church bushes.

“Excuse me, boy,” a voice drawls from behind Aether. He turns to find an absolute serpent of a woman, who has slapped some gothic moth over her face like she’s about to attend a vampiric masquerade. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a dirty green rodent scuttling around these parts, have you?”

“Uh.” Aether does his best to stare at her eyepatch and not the bushes. Or the breasts that uncomfortably reach his eye-level. “No.”

The vampire lady shifts her eyes to where Venti is hiding, unamused. “Is that so?” she says blandly. She assesses Aether with mild interest before a smirk quirks at her lips. “Must have been my imagination. If you catch him, tell him that my Lady is not impressed with this Abyss nonsense that’s been brewing up, and that if he continues to be useless, I may take it upon myself to relieve him of the duty he has so pitifully neglected.”

She smiles then, eyes curved wickedly. Her red cape near smacks Aether in the face when she sweeps past him and disappears into the city below. 

Venti pops out of the bushes spitting leaves. “Ugh, what a wet rag,” he says with a shiver. “I never know if she’s serious or not.”

“Who was that?” Paimon asks, fluttering back into existence once the coast is clear. Aether isn't sure if he wants to know; he still feels as though heart is going to punch out of his chest.

“Signora,” Venti spits like a curse. “She’s one of the Cyro Archon’s— the Tsaritsa’s— Harbingers. Belgh, I’m just glad I didn’t have her breathing down my neck while we were saving Dvalin. I would have exploded with stress!”

“The Tsaritsa? You mean she’s Fatui?” The rude diplomats that gave Jean a headache pop into mind. So that moth on her face was a mask? Making best of the dress code, Aether guesses. “Didn’t she threaten to, uh, relieve you of your ‘duty’? Why does she know you’re a god?”

Venti’s nose scrunches as though he’s caught a bad smell. “Well, she’s too old to not know me. The Harbingers are a group of eleven humans that the Tsaritsa granted immortality to back during the Archon war, but it's as if she'd personally went out and found the worst people in Snezhnaya for it. Trust me that our dear Cyro Archon is scary competent already, but these days, she prefers to keep to herself and let her nasty generals play public relations. She even lets Signora bully me because it ‘keeps me on my toes’.” He scoffs. “I made these toes myself, I can keep on them just fine.”

The way Venti puts it, the Tsaritsa sounds like a very reclusive beast tamer who's only bothered to teach her pets bare minimum decency and basic household chores. That, or she really just doesn’t want to bother with actual diplomacy. Why be nice to people if you can just sic your demihuman generals on them instead?

“So that’s… normal?” Aether asks with concern. “You said you never knew if she was serious about it.”

Venti sighs. “Well, things have been pretty rough lately, with Dvalin getting sick and the Abyss Order acting out. She may be one of the Seven, but the Tsaritsa’s always been the most unpredictable out of us. She keeps so much inside herself— the type that doesn’t know how to talk about stuff, you see? Ah, I fear if she ever loses her cool, we will not realize it until after we have been played for fools.”

“What!?” Paimon exclaims. “That sounds super dangerous! What if that mean lady actually tries to steal your godhood? That’s…! That's... uh, wait… how do you steal someone’s godhood?”

Venti pats his chest. “We Archons all have a gnosis; it’s special kind of Vision that’s directly linked to Celestia. Signora thinks me to be a waste of an Archon, so she’ll sometimes talk about how I don’t deserve it or how it would do better in someone else’s hands. That person being her favorite Archon, of course. And Signora’s the type of person who’s not afraid to take drastic measures if she feels like it.” Huffing, Venti shakes the leaves from his shoulders. “So you can see why I like to avoid her!”

“That doesn't make me feel any better,” Aether tells him seriously. “I know the Knights can only do so much to appease foreign diplomats, but if she’s threatening to steal your, uh, gnosis? How do you know she won’t actually act on it?”

“Well, she knows I’d tattle to Morax, of course!” Venti says as if it’s some brilliant scheme he’s hatched up long ago. Aether squints. Morax? “Haha, Rex Lapis, I mean. He’s the super old Geo Archon! Leeet’s just say that his family and her family have a solid relationship of venomous tolerance, and when you’ve got at least that with Rex Lapis himself, it’s not very smart to lose it." He winks, half-joking, half-anxious. "So call me if she ever gets the gall to piss him off! Then I’ll get a head start on running.”

Aether barely registers the last part of Venti’s warning, still stuck on the glaring clue he just dropped. “You’re friends with the Geo Archon?” Aether asks, or demands, from the startled look on Venti’s face. “Do you think he’d know anything about my sister?”

“R-Right!” Paimon sparkles with interest. “Rex Lapis is the oldest of the Seven! He’s supposed to be very knowledgeable and strong. Maybe Tone-deaf Bard could get us an audience with him!”

“Using me already, huh?” Venti says, looking completely fine with being used. He chuckles. “I would be honored! Though it may be unnecessary. You guys ever hear of the Rite of Descension?”

Aether absorbs this information as diligently as a student cramming for a final exam. Finally, a lead that doesn’t involve the near-decimation of an entire city. He could kiss Venti for giving him such a vacation-esque task.

Really, how complicated does walking up to a god and asking him if he’s seen your long-lost twin have to be?

Mere hours after stepping into Liyue Harbor, Aether gets framed for murder.

Following the death of Rex Lapis, the Milileth end up chasing Aether pretty far out of the city. He and Paimon zip through the trees of the Guili Plains, tumble over a broken bridge, and crawl into an abandoned mine before they finally feel the threatening presence wane. 

Becoming the primary suspect to an ancient god’s assassination has thrown a lawachurl-sized wrench in his plans, but when has anything worked out for him so easily? 

Doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be pissed about it.

Yaoguang Shoal’s the second-most lifeless place Aether’s experienced of Liyue, only behind the literal ghost town. He’s honestly surprised that the ocean hasn’t swept the empty mining hub away yet. But it’s also here that Aether begins to understand what kind of god Rex Lapis had been. It stands out spectacularly in the geo-cut cliffsides, pushing up and out of the ocean and into the mountains, like the edges of a roughly-tilled sandcastle. 

This was what god of Liyue could do? Surely someone like him must have known something about the being that took him from his sister. 

So much for that. 

He tries to beat off waves of frustration by scavenging the shores, batting away at hilichurls until he’s level-headed enough to even comprehend what his next step is. Next to him, Paimon chitters away, a hum of white noise as he loses himself in monster-hazing. 

Maybe that’s why it takes him so long to notice the strange presence.

It’s when he’s far out at sea, barely even touching land at that point, when he hears a splash behind him, and, “Having fun there?” 

Aether nearly decapitates the intruder, who skids backwards with a laugh. The man, much taller than himself, cuts across the water far too unnaturally for Aether’s liking. 

“Why’d you stop?” he asks. A stormlike expression flickers across the strange man’s face, still grinning.

And Aether can’t really say for sure, because, well, this man’s entire being sets off every last one of Aether’s self-preservation instincts. Maybe it’s the excess of sharp edges attached to his barely-worn formalwear, the bottomless depth of his gaze, or the way the seawater seems to go still around him. Ginger hair, blue eyes, freckles scattered across pale cheeks, he doesn’t look like any Liyuen that Aether’s ever seen. 

When Aether refuses to drop his stance, his eyes curve with amusement. “What’s wrong, your brain run off somewhere? I wouldn’t mind a little exercise myself if it helps you jog your memory, stranger.”

“Y-You’re the stranger!” Paimon finally squeaks. “Where did you come from?! There’s nowhere to hide all the way out here!”

“I’m the stranger?” The intruder barks a laugh, though Aether suspects it may be dangerous to refer to this person as just that.  “Funny, for someone who’s combed through the whole shoal so diligently, you can’t even acknowledge its most honored guest.”

“You were here all along,” Aether realizes. “You watched us.”

“Hey, I was here first. You’re the one who started running around guns blazing. Sword blazing? Anyway, I was just keeping an eye on the most obvious threat.” He tilts his head just enough so that his tassel earring brushes against his scarf. “Can you blame a guy for protecting his territory?”

“Territory? Says who?” Paimon asks with a huff. “Did you put your name on it or something?”

“I did, actually! Right over on that tree you passed. I spelled my name right and everything!” He says this as if it’s a great achievement. The tree in question lies a few land patches away, just where the beach sinks into the ocean. “You could say this is my spot. But hey, you seem pretty strong. Since I did you the favor of not killing you the moment you got here, wanna indulge me in a little spar? Promise I’ll be gentle.”

“…Sorry, but we’re busy,” Aether says, which is true, but also, the pout this guy sports from being rejected tells Aether that he might become more of a toy than an opponent. 

“Aw, come on.” The stranger strands straighter, which somehow makes him feel twice as big as before. “You’ve got to be an interesting one with the Millelith on your tail back there! Where’s the fire? You kill someone or something?”

“No!” Paimon blurts, red-faced. “We just got here, Paimon swears! W-We didn’t kill Rex Lapis!”

As soon as that pin drops, the imposing air surrounding the stranger flickers out like a light. He blinks at the two, the waters around their feet rippling quietly, slowly, like steady breaths. 

The disquieting air then disappears as quickly as it had arrived, leaving Aether to wonder if he’d imagined it. 

“Rex Lapis?” the man asks, slowly, then all at once, “A pipsqueak like you, kill Rex Lapis, like some common assassination? You’d think the Tianquan was spreading fairytales again!”

“It’s not,” Aether says, uncomfortable with the way this person is now looking at him. “His corpse showed up at the Rite of Descension.”

“It just fell right out of the sky!” Paimon continues. “And the Tianquan tried to grab us because we're from out of town!”

“Fell out of the sky…?” Gears turn in the man’s head. His expression shifts, pretenses fading as he begins to openly stare at the two of them. Uh oh. Aether sure would like to know the identity of this person now, before he triggers another incident. “Hah… That’s not right, you sure he was dead? The Rite of Descension shouldn’t be taken so literally, you know?”

“What do you think he was doing, napping?” Paimon says. “He crashed into the pavilion and stopped moving, the Tianquan confirmed it herself! Everyone knows he’s dead!”

Shit. Aether needs Paimon to stop talking right now. The water level is actually rising; it’s gone from his ankles to his knees in the span of three sentences.

“We really just got here,” is the only excuse he can think of, trying to meet the stranger’s blank look. “I needed to ask him something important. We were only close to the center because we wanted to meet him.”

The man doesn’t speak. Aether doesn’t think this person’s even heard him. His gaze is fixed somewhere over the skyline, entire being quiet.

Then, suddenly, a winded laugh escapes him, but it's a far cry from the crowing he’d been doing before. 

“What a strange predicament you two have gotten yourselves into. Can’t say it’s the worst welcome I’ve ever had to a city, but it’d certainly be up there. Killing… Killing Rex Lapis, of all things! What a concept!”

Paimon flutters angrily. “We really didn’t—!”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Aether interrupts. The water level has been shifting up and down for a while, and this person barely has a drop on him. “Did you know Rex Lapis?”

“Did I know Rex Lapis?” 

The man considers this, though it’s hard to tell if he’s actually thinking or just putting on a very convincing show. 

“Well… It’s a little hard to explain. Here, come with me.” He moves past Aether, looking mockingly surprised when the other doesn’t follow. “What, so much distrust already? Don’t you want your answers?”

Aether tries to step back, but the waves catch on his feet, causing him to stumble forward. He doesn’t have much of a choice, really. His plans all died out when the whole Rex Lapis deal that Venti had silver-plated for him literally got shot from the sky. If this person knows anything , especially when it comes to the gods, Aether will take it.

He follows the stranger. From his back, it’s easier to mistake this person for just another eccentric wanderer. He may cut an imposing figure upfront, but he’s actually quite thin, and the haphazard way he treats his expensive-looking attire and unkempt hair make him seem more like a languid fox than some fearsome beast. 

The only thing keeping Aether from fully committing to this image, though, is the way he moves through waves large and small as if passing through air, making Aether struggle to keep up as he wades quickly through the waters.

“Ta da!” the man sings when he comes to a stop at an empty patch of beach. “Alright, if you could just stand right here… Oh, there it is!”

He points, and Aether, like an idiot, looks. Just a ways over is the body of a Ruin Hunter, buried in the sand. The minute he registers this, another wave crashes into Aether’s knees, surging him toward it, and its golden core comes to life.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna be much fun today,” is all Aether hears from where the stranger stands. His voice is frigid. “See ya.”

There’s then a splash, then silence. When Aether turns back around, the man is gone.

Oh no, he thinks, machinery whirring behind him. 

Paimon screams as Aether scrambles to dodge a flurry of missiles.

They don’t find the stranger again, even after Paimon insists they catch him and beat the stuffing out of him. Aether crawls back to shore with more sand in his pants than he would like, along with a grudge. 

Unlike Paimon, though, not even vengeance motivates him enough to want to see someone who had completely wasted his time, but the investigative instinct he’s built up these past few months carries him far enough to reach the tree that had been so lovingly spoken about.

And, well, Aether can tell why the guy was so proud about writing his own name.

“Eew, what ugly handwriting,” says Paimon to the tree, squinting at the two scrawled words before her. “Paimon’s not very good at Liyuen… Oh! But this one says Morax! Is he—”

“Morax?” Aether’s heart nearly stops at the sudden implication. 

Fuck, had he really chased off a god that was right in front of him? Rex Lapis was alive all along? How many times is he going to screw himself over today? 

“Wait,” he says when his brain starts working again, “he had a Hydro vision, and he’s definitely not Liyuen.”

“Y-Yeah! Paimon didn’t get fooled by that guy or anything…” his companion mutters. “Oooh, that big… that big jerk! Let’s get out of here, Paimon wants the biggest stack of Fisherman’s Toast!”

Hard to argue with that. Aether’s had enough of beaches for one day.

Even so, he keeps thinking about the second name on the tree. For all of the stranger's mischief, there seemed to be an undercurrent of hurt behind it. Aether knows all too well what it feels like to lose someone. He doesn't want to wish that on anyone else, big jerk or no.

He glances back at Yaoguang Shoal and wonders, in this place where gods and ghosts resided, who exactly had been left behind.

Well, all Aether can hope is that he doesn't take it out on another bystander.

Thoughts of the stranger fade into the background as their investigation into Rex Lapis’s death continues. Amidst all the adepti-seeking, ghost-hunting, mountain-climbing, and teapot-diving, Aether realizes that while the stranger had certainly been annoying, the event pales in comparison to what Liyue is capable of throwing at him when it really gets going.

He only really thinks of the stranger a couple more times, one of which is when they meet Xiao, the Demon Conquerer, who sports a near-similar inhuman presence. 

“There were five of you?” Aether manages to ask when he learns of the Yaksha. “Did one have a hydro vision?”

Xiao’s expression somehow turns more grave than it already is, and says, “Yes, but none of them are still with us. I’d suggest you not ask around.”

Which sounds more like a threat than a suggestion, so Aether decides to hold off on bringing up the man from the beach. 

Another time is when Aether stumbles upon the Guyun Stone Forest, grave of Rex Lapis’s enemies, and finds absolutely… no enemies. The whole place certainly reeks like a fresh battlefield, remains of ruin guards and hilichurl camps scattered across the sands without a hint of decay, as if a violent storm had swept through to obliterate every last moving creature. 

“Hey, uh…” Paimon mutters as they pass by another stone slab cut clean in half. “...Paimon gets the feeling we may have made someone mad…”

“Yeah,” Aether says. “Better here than the Harbor, at least.”

Luckily, they do manage to find some real help. Hu Tao drops her precious consultant at their feet wrapped in a pretty gold bow, ready to answer every one of their burning questions and more about how to navigate this soap opera of a nation. Though Zhongli may be a little too enthused by the chance to ramble patriotically, he basically saves Aether from camping out in Wanwen Bookhouse in hopes that he could become a Liyue expert through osmosis alone.

It’s the exact kind of break he needs, after everything. Zhongli speaks in old, slow cadences, as if every word were being recited from an ancient book of proverbs. It’s easy to get lost in his voice as they traverse through the better parts of Liyue, gathering flowers and gems to send Rex Lapis off with. Though the man’s refined image is often broken by the frequent pit stops they have to take due to lack of funding.

“I must apologize for my lack of foresight this evening,” says the consultant as they exit the funeral parlor for the fourth time that day. Hu Tao’s laughter still rings through the door. “I can imagine your introduction to the Harbor has been… less than pleasant, and I assure you that the people here are far more well-adjusted than I when it comes to the local economy. I hope your opinion of them is not tainted by my unprofessionalism, nor by my hooligan of an employer.”

Honestly, Aether hadn’t been having the greatest time in Liyue, but it’s less because of one absent-minded consultant and more because of the god-murdering fiasco he’d been forced into. 

But for all its faults, Liyue in its entirety has been an extraordinary experience. Beautiful, lively, impressive both in its history and culture, and it’s no small thanks to Zhongli that he can get so fully invested in it. “It’s fine,” he promises.

Zhongli returns his sincerity with a satisfied hum. He then leads Aether and Paimon into the bustling night market, beginning his spiel all over again. Aether suspects he may be trying to make up for today’s embarrassment with another poetic show-and-tell, but it’s nice to not be talking about funerals for a while.

“Have you heard of our Lantern Rite Festival, Traveller?” The consultant asks when Aether spends a second too long admiring the lights above them. “Much like what we are doing now, it is a yearly celebration to commemorate those who lost their lives for Liyue. In the past, lanterns were released out to sea in hopes that they would remind faraway loved ones of home. Many now attach their wishes to them, hoping they will be carried to the gods.”

“The gods grant wishes?” Paimon asks, perking up. Then droops. “Oh no… with Rex Lapis gone, though…”

Zhongli chuckles. “Worry not, it is the sentiment that is carried, not a contract with the Geo Archon. I fear he would not know what to do with himself, were he to accommodate every last citizen’s wish.” 

Aether doesn’t miss the wistful look in his eyes when he speaks of this, but it’s quickly replaced by a flicker of interest when something else catches his attention. They’re pulled in toward a stand selling hand-crafted windchimes, their song akin to rain upon rooftops. 

Zhongli’s hand catches on one with a bright blue starconch as its centerpiece. He caresses the conch gently, expectantly, as if waiting for it to speak to him. 

“Starconches are often said to bring the sound of the sea with them,” he explains. “In reality, it is the echo of our own blood rushing through our ears, though I do admire the people’s will to make something so charming out of such a simple sound.”

Huh, that’s a little disappointing. “You’re pretty practical, Zhongli,” Aether tells him politely.

“Yeah, you’re too smart!” Paimon complains. “Don’t you want to leave at least a bit of romance in the world?”

“Romance?” Zhongli turns to them, quizzical. “I fear you misunderstand me. It is the truth behind these tales that makes them so interesting. Facts built into grand tales throughout history, shifted by the tides of ever-changing needs and desires. To think that people, things, even gods, can be transformed by human sentiments is a fascinating concept in and of itself, for better or worse. Human or no, we are all affected by such things.

“Take the starconch, for example.” Zhongli presents the shell to his two companions as if it were a precious treasure. “Though he knew it was not as impressive as rumored, even someone as powerful and stubborn as Rex Lapis had been enraptured by it. It is said that he would sit upon mountaintops and listen to its call until the sun set, wishing for the sea to come to him.”

“The sea on mountaintops?” Paimon echoes in disbelief. “That’s, uh… kind of weird, actually. Why doesn’t he just go to the ocean himself? Liyue has lots of beaches!”

Beneath the glow of the lanterns, Zhongli hides a smile. “Well, it was never said that Rex Lapis had been the… most sensible of the gods. Who knows where he would be without the Goddess of Dust to ground him.”

Talk of the beach flashes Aether back to one very awkward encounter with who he’s beginning to suspect is some sort of sea demon. He glances at the conch with interest.

“Starconches are found along the shore, right? Did Rex Lapis ever interact with the, uh…” What does he call this person? Aquatic nuisance? Beach gremlin? “...sea people?”

“Not if he could help it,” says Zhongli immediately. “By ‘sea people’, I assume you mean beings such as Rhodeia and Osial. Let’s just say that there is a reason the Guyun Stone Forest exists. Think of it as a… what’s the word? A sore spot, for him.”

“Huh?” Paimon’s little face scrunches with thought. “But… if Rex Lapis didn’t like it, why would he sit around yearning for the sea?”

“I don’t think Rex Lapis was yearning for the sea itself, Paimon,” Aether tells her. He watches the way Zhongli turns the conch in his hands, denying nothing.

“Rex Lapis had also once been young and impulsive,” he explains. “Perhaps the concept of romance had been foreign to him, but that did not mean that he didn't feel as strongly as humans did. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“He did not favor the ocean, but he did find beauty in it. He took his people to live by it, shaped his land around it. It may have brought him grief, but amidst the storms, it also brought him…” He trails off, smile softening. “...undeniable joy, as well.” 

The warmth of Zhongli’s voice surprises Aether. He speaks so intimately of the dead god that Aether practically knows Rex Lapis secondhand by now, making him regret not having the chance to ever meet the Archon in person. 

How unlucky is it, for someone to live for six-thousand years, and Aether arrives at the exact end of it? Now all he’s left with are stories and funerals and nonhuman beings that he barely understands.

Whatever heavy air they’ve conjured, Zhongli pays it no mind. He continues with composed enthusiasm: “Speaking of which, you have never been to Snezhnaya, have you, Traveller? They have a festival similar to our Lantern Rite, Krsnik Noc. I am not one for cold weather myself, but I have managed to experience it in person once before and will admit it is tolerable with the right company…”

And that sounds like a whole can of worms about Zhongli’s personal life that Aether has lost the brain capacity to pry open. He tunes the consultant out as they travel down the docks, wondering why more questions pile up with the more he learns.

Whatever Aether’s complained about his Liyuen mishaps so far, this Sigil of Permission business is worse.

This is not what he meant when he said that he wished he could meet a dead god. Happening upon the remains of what was once someone’s Summoning An Angry Sea Monster workshop, Aether has so little information of who, what, or where this is coming from that by the time he makes it back to Liyue Harbor in a panic, his suspicions fly to the first out-of-place person he sees.

Signora, the eighth of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers herself, sweeps down the streets of Feiyun Slope like she owns the place. Paimon yelps at the sight of her, with recollection of their previous meeting, as well as Venti’s worries, returning like a bag of bricks to the head. For all Venti had joked, he’d also never let his guard down around her.

It doesn’t help Aether’s anxiety that he loses sight of the Eighth Harbinger in Chihu Rock, distracted by the stampede of Millelith running from the far side of the harbor. Above them, dark clouds loom, urgency filling the dampening air. 

If the Tsaritsa tries anything, Venti had essentially told them, it would be simmering quietly, under anyone’s notice until it blew. 

First the Abyss Order, now the Fatui. Aether doesn’t want to believe he’s gotten caught in yet another conspiracy, but so much has been going to shit lately that he doesn’t put it past one more foreign military fraction that he barely knows to make everything worse.

Venti had also said to warn him if she ever threatened Rex Lapis. Rex Lapis, who just got assassinated.

“They’re all being called in,” Paimon exclaims with a shiver. “Someone must have notified the Qixing about the Sigil. Even the Golden House is empty!”

As in: the place where Rex Lapis’s body is being stored.

Along with his gnosis.

Aether breaks into a sprint out of Liyue Harbor.

It’s a punch of relief when they do not find Signora in the Golden House.

That is, until they discover who’s actually there.

A familiar back greets them when they burst in, and the stranger from Yaoguang Shoal turns his gaze to them. He stands before Rex Lapis’s corpse, but there’s an unexpected ferocity in the way he puts himself between them and the creature behind him.

“I was wondering if someone would show up,” he says, ever-present smile gone. “You know, I know I’ve said that I don’t like being caught up in schemes, but this one aimed a little too close to the heart.”

He looks down upon Aether from upon the steps as if the Traveller were an animal already beneath his blade. The shift of his head reveals a bright red mask that he hadn’t been wearing before, one Aether is able to recognize all too well.

He considers Aether. “You, stranger… You’ve been pretty conveniently placed, haven’t you? Did someone tell you to tell me he was dead? Or did you decide that all on your own? How far deep are you into this plot?”

“What!?” Paimon shouts, quivering behind Aether’s head. “You’re the one rubbing your grubby hands over Rex Lapis’s body! And… And you’re—!”

“You’re a Harbinger,” Aether says. “One of the Tsaritsa’s immortal generals. You work with Signora.”

The man places a hand over his heart with faux humility. “Have you two met? I bet she had lots of nice things to say about me! Oh, don’t tell me she’s in on this, too.”

“Are… you not working with her to take Rex Lapis’s gnosis?” Aether asks carefully, confidence waning. He convinces himself to not lower his stance. “Someone had to summon Osial, and I can’t think of any better distraction.”

“Is that your theory? Hard to argue with it in my position, I guess,” says the Harbinger with interest. “Osial, really! Of all the things I miss out on!”

“Don’t play dumb!” Paimon yells, but Aether is starting to get the sinking feeling that… with the way this guy is acting… maybe… 

“You really don’t know,” Aether realizes when the silence stretches thin. “You were mourning.”

The Harbinger’s mouth purses, frustration cracking through. He turns to the face of Rex Lapis’s corpse, staring at it as if a look alone could drown it in an ocean of his own making.

“Mourning, huh? Maybe I was, for a bit there.” 

When he turns back to Aether, tension seems to roll off his shoulders. His cold demeanor flickers away, replaced with a spark. A literal one. 

“Either way, seems it like I got all worked up for nothing! Sorry to disappoint you, but no gnosis here. This isn’t Rex Lapis’s body.”

Paimon’s jaw drops. “It’s not what ? H-How do you know! Everyone else knew it was him!”

A gloved hand drags over the corpse(?)’s winding horns. “Hey, I’d know. You think that’s why I wasn’t invited to the party? Poor Tartaglia would give away the whole scheme, he knows this guy too well.” A humorless smirk. “Gotta say, they really try too hard to flatter me.”

Oh, Aether thinks. And the pieces come together: the hydro vision, the affinity for beaches, Rex Lapis yearning for the sea, Morax and another’s names carved into a lone tree.

Oh no.

The Harbinger— Tartaglia?—  cracks his knuckles loudly. Rolls his neck. Pulls his shoulders back. And: “Hey, stranger, it seems as though I’ve got some leftover grief to work off. Mind putting up a bit of a fight?”

“Huh? Wait, wait.” Aether steps back when the Harbinger summons a bow into his hands, air crackling around them. “I can’t do this right now, I have more important things to get to!”

Tartaglia laughs. “Do you now! A shame I have no idea what such things may be, maybe someone should have told me!” 

Paimon screams as Aether scrambles to dodge a flurry of arrows.

One resentful Harbinger, a demonic sea god, and several disgruntled Qixing members later, Liyue Harbor returns to some form of normalcy, safe and god-free.

That is, as god-free as they can get with Rex Lapis himself hanging around to watch the whole thing unfold. 

Signora sits in the lobby of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor looking a tad disappointed in their success. Zhongli leads Aether, who is soaked like a sewer rat from today’s events, into one of the parlor’s ancient-looking chairs. He’s glowing with pride. 

Literally. He’s glowing. 

Of course he is.

“Paimon knew you were in on it!” His fairy friend flies forward furiously toward Signora, only to be smacked away. “Ow! Ugh, you are such a rude lady! And you —!” She reels around to Zhongli. “Paimon can’t believe you were helping her! You… You tricked us into thinking you were so nice and—!”

“Paimon, Paimon.” Aether drags back his companion by the cape. “He’s Rex Lapis. She was most likely helping him .”

“So you knew,” Zhongli says. If he’s surprised, his good mood masks it well. “I will say, I’m quite impressed. Do your best to keep it to yourself though, I have not held this form for long, but I am quite fond of it. I was hoping to keep it for a while as I adapt to a more human lifestyle.”

Signora rolls her eyes. “Two thousand years, yet you still have the subtlety of a literal rock, Morax.” She raises a brow at Aether as if to say, you fell for this?

Aether is ashamed to admit that he did. It had only just occurred to him as he speedran Osial’s oceanic hellscape with adepti superpowers that: Tartaglia seemed more pissed than grieved when he found out, which probably meant Rex Lapis really wasn’t dead, and completely fine, and most likely there all along making sure the city he built with his own two hands didn’t get upheaved by a god he made an entire island to entomb under.

It’s Zhongli, was the next immediate thought.

Aether sinks deep into the uncomfortable parlor chair as Zhongli recounts his retirement plan. He also learns that he’d greatly underestimated the extent of Tsaritsa and Morax’s 'venemous tolerance' of each other when he finds out how easily she’d agreed to help. Aether can already hear Venti in his head gasping in offense and accusing Morax of finding a new favorite Archon. 

The plan had been simple: Signora would assist in providing the resources and manpower to summon Osial, while Zhongli would help with the set-up, as well as the cover-up, internally. She was the least likely to be upset about getting accused of summoning Osial, actually seeming to be a bit mad that Zhongli did such a good job in hiding her involvement. Once he felt Liyue would be safe without his presence, he would retire his gnosis and live a new life amongst mortals.

“I am merely the Prime Adeptus, now,” says Zhongli, as if the ‘merely’ part made it any better. “There is still much to be done in helping the harbor adjust to its new status as an Archon-free nation, but I will keep my duties here in the parlor, instead of all of Liyue.” He relaxes, long-held tension draining from his body. “I have lived a long life, Traveller, and I would like to use my newfound freedom to find new meaning in it, on common ground with the people I care about.”

Aether’s about to comment on how that’s very sweet, and he understands, but someone else disagrees. “Can’t imagine who you’re talking about,” says Signora, inspecting her nails. 

“You’ve held contempt for my plans since we’ve started, Signora. Perhaps you may understand me with time. My time as Liyue's Archon has passed, and while I cannot ask for times long gone, I can at least attempt to return to when I was not revered by my family and friends.”

“Wouldn’t, uh…” Aether isn’t sure if he should be interjecting, but he feels pretty involved by how badly he got beat up. While he’d managed to fend off Tartaglia until they’d tired each other out, the other had flown off to lick his wounds before Aether even got the chance to question him. “Wouldn’t you have to tell them you weren’t dead, first?”

“Ah, yes, my future plans do start with rebuilding trust with them. I’ve already planned the next couple dreams I’m going to send to the adepti and Qixing about my status,” he explains, as if dreams were like notes you could leave on a desk. “As dramatic as you think I may be, I do not take enjoyment over manipulating those close to me— Do not look at me like that, Signora. I’ve already made plans to meet with Childe later today. I can’t imagine how he would react if I did not break the news of my retirement to him in person.”

“It sickens me how hilarious he would find this,” says the Eighth Harbinger, sneering. “If you two elope to Fontaine, I will not be responsible for what my goddess does to you.”

Zhongli seems amused by the idea. “Don’t worry her unnecessarily. A secondary point of my retirement was so I could live a more stable life, and Childe is no small part of that. Though I would not put it past him to attempt such a thing.” The ex-Archon’s expression softens as he speaks, amber eyes warm with the idea of it. “I do hope he will accept my current proposal, however. I’ve put a lot of thought into it.”

“And if he’s not a fan of your agenda?” Signora asks, just to be mean about it.

Zhongli drags a hand past his ear, touching the ruby-red earring that dips down to his jaw. It’s the one part of Zhongli’s carefully-curated attire that Aether’s never been able to make sense of. 

“Then I will be happy to follow his lead. He knows more of this mortal life than I, after all, and I trust that he understands my responsibilities as well as I do his. ”

“Morax himself, respected by even my own Archon, following our lowly Eleventh like a lost pup. If you’d told me that a thousand years ago, I’d be rolling. We would all make fun of him back then for how he chased you around like a dog begging for attention.” For a moment, Signora seems nostalgic. It doesn’t last long. “Though I should have known once I heard the rumors of you mooning into seashells on mountaintops going around. Is Snezhnaya so hard to see from the ground, Rex Lapis?”

Zhongli shoots her a warning look, reminding Aether of when he once described himself as ‘young and impulsive’. “It was a different time.”

“Yes, considering how I explicitly heard him complain that you did not see yourself ever understanding human marriages, either, I can see how much has changed. How’s the funding for that domestic retirement plan going, by the way? I believe you no longer have the ability to create mora now that you have locked away your gnosis and are submitting to a new life as my useless junior’s golddigger husband.”

“Wait,” Aether finally manages to speak. Golddigger husband. He feels as if he needed to be in on this conversation yesterday. “Who is Childe?”

“My fiance,” Zhongli says without hesitation, much to Signora’s disgust. “He’s the Eleventh of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. I can introduce you to him sometime after our dinner, if you would like. I think he will be quite excited to meet you once I tell him of what you did today.”

“Wait, Rex Lapis is engaged?” Paimon asks. “But you’re so old!” A flat look from Zhongli when Signora snorts. “P-Paimon means, uh, it seems pretty late, doesn’t it? That starconch story felt like it was forever and ever ago!”

“Please don’t assume the length of their lives correlates with their emotional intelligence,” Signora adds tiredly. She is ignored.

“Late? I suppose it is.” Zhongli rubs his bare ring finger as if still getting used to the idea of it being significant. “We are mates first; it is the bond I was most impatient to propose back then. As Signora so eloquently put, I did not associate myself with human customs for a long time. However, Childe is someone very attached to the life he’d been born into, and learning to be part of his world is important to me. Marriage had been something of a childhood goal for him, and though my mate not one to be afraid of getting what he wants, we can both be equally stubborn. We have taught each other a lot about patience, over the years.”

Despite his grievances, Zhongli speaks of Childe as if he misses him with every word. Like he spends every parting thinking of when they will meet again. 

It would be sweet, if Aether weren’t breaking out into a cold sweat right now.

“Hey, correct me if I’m wrong,” Aether starts, hoping for the best, “but he wouldn’t happen to go by Tartaglia or anything like that, would he?”

A pause. “He does, actually. Tartaglia is his official title.” Zhongli drifts off, noticing Aether’s nervousness and the extra injuries he sports on his body. “...Why do you ask?”

Signora sighs.

Travelling across Liyue, not knowing you’re being accompanied by the God of Geo himself, is a completely different experience from travelling across Liyue with one very anxious ex-Archon who expresses his nervousness in useless factoids for every little thing they pass. 

Except, instead of being educational, they’re much less-helpful bits on how Tartaglia likes lamp grass more than glaze lilies, which is a fault Zhongli is willing to forgive, or how Tartaglia, back when he was a new immortal, once tried to kill him on that hill over there. And that cave. And that pond. One morning, apparently, Zhongli threw him off Mount Hulao, and Tartaglia came back that afternoon pouting about how Zhongli should aim better so it didn’t take three hours of climbing just for them to keep fighting. 

He’d also bashfully handed over a pretty shard from the amber he'd crashed into, which Zhongli still keeps in his office.

“Early on in my infatuation, or at least what I now recognize as infatuation, I told Barbatos to keep Dvalin busy in case Tartaglia wanted to try challenging a different dragon. Guizhong told me I was being a, quote-unquote, baby about it, and I told her that she must have eaten horsetail for breakfast, to which she responded by throwing her chessboard at me and leaving with Tartaglia for Mondstadt the next day.” They stand in a swamp for a moment as Zhongli gazes at the swaying reeds. “I was relieved to hear that he ended up harassing Barbatos instead. I think he thought it would make me happy.”

Aether feels a sense of deja vu as he watches the once-god act very ungodly. For all of the vitriol Zhongli holds when he speaks of Venti, the two aren’t so different. Though Aether suspects he may get a boulder dropped on him if he mentioned it.

Yaoguang Shoal is miserably empty, but despite his disappointment, Zhongli still smiles at the carved names on the tree. He runs a hand over the name that Paimon hadn’t recognized.

“So… that guy doesn’t actually own this place, does he?” Paimon, who has been too nervous to speak so far, finally asks. 

“Not necessarily. Tartaglia just likes to place claims over things he likes.” Zhongli touches his red earring again; Aether’s about 80% sure he doesn’t do it on purpose. “He loves the seaside. The first genuine compliment he ever gave for my land was that the beaches were beautiful. I told him he was free to visit them as long as he behaved and didn’t make a mess.”

“And then he literally put his name on it?” Aether asks.

“Not immediately, no. Tartaglia has horrible Liyuen, and he’d been under contract to not tarnish my beaches. At the time, however, he’d been having Ganyu tutor him just enough so that he could write his own name, and I had been too impressed that he managed to do it properly to admonish him for vandalizing the landscape.” He pauses to look at his own name. “Well, his name and mine. When I saw that he added it, I assumed he’d just been showing off and told him to limit his tomfoolery to outside of further damaging my wildlife. He was not very pleased by that.”

Please don’t assume the length of their lives correlates with their emotional intelligence, Signora had said. 

Maybe Aether, too, would be a bitter vampire lady if he had to deal with this for thousands of years.

“Gods are weird ,” Paimon whispers when Zhongli drifts off into his own world again.

They climb out of the shoal over Rex Lapis’s geometric cliffsides. They’re still very impressive. By allowing Tartaglia free access to this place, Aether wonders if maybe Morax had been trying to show off, too.

They eventually find the Eleventh Harbinger sitting atop a large tree in Nantainmen, doing target practice with the Geovishaps on the other side of the stream. He’s calmed down significantly since he and Aether beat the shit out of each other in the Golden House, a nasty bruise from where Aether punched him interrupting his tired expression.

Zhongli strolls up to the base of the tree as if they hadn’t spent the past couple hours scouring every inch of Liyue for the man. “Tartaglia, love,” he calls out, “please come down from Azhdaha.”

“Sorry, we don’t speak to ghosts around these parts,” Tartaglia says. “And don’t call me love.”

Zhongli frowns. “Why not?”

“Because you know I can’t be mad at you when you call me that!” Oh, now that Aether is looking more closely, Tartaglia seems to be putting in a physical effort to not look at his fiance, as if he would crumble at just the sight of Zhongli’s guilty puppy-dog look. “You left me out of your convoluted assassination plot and got Signora in on it instead. You realize what a low blow that is, right?”

“Ajax,” (“That’s not any better!”) “she didn’t care about getting accused of murdering me if anything went wrong. I knew you would want to be involved if you knew, but I didn’t want to risk the Eleventh Harbinger becoming a public outlaw in my own city. I would prefer that we be able to live there normally, without being antagonized by the Qixing.” 

There’s a beat, and then Tartaglia— Childe? Ajax?— is finally looking at Zhongli, mouth hanging open. It takes Zhongli a moment to notice he’s not getting a reply any time soon.

“Am I doing this right?” he asks Aether, who waves a hand in the vaguest possible motion. He refuses to get involved in this any more than he has to.

Tartaglia stammers, “Look, Morax, I really don’t care, I’m— You’re— The Qixing already—” He swallows. “I’m sorry, what was that? Live where?”

Zhongli freezes. 

Oh boy, Aether thinks mournfully. So this is the famous grace of a god.

“In… Liyue Harbor. If you want,” the ex-Archon starts, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I know you are not one to stay in one place for very long, but we were discussing how to register, and you told me the Qixing were unlikely to take a marriage certificate for Rex Lapis seriously. But I thought that they might for my human form, at least. I’d already been planning on retiring soon, and you disguise yourself amongst humans so often that I thought you might not mind if we… lived as human spouses, for a couple mortal decades or so?

“I’ve been establishing an identity in the funeral parlor— Yes, Hu Tao’s, you may make fun of me for it later— but I’ve also made small talk with the Tsaritsa; the Northland Bank is looking for a competent debt collector. Your shifting has improved over the years, and I believe you would make a convincing ordinary Snezhnayan citizen. I’ve already been telling people that my spouse is away in Snezhnaya, and if… Ah, this is all hypothetical, of course.” 

It’s a sight, to see Rex Lapis, Lord of Geo, god of war and wealth, flounder so unsurely. 

The faintest hint of embarrassment tints his cheeks as he looks up at Tartaglia. “Forgive me, this is by no means an attempt to pressure you into my overthought fantasy. I have just been… running away with the idea often, these past few months.”

Tartaglia’s too high up for Aether to make out exactly what expression he has on his face, but he hasn’t moved throughout the entirety of Zhongli’s speech, eyes so wide that Aether can see the blue of them even from here.

“You are so beautiful,” says Tartaglia.

Zhongli blinks out of his anxious stupor. “What was that?” 

“Nothing, dumbass,” Tartaglia tells him fondly. He dissipates his bow, shifting in place as he tries to find the right words. “It’s just that… I thought you were just doing the human marriage thing to appease me.”

“You could say the idea grew on me well. I designed some rings, if you would like to look at them.” Zhongli moves just below where Tartaglia sits on a crystal branch. “Would you like to talk on solid ground, now? I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“I wasn’t scared ,” Tartaglia flat-out lies. Aether has the injuries to prove it. “I knew you’d be fine. As if you would die in such a pathetic fashion.”

“I think you greatly overestimate how well I can control the way I am killed.”

“It’s either with me or by me, rodnoy. We’ve established this.”

Zhongli huffs and holds his arms out. Before Aether realizes what he’s doing, Tartaglia’s already leapt off of the tree, and he watches as Zhongli catches a fully-grown man without so much as a stumble. 

He does lose his footing a little, when Tartaglia throws his own arms around Zhongli in an embrace that seems more punishing than endearing, as if he’s trying to crush them both together into one being.

“Love,” Zhongli chuckles, winded, “you reek of saltwater. What did you do?”

“Mmm, tore up Osial’s grave a bit,” Tartaglia says into Zhongli’s neck. He rests his chin there once he’s had enough, draped over Zhongli as if he belongs there. “I was working some stuff out. Your plans are so overly-complicated, hon, I couldn’t figure out what was happening.”

“It wasn’t supposed to take too long— I was going to tell you when I was done. You never show up during the Rite of Descension anyways. You think it’s silly.”

Tartaglia pushes himself off Zhongli just enough to look him in the face. “Well, good thing you don’t have to be doing that anymore. Maybe they’ll come up with some other stupid reason to celebrate it, then we’ll have to sit through your death-iversary every year.”

Zhongli perks. “Does that mean you like the plan?”

For the first time in what seems like ages, Tartaglia sports a wolflike grin. 

“I don’t know, how eager are you to see me in my agent uniform?” He laughs when Zhongli presses his mouth to Tartaglia’s neck in return, giving a very non-human growl of pleasure. “Really! In front of the stranger, Morax? Mortality has made you so shameless!”

Zhongli stops, if only out of courtesy, when he remembers that he’d brought a guest. Aether’s taken several steps back since he was last acknowledged to give the couple the space they clearly needed. Tartaglia smirks at Aether’s uncomfortable fidgeting like a cat who's caught the canary, looking very smug about his current position.

“Hey, now that we’ve figured out how to pull it off, you want to come to the wedding?” asks the Harbinger. He's either riding a really good emotional high, or just doesn't care that they drew blood out of each other. And before Aether can even answer: “Oh, we’re gonna need your name for the invitation. Can’t have every last ‘stranger’ barging in, you know?”

“It will take some time,” Zhongli explains. “I would like to have the adepti attend, and that will require a lot of explaining on my part.”

“And more grovelling,” Tartaglia adds. “I’m pretty sure Xiao’s gonna be pissed, but not have the guts to be mad at you unless you beg him to.”

Zhongli sighs. “Yes, do remember that I was called the god of contracts, not the god of social grace.”

Amidst their banter, Paimon starts tugging on Aether’s hair. “Hey, weren’t we here to talk to Rex Lapis? He’s right there! Why are we just standing here watching them be gross?”

“Oh, fuck.” She’s right. Gods, Aether can’t believe he got so distracted by this nonsense. “Hey, Rex La— uh, Zhongli? Do you mind putting him down so I can ask you where my sister is?”

For all their earlier fawning, Zhongli dumps Tartaglia on the ground like a sack of potatoes upon hearing his knowledge is needed, much to the other’s annoyance. Still, Tartaglia refuses to leave during their talk, probably still recovering from Zhongli’s epic stint with death, and spends the entirety of it playing with Zhongli’s hair and keeping as little distance between them as possible. 

It is pretty mushy, but Aether does get what he came for, in the end, so he supposes he can live with it.

Many months later, Jean hands over a gold-pressed envelope to Aether with a quizzical look in her eye. Venti hovers over his shoulder as he opens it, knowing full well what pretentious ex-god would bother with such expensive stationery, as well as what sucker bought it for him.

“What the heck?” he gasps right into Aether’s ear. “Where’s my invitation, you ungrateful blockheads? Where do they think they would be without me!?”

Aether stares at the familiar names on the card. “Probably still shoving each other off of mountains, from what I’ve gotten.”

Wow, Teyvat has done something to Aether to make him find romance in that .