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Zhongli was old. Very old.

Millenia had passed since his retirement, and Liyue Harbor was nearly unrecognizable now from how it had looked back then. Despite the chaos that ensued during the war against Celestia, humanity was resilient and rose once more from the ashes, this time with no gods and only one final generation of Vision bearers to guide them.

Now, in the absence of traditional alchemy and the elements, mortals began to exclusively rely on their own technology and sciences, discovering how to construct towering glass buildings that pointed towards the sky. In the modern age, every street in Liyue Harbor was adorned with glowing signposts and neon lights, and the people themselves demonstrated vastly changed styles of dress and speech from even mere decades ago. Physical mora had become uncommon as a means of monetary transactions, instead replaced by credit cards and phone apps, and the people made their ways across the city on bicycles and cars.

Guizhong would have loved to witness humanity’s ingenuity, Zhongli sometimes thought with a secretive smile, but of course, not all of the mortal realm’s progress had been for the better, as their process of discovery was also one of destruction. Glaze lilies were extinct even in the Qixing’s gardens now, immortalized only in artworks and fossils.

Some things, however, maintained their similarities to the old days, when elemental powers governed the world and gods walked among men. Though remodeled and done in a very different architectural style, a new Jade Chamber still hung over Liyue, acting as the Qixing’s headquarters. The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor was miraculously still in business, now under their 149th director. Over the roots of a long-rotted tree, the Wangshu Inn had become a large resort now, popular for the stories of supernatural entities residing upon its roof.

These lingering establishments gave way to even more distinct memories of the past, though often misremembered or worn down. A somewhat inaccurate depiction of Lady Ningguang greeted visitors to the new Jade Chamber in honor of her contributions to modernity. In the back hall of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, if you walked far enough, you could see a grainy and faded photo of the 77th director, preceded by her grandfather and followed by her daughter. The stories of Osial’s defeat were preserved in storybooks, with artistic interpretations of what the Adepti and the harbor had looked like back then. It was charming how far off the mark the artists usually were.

Zhongli, too, was preserved in modern Liyue. His remaining Statues of the Seven were popular tourist attractions, and the age-old Geo symbol had become the mark of Liyue’s sect of the Archonic religion. Though he no longer possessed a gnosis and rarely used his abilities anymore at all, he could still feel the people as they prayed to Rex Lapis; he could still feel them as they walked through the city or drove down countryside roads or slept quietly in their beds.

Throughout all of Liyue’s changes, Zhongli had largely remained the same as he had always been. He still frequently forgot his mora, much to the chagrin of whatever circle of acquaintances he had at the time, he still collected artifacts and trinkets in a dragon-like hoard, and he still worked to support his people, sometimes with his remaining abilities and mostly with his position among mortals as a mere member of their society.

These days, Zhongli’s mortal personas usually followed somewhat of a pattern: for each new face and name he assumed, he chose a job and stuck with it for the duration of that persona’s “lifespan.” However, every few generations, once he was certain no one alive remembered the last iteration of “Zhongli,” he found himself returning to that name and face, unwilling to truly let go of the first person he’d been in his time away from Archonhood. As such, at the present he was Zhongli and a barista, as opposed to the last Zhongli who had been a book editor, and the one before that, a tailor. He liked his current job at a quaint cafe hidden in the quieter part of the city, relaxed enough that he could make casual conversation with the patrons and hear about the menial comings and goings of mortals in the modern age. 

As much as he enjoyed his current life, though, he still looked upon the past with longing. He remembered every person he’d ever encountered, and the year of his resignation shone clearer in his memory than most others.

His newest boss and coworkers had their own quirks, but they didn’t compare to Hu Tao’s obnoxious marketing strategies or the Traveler and Paimon’s good-natured bickering. As he gazed at the vases of qingxin that adorned the counters, he remembered Ganyu, the loyal and hard working secretary of the Qixing, revered for her contributions to history through meticulous notes, now thought of as having been several people under the same name. When he prepared pastries and breakfast sandwiches, he missed Xiangling’s cooking, and was glad that her influence in Liyue’s culinary sphere hadn’t vanished alongside the Wanmin Restaurant after her passing. And when he made friends and acquaintances, or even just chatted with regular customers, he missed Childe and the evenings they’d shared, sipping tea and discussing their respective homelands.

Zhongli often found himself wondering if perhaps it was his time to step away from mortal life and pursue mortality. When he as Rex Lapis had resigned from Archonhood, it was because he’d realized that his job as the guide of the land was complete, and so he’d moved into the next step of his life with ease. Now, in order for Zhongli to pass, he would have to feel as though he had achieved fulfillment in his time as a mortal, free of any constraints either past or present such that he could be free from the impending arrival of the future.

But Zhongli was not ready to go yet. There was something that he was still waiting for, and as for what it was, he had no idea.

—

Zhongli was almost finished wiping down the counter for the opening shift when the bell on the door jingled, signaling the arrival of the first customer of the day.

“Good morning, I’ll be with you in a second,” he said, carefully polishing the corner where customers picked up their drinks.

“It’s fine, take your time.”

Zhongli froze. He knew that voice, clear and light with just a touch of breathiness. Careful not to betray his shock, he finished wiping down the counter and looked up, only to be greeted by something which he had never imagined possible.

How could he have returned?

“What can I get for you?” Zhongli asked, hoping his tone wasn’t artificially uneven. 

Ch—the customer smiled. “Just a large americano. Actually—” he interrupted himself, running a hand through ginger curls, “Do you have anything sweet? Other than yourself, of course,” he added, winking comedically.

Zhongli had lived in the mortal realm long enough to know that the expected response to a flirtatious joke like that was to laugh, but his mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

“We have a selection of pastries in the display case,” Zhongli said stiffly, and the man visibly deflated a bit, though his smile remained bright.

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” He laughed, and Zhongli bit his tongue to stop himself from reacting, having heard the same airy laugh hundreds of times before— hundreds of years ago.

“A lemon bar would be nice, though.”

“Okay, a large americano and a lemon bar.” Zhongli paused, allowing himself a calming breath before he asked:

“What’s the name for the order?”

“Ajax,” the man replied, and before Zhongli could think too hard about what the customer’s answer meant, he began working on the order, crossing out where he’d accidentally written “Childe.”

—

Zhongli had not witnessed Childe’s final breath.

He wasn’t sure exactly where he had been at the time, probably wandering through Liyue as he often did now that he was free from the duty of Archonhood. Though he was no longer bound to the land, he hardly ventured outside of it, and as such was not present for much of the Tsaritsa’s great war against Celestia, nor did he witness those who lost their lives as a result. He only learned of the battle which cost Childe his life when the Traveler returned to Liyue, bearing fresh signs of struggle and the news of his passing. Zhongli accepted the information with little surprise, having seen how Childe fought; the strain on his body from the Tsaritsa’s delusion and the murky lingering aura of the Abyss. Childe had always been fated to die young. His death, though early, was not untimely.

All things considered, Childe had been but a blip within Zhongli’s many-millennia long memory, having only resided in Liyue for two years before moving on to his next assignment. He and Zhongli had parted on poor terms despite their close relationship, so he never sent any correspondence back to Liyue, even as the years passed and the scars of Childe’s machinations faded from Liyue’s beaches. Despite the brevity of their time together, however, Childe’s death left a sour taste in the back of Zhongli’s throat that he couldn’t quite shake.

Zhongli was familiar with death. He’d seen the rise and fall of millions, gods and mortals alike, born of peace and felled in war, born of tragedy and resting in peace. What more was there to do about Childe’s passing but to move on? Yet Zhongli felt a gap in his heart, unable to be filled by the friends he made and the events he experienced as Liyue Harbor moved past the city it had been all those centuries ago, back when Childe had been deployed to the Northland Bank with a smile on his face and a hydro Vision at his hip.

Time passed since Zhongli had received the news, as did the lives of the people and his fellow Adepti. As they faded away, having let go of the regrets they held in their lives and allowing themselves to be carried away without that weight, Zhongli wondered if perhaps, Childe’s passing was part of the reason why he could not move on from this world as well, tethered by unfinished business and unresolved regrets. For every satisfaction he’d found in the years surrounding the time he’d known Childe, it seemed that another regret sprung up in its wake: he was glad to have let Liyue develop by its own terms. He wished he could have better helped the Traveler to find their sibling. He was glad to have made his contract with the Tsaritsa. He wished her war hadn’t led to so many undue deaths. He was glad to have met and grown close to Childe through her plan. He wished he’d had the opportunity to make amends and say goodbye.

Zhongli was certainly glad to see that Childe had returned, but the idea was terrifying all the same, rooted further in the unknown than he, the oldest living being in all of Teyvat, had ever ventured. In perplexed, tense silence, Zhongli watched as the man who called himself Ajax stepped out of the cafe door, wondering if somewhere, somehow, the crumbling remains of Celestia were laughing at him.

—

Zhongli did not have many living friends from 2000 years ago. The Adepti had almost all moved on by now, some passing during times of war and others fading gently after achieving fulfillment. The other Archons had moved on in similar ways after the Tsaritsa’s war against Celestia, either felled in battle or simply faded away in the absence of duty. Some nations had maintained a figurative position of Archon in the absence of a Gnosis, but whether or not the gods themselves still lingered among mortals beyond Liyue’s borders was beyond Zhongli’s knowledge. This meant that the only being to whom Zhongli could still return with his suddenly rematerialized memories of the past was Xiao, ever vigilant atop the Wangshu Resort, still as dedicated to his duty of protecting Liyue as he had been for thousands of years.

Demons and shadows from sealed gods were few and far between in the modern era, having largely faded when Teyvat’s elements weakened alongside Celestia. As such, Xiao had reluctantly allowed himself to become part of human society as well, though with less grace or consistency than Zhongli had. The Yaksha was not fond of human jobs or the concept of living somewhere, so he often ended up changing faces, indecisively flitting between forms at a whim to keep himself moving. Sometimes, when Zhongli sought him out, he would even be perched as a crane at the rooftop, wings of magnificent teal feathers resting at his sides. 

Most often, however, Xiao remained almost the same as he’d been for millennia, green tattoos on his arms concealed under a plain black hoodie, looking every bit like a moody human teenager with a forehead tattoo of a diamond. Xiao wouldn’t admit it, but he’d grown attached to that face in much the same way Zhongli had gotten attached to his own.

“Xiao,” Zhongli said upon arriving at the roof, and the Yaksha turned around, slipping his headphones down around his neck.

“Morax,” he responded, “It’s been a while.”

Zhongli smiled. “I’m Zhongli for now. I was feeling nostalgic.”

Xiao turned back to the view of Dihua Marsh with a huff. “So that’s why you’re here again. Because you’re sentimental .” Zhongli frowned, watching as Xiao hunched back over his knees.

“I can leave if you’d prefer. I don’t wish to upset you,” he said gently, but Xiao simply shook his head.

“Who am I to command my master?”

“You are yourself, and you are my equal. There is no such thing as an Archon anymore, after all.” Zhongli sighed, sitting down on the ledge beside Xiao and allowing his feet to dangle over the marsh far beneath them. For a moment, both fell silent.

“Forgive me, my lo— Zhongli,” Xiao corrected himself. “I’m simply… restless.”

“Do you not wish to move on?”

Xiao shook his head. “I cannot be fulfilled when my duty is one only I can perform.”

This was not an unfamiliar conversation for Zhongli. He’d often asked if Xiao was not ready to seek release from his pain, but the Yaksha refused, always putting the needs of others ahead of his own. Who would protect the mortals in his absence? Who would carry the weight of karmic debt? Who would be there when Zhongli grew reminiscent, in need of someone with whom he could share memories of the past?

“Xiao, you and I are likely the only remaining beings with memory of Teyvat’s ley lines in their full glory. Do you know of any instances of reincarnation?”

“I do not,” the Yaksha replied, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve witnessed memories and spirits preserved within ley lines, but to my knowledge, I have never seen the second coming of one whole individual.”

“Neither had I,” Zhongli sighed, crossing his arms against his chest, “That is, until yesterday.”

Xiao looked up, startled.

“Who was it that you saw reincarnated? Was it a mortal?” he asked, his tone bordering somewhere between displeased and frantic. His face was solemn as always, but there were cracks in his facade, emotion shining through golden eyes.

“It was a mortal,” Zhongli replied, “and I do suppose you may be displeased to hear which one it was.”

Xiao frowned. “There are few mortals who come to mind that I would be upset to see again.”

“This may very well be one of them.” Xiao had never personally met Childe, but he still regarded the Harbinger with significant amounts of distaste, an additional negative energy seething from him alongside his usual karmic debt. Zhongli had often noticed a suspicious, windy presence behind him when he and Childe went on outings. 

“My lo— Zhongli, please do not attempt to spare my feelings,” Xiao huffed impatiently. “Who is it?”

“Do you remember the Tsaritsa’s Eleventh?” Zhongli finally replied, and Xiao’s eyes widened in surprise.

“The one who reeked of the Abyss,” Xiao mused, “Are you sure it was him?”

“I’m quite certain,” Zhongli said, and Xiao pressed a hand against his chin, deep in thought. 

“I had thought that between the two of us, we were quite familiar with all of Teyvat’s phenomena,” Zhongli continued, “Though it would seem as though I was mistaken.”

“Could it be some manner of… Abyssal ability? Or perhaps the result of a ley line disorder?” Xiao asked, but Zhongli shrugged.

“I did not sense any energy emanating from him. He seemed to be a perfectly normal mortal, though our interaction was brief. He was simply a customer at the cafe, after all.”

Xiao frowned. “There’s no way to tell from such a short period of proximity. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see him myself so that I can verify your claim.”

“Of course. I can see if there are any positions open at the cafe—“

“Wait, that isn’t what I was implying,” Xiao interrupted, his stoic expression momentarily giving way to embarrassed panic. “Forgive me, my lord, but I have no interest in working at… at a cafe . I simply want to meet him at some point so I can survey him for potential energy myself.”

“Sure. I will return to notify you of when would be a good time,” Zhongli agreed with a good-natured smile. “Though I would not be opposed to you joining me at my workplace, if that is easier for you.”

“It is not.” 

Zhongli had expected that response, and so he let out a deep chuckle.

“Very well. Until our paths cross again, Xiao.” With that, Zhongli turned, leaving Xiao to his devices on the rooftop.

The Yaksha did not instantly disappear the way he might have in the past. Instead, he slipped his headphones back over his ears and pressed “play,” the beat of his music audible even from a distance. 

—-

Ch— Ajax became a regular sight at the cafe.

“Good morning, Mr. Zhongli~” he called brightly upon stepping through the door, having read Zhongli’s name off his name tag long ago. Zhongli had tried to maintain an impersonal, stranger-ly distance from Ajax at first and hadn’t introduced himself officially, unwilling to face the sudden resurgence of emotions that had been bottled up for centuries, but as Ajax continued to show up at the cafe each morning, always purchasing an americano and a lemon bar, Zhongli’s resolve cracked. He could not hold back the happiness that flooded his soul upon seeing Childe again, even if the man was entirely separate from his previous life.

Of course, this was much to Ajax’s great amusement, and he routinely made fun of Zhongli’s pitiful attempts at stoicism.

“I have your order already prepared,” Zhongli said, gesturing to the pick up counter. Ajax huffed childishly, but picked up his coffee and his pastry bag anyways.

“What if I was going to be late? Then my coffee would have been cold,” he faux-whined, to which Zhongli shoved down a spark of amusement.

“You’re never late. Either way, I could have made you a new one.”

Ajax let out an exaggerated sigh, defeated. “So efficient, Mr. Zhongli. Are you really that eager to get me out of your cafe?”

Zhongli froze.

“Xiansheng is so eager to kick me out of his home.”

Zhongli chuckled. “Of course not. I rather enjoy your company.”

Childe smiled into his teacup. “How sweet, xiansheng. What would the Liyuen people say?”

“What of them?”

“Would they not be disappointed to see their beloved consultant fraternizing with the Fatui?”

Zhongli rolled his eyes. “If that were the case, they would be very disappointed. I dare say we ‘fraternize’ quite often.”

“Well, xiansheng, if you say it like that, it sounds crass,” Childe said, a sly grin splitting his face, and Zhongli let out a small puff of breath.

“You rascal.”

“Earth to Mr. Zhongli~”

Zhongli snapped out of his reverie. “I’m sorry, I was momentarily— I got distracted,” Zhongli said, trying not to let ancient formalities slip into his speech. “And no, Ajax, I am not trying to usher you out of the cafe. You…”

“‘I?’” Ajax repeated cheekily.

“You make pleasant company,” Zhongli finished, his tone perhaps colored by just a huff of embarrassment.

“Aww, I’m flattered,” Ajax crooned, “You even called me by my name!”

Zhongli shook his head in mock disappointment. “I could just as easily revert to thinking of you as ‘that obnoxiously flirtatious customer,’” he joked, and Ajax feigned shock.

“I’m perfectly happy with this new arrangement,” he replied. “After all, my name sounds very nice in your voice~”

Zhongli rolled his eyes again, attempting to ignore that fluttering of his stomach.

“Ah, but Mr. Zhongli, you should know your efficient system still has one major flaw,” Ajax suddenly remembered, a sly grin spreading on his face, “Because I’m going to need a plate instead of a to-go bag today!”

Zhongli blinked, and Ajax hummed, celebrating his victory.

“Here you are,” Zhongli said after a moment of rummaging through the cabinet, passing Ajax a small plate.

“And? Aren’t you going to ask why your dearest and most dashing regular is changing his schedule for the day?” Ajax asked with an award-winning smile. Zhongli rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help sneaking a smile of his own.

“Well, why are you eating in today?”

“My morning class got canceled,” Ajax said cheerfully. “Which is great. It amazes me how my professor can make a subject as interesting as Liyuen literature so boring.”

“So you’re attending Liyue Harbor University?” Zhongli was almost surprised to hear that Ajax would be pursuing academics, given the… lapses his past incarnation had in his education, having been enlisted in the military at merely 14.

“Yep,” Ajax replied. “Do you also go there?”

Zhongli cocked his head in surprise before remembering how youthful “Zhongli” appeared. 

“N-no… I have been told that I look much younger than I am.”

Ajax’s eyes sparkled deviously. “Well, I’m not one to shy away from older men…” 

Zhongli raised an eyebrow, and Ajax laughed.

“How old are you actually? You barely look like you could be more than two or three years older than me.”

Bordering on 8500 . “I’m… 36.” Zhongli internally winced at his hesitation.

Ajax’s eyes widened. “Really? I definitely wouldn’t have pegged you for more than 28,” he replied incredulously. “I’m only 22. I’ve been feeling old lately because of the new freshmen, but now I’m starting to feel like a baby by comparison to you.”

22. That wasn’t far off from how old he’d been when Zhongli had first met him.

Shaking off the thought, Zhongli chuckled lightly. “I’ve heard that before. It isn’t uncommon for me to be asked what my major is,” he smiled, remembering the various people who he’d told similar lies about his age.

“Well? Did you go to college, and what’d you major in?”

“Yes, actually,” Zhongli said, mentally sifting through the various university programs he’d participated in over the past millennium. “I majored in architecture,” he settled on, “Though I took a number of… unrelated classes.”

“I don’t suppose you know anything about Liyuen literature? I’ve been struggling to stay awake in that Seven-damned class,” Ajax grumbled. “My grades really show it too…”

“I’ve been told that I’m very well-read,” Zhongli replied. This was true: living for thousands of years had given him more than enough time to read most of the books ever published in Liyue. However, his understanding of many of the more famous novels was often supplemented by having personally known the authors.

“Really? Would you mind helping me out a bit, then?” Ajax asked, a glint in his eyes. “After all, this is just as good an excuse as any to get you to spend more time with me.”

Zhongli laughed out loud, unable to contain it any longer. “Sure. No need to make excuses, Ajax.”

Ajax blushed ever so slightly, his grin still lighting up his face. “That’s great! When do you have shifts here? I’ll come find you another day at the end of a shift so that I don’t hold up the line.”

It was only at this point that Zhongli noticed several other customers standing behind Childe, grumbling impatiently. His eyes widened, but Ajax interrupted him before he could speak.

“Tell you what— here, I’ll write my phone number for you,” he said, reaching forward to pull a pen from Zhongli’s apron and scribbling on a napkin, “and you can text me that it’s you. Okay? Bye, Mr. Zhongli!”

Before he could say anything back, Ajax sauntered away from the counter to a table in the corner, and Zhongli’s face reddened as the next customer stepped up to the counter.

“Sorry for the wait,” he apologized, flusteredly folding the napkin and shoving it in his pocket. The customer laughed, a bit put off, but good-natured all the same.

“That’s okay— anything for young love, right?”

—

“Hi, welcome to the Apple store. Is there something specific you’re looking for?”

Zhongli shifted uneasily on his feet. “I need a cell phone. One that can… text.”

The worker eyed him warily, confusion written all over her face. “… All of them can text, sir.”

“… Oh.”

“Do you… do you have a phone right now? Are you looking to get your first one?” she asked, and Zhongli felt like he’d made a misstep.

“I do. Here,” he said, pulling an old Nokia out of his pocket, almost certainly a remnant of the last persona he’d donned before this iteration of “Zhongli.” The worker’s eyes widened in shock. 

“You… uh, well, let me show you some of the models we have in stock…”

—

“Xiao, you have a phone, right? An iPhone?”

Xiao slipped his headphones off, side-eying Zhongli suspiciously. “Yeah? Don’t most people?”

“How do you send a text?”

Zhongli had never seen such a disdainful expression on the Yaksha’s face in the more than 6000 years that they’d known each other.

“What do you mean you just got a smartphone? How have you gotten anything done in the past decade without one?” Xiao demanded after some explanation, all formalities towards his former master forgotten. “You’ve been more in contact with mortals than I ever have! How am I better adapted to this era than you are?”

—

It had taken significant effort to obtain a phone with which he could text Ajax, as well as a significant portion of his recent income. However, once he’d gotten a cell plan set up, he quickly scheduled a meet up with Ajax right after his midday shift the next day, retreating to a table in the corner where Ajax could lament about his inability to comprehend his teacher’s lectures on the Epic of Guyun, a lengthy poem describing the rise and defeat of Osial, and subsequently, his wife. 

“Osial’s story is pretty famous, right? Especially in Liyue, I’d think every kid has heard parts of it, or even read the entire epic!” Ajax groaned, squishing his cheek into the table. “So how in Teyvat is my professor making it so incomprehensible?”

Zhongli chuckled into a cup of coffee, amused. “What about it is troubling you specifically?”

Ajax sighed dramatically. “I’m honestly not sure,” he nurtured, flushing slightly. “I must’ve fallen asleep in class, because I swear…”

Zhongli raised a brow. “What is it?”

Ajax frowned. “Yknow, even though it’s famous and objectively an important piece culturally, it’s not exactly descriptive . Clearly, the authors over the years didn’t consider how exactly Osial rose in the first place, other than typical villain stuff, y’know?” Zhongli nodded, and Ajax took this as a sign to continue.

“I made the dumb mistake of trying to actually answer a question in lecture, and it turns out that I pulled the information out of my ass, because it’s nowhere in the actual epic!” Ajax groaned in embarrassment, flopping over the back of his chair and drawing some pointed looks from other customers in the shop. Zhongli involuntarily furrowed his brow, but didn’t allow himself to jump to conclusions yet. Instead, he chose to ask more questions, hoping to better understand the situation.

“If I may ask,” Zhongli asked tentatively, “What exactly did you say?”

With a self deprecating huff, Ajax murmured, “I’d really rather you not ask. But, of course, if Mr. Zhongli wants to hear, I’ll readily oblige.” His tone was joking, excessively formal to a comedic extent, but Zhongli saw through the facade. Ajax really was ashamed .

“You have to promise not to make fun of me, okay?”

“Do I seem like the type to make fun of anyone, Ajax?” Zhongli huffed jokingly, but Ajax whined plaintively anyways.

“Not even in that quiet, Mr. Zhongli-ish way you do! You know what I mean!”

“Okay, okay,” Zhongli relented with a laugh. “I promise. Will you tell me now?”

Ajax groaned again, but nodded anyways. “I… Well, when I answered our professor’s question, I mentioned that Osial had risen due to his seals being broken by adeptal sigils, which, in my defense, seems totally plausible! I only realized that I’d said something wrong when I noticed everyone looking at me funny.” Ajax pressed his red cheeks into his hands, willing away the flush. “It was so embarrassing, Mr. Zhongli! I could have died on the spot!”

Zhongli was slow to react to this, however, still entirely consumed by the how Ajax seemed to have recalled an event from two thousand years ago— an event which few people even back then had known of, save for himself, the adepti, the Traveler, the Qixing, and, of course— Childe.

After a moment of hesitation, Zhongli hummed thoughtfully, shoving down his rising excitement and anxiety. “…That is certainly very plausible,” he said, and Ajax pouted.

“What happened to not making fun of me?” Ajax whined plaintively. “You’re so mean, Mr. Zhongli.”

“Well,” he replied, carefully choosing his words, “Adeptal sigils, despite their rarity in literature, would certainly be capable of breaking Rex Lapis’s bonds on fallen gods given the description of their powers, assuming one had enough of them.”

Ajax huffed. “Doesn’t change the fact that I just made it up, and embarrassed myself in front of a whole lecture hall by saying it.”

No! Zhongli wanted to say, You have no idea how right you are! But he kept his mouth shut, instead nodding thoughtfully.

“I suppose your professor has an alternate theory on how Osial escaped his bindings?”

“Yeah,” Ajax said. “He says that though the text never explicitly mentions it, Osial is thought to have risen because the bonds weakened when Rex Lapis fell, since the Epic is technically a religious piece and opens with the final Descension.” At this, Ajax frowned, and Zhongli cocked his head to the side.

“Do you disagree?” he asked, and Childe sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“I… I don’t know. I must have had a really vivid dream, because I…” Childe’s face suddenly scrunched with mixed anger and annoyance. “Ugh, this is so frustrating! Obviously my professor’s ‘theory’ or whatever is probably right, even if he delivered it in the most condescending way he could’ve! But I’m too damn stubborn to even think about listening to him!”

Zhongli’s heart fell at the sight of Ajax so distressed. He’d always hoped in the back of his mind that Ajax may bear some recollection of the past, though the thought was selfish and almost cruel. Now, Zhongli felt nothing but regret for that desire. He never wanted to see his dearest companion in such emotional agony.

Without thinking, Zhongli set a reassuring hand on Ajax’s shoulder, idly stroking him with his thumb. Even when Ajax looked up in shock and Zhongli realized how out of character the gesture probably seemed, Zhongli didn’t falter.

“It’s perfectly alright to be frustrated,” Zhongli assured him. “Besides, perhaps you could make an interesting project out of this, and search for literary evidence to back up your own claim.”

“… It would be satisfying to rub my findings in that smug asshole’s face,” Ajax said, his tense shoulders noticeably relaxing under Zhongli’s hand. “But I think I’ll just drop the topic. My brain hurts.”

“Good idea, you wouldn’t want to hurt yourself,” Zhongli teased, and Ajax jabbed him with his elbow.

“See? That’s what I mean! You do make fun of people, they just don’t know that you’re doing it!”

Little more studying occurred that afternoon, but Zhongli didn’t press too much. He was more than happy to let Ajax be happy, youthful and unburdened by the shackles of his previous life— for the time being. 

If Ajax was beginning to remember who he had been before, he would certainly face many difficult times in the coming future. Zhongli could only hope that he would be able to stay with Ajax this time around, whether he remembered it all or remained an entirely separate being.

—

Xiao was standing by the door to the cafe when Zhongli headed over the next morning for the opening shift.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to visit me at the cafe?” Zhongli teased, and Xiao made a face that could only have been described as pouting.

“That was before I realized you’re incapable of acting like a normal mortal,” the Yaksha huffed, to which Zhongli raised his brows.

“But lingering at a locked cafe door at eight in the morning is normal mortal behavior?” Zhongli asked, to which Xiao looked down in embarrassment.

Xiao wordlessly followed Zhongli inside and stood awkwardly in the center of the cafe, not sitting down at a table or following Zhongli behind the counter as he prepared a batch of fresh pastries for the day. Xiao looked almost anxious as he twisted his hoodie strings around his fingers, completely out of his element.

“To think that one of the most powerful remaining beings in all of Teyvat is spooked by a cafe that hasn’t even opened yet,” Zhongli murmured, and Xiao’s head snapped in his direction.

“I have not been reduced to such emotions as fear by a mortal cafe—“ Xiao started, but in that moment, the door jingled. Xiao whipped around, assuming a fighting stance in all but summoning his ancient polearm, and he abruptly found himself face to face with someone’s chest.

“Ajax, we aren’t open yet,” Zhongli chided, and Xiao’s eyes widened. Ajax simply laughed, stepping back from Xiao’s tense form.

“I knew you’d let me in anyways,” he replied with a smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyways, who’s this?” Xiao opened his mouth, most likely preparing to insult the reborn Harbinger, but Ajax suddenly waved his hands with excitement, interrupting him.

“Wait, don’t tell me! I didn’t know you had a son, Mr. Zhongli!” Ajax leaned forward a bit, ignoring Xiao’s stance in favor of meeting Xiao’s height. “Hi, Mr. Zhongli’s son! What’s your name?”

“I am not his son, ” Xiao replied, recoiling almost as if he were disgusted, to which both Ajax and Zhongli burst out into laughter. 

“Well, that’s good,” Ajax huffed, “I wasn’t looking forward to becoming your stepfather.” 

The withering glare which Xiao directed first at Ajax, then at Zhongli, would have been enough to bring a lesser man to his knees.

“Be civil, you two,” Zhongli sighed, but he couldn’t help but grin. “Ajax, this is my good friend, Xiao.”

“I didn’t know that 36-year-old men could be close friends with moody teenagers,” Ajax said, raising one brow. “Wait, is that a forehead tattoo?”

“I’m not a teenager,” Xiao said flatly, “I’m much older than you.”

Ajax frowned. “Is he?” he asked Zhongli, who nodded.

“He is.”

“He looks his age even less than you do, Mr. Zhongli!” Ajax said incredulously. “Are you two part of some kind of exclusive old-people-who-look-young club?”

Yes, actually. 

“I doubt those exist,” he said instead, moving to finish setting up the pastry display for opening. “I’ll have your coffee and lemon bar in a moment,” he added, and Ajax smiled.

“Sevens know I need it to get through lecture,” he lamented, swooning dramatically. Meanwhile, from where he stood awkwardly in the center of the shop, Xiao vacantly glared at a random fixed point somewhere in the distance, undoubtedly trying to parse how a man who had died 2000 years ago could be hitting on a god in a coffee shop.

When Ajax departed not too long after, it was still well before the cafe’s actual opening time, but Zhongli ushered Xiao to the staff room in the back anyways, just so he wouldn’t seem so out of place. 

“Well?” he asked, to which the Yaksha shrugged, his brows somehow furrowing further.

“That was definitely him,” Xiao confirmed. “I didn’t sense any immediately obvious energy from him, like you said. For the most part, he felt like any other mortal.”

Zhongli hummed thoughtfully. “For the most part?”

“Well, aside from the fact that he’s apparently returned from the dead,” Xiao shrugged. “Has he demonstrated any behaviors or abilities you would consider unusual?”

“Yes, actually,” Zhongli replied, “He seems to have some vague, almost instinctual recollection of events from his past incarnation, enough to identify that events in his textbooks such as the rise of Osial are incompletely recounted by modern academics.”

Xiao frowned. “… But how? Even if he did seem connected to them in any more significant way than other mortals, the ley lines are far too weak now to maintain powerful reflections for such a long time. With both Celestia and the Abyss having fallen, it doesn’t make sense that something… supernatural like this would be possible.”

“There are phenomena that even we as Adepti are unable to fully comprehend, especially now in a time when the world’s order is so far removed from any way it has ever been before,” Zhongli mused. “Before the rise of Celestia and the differentiation of the elements, there was still primordial power in this world, after all. Perhaps now, in Celestia’s absence, the natural flow of energy in Teyvat has settled into a form which we, as remnants of previous statutes of order, are unable to properly perceive.”

For a moment, they were both quiet, an eerie, impending silence permeated only by the swishing of the air conditioning and faint buzz of the lights.

“What use is there in us being Adepti then, if we no longer understand the functions of this world?” Xiao grumbled, but a faint quiver was just barely perceivable in his voice. Zhongli had wondered the same thing, and though the thought was certainly off-putting, he set a reassuring hand on Xiao’s shoulder nonetheless, as much for his own comfort as it was for the Yaksha.

“We get to be selfish now,” he said. “We are here only for ourselves.”

Xiao was quiet for another moment, and Zhongli withdrew his hand, heading to go officially open the cafe for the morning. Before he left, however, he turned back to Xiao, adding:

“So instead of keeping myself up at night with the question of how Ajax returned, I’m simply going to be grateful that somehow, he did.”

—

Zhongli and Ajax grew close, perhaps even closer than he’d ever been with Ajax’s past counterpart. Just as Zhongli had once done with Childe, they often ate out together, sampling the restaurant scene in the modern harbor, or they toured night marketplaces, buying all manner of cheap trinkets to add to their respective collections. Ajax, though perhaps not as rich as Childe had been, was in no dire financial straits, and he happily paid for them both whenever Zhongli misplaced his card, despite his protests.

They did things that were new as well; things that hadn’t even been invented back in Childe’s day like going to arcades and gorging themselves on popcorn at the movies. They rented bicycles and pedaled into the setting sun, stopping only when the neon glow of Liyue Harbor’s towering skyscrapers was a picturesque view in the distance, and all the while, they took dozens upon dozens of pictures, so many that Zhongli’s phone soon ran out of storage. They huddled together around the table in Zhongli’s apartment as Ajax showed him how to save photos on an external drive, freeing up cloud space for the next batch of pictures.

“You’re more sentimental than I expected you to be,” Ajax teased, nudging Zhongli with his elbow. “You only got this phone a few months ago. How have you already eaten through all your space?”

“I like having pictures,” Zhongli replied simply. There was something reassuring in having a visual representation of the past, though he certainly hadn’t always felt this way. Back in the day when the first kameras had risen from Fontaine, Zhongli had thought them to be unnecessary for himself. His memory was flawless, and he remembered everyone and everything that he’d ever witnessed in perfect clarity. As time passed, however, as did the people he loved, Zhongli came to realize that sometimes, memories simply aren’t enough.

In the back of his mind, Zhongli worried that somehow, just like Childe had so quickly left his life 2000 years ago, he would lose Ajax again as well. So he took pictures. He took as many as he could, hoping that maybe, if something happened again, his memory wouldn’t be the only remaining image left of his dear companion.

There were several pictures of Childe as he’d been as the Tsaritsa’s Eleventh Harbinger, though. Zhongli had managed to find a few among heaps of damaged Fatui records in the aftermath of various battles. They were simple photos in rather poor quality and taken at a head-on angle, and though Childe looked youthful and attractive as always, he also looked stiff and tired, not quite a real person as much as he was the name and position listed on his identification card. Certainly, they were not photos of the Childe Zhongli had come to cherish.

And so Zhongli filled his laptop’s drive with photos of Ajax laughing, Ajax holding a prize from a carnival, Ajax with a pair of children’s chopsticks held clumsily in hand as he scarfed down a bowl of noodles. For Zhongli’s birthday, Ajax bought him a polaroid camera, and together, they began to assemble a bulletin board, pictures of themselves and the places they went to see, even though Zhongli could just as clearly remember every moment with much finer detail than the grainy pictures allowed, even down to the way the locations had looked when he and Childe had visited them millennia ago.

Inconspicuously, Zhongli pinned the old Fatui ID photos of Tartaglia to his bulletin board, just off to the side where they would go largely unnoticed. It was calming to finally be at peace with the knowledge that Childe and Ajax’s separate lives were once more united on the board in Zhongli’s bedroom, never again to be separated.

—

Despite the reunification of Ajax’s component pieces on Zhongli’s bulletin board, his separate lifetimes integrated far less seamlessly in reality than they did on mere papers.

Sometimes, as he and Zhongli were enjoying an afternoon scroll or sitting together in the library while Ajax did his homework, Zhongli would notice his shoulders suddenly slump and his face take on a glazed expression, almost as if his eyes were peering into another time. He sometimes told stories of strange dreams he had of bloodshed and spears of water, taking place in a city that could have popped out of a storybook. He absentmindedly rubbed at the side of his head or right over his hip, feeling the absence of items which, for him, had never actually been there.

“I think I’m losing it,” he said one day, and Zhongli looked up from his tea, perplexed.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Ajax laughed, absentmindedly picking at his lemon bar. “I’ve been— well, my therapist calls it disassociating, but that just doesn’t feel right. It’s more like… hallucinating, maybe?”

Zhongli didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing.

“I want to say that I’m remembering things, but that’s not possible. I can’t remember things that never happened.” Ajax flopped dramatically on the table, his forehead thudding against the surface. “Maybe I’m schizophrenic.”

Zhongli hummed with uncertainty. “Your symptoms seem inconsistent with schizophrenia,” he said, and Ajax groaned.

“You don’t make sense either! I thought you majored in architecture, mister knows-everything-there-is-to-know-about-everything.” Ajax sighed. “What if you’re a hallucination? You show up in my other ones, so maybe you’ve just always been one.”

Zhongli bit his lip. Initially, he hadn’t known whether or not Ajax would regain his previous life’s memories, but even so, the process of remembrance was far more difficult than Zhongli had been prepared to assist with. Though Ajax seemed calm enough as he talked about it, Zhongli knew his tells well enough to discern that the man was scared. Not simply anxious or confused, though he was both of those as well, but genuinely scared, riddled with the fear that he might not be able to trust his own senses and thoughts. Zhongli would have been scared if he were in Ajax’s position too.

What more was there for him to do now, though? He didn’t want to send Ajax into shock by showing him evidence of his reincarnation, nor did he want to accidentally convince him that he was going insane. Instead, Zhongli gently prodded:

“Well, maybe talking about your… ‘hallucinations’ would help ease your mind.”

Ajax hummed. “Well, there seems to be, like, a cohesive plot line, almost— maybe it’s a maladaptive daydream or something. I don’t want to ask my therapist anymore because she’ll grippy-sock me.” Ajax laughed, the sound genuine and bright, and Zhongli relaxed for a moment from the knowledge that Ajax was at ease, even if only for a moment.

“In my dream, I’m a military officer, and I fight with water. Plenty of people fight with various elements— I can use electricity too, but only sometimes— and mine is water, and it’s like, assigned to me by some higher power.” Ajax grinned. “Maybe I should become an author. Or a video game dev, that would be cool…”

Zhongli smiled, a glint in his eye. “What kinds of elements could people use?”

Ajax laughed. “The elements are the same as the symbols of the seven original nations of Teyvat,” he said. “It didn’t matter what region you were from for what element you got, though.”

“What element do you think I would be, in your dream?” Zhongli asked, biting back a laugh. It was almost mean of him to egg Ajax on like this, but he couldn’t resist.

“You’re rock,” he said confidently. “You’re not just any rock, either, you were the Geo Archon, like the deity of the Liyuen Archonic Church.” Ajax chuckled. “My dream-hallucinations are religious sacrilege, I guess. My best friend is the Geo Archon.”

Zhongli’s eyes widened imperceptibly, but he didn’t say anything, allowing Ajax to continue.

“Maybe if I were any less mentally stable, I’d think I was being spoken to by God, and that I’m some kind of prophet,” he laughed. “I’m not that far gone yet, though.”

“You said you were a military officer, right?” Zhongli tried, and if he had a heart, he suspected it would’ve been pounding. “Did you ever have to fight me, or were we allies?”

“Uh, that’s a tough one,” Ajax said, tilting his head. “We weren’t enemies, that’s for sure, but…” His face once again grew distant, his brows furrowing slightly, and he let out a soft sigh.

“… I don’t really remember, right now. It’s like when you wake up, how you start to forget your dreams— or well, hallucinations, I guess.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Zhongli said, setting a hand overtop of Ajax’s, where he was clenching his fists on the table hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

“… I’ll tell you if I have another one with you in it,” he promised, and Zhongli laughed.

“Wouldn’t you rather not ‘hallucinate’ at all?”

“That’s the funny thing, isn’t it?” Ajax laughed, and Zhongli almost wanted to take out his phone and snap a picture of the pure, gentle smile that graced Ajax’s lips.

“Even if I'm going insane, I don’t really want to stop.”

—

Ajax’s condition deteriorated from there on out, going from bouts of spacing out to full on panic attacks in a matter of months. Zhongli only managed to see a little bit of this, however, and though he knew that Ajax’s mask was not flawless, for a while, he didn’t know just how much it hid.

“Hey, Mr. Zhongli,” he said one morning at the cafe, the circles under his eyes dark and heavy in contrast to his pallid face.

“You don’t have to call me ‘mister,’” Zhongli replied, passing Ajax his coffee and lemon bar. Ajax laughed, but the sound was hollow, bearing only a faint resemblance to the bright, happy Ajax he’d come to recognize.

“I know,” he said, smiling. “It suits you, though. You’re so dignified.”

Zhongli mirrored the smile, but couldn’t completely hide the concern on his face. Ajax must have noticed, because his face fell as well, his posture visibly sagging as if the weight of his own clothes was too much to bear.

“Hey, real talk, though,” he said. “You… you might not see me for a few weeks, okay?”

“Oh,” Zhongli said, blinking. “Why not? Are you going on vacation?”

“Uh,” Ajax sighed, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m gonna check myself in at the psych ward this afternoon, for, uh…”

“For your ‘hallucinations?’”

“Yeah,” Ajax nodded. “They were okay at first, but… They’re… bad , y’know? You’re the person closest to me who I trust more than anyone else, and I couldn’t even find it in me to tell you all of it.”

Zhongli pressed his lips together, concerned. “That’s alright, Ajax. Your health is the priority, of course.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Yep. I…”

Zhongli waited, giving Ajax the space he needed to collect his thoughts.

“I’m sorry for not being more open with you. I just… I didn’t want you to think that I was… well, a bad person. Even if they’re not real, I guess the things I imagine make me scared. Sorry, again.” He laughed humorlessly, “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“I’m not upset, Ajax, of course not,” Zhongli replied, and as he often did, he set a reassuring hand on Ajax’s shoulder. “Seek the treatment you think is necessary. I’ll always be here waiting for you.”

He already had for 2,000 years, hadn’t he? What were a few more weeks?

“Thanks, Mr. Zhongli,” Ajax sniffed, and oh— were the rims of his eyes shiny, or was that just a trick of the cafe lighting? Zhongli smoothed a thumb over the neckline of Ajax’s hoodie.

“You never have to worry about making me upset with what you’re going through. I will always be here to stand alongside you, no matter what, and should you need someone to shoulder your burden with you, I’d be happy to help. You know you’re not alone, right?”

“Yeah,” Ajax said. “Yeah, I know.”

—

Ajax was discharged almost four weeks later, looking just as tired as he had been before, if not worse. Zhongli learned this through a short text, sent near midnight on a Wednesday. The message simply read:

From Ajax: hey, i’m at home. 

From Ajax: you free?

Ten minutes later, Zhongli was making tea in Ajax’s apartment— a soothing chamomile blend— while Ajax recounted his experience.

“They put me on antipsychotics, but they’re not working, really. All they really do is make me sad and dizzy and groggy, and I’m still delusional or whatever. I have a whole life’s worth of memories now. I can’t even figure out where I begin and he ends. I mean, we’re the same person, huh? But obviously, I’m here and now, and that other me… isn’t.”

Zhongli poured tea into two mugs, and Ajax sipped idly at his.

“We got tea a lot in my… I don’t even know what to call them, honestly. Delusions?” Ajax smiled sadly, not missing the irony in his statement. “At the very least, no matter how horrible they are sometimes, we’re still friends… mostly…”

“Tell me about what you saw.”

And so, long into the night, Ajax recounted stories of the Abyss, of battle, of Teyvat’s past as a whole. He spoke of his teacher, Skirk, who taught him how to wield twin blades of water and how to rearrange his organs in his Foul Legacy transformation. He described the Tsaritsa and her war, the other Harbingers, his ascension through the Fatui’s ranks. He talked about Liyue, his mission, Adeptal sigils, the Traveler.

He talked about Zhongli. He talked about their outings, the time they spent going for drinks or for long walks. He talked about the little details, how Zhongli seemed so out of place among the Liyuen mortals, how it was a wonder that he hadn’t noticed that he was walking among gods sooner.

Ajax’s eyes soon started to droop, and they moved to his couch, dusting it off briefly after weeks of disuse, and Ajax slumped against Zhongli, still murmuring his resurfaced memories.

“I could write a whole series of books now,” Ajax whispered into Zhongli’s collarbone. Zhongli gently threaded a hand through Ajax’s hair, uncertain of how to respond.

“I don’t think I could pass off these delusions as fiction, though, no matter how many antipsychotics I have to take. I don’t think I’m psychotic, but that’s just one of the symptoms, huh?” Ajax scooted a bit closer to Zhongli, his face buried so close against Zhongli’s chest that he was almost in his lap.

“They don’t feel like delusions,” he repeated. “They’re memories. I don’t want to ‘be cured.’ If I forget them, it’s like I’m killing that other version of me, isn’t it?”

Zhongli hummed gently in reply.

“Yeah,” Ajax answered himself. “Even if maybe, for the things he— the things I did, that part of me deserves to die.”

“Don’t say silly things,” Zhongli murmured, “No part of you deserves to die.”

I’ve just gotten the old you back, and this wonderful new you too, and I cherish both of you— as the one whole you make up— more than anything.

Ajax murmured something else, but he had fallen too far beyond the brink of sleep for it to be comprehensible. They stayed there for the whole night, Zhongli wrapping his arms around Ajax’s huddled form as if he were trying to keep the pieces together.

“I love you, Ajax,” he whispered into the darkness, tracing tiny circles over the man’s shoulder blades with his fingers. “I love you in any form you take, no matter your shortcomings.”

“I am so, so fortunate that somehow, I was given a second chance to find you.”

—

“Xiao,” Zhongli said, and the Yaksha turned his head and slipped off his headphones the same way he always did when Zhongli arrived at the rooftop of the Wangshu Resort.

“Zhongli,” he replied, the same as always. He never called him “Morax” anymore.

“What are you listening to today?” Zhongli had taken to asking Xiao for music and podcast recommendations. The Yaksha’s taste differed significantly to his own, but Zhongli enjoyed everything he was given, happy to indulge in human culture in whatever form it may take. This time, an embarrassed flush dusted Xiao’s cheeks as he replied.

“Guided meditation. I… an acquaintance suggested it to help me unwind. They mean well, but are unaware that as an Adeptus, I have long since mastered the art of meditation.”

Zhongli blinked in surprise, but smiled warmly as he realized what Xiao had said. So the lonely Yaksha had made a friend.

“That’s wonderful, Xiao. Though I visit often, I’m glad you haven’t been in solitude in my absence,” Zhongli said, pride swelling in his chest. “Would you mind introducing me to them?” 

The Yaksha huffed, twisting the strings of his hoodie around his fingers.

“Maybe,” he said flatly. “I would prefer that they not believe you to be my father, like a certain other mortal.” Zhongli chuckled, pretending not to notice the faint shadow of a smile blooming on Xiao’s face. That reminded Zhongli of the reason why he’d come to the Wangshu Resort today, and his heart sank.

“Xiao, do you believe it is time to tell Ajax the truth of his reincarnation? Or our status as adepti?” The Yaksha pursed his lips, looking down in thought.

“Why would you ask me? I lack the perspective on the mortal psyche that you have,” he explained. “You have thousands of years over me in experience with mortals. If it had been up to me, I would have revealed the truth to the Harbinger when he first started recalling the past instead of waiting for him to admit himself to a mental institution.”

“I… suppose that may have been a good idea,” Zhongli mused, a touch sheepishly. “I just didn’t want for Ajax to feel as though he only has value as an individual for someone he used to be. He’s a reincarnation, yes, but that does not make him any less unique of a person, with his own life and experiences.”

Xiao furrowed his brow. “See, that’s what I mean. I can only make decisions based on pure logic because I haven't yet interacted enough with humans I am close with to understand these things.”

“It comes with practice, not to worry,” Zhongli said, and Xiao waved him off.

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” he said, turning away in embarrassment and quickly returning to the subject of Ajax’s memories. “You also said you didn’t want to risk worsening his mental state by suddenly revealing the truth of his memories, correct? Frankly, if you ask me, he can’t get all that much worse now that he believes he’s psychotic.” Zhongli frowned, but when Xiao noticed, he quickly redirected himself back to how best to reintroduce Ajax to Childe.

“Perhaps you should slowly introduce him to areas of significance from his past life? I’m sure you can find a way to describe them such that he doesn’t think he’s falling further into insanity.”

“Hmm,” Zhongli mused. “I suppose only natural features in the landscape would do, or historic buildings and ruin sites…”

“Yeah,” Xiao sighed, looking down at the gravel on the roof.. “The Wangshu Inn…”

For a moment, they were both quiet, allowing a moment to pass in honor of all that had been lost over the years. 

“Well,” Zhongli said, his clear voice cutting through the wind, “I suppose I should return to the Harbor.”

“Alright.”

“I’d love for you to visit more often, should you find the time and the will,” Zhongli added as he stood, dusting off his pants. “I enjoy being able to text you, but it’s simply no replacement for conversing in person.”

“Texting was not designed to send messages the same length as academic essays,” Xiao pointed out. “But if it would please my lord…”

“Only if it would also please yourself,” Zhongli replied firmly. “Maybe you can bring your new friends to the cafe, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“As long as you don’t take after Cloud Retainer. I’m sure stories of Ganyu and Shenhe in their youth have spread wherever her spirit came to rest.”

Zhongli smiled fondly at the memory of his passed comrades, stained only with a touch of melancholy.

“I make no promises.”

—

“Have you been to the Golden House before, Mr. Zhongli?”

Zhongli resisted the urge to chuckle. He’d created it. However, that factoid was likely a bit much for the current state of Ajax’s memories, so he bit his tongue.

“Yes,” he replied instead. “It’s a lovely archeological site, especially since large portions of the original architecture have been preserved. It’s one of Liyue’s most popular historical landmarks.”

Ajax laughed. “You’re such a nerd,” he said, jabbing Zhongli affectionately with his elbow. “Well, I sure hope it lives up to your praises. Then again, you could probably provide interesting commentary on watching paint dry, so of course it’ll be nice.”

“You flatter me,” Zhongli smiled, and Ajax elbowed him again.

“I’m just telling the truth,” he said. “Really, it’s no wonder you got interpreted as Rex Lapis in my delusions. You know everything there is to know about everything.”

Zhongli smiled bashfully. “Again with the flattery…” he murmured, shaking his head. “You rascal.”

Ajax grinned in response. “You wouldn’t expect anything less from me.”

With that, the two of them passed through the front desk and made their way into the site. The Golden House was immaculately preserved, having been meticulously restored over the past few centuries. Even the damages accrued during the Traveler’s battle with Childe had been repaired during the restoration efforts, leaving the hall in the same pristine form it had been prior to becoming Childe’s favorite sparring ground. Zhongli only hoped that even in its former glory, Ajax would still bear some recollection of the site.

The outing was pleasant, and the following trip to the Golden House gift shop even more so, but Ajax didn’t seem to be exhibiting any behavior outside of his typical spaciness, occasionally pausing as if to identify and catalogue another thought as “real” or “not real.” Either way, if Ajax had remembered anything, he’d kept it sealed well enough that by the time he arrived back home at his apartment, Zhongli had already started puzzling over where else he could take him. That was when his phone suddenly buzzed.

From Ajax: im at ur building

Zhongli’s eyes widened in surprise, concern rising in the pit of his stomach.

To Ajax: I’m coming.

Zhongli spent the elevator ride down from his apartment wringing his hands with anxiety, more than he recalled having felt for years. Perhaps living among mortals had started to eat away at his divine temperament, he thought, but was soon interrupted by a ding signaling his arrival at the first floor. 

“Ajax? Are you alright?” Zhongli asked as he opened the front door, and Ajax stared listlessly at the floor.

“I think I’m having another psychotic break,” he murmured. “I went home but I couldn't stay there, and I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t talk to my therapist either; I don’t want to go back to the hospital.” For a moment, they stood in silence, the only sound the whirring of the building’s air conditioning.

“I don’t want to impose on you. I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh, Ajax,” Zhongli murmured. “You’re welcome to impose any time.”

As they made their way upstairs, Ajax leaned into Zhongli’s shoulder, seeming almost as if he were very small despite only falling an inch or two short of Zhongli’s height. The moment they entered the apartment, Zhongli rushed to prepare some warm tea and blankets for Ajax, anything he thought might make Ajax comfortable and less ill-prepared to accept the news which Zhongli intended to impart with him. 

As soon as they were settled in, Zhongli gently spoke. “Do you want to talk about it, or do you just want to rest?”

Ajax shook his head. “I… Well, what is there really to talk about? I hallucinated again while we were visiting the Golden House.” He scrunched himself into a tight ball, gripping the blanket so fiercely that his knuckles grew white. “I was fighting— no matter how crazy I am now, that version of me was fucking insane. I wanted to destroy Liyue by summoning Osial. Like some kind of cringe supervillain.”

Zhongli nodded, and though every instinct in his body told him to move closer to the man, to set a reassuring arm across his back, Zhongli abstained. 

“Ajax… I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”

Ajax’s face suddenly contorted from a look of exhaustion to one of sheer panic. “What… what do you mean?”

“I know a bit more about your, well, ‘hallucinations…’ than I’ve previously let on. I’ve simply been trying to think of the least shocking way in which I could explain it.”

“Wh— Zhongli, what do you mean? You didn’t drug me or something, right? You did serve me coffee every morning for months—“

“Of course not,” Zhongli said, taken aback. “I would never wish harm upon you. Not now, not ever.”

Ajax let out a shuddering sigh. “I… what else have you kept from me, then? You’re not an architecture major if you know all this stuff about my psychosis, right?”

“… Not exactly. Nothing I’ve told you has been a lie— I did major in architecture— but I didn’t only major in architecture. I’ve been through university dozens of times now.”

Ajax narrowed his eyes. “It’s not nice to joke like this with people who are psychotic.”

“Ajax, you aren’t psychotic. Your ‘hallucinations’ are memories.”

“It’s not funny, Zhongli!” Ajax said, standing up abruptly. “You— you’ve never been like this before! Are you real?”

“Ajax, I’m real. I’m real, so please don’t be afraid,” Zhongli pleaded. “I’m sorry, I should have told you earlier, I shouldn’t have let you go to the psych ward, I’m so sorry—“

“I—“ Ajax let out a choked sob, and tears began to roll freely down his cheeks. “Prove it. Prove you’re real, prove my hallucinations are real, I don’t know— just, please don’t be my imagination! Please, I can’t take it anymore…”

Zhongli rose and slowly approached Ajax, his arms open, and Ajax allowed himself to slump forward into Zhongli’s embrace.

“Shh, shh. It’s alright. It will all be alright,” he murmured, gently stroking Ajax’s shuddering back. They stood quietly like that for several minutes, the silence only periodically broken by a choked sob or a sniffle. Eventually, Ajax’s breathing became regular once again, his shoulders relaxing into Zhongli’s touch. 

“Come with me. I have some old photos to show you.”

Ajax nodded wordlessly, allowing Zhongli to lead him to his bedroom, where their bulletin board hung on the back wall. Zhongli searched it for a moment as Ajax curled up on the bed, and after a few moments, he found the group of photos he'd been looking for.

“These are old Fatui identification papers, “Zhongli said quietly. “I wish I had a less rigid photo of… well, you.”

Ajax took the photos from Zhongli, holding them gently for fear of the old paper falling apart in his hands. He looked at them with wonder and bewilderment, his eyes. “I… yeah, that’s him… me…” He dragged a finger over the crumpled edges, smoothing out the dimly colored, grainy photo and examining his image. 

“Do you have more?” Ajax asked. “I’m just not… I need to see more to believe it. You could’ve just made these look old, or photoshopped them or something…” 

Zhongli shook his head. “These are the only photos I ever managed to find of you. We only knew each other for such a short time, and I didn’t think to take pictures, since barely anyone had a kamera back then,” he murmured, tilting his head to look over Ajax’s shoulder at the photos. “I only found these after your… after your passing.”

Ajax sniffled again, and for a moment, they both fell silent. 

“What about… what about something to prove it was you? Are you really…?”

Zhongli smiled softly and opened his hand, summoning the ancient energy of Geo from the land to manifest into a small, swirling stone, dimly pulsing with golden light as it hovered above his palm, floating up to weave lazy circles between their heads.

“I have not been an Archon for millenia,” he murmured, watching the reflection in Ajax’s dim irises as his palm began to glow with stony etchings, the skin of his arms darkening as coiled, golden horns sprouted from his temples. Ajax simply stared in wonder, absentmindedly reaching forward to touch one of the horns before abruptly stopping and pulling back, catching himself. Zhongli tipped his head forward, signaling permission, and Ajax ran his fingers over the stony curves.

“… Xiansheng,” he whispered, and now Zhongli was unable to restrain himself, reaching forward to wind his arms around Ajax’s waist. “I… I need some time to think,” he said, leaning his forehead against Zhongli’s.

“Of course,” he replied. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Am I… two people at once, or just one?” he murmured, fisting his hands in the back of Zhongli’s shirt. “My head hurts…”

“You are yourself,” Zhongli replied, pulling Ajax closer. “You are the parts that make up your whole, be they from the present or the past.”

“And you? What are you?” Ajax whispered, and Zhongli smiled into the crook of Ajax’s neck.

“I’ve watched over this world for millennia, and I’ve seen the rise and fall of millions. I’ve been wandering for a long time, but now I’ve found you.” Ajax hiccupped, laughing wetly and holding Zhongli even closer.

“Ajax, I’m glad that we were able to meet once more.”

–

Immortal or not, reincarnated or not, time still passed, and Ajax’s final year of college drew to a close. He graduated with a degree in finance (“Why in Teyvat were you taking a literature class?” Zhongli had asked, to which Ajax shrugged, “I dunno. Maybe I knew something already~”), and as the bright springtime blossomed into a sweltering summer, Zhongli found himself packing up his apartment and moving in with Ajax.

“We’ve already known each other for years,” Ajax had explained after proposing the idea, “ Technically . Besides, my apartment is lonely, and there’s plenty of space for all your clutter~”

Zhongli didn’t know whether to be offended or to melt on the spot.

When the final box of dusty artifacts and weathered books finally made it into the apartment, Ajax heaved a sigh of relief and slumped to the floor against it. Zhongli soon joined him, their shoulders brushing against each other as they observed the stacks of boxes left to unpack.

“Do you think I bought you any of these artifacts?” Ajax asked, to which Zhongli chuckled.

“Even if you didn’t purchase them yourself, chances are you financed a number of them,” he said, smiling nostalgically. “Though we didn't part on the best of terms, you still left behind a vast sum of mora to cover my tab at various shops in the Harbor for whenever I would forget my wallet.”

Ajax giggled. “I don’t remember that. Are you making things up?”

“It would be less embarrassing if I was,” Zhongli replied, and they both fell into a fit of laughter, leaning across each other as they doubled over.

“Ah, wouldn’t it be nice to be that rich again…” Ajax sighed, leaning back against the boxes behind him, but his face soured slightly. “Though present-day me doesn’t really like how past-me got all that money...”

Zhongli hummed in response, closing his eyes and letting the glow of the sunset from the window wash over his face.

“I’m tired,” Ajax suddenly complained, leaning into Zhongli’s shoulder. “And I can never sleep and my head always hurts from going off my meds. Man, I know it would’ve been a terrible idea, but I wish you told me before I decided I was crazy.”

Zhongli winced. “I apologize,” he said, tilting his head towards Ajax. “I never wanted to see you in pain…”

“Don’t apologize,” Ajax said, sighing. “You… you looked out for me. You always have, even when I was a different me. Obviously I don’t remember everything perfectly, but…”

Ajax leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Zhongli and pressing his face into the crook of his neck, pressed so close that he was practically in Zhongli’s lap. Zhongli held him in response, smoothing a reassuring hand over Ajax’s shoulder blades.

“I missed you so much when I left. I wasn’t even mad at you, I was just angry that I’d been so dumb not to notice… heh. I tried to write you letters, but I never managed to finish or send any of them. I figured you wouldn’t even care, since we’d barely known each other for one or two years, and you were already more than 6000 years old. And then… then I died, and it was too late.”

“The passage of two years is not insignificant to me,” Zhongli murmured, stroking Ajax’s hair. “I remember every person I’ve ever met, and despite the dozens of mortal acquaintances I’ve met through the millennia, you were one of the few close friends I made.”

“…Friends, huh?” Ajax mumbled, squeezing Zhongli’s shoulders. “Ah, I’ll take it…”

If Zhongli had a heart, it would have skipped a beat.

“Tell me then, Ajax, what I should call us,” he said softly, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I want nothing more than your happiness.”

“Teasing me,” Ajax huffed. “How mean of you, Mr. Zhongli.”

The golden rays of evening sunlight had begun to creep behind the edge of the windowsill, leaving them in the warm shroud of the darkened room. Zhongli couldn’t help but marvel at how pretty Ajax was, his flushed cheeks practically glowing in the light.

“We can set this all up later,” Ajax mumbled through a yawn, shifting the topic. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Zhongli stood, helping Ajax to his feet as well, and after brushing their teeth and changing into sleep clothes, Ajax led Zhongli by the hand to his bedroom.

“I can take a futon or the couch until my bed arrives,” Zhongli said out of courtesy, but as expected, Ajax shook his head firmly, tugging Zhongli downwards until he toppled onto the bed.

“Maybe I can actually sleep tonight if you’re here with me,” Ajax said, curling into Zhongli’s side and tugging the covers over both of them. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ajax,” Zhongli murmured, draping an arm over Ajax’s shoulders.

When Zhongli awoke in the morning, morning light filtering through the window, he was wrapped around Ajax, their legs tangled and Ajax’s face pressed to his chest.

“Good morning,” he murmured, and Ajax sleepily opened his eyes, smiling softly as he realized where he was and what the warmth was around him.

“Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?” Zhongli asked, and Ajax shook his head as he yawned, curling back into Zhongli’s chest. 

“Let’s do nothing today,” he said, and Zhongli couldn’t find it in himself to disagree, laying his head back on the pillow and letting sleep overtake him once more.

—

“Xiao,” Zhongli called.

“Zhongli,” Xiao responded.

“I told him,” Zhongli said simply, leaning to sit at the roof’s edge. Xiao gave him an unreadable look.

“And?”

“It went well,” Zhongli responded, and the Yaksha visibly relaxed. 

“That’s good,” he said. “Any other effects?”

“A few, but not due to his reincarnation,” Zhongli replied. “His memories aren’t very pleasant, as I’m sure you could guess, but he isn’t willing to attend therapy anymore due to his previous hospitalization. He has also been experiencing withdrawals from trying to go off of his medications too quickly, which I tried to prevent…”

“… But he’s a stubborn asshole,” Xiao finished for Zhongli, whose eyes widened at the profanity.

“Your new friends must be a poor influence,” he joked, to which Xiao rolled his eyes.

“It’s no wonder Ajax thought you were my father.” Xiao massaged his temples and visibly considered putting his headphones back on and ignoring Zhongli, but he decided against it, instead asking, “I assume he’s figured out that I am also not mortal?”

Zhongli nodded. “He asks about you often. I tried to heed your words about not taking after Cloud Retainer, but I’ve certainly regaled Ajax with tales of the Vigilant Yakshas in their prime.”

Xiao clenched his jaw almost imperceptibly, but steeled his expression carefully.

“Would you mind if I invite you to dinner occasionally? Ajax is a wonderful cook, though I can always teach him how to make almond tofu if you’re still averse to eating mortal food.”

Xiao looked perplexed. “… Have you married?” he asked, and his brow twitched as if it took all his willpower to stop himself from raising it.

Zhongli laughed, amused. “No, rest assured. In the event that I were to get married, you would be the first person to know.”

“Well,” Xiao said, an embarrassed flush rising to his cheeks, “You can just text me the time and details if you intend to invite me over. I… I will do it, if it would please my lord.”

Zhongli smiled. “At ease, Xiao. I’m not forcing you, of course.”

Xiao sighed, his eyebrows furrowing. “No, it’s fine. I’ll come.”

—

If you were to ask him, Xiao would say that he didn’t return for another dinner ever again.

“Immortal family dinner,” in Ajax’s words, proceeded to become a weekly tradition thereafter, and almond tofu was always served.

Zhongli had been right, of course. Ajax’s cooking was fantastic.

—

Time passed, and eventually, Zhongli came into ownership of the cafe, with Ajax beside him to handle finances. At Ajax’s request, Zhongli began leaving several opening shifts to his employees, giving them more time to sleep and cuddle as they woke up tangled together in Ajax’s bed, since they’d never ended up bothering to set up Zhongli’s. Though Zhongli had been hesitant to leave the morning baking to someone else for half of the week, he did appreciate the extra time it gave him and Ajax to relax together, watching the morning tv with tea or going out for breakfast. On the days when Zhongli did take the morning shift, however, Ajax often followed him, occupying a table in the corner with his laptop, a lemon bar, and an americano, as if he were still an exhausted college student studying literature for a class he shouldn’t have even been taking.

The only difference was that now, if Ajax had to leave to assist one of his other clients, he would first press a kiss on Zhongli’s cheek before leaving, sometimes even a chaste peck on the lips. It made Zhongli feel warm inside and sometimes drew sweet smiles from the other customers, both regulars who knew of Zhongli’s relationship and more infrequent or new visitors.

Zhongli wasn’t sure when he’d fallen in love with Ajax. Maybe it had been recent, in the time following his reincarnation, or maybe it was ancient, a love at first sight from the moment that the Tsaritsa’s Eleventh set foot in Liyue Harbor. Maybe it had blossomed somewhere along the way, in the centuries that passed between Ajax’s first life and the next, a love carried and preserved until it could finally be realized.

Either way, their love had come naturally, blurring the lines of their friendship into sweet nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms and soft mornings when Zhongli rested his chin on Ajax’s shoulder as he cooked breakfast or tapped away at his keyboard. There had been no shocking declaration of romance, no abrupt passage between friends and lovers; just the introduction of gentle kisses and murmured I-love-yous into their normal interactions.

That wasn’t to say every moment was pleasant, however, with their peace sometimes interrupted by petty arguments, Zhongli’s lofty stance as an immortal, and resurgences of Ajax’s fragile mental condition. Between his own memories and Childe’s memories, Ajax knew that he had mental health problems, post traumatic stress disorder almost certainly, accompanied by a cocktail of other potential conditions. He was hesitant to return to doctors after his psychosis diagnosis and hospital stay in prior years, however. It crushed Zhongli inside to see Ajax suffering and either unable or unwilling to accept assistance from the medical practices that humanity had spent so much time refining.

They were always there for each other, though. They murmured apologies to each other after fighting, sitting quietly over dinner or in each other’s arms. Zhongli stayed with Ajax as he waited out the aftereffects of panic attacks, gently rubbing his back and offering his support and sips of water. On the rare occasions when 8,500 cumulative years of memories grew too much for him as well, stricken by grief and fading memories, Ajax did the same for him, leaning his ear against Zhongli's chest and tapping out the rhythm he would have heard if he had a heart.

It was only a matter of time, really, before Zhongli approached Ajax with a small silk bag and a smile on his face.

“What do you have there, Mr. Zhongli?” he said, pressing a kiss to Zhongli’s temple with a smile, which Zhongli returned in earnest before undoing the string to reveal a small box, the wood somewhat faded from the passage of time.

“Ajax, if you look into your memories from your first life, do you remember when you bought this for me?” Zhongli asked, opening the box to reveal an elegant cor lapis and noctilucous jade ring, the two stones framed by coils of gold as if meant to be intertwined with each other. Ajax’s eyes widened, but his voice remained level as he answered.

“I— yeah, I think I do,” he said, “It was a commission piece that someone else hadn’t wanted anymore, so it became available for purchase at Mingxing Jewelry. I got it for you even though you hadn’t accompanied me that day, knowing that it was too huge an opportunity to wait.”

“You do remember;” Zhongli said, smiling. “I was ecstatic when you showed it to me. The craftsmanship and quality of the stones is stunning, and I’m sure that even for its price, such an exquisite piece would have been picked up rapidly had you not stumbled upon it first. I went looking for it recently and had it resized, since it appears to have been originally designed for someone with slimmer, traditionally feminine fingers.”

Ajax said nothing, but the rate of his breathing increased.

“Ajax, I am so grateful to have you by my side, both in this present life and in that two thousand years ago,” he said, sliding the ring onto Ajax’s fourth finger. “If I may, I would like to have this for the rest of our times.”

“You’re supposed to get down on one knee when you ask,” Ajax breathed, “Unless I’ve misinterpreted your request.” Zhongli smiled and complied, taking Ajax’s hands between his own and smiling up at him, and Ajax’s eyes widened, a glistening film forming where his eyelids met the surface.

“Ajax, will you-“

“Yes,” he breathed, almost falling in his hurry to wrap Zhongli in his arms. “Yes.”

—

The ceremony was small. Tiny, even.

They held it on the sands of Yaoguang Shoal, their vows delivered with their dress pants rolled up and gentle, cool waves lapping at their ankles. The guests were seated in folding chairs decorated with paper flower garlands, provided by Ajax’s younger siblings in collaboration with Zhongli’s coworkers. Even Xiao had helped with setting up, getting sand sprinkled across the cuffs of his somewhat vintage, much too formal suit jacket, a remnant of a formal gathering he’d attended centuries ago.

As the attendants left for the night and the sun began to dip under the mountains, Zhongli and Ajax lingered, with blankets tossed over their shoulders to stave off the brisk wind. The sun bathed the ocean in hues of gold, an intersection between Ajax’s blue and Zhongli’s amber that gently washed away their footprints as they walked.

“Y‘know,” Ajax said, twirling in the sand and letting the wind catch his blanket, “I used to think I’d never get married. Both now and before.”

Zhongli chuckled. “Well, it seems you’ve defied your expectations.”

Ajax tilted his head to the side, letting the evening glow settle over his cheeks. “Yeah,” he replied, smiling. “I was always so busy— I had my duty as a Fatuus, I had training, and then in this lifetime I had classes and sports— and I figured that I’d spend all my time chasing higher and higher dreams, and I’d never just… settle.”

“It would be very strange to witness you ’settling,’” Zhongli joked. With a slightly more serious tone, he added, “I hope that I will not keep you from achieving your aspirations, though.”

“Of course not!” Ajax exclaimed, laughing. “You practically are one of my aspirations. And really, I’d be able to live a life of doing absolutely nothing if you were at my side.”

Zhongli felt as though his chest were about to explode with affection.

“You flatter me,” he said, smiling so widely that his facial muscles began to strain.

Ajax stepped back towards Zhongli, wrapping the blanket back around both of their shoulders and pressing his lips to Zhongli’s. Even after dozens, likely hundreds of kisses, Zhongli still marveled at the sensation, a spark of joy and affection blooming within him and flooding his senses with warmth. Zhongli tried to kiss back, but he was so overwhelmed with joy at being able to hold his husband like this that his smiles broke the kiss.

“Oy,” Ajax laughed, his own kiss breaking as his mouth pulled into a smile, poorly feigning annoyance. “Stop smiling while I’m trying to kiss you.”

“Sorry,” Zhongli said, still smiling. “I don’t think I could stop no matter how hard I tried. I’m so happy to be with you, Ajax.”

“You’re not sorry,” Ajax scoffed teasingly, before dropping his forehead to rest on Zhongli’s shoulder. “Me too, though,” he said softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.”

—

60 years later, Zhongli returned to the Wangshu Resort. Instead of going to the rooftop, however, he met Xiao at a table in the restaurant on the ground floor, people clamoring and utensils clacking together all around them.

“Xiao,” he said, to which the Yaksha replied, “Zhongli.”

“How have you been?”

Xiao shrugged. “Well,” he said simply. He had altered his form slightly, taking on an appearance that was just slightly taller, his face a bit narrower and more mature to fit in with his mortal friends. Other than that, however, he looked almost exactly the same as ever.

Zhongli, however, had changed drastically.

His face drooped, with creases at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. His hair, though still long and smooth and tied into a neat ponytail, was now a clear, almost snowy white. His hands were gnarled and knotted, and he walked more slowly, though it was evident from the manner in which he held himself that his aging was superficial. Xiao knew that if he wanted, at any moment, Zhongli could return to the form of a young, dark-haired man.

Xiao also knew, however, that he wouldn’t.

“How is Ajax?”

Zhongli looked down, a sad smile settling upon his face. “He is in good spirits, even now. He doesn’t move much at all anymore, but… he is still himself. Stubborn and unwilling to let anything bring him down.”

Xiao did not respond, instead allowing a silence to fall between them, unable to be permeated even by the noise of the surrounding restaurant.

“I’m glad to see that he was able to live to old age this time,” Zhongli said after a while. “His previous body was under too much strain from the Abyss to live past thirty, even if battle hadn’t claimed him first.”

Xiao nodded. “I… I am also glad. I am glad that you and him were able to be happy together.”

For a moment, Zhongli’s gaze grew distant, the same way it always had when he surveyed the thousands of years in his memory. Xiao had even started to catch himself making the same expression. He was getting old.

“Ah, but let us not speak of him as though he has already left us,” Zhongli said, a fair smile gracing his lips. “I will be here to enjoy the remaining time I have with him, be it minutes or be it months.” 

“I will too,” Xiao replied, and they both fell silent once again, knowing he wasn’t referring only to Ajax.

“Will you be alright?” Zhongli asked, and Xiao felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, acrid and overpowering. Xiao hurriedly blinked them back though. He refused to make Zhongli worry.

“I will be fine,” Xiao confirmed. “I can make medicine for myself and have friends I can trust to assist me should I require it. I have prepared for years to take up your mantle, recording the history of these lands within my own recollection as you have for thousands of years. I will be fine.”

“I have the utmost faith in you that you will complete whatever it is you see as your duty,” Zhongli said, and for the first time in hundreds of years, Xiao watched as Zhongli’s stoic exterior cracked and fell away, his voice raw and almost small as he spoke. “I want to know if you will be alright.”

Xiao opened his mouth to insist that he would, but found that no words came out. Tears rolled freely down both of the Adeptus’s faces now, neither one moving to wipe them away or pretend they were above such sentiments.

“…I will be alright eventually,” Xiao said when he trusted his voice not to waver. “It will hurt. And even though I will be alone as the last remaining Adeptus, the oldest witness upon the soils of Teyvat, I will not be alone. You taught me well.”

“I’m glad,” Zhongli replied, reaching forward to swipe a tear off of Xiao’s cheek. “I will be waiting for you whenever you are ready.”

—

Hidden among the clouds, where the last floating island of plaustrite remained untouched by humanity, beneath the awning of a small covered bench, there now sat an urn, carved with delicate inscriptions in both ancients and modern Liyuen and Snezhnayan scripts. All four read as follows:

“Here rest the bodies of two souls that crossed the bounds of life and death to reunite. No matter what awaits us beyond this world, know that wherever they have gone, they have gone together.”

With the final tap of a chisel that resounded throughout the valleys of Jueyun Karst, a teal wind brushed away the dust, arcing over the moon and disappearing into the night.