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A thick gush of blood fell to the ground, staining the white snow with its bright red. Aether held a hand to his stomach, pressing hard against the wound to stop the bleeding, to gain at least crumbles of time before losing consciousness.
He crawled on his knees, his legs far too weak to sustain his weight, and made his way with difficulty to the broken stone pillar standing in front of his eyes. At its bottom, Albedo laid against the base, his gaze lost in the void. His skin looked deathly pale, in terrible contrast with the shiny hue of the blood splattered all over his clothes. But he was still alive, for the moment.
Aether never imagined it would be so painful . Having been trained to fight since he was a child, he knew injuries, accidents and even death were part of the contract. He traded his life for adrenaline and the satisfaction of protecting someone or something he loved, until one day the fire in his heart would quell and his eyesight would grow forever blank.
But what made his entire soul tremble wasn’t the pain itself. It was pure fear, a deep-rooted, bone-chilling terror crushing him like a boulder. It wasn’t death— no, that didn’t frighten him in the slightest.
He sat down, turning around to lay his back against the pillar, next to Albedo. The man’s gaze slowly focused on him, his eyelids heavy and swollen. Some locks of hair were starting to freeze, a spiderweb of ice hardening their tips, and framing his cheeks.
Aether smiled, his lips cracked for the cold, as he took a glance at their surroundings. The remains of the creature they had defeated were scattered on the snowy field, its black deformed body mixed with their bloodstains.
It was an unwinnable match, everyone had warned them off from it and recommended they let the proper experts handle it, but they had been maybe a little too haughty. Strongly relying on their individual skills and their mutual understanding, they had refused to wait for any Archon, Guardian, or Yaksha to step in, and decided to tame that demon on their own. They thought it would be alright, considering it was no more than an inferior one, not worthy of an excessive power to be taken out.
And well, they had been wrong.
"Hey," he said. His heart skipped a beat in realizing how hard it was to speak, spikes of pain resounding in his chest with every breath, "At least there’s a pretty landscape sending us off." He felt dumb downplaying the situation like that, but there was really nothing else he could say.
All he felt was fear. Soon Albedo wouldn’t be with him anymore, and he was ready for many things, but not for losing the person he loved the most, after being deprived of his only sibling and of every hope of returning home. The only relief he found was the knowledge it wouldn’t last long, that he soon was going to leave as well, and the loneliness would be temporary.
Albedo coughed, a thin line of blood running down his chin as he tried to answer.
"Why?" he whispered, "Why did you come with me?"
Aether smiled faintly. "How could I not?" he said, "I swore I’d follow you anywhere."
Albedo didn’t react as he had expected. He probably barely had the strength to keep himself alive and alert enough to talk. The wound piercing his stomach was far more gruesome than his, after all, and it was a miracle he hadn’t died on the spot.
"If you didn’t jump in at the last second," he said, "You could have saved yourself, at least."
Aether shook his head, suddenly seeing stars. "It’s fine," he said, "I can’t live in a world without you."
In any other context, this sentence would have been terribly romantic. Albedo would have blushed and chuckled, and afterward, they’d probably kiss. It would have been the sweetest of all moments. But now, it was just painful to think their time was over, that they wouldn’t get any other chance to touch each other’s hair, to feel the comfort of a hug in the morning, the warmth of a peck on the forehead before bed.
He wanted to cry but didn’t have enough energy left in his body to handle that tiny effort.
"Aether," Albedo called out, and his heart sank. His name always sounded so soft and pleasant when it was Albedo saying it, and that weak tone reminded him of his sleepy voice in the morning, when they woke up all tucked under the bedsheets and cuddled before standing up for the day. "They told us what would happen if we let that creature touch us… I’ve been cursed . Why did you follow me to the same fate?"
Again, Aether shook his head. He reached out his hand and wrapped it around Albedo’s, squeezing tightly. It didn’t feel warm at all, only a foreign cold was grasping at the tips of his fingers despite the thick fabric of the gloves.
"Don’t worry," he said, gently caressing his thumb with his own, "We’re in this together."
Albedo went quiet for a long minute, so much Aether thought he was already gone, and his heart started racing. But then he sighed (and it was a breathy, broken sound that simply shattered his chest) and smiled bitterly.
"For some reason, I thought defeating a demon would lead me to new clues about the truth of this world," he muttered, his voice gradually fading to nothingness, "But look how it went instead."
Sleepiness was taking over Aether. With an eerie shiver, he realized he couldn’t feel Albedo’s grip on his hand anymore. He knew what it meant. From that instant, there would be no more whispered "I love you" for them, no more touching, no more words. He was gone. And he was all alone with his grief.
Tears began streaming down his face, causing him to forget about the sharp pain, overcome by sorrow. "Don’t worry," he repeated, although his ears couldn’t hear his words anymore, "I will find you, I swear. No matter what."
He glanced at Albedo’s figure once more, hoping he could engrave every detail of his face inside his memory, forever. They’d meet again, for sure.
And he let himself go.
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From the moment he was born, Aether knew he was looking for something— he simply had no idea what it was. It could have been anything, from a person, a place, to the achievement of a goal. He forgot it the very second he had learned how to walk, speak, and fight.
Everyone thinks they’ve come to this world with a set purpose. Aether didn’t dare question whether this was true or a mere delusion to not fear the eternal slumber awaiting at the end, yet he knew he had some sort of curse. He was doomed to always feel as if something was amiss, like a hunger that cannot be appeased.
He never found the answer he was looking for. But somewhere along the way, he found something worth protecting. He was nothing but a simple soldier, maybe a little bit braver than others (mostly because he felt he had nothing to lose or risk, and thus engaged in more courageous acts than normal people would consider), yet even he could play his part in freeing his land from tyranny.
That’s the motivation that had pulled him through his eighteen years of age. And throughout all this time, he had refused to give up on his search. He was merely forced to put it aside, focusing on polishing his skills, on training for war, on becoming a reliable and trustworthy warrior.
And as a result of his constant uneasiness, he had been unable to form any solid bond. Everything was too fragile, unsatisfying. Friends were bound to betray him, comrades fell like flies on the battlefield, romantic confessions always found him indifferent. Aside from adrenaline and pride, the only feeling he knew was his perpetual striving for that unknown thing.
One day, as he was taking shelter with a few companions in an abandoned storehouse, he started scrambling through the piled-up stoves and the old wooden boxes. And behind some dirty planks, he found a painting.
When he laid his eyes on the canvas, something in his soul changed.
"You like that?" The Grand Master told him when he caught him staring, "I’m not big into folklore but, from the robes, I’m guessing that’s the Chalk Prince."
The name stirred up his chest. Aether looked up to him in confusion, his heart beating like a drum. It was the first time he had a similar sensation, warmth spreading in each corner of his body, sincere will to know more biting at the back of his head. Was this what people called "interest"?
"Who?" he asked.
The Grand Master shrugged, taking his flask out of his pockets. "Nothing more than a legend," he explained, as he stretched his legs to rest on a wooden crate and took a big sip of beer. "They say an alchemist, called Albedo or something, found the key to eternal life, and other important discoveries. Even if he existed for real, he’s dead anyway, so he didn’t quite make use of his knowledge, I’d say."
And thus, with a cheeky laugh, the topic was abandoned forever.
Deep down, Aether found confirmation. He found his goal. The answer he had been seeking for all his life was held in that painting he had found in the middle of nowhere, out of pure coincidence… or maybe, fate.
But how to reach someone already dead?
Thunder crackled outside, freezing the blood in his veins. He stood silent in the middle of the hallway, surrounded by the dim light of the torches hanging on the stone walls.
"Better rest, Aether," the Grand Master said, landing a comforting pat on his shoulder, "Tomorrow’s the day."
Aether swallowed, fear grasping at his chest and threatening to make him faint. He clutched at the hem of his shirt, squeezing the fabric between his fingers to find relief from his pressing thoughts.
There was no denying it: he was terrified. But the familiar tingling in his veins, adrenaline rushing through his blood just by imagining the big battle ahead, also excited him greatly. It was the familiar thrill before the war, when you know your life is going to be on the line, and you strive to do your best, fearing the worst possible outcome.
So far, he had always been well prepared and overly performing. This time was an exception.
"Sure you wanna come?" The man asked. His palm reached the top of Aether’s head, caressing his hair with fatherly devotion. "You can still back down if you want."
Aether wished he could simply scream "Yes, please!" and hide somewhere safe where no one could find him until sunset. But he knew his position, his honor, his pride wouldn’t allow him to. He had reasons to fight for. And nothing to lose shall he fall.
"You think I’m going to fail?" he snapped.
Faking confidence was a skill he had gained through many years of training, much like sword fighting and war strategy. It was important to keep a high profile, make a good impression of yourself at all times, and show no weak spots or traces of indecisiveness. Or else, death would come to reclaim you like a cold stab.
Or at least, that’s what his master had told him since he was given his first sword.
The man took a step back and smiled. Aether had that expression curving his lips, full of pity and compassion. He didn’t want others to feel that towards him.
"I don’t doubt your skills, Aether," he said, "But I’m sure you don’t overestimate them either."
He didn’t, at all. He was lying with no shame. There was no sugarcoating the situation, he knew he was going to die. That battle was impossible to win, especially for him. Chances of survival were cruelly scarce, but if he was lucky enough he could at least help the revolution succeed. He was a low-level soldier, no more than a pawn on the chessboard of a way bigger scheme, but still part of a bigger something.
"I’ve always wondered what pushes you to this extent," the Grand Master added, "But however strong it is, please don’t throw your life away."
Aether almost growled, his voice coming out ruder than he planned to. "You mean what pushes me aside from fighting for the sake of Mondstadt and its freedom?" he said, "What could be more important than this?"
The man stared at him for a long time, making him unbearably self-conscious. He knew he was seeing right through his mask. He had raised him, after all, since the moment he had found him abandoned at the gates of the city, no one else could peek at his inner self as well.
He was also aware of how stubborn he could be, though, and that’s likely the reason he gave up. "Good luck, then," he said.
And he left without a goodbye.
Aether stood motionless in the middle of the hallway, alone. When did he become so good at acting, anyway? He couldn’t remember a single moment of honesty in the last ten years, maybe even more.
The truth was— he didn’t know. His motivation was strong, but unclear to him as well. He disliked ignoring a part of him that was so important and loud. A voice screamed at all times in his head, and he couldn’t decipher its words. A secret code pushing him forward, making him risk everything he had and forcing him to detach from this world, but that he was fated to never understand.
He stared at the painting of the wall. It was that same one he had found in the storehouse, the one that stole his heart. He asked for it to be hung on the wall right outside his bedroom, so he could admire it daily and feel his motivation flowing back inside his chest.
The Chalk Prince glanced back from the rough surface of the canvas, and it looked as if he was smiling not at the general public, but him , investigating the depths of his soul. It was all because of him that his life had been so weird.
He walked up to it, caressing the golden frame with his hand, rubbing his fingers along the mysterious man’s cheeks.
"Who are you?" he whispered, "Why are you calling out for me?"
He rested his forehead against the painting. Whenever he laid his eyes on Albedo’s portrait, imagining the life of such an incredible genius who held the keys to unfathomable secrets of the world, a goal he could only dream of reaching, he felt home.
And he knew he had to be heroic if he wanted to follow his steps.
Even if that meant he’d be dying the very next day.
The sky looked incredibly beautiful.
Busy as he was training every hour, Aether had never fully enjoyed the sight of the clouds chasing each other in the light blue vastness, or bothered studying the shades and hues painting every corner of it at different times of the day.
As his back laid against the ground, grass tickling his face as his body grew numb with each passing minute, he finally took a deep breath.
He was prepared for failure. He was proud of the way he had fought: brave as usual, for how heroic someone could be considered when he’s jumping from one murder to the other for the sake of a greater cause. Not a savior, as many liked to refer to his army, but a simple fighter with no homeland.
The lance cutting through his chest and unsaddling him didn’t catch him by surprise. If anything, he was… relieved. All the endless striving, the longing, the inexplicable melancholy were soon going to disappear.
Through his half-closed eyelids, as his vision turned black and the contours of the clouds started mingling with the blue of the sky, he saw him again. Alive, outside of the painting, in flesh and blood. Reaching a hand out to him.
And that’s when he remembered.
He remembered everything . Meeting him on the mountain, traveling together, falling in love, all their first times, until the fateful day they had chosen to face an impossibly strong enemy, their bodies soaked in blood as they died hand in hand, and the curse that had been placed over them.
A name flashed in his mind. He remembered so vividly and clearly— how could he forget for so long? How could he live while ignoring who Albedo was? And why were they born in such a different time?
"Find me," he heard him whisper amidst the haze.
This life, he had been a little too late. But in the next one, they’d be together for sure.
He had sworn to chase him, after all.
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Albedo rarely found interest in anything.
"He’s just a capricious kid," was the mantra running through his family members. He had been labeled since birth as an imperturbable kid, impossible to satisfy, the spoiled prince of a lineage of fallen nobles. Hopelessly seeking for more, when he couldn’t have much to wish for anyway.
As much as people tried to spite him and disliked his behavior, though, one couldn’t help but find perfection in him. How to blame them, after all. He was an avid reader and an insatiably curious child. He memorized and understood everything at the speed of light, no matter how complicated or abstract, he was very smart and had excellent manual skills to top it off, not to mention the perfect manners he had learned by heart. Some even called him a genius, destined for greater deeds.
But in reality, putting aside his flawless music concerts, his beautiful art pieces, his polite language, and his impeccable conduct, he was a broken engine, always missing a core piece. He never felt as if he belonged anywhere, or as if he was truly at home, welcomed by anyone. His whole network of relationships was fake, relying on shallow appearance and continuous lies, unknowing of what it meant to actually love or cherish someone for any value different from money and wealth.
And this killed him slowly from inside. He could understand everything with no difficulty, except his own soul. What could be wrong in his life when he could have anything he longed for at the snap of his fingers?
His eyes glued to the floor, Albedo sat next to Alice.
The silence was overwhelming. Not that he had expected anything different from such a gloomy ceremony as a funeral, but that was a little over the top. Sitting in the front row made him feel even more nervous, as if everyone was focusing on him, ready to spot any mistake or distraction in his behavior— and he knew that’s how things were. His entire life relied on external judgment, like that of any other noble.
It wasn’t the first time he attended a funeral. Death sadly happens, he was used to it, having many relatives and many inheritances to claim.
Yet never before had he felt so emotionally drained. Maybe what bothered him was not even knowing the identity of the deceased. But then again, it had happened in the past too— he barely remembered the faces of half the people he had been celebrating in mournings or weddings, after all.
"The Hero", they called him, "The fallen star", "The savior"... So many epithets, so little meaning. It was all empty talk to him, who wasn’t even born or raised in that neighboring kingdom, and all he could do was just stare at the celebrating priest, muting off all the sounds as he got lost in his thoughts. His hands were gripping tightly at the fabric of his pants, sweat running down his palms.
His heart was restless. Something was clearly wrong.
He sat through the entire ceremony with a blank mind, as pale as a ghost. And he couldn’t be any happier when Alice finally stood up, signaling the suffering was over. He darted up to his feet, following her through the crowded hallways, wishing he had never come.
But… curiosity was corroding him.
Why did he care so much, anyway? It was just another stranger. He never had any bond with him, he had no reason to mourn his passing. Still...
Suddenly, he slammed against a passerby, and his entire face lit up in pain. He apologized, receiving only glares as a reply, and rushed to catch up with Alice, massaging his sore nose with his hand.
"Albedo," he heard Alice’s voice calling him, "What’s wrong? It’s unlike you to be so nervous in a social gathering."
His fingers reached the collar of his suit, fighting against the tie to gasp for air, choked.
"I feel…" he tried to find the right words to express his doubts, "I think it’s wrong that I don’t even know the name of the person whose funeral I just witnessed."
Alice gave him a surprised stare. Her shock was understandable. After all, when did her cold-hearted adopted son express interest in anything before? His detachment was his trademark.
"Since when is that a thing that bothers you?" she said, the pure truth piercing like a stab through his chest, "You didn’t ask. And you didn’t know him, trust me. Neither did I, we’re here just for diplomacy..."
An unknown voice from behind interrupted her speech. "Young boy," an old lady said, sitting at the tiny wooden table of the tea house, "You wish to know more about the Fallen Star?"
Alice’s hand pulled at his sleeve. In their secret code, that gesture had a very concise meaning. "Freak spotted, let’s go ," she was probably thinking, if her chin pointing towards the exit door was anything to go by. Thus was the nature of that woman, always impeccable from the outside, but kind of a troublemaker deep in her heart. And they had been accomplices so often, gracefully escaping from people who stepped a little too far over the boundaries, or who simply smelled like trouble.
But not that time.
"Sorry," he whispered, and he sat down on the chair next to the old woman. Yes, he wanted to know more. For once, he wished for information to be poured on him, instead of passively receiving any amount he was given. "Yes, Madam, if you don’t mind."
She smiled. It seemed like she had been waiting for that moment for a lifetime. She cleared her throat with a small cough and spoke softly.
"When I was younger," she said, "I saw him running around so often. He was a bright kid and, even in his earliest childhood, he was so reckless. I’m not surprised he grew up into such a fine, courageous young man."
Albedo smiled uncomfortably, a pinch of regret forming at the back of his head. Alright, maybe his decision hadn’t been the best. He didn’t quite feel like listening to the delusional fantasies of an old woman, he simply sought an answer to his doubts. But Alice had already left him there, so he had no way to slip away from it.
"But you know, although everyone calls him in many ways," she continued, unaware of his uneasiness, "Fallen star… Savior… Sun incarnated… Those are simple nicknames."
Albedo’s interest was piqued again. "That’s clear," he said, "But is his real name unknown, or anything of the sort?"
The woman chuckled. "Oh, no," she said, "Of course not. Epithets are simply nobler sounding to the commoners’ ears, more fit to be passed along in tales and stories. His real name was Aether."
The sound of that name shattered his mind like broken glass. The key to open the locket of his lost memories had been found, and painful fragments of a distant past started flowing inside his head. His life flashed before his eyes— not that one, his past life. He remembered the fear in facing the demon, the sensation of being pierced and bleeding from every inch of his body, and the softness of Aether’s neck as he died, held against his warmth.
His hand clutched his chest, now twisted with real pain. He ran off, ignoring Alice’s distant order to return, as well as the old woman calling for him, and rushed to the ceremony hall.
Pushing aside all bystanders, not caring at all for manners or politeness, he pressed forward to see the coffin from up close. And when he saw the painting resting on top of the name on the gravestone, he knew he had failed.
Aether had died far away, their destinies never intertwining, their paths never crossing.
What was left of him now, of their promise to find each other in their next lives, no matter what? He was barely halfway through his twenties, he had so many years without Aether to go by. An entire existence to spend without his warmth. How cruel to have remembered so soon, to know only emptiness was going to await him now.
But the next chance— oh yes, he would look for him again.
This time he wasn’t going to forget. They were bound to meet, for sure.
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Up to that day, Aether owned nothing.
He was but a wanderer, living off sporadic jobs from village to village, and off the pocket change he gained by offering various favors to people wherever he went. He was young and muscular, able to fulfill pretty much any task, which made him quite an esteemed helper.
When he was a child, he lost everything he had. The noise of guns outside his windows still rang loud in his ears, echoing through his chest. War had no mercy, not even for children. But he had been lucky enough to live in a wealthy family, to have a roof above his head, and a mother who cherished him dearly.
She especially enjoyed reading him fairytales before his bedtime. And now, that’s all he had left of her: a heartfelt collection of legends that served little to no real purpose in his life, but kept his heart warm through the cold nights out in the wild.
Her stories had left a scar in his mind.
Ever since hearing the very first tale, he had started seeing him. Whenever he closed his eyes, even for a split second, he had visions. A young man, dressed in refined clothes, ash-blonde locks floating in the wind. He turned his back to him, slowly walking away towards the light, and Aether chased after his steps, never reaching him. The dream always ended in shatters, collapsing the very moment their fingers brushed against each other, so close yet too far. The same nightmare every day and night.
A peaceful rest was impossible for him.
That’s why he had started wandering. To keep his body busy and collapse from piled-up exhaustion, so he wouldn’t dream at all.
After so many years, he stopped believing in coincidences. Wherever he went, a randomly found piece of information reminded him of that charming stranger. He didn’t know whether he had a point or not, if maybe his brain had made up a fake person from scratch, assigning him traits and tastes that were a huge lie. He did consider multiple times that he might simply be crazy.
A white flower growing at the edge of a cliff, its reflection rippling the surface of the water in the blue sea below? He remembered in his dream, the man had one weaved in his hair. A noble boy with a colorful tie and elegant clothes? He’d end up staring for minutes, reminiscing that very same outfit from his sleepy visions. A street artist painting at the corner of the street? He saw brushes peeking from the stranger’s pockets multiple times.
And so on, with every futile detail his eyes set on for more than a second.
He must have been real.
But then, when did they meet? When he was a child? In another life? He had to be somewhere out there. A siren calling out for his name, luring him to the greater unknown, with all the eagerness of an explorer.
So, he traveled. And he walked, and walked, and walked. All his life had been nothing but endless straying, not quite sure where his heart would eventually lead him.
And he kept gathering morsels of him, of that mysterious man who had such a strong grip on his will, slowly reconstructing that huge scrambled puzzle piece by piece.
Dragonspine had by far the toughest weather he had encountered in his life.
He had been warned not to stray off the path and to take with him as many sources of heat as he could, for a spell protected the summit of the mountain, trapping it in a perpetual cold. Someone even tried to forbid him from climbing, as he would have surely frozen to death without proper equipment.
But nothing could stop him. Determination was on his side, and he knew a big answer lied at the top of that mountain.
Relentlessly, for days he walked up the snowy paths, his boots sinking painfully in the white mantle, as he climbed up the steep rock walls, his tired body struggling to keep up the pace. He rested whenever he had the chance to, but never for too long, or else his fingertips would start reddening and burning like hellfire in the sheer cold of that eternal storm.
He found what he was looking for after days, when he was on the verge of losing hope and surrendering, to either go back to the base of the mountain or resort to spend his last days there. While seeking shelter from a sudden storm, he entered a cave.
He slept soundly, exhaustion knocking him out. Only when he woke up again did he pay attention to his surroundings, cursing at himself for being so careless. And he saw it: in the corner of the cavern, huddled up against his knees, was someone.
Aether jumped backward, yelling in surprise, too scared to bother keeping quiet, not fearing avalanches or any other danger from outside.
He crawled closer, examining the stranger. It looked like a young man, more or less with his same build, slender but somehow muscular. He was dressed up in a thick uniform, and it was a familiar sight to his eyes, although he couldn’t pinpoint the moment or the place he had seen it before. His leg seemed to be broken in multiple spots, and his pants were ripped off in some points, claw marks cutting the fabric above his knee.
"A wild animal?" he thought.
Even without checking for vital signs, it was clear as day he hadn’t been breathing for long, ice already freezing up the hems of his jacket.
Sending a mental apology to the poor soul, Aether searched through his body in search of anything valuable, or any object that could at least help identify him. Inside the small pocket on his chest, he found a locket and some damaged scraps of paper.
He pushed gently on the small button, applying pressure with his numb finger, and the rusty metal object opened with a loud clank .
He almost fainted when his eyes took in what was inside it.
It was… his own reflection.
Drawn in smudged chalk lines, the corners of paper crumpled around the corners, was indeed his face. Reproduced in the finest detail, with such precision that was simply impossible to explain.
The glass pane on the other half of the locket was broken, probably during the fight he had with the animal attacking him, causing the paper inside it to crumble and the handwritten text to fade here and there. Still, he had no problem in reconstructing the message, and what he read ripped his heart into a thousand pieces.
"Aether, my beloved," he read out loud, savoring the bitter taste of every word in his mouth, "I’m looking for you. Albedo."
Panic flooded his mind, as tears started pouring down his face. He took a deep, husky breath before gently laying his hands on the ice-cold cheeks of the man beside him, lifting his face to look at him.
He was expecting it, after that iron-clad proof. It was the man from his dreams. Seeing it with his own eyes was painful, much more than he had planned. The mystery that had been wrapping up his entire life was finally solved… just a moment too late.
He remembered now. How many times had they repeated the same scenario over and over? For how many lives, across how many centuries? Forgetting everything about the other at birth, longing forever for someone unknown, yet never arriving in time to meet, to spend time together, to experience love once more.
That curse was surely true to its name. But he refused to believe they’d never break it— no, they had to. If their willpower to find each other was strong enough, one day they’d deviate the course of fate.
This time, they were closer. Their lives were separated by just a handful of days.
No matter what, Aether would fight for their happy ending.
"I will find you, Albedo," he whispered in the deafening silence of the cave, "Don’t give up, keep waiting for me."
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Albedo threw the paintbrush away, watching it bounce on the pedestal and fall to the floor, sinking in the fuzzy carpet at the center of his bedroom. He sighed, letting all his frustration fill up his lungs before exhaling angrily.
He hated this. He hated everything, as of lately, but most importantly he hated not understanding himself, or the product of his own hands. And it kept happening.
He glanced over to his computer screen, half-hidden by the canvas. Multiple pictures of goldenrod fields were lined up on his desktop, paired with scribbles and sketches pinned on the white board on his wall.
As his teacher had said, it was time for him to practice with landscapes, the only thing he lacked skills in. He was a master at portraying any person, be it real or imaginary, and any animal as well— or plant, for that matter. Every professor who saw his production would always say his subjects seemed to be tense, as if longing for something unknown. And, to everyone else, it was very close to "perfection", a romantic Streben , even.
He couldn’t disagree more.
That wasn’t his real art. What he painted when he was independent, not bound by any rule or assignment, was completely different, and extremely frustrating.
He looked at the canvas he had been struggling on for hours. Yes, the flowers were all there, shiny yellow dots stacked on the green surface of the grass, and the brown mud lying at the bottom… but that wasn’t the main subject, although it should have been.
In front of the field, a young boy was standing. Golden hair, brighter than the sun, and the kindest of smiles. He was handsome indeed, and his gentle aura could soothe even the loneliest of souls although it was nothing but a cluster of paint on a canvas.
But not his .
He was filled with confusion and trembled in fear of what was happening to his mind.
He didn’t know who that person was. He had never had anyone pose for him outside of class, and he surely never met anyone with such beautiful facial features in his entire life. He didn’t remind him of any fictional character either, or any celebrity. It was nothing but a stranger, maybe the idealistic projection of his mind.
Yet, he appeared in every single drawing he made, in all of his absent-minded sketches, ever since he had been able to pick up a pencil, at the young age of two.
Being presented every term with countless pictures of the same subject, his art teachers throughout his entire childhood and adolescence had called that person his "muse". But he had also been told multiple times that art reflects your inner desires, the true yearning of your soul that even your heart isn’t conscious of.
Then, what did that nonsense mean? Who was that stranger haunting him? Why couldn’t he see past his face, when what he wanted to focus on was his surroundings and not something imaginary?
And most importantly… Why was he attracted to that fake person?
He felt his sanity shatter day after day.
The morning of the exhibit started in the worst way possible.
On his third cup in an hour, his fingers shaking for the excessive amount of caffeine flowing through his veins and keeping him alive, Albedo stood in the middle of the hallway, eyes lost in the void as he mindlessly listened to his teacher’s tenth complaint.
In the end, he had ignored the theme and simply handed in that portrait.
It wasn’t what he had been asked to do. It clashed horribly with every other painting in that place, all composed of beautiful flowers, perfectly rendered hulls, and silky clouds. Still, he had refused to redo it all from scratch, considering he had finished it in the dead of night.
He knew it’d be a pointless attempt, anyway. No matter where he went, that imaginary muse followed him. It would have been easier to ask him to cut off his leg rather than produce something without any reference to him. He was almost starting to accept that he had simply gone insane, having spent too much time fantasizing and too little outside.
No one was happy, of course. The teachers who had hyped him up and made him earn his spot, putting him in front of other potential students, were now staring at him in disapproval, glaring now and then at the wrong painting they had no time to turn down. He knew he was tainting the streak of perfection his school had kept going for years, presenting such an off-themed drawing.
Whenever the atmosphere grew too thick, and he heard the visitors and the teachers from other colleges whisper among themselves about the intruder picture he had made, he stood up and fled to the bathroom, or the vending machines, seeking alone time.
He stayed there, motionless in the middle of the hall, and stared at his shoes, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Calm flowed through his veins once again, and everything slowly faded into a pleasant, peaceful haze for a handful of seconds, recharging his batteries.
Until one time, it got interrupted by a loud noise. Someone bumped into each other in the atrium, and a loud apology echoed through the empty walls, unbearably loud, snatching him out of his focus.
Albedo turned around, trying to detect the source of that annoying sound. And that’s when he saw it: a long, silky braid of golden hair swirling in the middle of the crowd, standing out against the dull-colored coats and jackets of the visitors.
The same hue of his constant torment.
He had to make sure he wasn’t crazy. He rushed back to his post, slamming the cup of coffee against the surface of his table, as his gaze darted around the room to locate that stranger again.
And he found him. Staring at the painting, that was indeed his perfect reflection, the young boy was standing right in front of Albedo, his hand clutching tightly the strap of his bag, his lips seemingly out of breath.
Maybe he was creeped out. He could understand, honestly— it doesn’t happen every day to find a perfect representation of yourself, made by a random person you’ve never met in your life, and who was as confused and excited about it as you.
But as he was about to take a step forward and confront him about it, their gazes locked together.
And every piece of the puzzle snapped back into place.
The memory came back all at once like a wave, making his head spin. He knew, from the way the boy’s eyes teared up and his cheeks flushed, that the same was happening to him.
The blood, the curse, the passing time… How long had it been? How many lives had they left behind their backs, always ahead of each other, never managing to reach out and hold tight?
In a sudden rush of emotion, Albedo stopped thinking. He ran towards him and jumped, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the lucid marble floor. Surprisingly enough, the golden-haired boy didn’t flinch or back away, instead he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him tight against the base of his neck.
It felt familiar and warm. A warmth he thought he’d never get to experience anymore.
"Aether," he mumbled, pressed against his chest and refusing to move an inch. "You’re Aether, right?"
The crowd stared at the couple hugging in the middle of the room, shamelessly. Albedo could feel the weight of their gazes on him, but he couldn’t be bothered. The joy of finding each other was unbearably big, too bright for others to understand, and too important to be disturbed by strangers.
He looked up to meet his eyes, as sweet as he remembered them from a distant dream. They were together, and safe.
"Yes," the boy confirmed, "And you’re Albedo."
His voice was the same as well. Powerful, confident, yet so gentle.
Something about that felt so weird, like a hallucination dream. They never met before in this life, they simply knew what happened throughout the years. People would probably think they were crazy, and no one would have ever believed their story.
It didn’t matter.
"Have we suffered enough, now?" was the only thing Albedo managed to think, before their lips met. They kissed as if they had been starved of physical contact for centuries, as they remembered the sorrow in not feeling anything when touching each other, laying numb in the middle of a snowy field. Aether had a strange taste. His mouth felt like the sun, foreign like a faraway land, yet like home, a family he had never known.
And even when their lips parted, they didn’t let go. They kept clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it, refusing to take a single step back. And finally, between those arms, Albedo felt every fragment of his dreams and hopes actually make sense, and his world lit up in brighter colors. He didn’t realize how dull and empty everything had been up to that moment, yet he felt it now. It had been worth it, in the long run.
"I told you that I would find you," Aether whispered in his ear, " Even if I didn’t expect we would meet here, of all places." He chuckled, and that was by far the best sound Albedo had ever heard.
Waiting for him was the hardest trial he’d been subjected to. Countless years had gone by since the moment they were separated, an ocean of lives had intertwined with theirs, in a spiral of growing frustration and loneliness, but now it was over.
Finally, they belonged.
And they’d never let go ever again.