Chapter Text
Today, Lumine thinks, would be a terrible day to die.
With a snarl, she ducks, dodging a sharp, obsidian blade. Her wings flicker gold as she veers to the side—the edge catches her hair, and she mourns the loss as the shorn strands float to the ground. She likes her hair now, likes the weight of it past her shoulders, the sweep of it against skin, how it has grown long enough that he coulf braid it a few mornings ago, kissing the ends before letting go.
Thoughtlessly, she remembers a careless smile and a predator’s grace and blood before a throne.
“Lumine! Stop daydreaming!!”
It doesn't matter. Nothing does, beyond the slant of her sword, the force of her strike. The edge gleaming sun-bright as she shares a glance with her ally and stabs . And pushes, piercing through armor and cloth and flesh. The body underneath her blade jerks. And then another blade stabs through from the other side, a partner, pointed tip appearing beside the hilt of hers.
The Traveller—forever wandering, forever adrift—looks past her opponent, and meets the Abyss Prince's gaze. “Don’t nag,” she says, cocking a brow at her twin. “You know I can’t stand it.”
“Don’t make me nag,” he counters. “If you paid more attention, I wouldn’t have to.”
“I was doing just fine.”
“You were inches away from losing your head—“
A strangled scream interrupts them.
"You—how dare you!" Their opponent rasps, midst of their budding argument. Her eyes have begun glowing an eerie gold, cracks forming over once porcelain skin. "Descenders of the endless cosmos, You will regret this."
As they say it they collapse—joints bending into each other, like the invisible threads holding them up were snipped. Lumine's weapon slips out of their chest with an audible squelch when her opponent hits the ground. Cursed ichor drips from the edge, a viscous black. She flicks it to the side, and watches the blood splatter across the broken marble, like a morbid stroke of ink.
Aether's sword doesn't dislodge as easily—but she doubts her brother cares. He’s cruel as he yanks his weapon out, electro crackling along its length. “No, we won’t,” he says, and sends down a final bolt of pure, vicious lightning.
On a lone floating island, in the midst of charred embers and smoking remains, after centuries on centuries, finally:
The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles is dead.
Lumine studies the splay of ivory hair, now stained by blood. The awkward arrangement of limbs. The unmoving corpse.
The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles is dead.
Around them, the world begins to break apart. Obsidian cubes crumble into shadowed dust. It coats the floor like ash. Lumine's arm throbs from where she had to wrench it out of the construct's grasp. Her ears are still ringing. She thinks she's losing consciousness, as her vision blurs at the edges, akin to peering through water.
But.
The Sustainer of Heavenly Principles is dead .
Lumine gags, and pukes over the bloody corpse.
— ✦ ✦ ✦ —
Days ago:
The space next to her is empty when she wakes.
The bed is not cold yet—when she reaches out, fingers smoothing over the other side, there’s still a lingering warmth, heat cradled within the smooth cotton.
He hasn't been gone long.
Lumine rolls over. Breathes once, twice, takes in the scent of the sea, sprigs of spearmint and needles of pine. Something else darker underneath, that sings of shadows and unending depths. A familiar concoction, and she inhales once more, before unraveling herself from the crumpled sheets.
Her back throbs when she sits up. An ache slides through her bones, muscles molten and trembling. When she glances up, she catches sight of the mirror—and a reflection, pale skin marred with blooms of blue and violet, trailing over the column of a neck, peppering the soft plush of a thigh. Marks of pleasure and claim.
She pushes herself to her feet. Swears when her knees buckle beneath her.
He hadn't held back last night. But then again, she hadn't expected him to, an action so very unlike him. Unpredictable as he is, there are some things that never change. Be it the bed or the battlefield, Childe is Childe—ruthless and overwhelming, the unbridled strength of a storm-swept ocean in the shape of a man.
Unbidden, she remembers the clasp of his fingers around her—how they circled the entire span of her waist. Unyielding and firm, holding her captive as he carved his way inside her. Like he wanted to imprint himself into her body, until she could feel him even when they are apart, every movement like he wanted her insides shaped to fit him and only him.
Be it love or war, she thinks, tracing the slender bruises, feathering over sides of her ribs, it is impossible to deny Childe.
Not that she's ever tried.
Lumine hobbles forward. By the fifth step, her gait has evened out, settling into something smoother, though her thighs still twinge with every move. Her dress is nowhere to be seen, but there's a shirt hanging precariously on the arm of a chair; she plucks it and shrugs it on, fastening a single button before leaving the room.
The sunlight is blinding. In the kitchen, there's already plates set on the table, bowls of cream and platters of fresh fruit. One pitcher of milk, frothy at the top. A heavenly scent in the air. She stops at the door, taking in the view—the Eleventh Harbinger, the scourge of the battlefield clad in an apron and flipping an omelet on the stove.
Wide shoulders hidden under a finely tailored shirt, hair still mussed from last night’s activities. Above his collar peeks a violet-blue bloom of his own—Lumine gives as good as she gets, after all.
“Morning, firefly,” Childe greets. His back is still towards her. She thought she'd been quiet. Not quiet enough, she supposes, and her bare feet pad over worn wood in his direction. “Pancakes or porridge?”
“Pancakes.” She slips her arms around his waist. There's a smooth rumble against her skin—muffled laughter, warm with easy affection. His palm glides across her arm, laces his fingers with hers. A brush of lips, so light she could have missed it, over the row of her knuckles.
His shirt smells like fresh laundry. “You're already dressed,” she grumbles, speaking into the space between his scapula.
A hum. His muscles tense within her arms as he twists in her hold to face her. “And you're not dressed at all,” Childe notes. His gaze drags down from her sleep mussed hair to her bare feet, lingering on his shirt, the hem skirting the top of her bruise-bitten thighs. When he speaks next, his voice has dipped; into that low tenor, smooth at the edges, like dripping honey and liquid silk. “Is this your master plan?”
She has no clue what he's talking about. “Of course,” she bluffs, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. Empty blue overtaken by billowing obsidian. “You should surrender before it's too late.”
And she's always been a terrible liar, or maybe she's too easy to read, or maybe she's just easy to read to him— he reaches to the side, flicking the oven switch off, before slipping his hands underneath her shirt. A breath, his hands a searing brand on her hips, before he lifts her with ease, settling her on the marble counter, inserting himself into the cradle of her legs.
“How devious,” he murmurs, lips tilting into something playful. “You know the Tsaritsa will have my head if I'm not on time today.”
“No one's telling you to stay,” she huffs. Digs a heel into his back. “Besides, you left me alone in bed first.”
Laughter breathed into the crook of her neck. And then he's dragging his lips over the curve of her cheek, the line of her nose. One, two, kisses over her eyelids and another on her brow. “Ah. So I did. Forgive me, my love,” he croons, beaming almost boyishly. So bright that she could almost forget what day it is.
In the night sky, Viatrix and Monoceros Caeli have crossed; the tip of a tusk, the end of a sword. In a cottage in a snow-swept woods, Lumine threads her fingers through auburn curls and drags him closer, until his mouth meets hers, gentle at first and then too much, a beast prodded and unleashed. When they part, her lips are tingling, and she resists the urge to pull him back in.
Instead, she runs her hand through his hair, arranging the sleep-ruffled locks. Into something more presentable, over what it is now: the tangled mess of a man whose had his hair pulled all night.
He chuckles fondly at the action. “Don't forget to eat,” he says. “You've been looking exhausted lately.”
“Whose fault is that?”
“Mine,” he admits shamelessly, reaching behind her. An orange sits in his palm. He bores it with a thumb, and tears the peel, citrus spray visible in the air. The fruit halved, quartered and divided again. One wedge, glistening, held to her kiss-swollen lips. “Not that you’ve been complaining.”
She frowns. He presses it against her mouth, insistent. Eyes twinkling.
Her tongue swipes over his fingers when she finally gives in, and takes the slice into her mouth. She bites down, and the fruit bursts in her mouth, sweeter than any orange she's had before.
Childe leans in, brushes his lips against hers. Licks the juice off her lips.
By the time she's swallowed the first slice down, he's already holding up another. She chews and swallows, until she's eaten most of the orange, and while she does he keeps stealing kisses, and outside, the sun rises, the birds sing, and a hawk cries, over and over, circling. Waiting.
All things must come to an end, eventually.
“I've got to go.” One last touch, a swipe of his thumb across her bare knee. And then he's untangling himself from her, stepping backwards. Ajax to Childe, lover to enemy. Man to Harbinger. “Leave the dishes in the sink. I'll take care of it when I get back.”
A sweet gesture. But he's not coming back. She knows it. He does too, even if he doesn't admit it. He opens the door; the sunlight haloes him, a border of gold. Her eyes sting.
She can’t make out whether it's because of the light or tears.
First his boots, polish worn from yesterday’s trek through the woods. Then his coat, thick and snow-white, the fur collar grazing his ears. Next, his scarf—but by then she's already by his side, plucking it deftly from his hands.
“Lumine?”
“Ask,” she says. Demands. He says nothing.
“Ask me!”
“No.” He pries his scarf back from her hands, gentle. “I won’t.”
“You know I won’t hold back,” she warns. “If you walk out this door, the next we meet will be in Zapolyarny Palace. And I will destroy you.”
“I know you’ll try.” He watches her, face falling into something unreadable. “And I’ll do the same.”
“If you ask me to stay, Ajax,” she whispers, “I will.”
“Would you ask me to betray the Fatui? To turn my back on Her Majesty?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “There are some lines we both will never cross, my love.”
Lifting the scarf, he loops it around her neck. She blinks in shock. “Keep it,” Childe murmurs. “It's chilly in the Palace. I’d hate for you to catch a cold.” Steps back, and studies her, the intensity of his gaze almost a physical caress.
There’s a moment when he’s both—Ajax, eyes filled with that tender affection and Childe, The Eleventh, adorned in Fatui regalia. And then he’s simply Childe again, her enemy and nothing more. “I’ll see you later, Traveller.”
The hawk cries again. He turns, cloak billowing in the breeze. Leaves.
The next time she sees him, it’s with a raised blade in front of an ice-built throne.
He’s vicious. Unrelenting.
She stabs him through the heart and walks away.
— ✦ ✦ ✦ —
Aether appears at her side in an instant. A steady presence as she dry heaves, her heart burning through her chest. Dead, dead, dead, and her knees thud onto the ground, sword falling from her hand and clattering against the floor.
"Lumine! Are you hurt?!”
"I'm fine. It's— it's just—" she begins. Heaves again. But Aether does not need an explanation. He never has—her twin, her shadow, her other half. Aether and Lumine, Lumine and Aether; he knows the words she need not speak into existence. With a quiet hum, his hand curls around hers, palm slick with sweat.
You stole me from my only family. You trapped us in a world you consigned to endless tragedy.
You tried to break us.
You failed.
"She's gone," Lumine breathes later, after the nausea subsides, leaning into her brother's side. "It's over."
Aether scowls. Relief and rage, the latter so tightly clutched that it refuses to leave, even at the Goddesses demise. "Good riddance."
Her mouth still burns with the taste of bile, and she swallows, trying to take it down. “I thought we’d never defeat her.”
“Since when do you give up so easily?” Aether says lightly.
“Hey!” She can recognize what he’s doing—easy banter, an anchor to the present moment. She takes the bait willingly. “It’s been a few centuries for you. But only years for me—I remember our first battle like it was yesterday.”
Her twin’s hand squeezes hers, once. She breathes. And then he pulls her to her feet and rolls onto his, wincing as a knee buckles at the sudden weight.
"Wait—Aether!"
"It's a minor injury. Pay it no mind." His voice is dismissive as he stumbles towards the edge of the platform, locks of silken gold whipping behind him. "We have more important things to worry about."
And it's one statement Lumine cannot deny; she moves to his side and looks out into Teyvat, or what remains of it.
Teyvat is in ruins.
Cracks snakes across the surface, marring the landscape. An unknown topography beneath her gaze— she's crossed this land ten times over, knew every nook and cranny, every peak and every cave but what’s left now is beyond her comprehension. As they watch, the earth undulates, breaking apart into pieces, gaps filled in by churning sea.
"What a sight," Aether sighs. "Who would have thought that this was the Tsaritsa's plan."
Lumine had carried inklings of it. The seven gnoses, her hatred of Celestia, hints the Harbingers had dropped in battle. But knowing is different from knowing, and the view before her is firmly in the latter.
“She’s dead, Aether,” she murmurs, thinking of the smile the Tsaritsa had worn when she closed her eyes for the final time. All while the false sky fractured and the island of Celestia was dragged down to their world by her hand.
All while she and Teyvat paid the price.
“That witch, dead?”
“You don’t have to sound so surprised. Or rude.” Lumine sends a sharp glance at her twin. “She sacrificed herself for the world.”
“And destroyed it in the process.” He flicks a hand lazily, and the constellations that used to flicker in his palm don’t answer his call. Another sign of the world as they know it ending. “Not even an archon could control all the power of the gnoses, huh.”
Or survive it, Lumine thinks, and sends a lone prayer for the dead goddess. Though now it's a question of what god is left to receive it.
In the distance, snow-tipped peaks rumble—Dragonspine. A faultline grows by its western edge, cutting Liyue and Mondstat apart. She can see similar things happening everywhere else—another one swelling between Liyue and Sumeru, while Fontaine seems to sink instead, swallowed up by the sea.
She wonders whether her friends are alright. Her fingers knot in the scarf around her neck.
(She does not think of him.)
"Oh well, it’s not like it matters anymore." Aether sighs, leaning into a stretch. And at Lumine's questioning glance, jerks his head to the pillars rising in at the end of the isle.
A spark, a distortion. Something unnatural.
The gate.
"Come, Lumine," Aether calls, extending an open hand. Sometime in the midst of battle, his hairtie had loosened. And at this angle, with his hair unbound, he looks… softer. Sweeter. She can almost forget the sharper edges of him, wrought in the shadows of the Abyss.
It's almost like he was never the prince in the first place. Like their years on Teyvat had never been, and Aether is once again the brother she has always known. And once she steps off this world, who's to say that it ever happened?
"Our time here has come to an end." Aether smiles gently, wiggling his fingers in invitation. “Onto the next world, sister. Together.”
It’s only instinct to reach out. Clasp his hand in hers.
As they grow closer to the gate, static builds in the air. Goosebumps across her skin, an almost palpable energy building in its vicinity. Each step heavier with the shrinking distance. A tear in space, a bridge across dimensions.
Seven nations. Five centuries. Finding Aether and leaving Teyvat has been all she’s ever wanted.
Then why doesn't she feel happy?
It's the fatigue of battle, she tells herself. She's tired. She's hurt. Aether's grip is firm and comforting, and all she needs is to go home.
A few more steps, and she's free.
Hey there, Firefly. Miss me?
Lumine stops in place.
"Lumine?"
This is stupid. She’s being stupid. All these years and…
"Aether…" Her mouth dries. She swallows the lump in her throat, speaks through the chill settling in her veins. "Must we rush this? "
The words fall from her lips, tumbling over each other in her haste to speak. As though they'll slip away, like sand through a closed fist, the tighter she clutches them inside her. "I know you don't have the best memories here. That your time on Teyvat hasn't been kind. But I've made friends, and promises and—I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye."
He levels a dismissive glance at her. "They know your visit is temporary. And besides," Aether's hand rises, and the gate dims, iridescent patterns blooming over the surface.
"Have you noticed? The union of the gnoses has destabilized the realm. All that power released into the world, and with no archons to temper its flow… the gate won't stay open long."
It's now or never is what he doesn't say, though she hears it, loud and clear. And it's obvious what her choice should be, now that the circumstances have been laid before her.
But.
Aether tugs on her hand, a gentle pull. She stays frozen, bones leaden, heavy as stone.
“Aether.”
He stills.
“Lumine.” He's confused at first, the slow way he says her name, before it hardens. Eyes widening. “No. Don’t do this.”
"I—" Her voice breaks. "I'm sorry, Aether."
What flashes across her brother's face then is an indecipherable tangle—there's horror there, yes, but also disbelief and sadness, a wretched mix of both. Mouth pressed into a thin line, skin pale from either blood loss or her words.
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“I have enough,” she breathes. Flashes of calloused palms and scarred skin dance in her memories, sweet oranges and sweeter kisses. The sheer adoration in his gaze as she ran him through with her blade. “I know what choice I'm making.”
"Who is it?" he asks.
"What?"
Her twin’s mouth has twisted into a snarl. "I'm no fool. Who is it, Lumine?"
"There's no one." And then the lie weighs heavy in her chest, and she pauses, and tries again. "I—" she begins. Stops. "He..."
A deep breath.
"Up in our homeland, or descended to other worlds, we never could understand them. Emotions like love, devotion, obsession…" She shakes her head, reaching out to touch her brother’s cheek. "It took me a decade chained to a mortal form to realize. But I finally do."
It took friends across the entire continent, and a man who never said no to a challenge, and found her heart the most challenging of them all. But she’s here now.
And the longer she stands before the gate, the more she's sure that she wants to stay.
"So this is it. You're not coming, are you?" Aether says. Disappointment that could cut through bone. "You've always been too soft, Lumine."
Her hand trembles, and she drops it. Takes a step back. “Forgive me, brother.”
“Then know this, Lumine. This is a choice you'll have to live with, for the rest of your life.” A harsh laugh. “You will live. But this world will die before you do.”
“Stay with me. Please,” she begs. “It's not home without you.”
“Then don't leave me.”
“Don't make me choose.”
"Don't you see, Lumine?” Aether smiles, bitter. “You already have."
Tears sting her eyes. She squeezes them shut, tries to will them away. A fruitless endeavour—the tears burn worse when she feels lips on her forehead, a gentle kiss.
"When you're done with this madness, Lumine—come find me."
When Lumine opens her eyes, Aether is gone.
— ✦ ✦ ✦ —
She spends what feels like an eternity on that hunk of floating rock.
Though the battle that decided the fate of Teyvat has been fought and concluded, war continues to rage on. Miles above the surface, she can still glimpse the chaos transpiring—dainty suggestions of it, blurred by the distance..
The smell of smoke is unmistakable, carried by the cutting breeze. Her mouth tastes of ash.
Blood and death and destruction—that is all that will remain of this world in the coming dawn. Ruins that she's bound herself to when she paid no heed to Aether's warnings, and refused to walk through that gate.
A stupid decision borne of a reckless heart. Who has ever heard of a landbound star? They are meant to witness, to learn and remember, lingering stardust and light. When the worlds dwindle into nothing and time is but a forgotten mortal concept, it is the stars who will endure—eternal and ageless and… alone.
Was it so selfish to ask for more?
We are all selfish creatures, sweetheart. Especially bad guys like me. His lips had brushed hers then, soft and coaxing, all dark promise. You shouldn't trust me, you know. I want to chain you up and keep you by my side forever.
But what if, she had thought then, consigning all tender confessions within the bounds of a secret, allowing him to bend forward and murmur wicked things into her ear, what if—
What if I want to stay?
Oh Lumine, she thinks now. You're such an idiot.
With a wince, she steps across the platform, winding around wreckage and rubble, skipping over the broken pillars. The stairs—she can take the stairs down, back to land. Exhausted as she is, she doesn’t want to take a chance on travelling by wing.
It is of no consequence anyway, she decides. Her feet have carried her across the seven nations. They can certainly carry her back.
Even if they are often prone to accidents, as her toe stubs on a piece of rubble, and she curses and hops back.
But here; instead of polished white stone, she glimpses a dark, flawless cube.
Wait—
The cube lights up. Amber through shadow, a slow gleam. And then there is two where there was one, and then four—multiplies, into dozens and dozens, a wave of ebony blocks crawling up her feet.
No.
Her ankle twists. She's on the floor again, elbows knocking onto it, jarring pain shooting up her arm and into her jaw. Scrambling and writhing, trying to get away—
This shouldn't be happening. The Sustainer is gone, killed by her own hand, lost to wherever dead gods go when they pass. Her body still lies where she fell, facing away from Lumine, unmoving. Then why —
A crack sounds. A creak. And then Lumine is staring at eyes glowing and dripping ichor tears, wide open mouth and a face where the back of a head should be.
"Foolish child.”
It can’t be. But she's knees deep in the Sustainer's magic, and the corpse is speaking, and the goddess must be alive, barely but alive, and it's—
It's like the first time she was sealed all over again.
"No!" she yells, fear coursing through her veins. Not again."I won't let you—I'll kill you!"
"Your fate," The Sustainer intones, mouth wide, "will be worse than death."
The blocks are at her waist now. She calls up all the elements she wields, faithful anemo, steady geo. Crackling electro, blazing pyro, freezing cryo—even dendro and hydro, though they have never been the most damaging elements.
"No!" She hacks at the undulating mass with her sword, summoned with an erratic wave of a hand. "I won't let you—never—"
"Never again!"
And then there's light, bleeding through her fingertips, and fissures forming underneath her next strike. The cubes don't shatter—but there's enough space, enough give—maybe, maybe—
"There is no escape, Descender!” The Sustainer screams. "For you or your child."
A moment—before denial rushes through her, and then pure, undiluted terror. Her child—it couldn't be—and she can't think, can't calculate whether it could be true. But her child—
Lumine howls. Calls the light once more, and this time it builds too fast, too much, bursting at her immortal seams.
The Sustainer's eyes widen.
Lumine's power explodes, golden and star-bright. Loosens her trappings, enough that she can free her legs, though the binds still cling to her. "Fuck you," she snarls at the Sustainer through blurred vision and a dimming conciousness.
And then Lumine—forever wandering, forever adrift—throws herself to the side—
And falls off the edge.