Chapter Text
Bang!
“Your Majesty! This is just… this is ridiculous!” Drops of spittle spray from the old man’s wizened mouth, his brows furrowed and hands clenched in anger. The papers, neatly stacked just seconds before, scatter onto the table in the wake of the advisor’s wrath. He isn’t that old, not really; he’s halfway through a century. But his white hair, the wrinkles on his face… the effects of time, unkind to this man, have made him seem as though he is much older than he is. “How could you even consider allying with them when we—when the entirety of Teyvat—knows almost nothing about them?”
Do you have a better idea? Is what Diluc wants to say, arms crossed as fiery eyes pin the advisor down and into silence with but a single sweep, lips pulling ever-so-slightly into a disapproving frown. Do you think we have a chance with what little knowledge we have?
The optimistic answer is maybe.
The realistic one is no, absolutely fucking not.
Crepus Ragnvindr, king of Mondstadt, sweeps his own gaze over the whispering court counselors and advisors until they feel the full pressure of His Majesty’s gaze, until they are forced into silence. Diluc resists the urge to scoff, to roll his eyes. Fools, the lot of them. Too blinded by their own prejudice and wariness to see the true threat before them: the rift of the abyss, slowly being pried open once more for the first time in centuries past. With the seal weakening day by day, with more monsters escaping with every passing second, sneaking past the defences of Khaenri’ah—the country closest to the rift—it’s only a matter of time until those cursed things find their way to Mondstadt, even if they have to go through Liyue to get here.
Allying with Khaenri’ah, the country most familiar with the Abyss, is their most promising option. And with the country in its current, almost pitiful state… it would be pure insanity for it not to accept Mondstadt’s offer. Two weeks ago, Crepus had already sent his ambassador, along with veteran sailors and a small squad of knights to brave the Mare Jivari.
(Actually, Crepus sent six messengers. Only one returned, and only a third of their men remained.)
“They,” the King begins, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side in an inquisitorial manner to disguise his threat, “are the key to handling the monsters of the Abyss. They possess knowledge that we do not, and we are going to need all the help we can get when the seal on the rift breaks. Do you really think, with our meager knowledge, that we will be able to beat them back?” He leans forward, now, placing his elbows on the table to look the counsellor in the eye. “How many abyss monsters have you seen for yourself, Chancellor? Go on. Tell me. Have you fought any on your own? Do you know what their weaknesses are? Do you know how to get to those weaknesses without losing your own life?”
King Crepus’s crimson eyes burn with a cold, challenging light. With each scathing word, the chancellor reels back, as though he has been burned. He shrinks into his seat, retracting his hand, gaze suddenly focused on the stack of papers now scattered across the table in the wake of his blind, foolish rage. He, wisely (for once), does not respond to the King. Nonetheless, his pursed lips and furrowed brows do little to hide his displeasure.
Crepus keeps his gaze pinned on the man for a few moments more before he finally relents, looking back at the others of his court. “Khaenri’ah’s king has already agreed to the alliance,” he intones, voice heavy with authority, brooking no arguments. “When we hold the masquerade in accordance with the Decarabia Finem festival tomorrow, his envoy will be there.”
“Your Majesty, if I may,” another counsellor speaks, unable to keep silent. “Khaenri’ah is a cursed nation, its magic poisoned. How can we be sure that by coming here, they will not taint our own? How—”
“All magic is magic nonetheless,” Diluc finally cuts in, leaning forward in his seat to mirror his father’s pose. “Your so-called ‘poisoned magic’ is just another form of magic in the end. When has there ever been one form of magic? It evolves and changes the same way we do.” You just want them to stay away. How did these idiots even make it into his father’s curia regis?
“As my son says,” Crepus agrees, resting a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. “And you underestimate Khaenri’ah. They should know better than to try and incite some form of conflict with us when they already have their hands full fighting back the monsters of the Abyss. Which is why we need them, in case you’ve forgotten that little piece of information.” Mouth set in a straight line, he forces the counsellor to back down with a burning, authoritative gaze. “They have been our front lines, our defence, since the cataclysm that brought the abyss to our plane—”
“And isn’t that exactly why we shouldn’t trust them?” The chancellor tries again. Diluc’s hand twitches; if he’d had his weapon, he’d have cleaved the man in half by now. “Have you forgotten, Your Majesty, with all due respect—” Respect my ass— “—what happened during the Aristocrat’s Reign? What our nation did to Khaenri’ah, what it resulted in?” He is getting excited now, believing his words to be convincing, believing that he will win this argument and this game he has set in motion. “We might as well have sentenced them to death! Not to mention by trusting them so much we are at risk of them feeding us false information—”
“And that is precisely why,” Diluc cuts in, unwilling to listen to more nonsense from this old man’s mouth. “We were the ones to bring forth the proposal, to risk sending dozens of our men to sea to brave the Mare Jivari in hopes that one of them would reach Khaenri’ah to deliver our message. Allying with them is our chance to make up for the mistakes of our ancestors!” He rises, palms flat against the sleek wood of the table to lean forward. With each word that leaves his lips, the temperature in the room seems to rise; the phoenix’s fire brought to earth, spilling from his tongue, his eyes, his everything. “This is our chance to repent for our mistakes! We are going to need their help, their knowledge, to fight back against the monsters of the Abyss whether you like it or not, Chancellor. Because without their help, when that rift opens more than it already has, we will be like easy prey to the wolves with no knowledge on how to fight them properly. We need them.”
Silence.
Diluc lets it settle on the room like a heavy blanket. It’s only after a few more moments that he allows himself to calm down; the room’s temperature drops before he settles in his seat, arms crossed once more. “And, besides,” he begins. “I don’t see a problem with them attending our ball.” If anything, Diluc thinks they might need the fanfare. He’s only been to Khaenri’ah once before as a child, but he distinctly remembers the underlying gloom in the atmosphere despite the people’s smiling faces.
He can’t imagine what it must be like to rule over a country like that. When he was younger, he hadn’t known, but now, he realises that those were the faces of people resigned to their impending doom, to death.
It must be difficult to be a monarch. To love your people, only to be powerless against the source of their despair. Not to mention, the energy from the Abyss has even influenced Liyue’s lands, some parts completely unable to grow crops at all. Diluc wonders, briefly, how the Khaenri’ahns get their source of food, how their economy must be like. And with monsters running rife, it must be difficult to raise livestock in peace…
Truly a pitiful country indeed.
And yet, it is this country that has successfully kept monsters at bay for centuries upon centuries on end.
Khaenri’ah may be pitiful, but it is not weak.
That annoying voice cuts into Diluc’s thoughts once more, and he resists the urge to punch a hole into the wall. “But what if they try to hurt you, Your Highness?” Trying to curry favour with me now, are we? “The masquerade leaves you vulnerable, and if the Khaenri’ahns suddenly feel a burst of vengeance—”
Diluc cuts him off with a scoff. “The Decarabia Finem is a yearly tradition, as is the masquerade held. Surely you understand that there are multiple measures set in place to keep both Father and I safe. Surely, you remember that I am as adept with a blade as I am with fire.”
“And,” Crepus finally cuts in. “Whether or not the Khaenri’ahn envoy can be trusted seeks to be seen only upon their arrival. To detest someone you have never met is a poor show of character, Chancellor.” The king crosses his arms, eyes narrowed. “And if they truly intend to stab us in the back, it is impossible for there not to be some sort of tell. But, if they know what’s good for them, they will ally with us.”
The rest of the discussion turns into white noise on Diluc’s end; unwilling to listen to the advisors prattle on about their nonsense, the red-haired prince settles back into his chair to allow his thoughts to wander, but only somewhat. For instance, if his secret guard has already sorted out their stations during the masquerade. If they’ve found the renowned martial artist, Morax, and if they’ve recruited him.
Ridiculous or not, the council’s concerns do have basis. The relationship between both nations has always been rather… strained, at best, and the monarchs of both kingdoms have wisely stayed away from each other as much as possible. But with no change, there is no improvement. No evolution. If they refuse to leave their safe little bubble, they will only grow dull.
The court is dismissed about fifteen minutes later. Diluc makes a beeline for the exit, easily slipping out of the room to pad down the hallways. The Sun is low on the horizon, an indication of how long they’d spent in that cursed room; Diluc scowls. At this rate, he will hardly have time to train before he is forced to have dinner.
“Your Highness!”
The prince pauses in his step, standing still. Familiar with the speaker, he does not bother turning around to greet her; Jean arrives next to him only moments later, falling into step with him down the halls. “How did it go?”
“About as well as I thought it would,” he responds, sighing. Diluc runs a hand through his mane of red hair, retying it into a high ponytail and sighing in relief at the sensation of cool wind grazing the nape of his neck. “The old men are unwilling to accept that we must seek help from Khaenri’ah, but Father and I made sure that we were not going to take no for an answer.”
The both of them pause before the entrance to the training grounds; as Jean opens the door, he removes the gloves from the pockets of his coat in favour of slipping them on. By doing so, he hides the milk-coloured scar that starts just below his wrist; a souvenir of sorts he’d gotten from his first (and last) visit to the so-called ‘cursed nation’ of Khaenri’ah. “Have any of you found Morax?”
Jean, one of the heads of his personal guard, shakes her head in disappointment. “He’s proven rather elusive for someone so well-known. But we did send our messengers to search for him in hopes of inviting the right person to the masquerade tomorrow. With luck, he’ll be there.”
“We’ll need all the help we can get,” Diluc responds, nodding in thanks to Jean before stepping into the training room. With how long that meeting stretched, he doubts he’ll be able to do much, but he should at least try to get some training in considering he hasn’t been able to at all these past few days. “In case the Khaenri’ahns really are hostile, we’ll have to prepare for when the seal completely fails and we’re left to fend for ourselves.”
But, again, with luck, it won’t come down to that.
The soft hiss of metal against metal fills the room as he lifts the weapon from its place on the weapon rack, the heavy weight of the claymore in his hands at once familiar and comforting. Jean, too, takes her place in the middle of the room, drawing her sword from its hilt on her hip. “What do you think the envoy will be like?”
Diluc eyes the blade in his hands, and then the one in Jean’s; she’s an absolute monster with a sword. He learned that the hard way.
“Well, with luck,” he says again. “They’ll be amiable enough that we won’t constantly be at each other’s throats the moment they arrive. The last thing we need right now is another war, and I’m pretty sure Khaenri’ah knows that better than anyone.”
And then he’s moving, and their blades collide with a loud, resounding clang that echoes into the night.
——————
The bed creaks beneath Diluc's weight when he collapses onto the bed with a loud sigh; his muscles ache in a rather satisfying way, though that could be because these few days he’s felt confined to that cursed room to discuss matters pertaining to the rift of the Abyss and which countries to form an alliance with. Wisely enough, no one mentions Snezhnaya, the cold, bitter nation in the North. At least, not for now.
To the wall directly opposite of Diluc hangs the crest of Mondstadt; a phoenix taking flight in brilliant, fiery colours against a cool-coloured backdrop, its wings made of flames. Mondstadt, the kingdom of freedom and song. Of wine.
Diluc closes his eyes, tearing his eyes away from the crest. The wall is mostly empty apart from it. Heaving a sigh, he turns to his side, eyes landing once more on the scar at his arm.
Khaenri’ah.
The godless nation.
They were an amazing nation before; advanced in technology. They were a fast-growing tree, so tall and mighty it reached the heavens, where it was unwelcome. And so it was thus struck down, said to be Celestia’s reminder to humankind: that too much greed will bring forth only one's demise. In hindsight, perhaps Khaenri’ah could have survived Celestia’s strike, but when the Abyss manifested in Teyvat near them while it was still recovering, well… That they could keep up at all at the time is a commendable feat in and of itself.
And all without the help of a deity.
Diluc would have liked to see the nation in its prime.
The scar on his arm—three slash marks and a hole where a claw once sunk into his flesh—is a souvenir from his last visit. He had been a child at the time; four, perhaps younger. He hardly remembers how old it was, what it was really like, but what he does remember is how the monster looked.
It had looked terribly beautiful. In a terrifying, majestic sort of way. The one he met was something of a wolf, its fur the colour of obsidian with a purple sheen. Diluc had been wandering around the royal castle as his father attempted to coax the Khaenri’ahn king to ally with him (that had been his first attempt, and it had failed). A small little child, who knew not of the responsibility he would come to shoulder once his father retired, not really.
The Khaenri’ahn servants had been kind, so kind, to him, laughing and smiling and teasing the young crown prince of Mondstadt, marvelling at the pure redness of his hair. Little lion, they called him. Little phoenix, little firefly. They had stayed in the natio for no less than ten days, and he had used every day to its fullest, fascinated with the geometric architecture of the nation so different from his.
He had failed, at the time, to notice how the rushed footsteps in the middle of the night were not people playing tag, or hide and seek, or just plain rats scuttling about. They had been knights, warriors, frantically making for the rift, taking their mages to temporarily seal it or to fight against the monsters spilling from the Abyss. The royal castle sat at the very apex of the nation, atop a steep, steep mountain. And yet, they had ways to get onto the ground in just an instant, speeding towards the breach in the seal.
His father, on those nights, would be particularly restless. But whenever Diluc asked, he’d only say, “it’s nothing, Diluc; just some pesky kids not knowing to sleep when it’s bedtime.”
But then, on the sixth day of their stay, Diluc had thought, if those kids can sleep past bedtime, then why can’t I? So he’d begged his father (he was always weak to his puppy eyes) to let him wander the castle at night, because he’d never seen the city of Khaenri’ah past sundown.
And it had been absolutely beautiful.
The lights atop every building, the colours, the gentle sound of waves crashing onto shore in all directions… and the sky, so beautifully clear, a galaxy of stars stretching high, high above him. He’d run to an open courtyard to admire the view, thinking, the lights below look like stars, too!
And then he’d remembered: in Khaenri’ah, there is a flower that blooms only at night, its petals a fluorescent blue, glowing in the dark. So he’d run towards the royal gardens, ignoring the alerted maids calling for him to come back, and when he’d reached the gardens—
“Ah!”
—Something lunged at him.
The young prince had fallen onto his royal arse, then, a yelp falling from his lips. The beast snarled, snapping at his face, and he’d had enough sense to shout for help, wrestling with the creature above him. For the longest time, Diluc only remembered the eyes: an eerie violet, pupils narrowed, rage in its eyes. Rage and hatred and… and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He’d kicked at it, too young at the time to use magic that had yet to manifest in him, and it had bit back. One of its claws sank into his arm and young Diluc screamed, because he had never felt such pain before in the short years of his life, and he had truly, truly thought he might die then—
And then the creature was sent flying with a yelp, leaving behind three deep cuts and a puncture in Diluc’s left arm.
“Take him away,” his saviour said. “Take him back to his room, please. And call a knight here, quick!”
“But—”
“Now! I can fend it off. I’m sure I can!”
“But your father will—”
“Well if you get someone now I won’t have to worry about Father finding out!”
And then Diluc had never dared to step foot outside of his room again past sundown.
He had only met the Khaenri’ahn prince once, and only in passing; on the last day of his stay. Before they had departed, the young royal had peaked out from behind his father, curious. He’d asked Diluc, “Are you okay? I heard you were hurt.” And Diluc, like the pompous little bitch he was, had said, “I’m not hurt at all! What are you on about?”
And then the Khaenri’ahn prince died to the seas, and Diluc Ragnvindr’s only memory of the godless nation is this: the scars left behind, a warning of the Abyss’s dangers, and a reminder that, even now, Diluc never got to thank his saviour.
Well, it’s all old news now.
He might as well get some sleep before the masquerade.