Work Text:
When Kaeya reaches for the office’s door handle, it escapes his grasp. It is sudden, and he only has time to briefly muse 'how fortuitous' before the wooden double-doors swing open to reveal no one other than the Acting Grand Master herself.
She halts in her tracks just short of bumping into him, and directs her gaze up with a silent inquiry. Kaeya blinks, then chuckles quietly at the awkwardness of the situation and their sudden closeness, but remains where he stands.
“I was on my way to hand these to you,” he gestures with the set of scribed papers clad loosely between his bare fingertips. "But it seems you beat me to it."
“Oh, I see,” Jean nods, and it feels rigid and lingering. From this close, she has to raise her chin in order to face him properly. “You can leave those on my desk. I’ll go through them as soon as possible."
He complies and, in doing so, notices the remarkable scantiness of paperwork piled up on her desk. That, plus the fact Jean has her sword attached to her waist instead of its usual resting place just below the window-sill—which Kaeya had noticed immediately—, could only mean one thing.
So, the Acting Grand Master is actually going somewhere, mere hours after the daytime shift of the knights started, when she would usually be buried deep in the amassing stacks of legislations, permits and contracts, all which needed her approval and signing to be of any legal relevance.
Back to the matter at hand, it seems strangely opportune for him to run into her midway. He casts a glance over his shoulder to where she stands waiting at the doorsill. And so the skeptical, curious eyebrow Kaeya raises at her makes Jean realize she'd need to provide some sort of explanation on her behalf.
“I am aware that my momentarily excusal must sound surprising,” she explains, “I must deal with a blockage issue. Sara, of Good Hunter, sent a formal letter to us informing that the road between Mondstadt and Springvale had been blocked by a group of hilichurls and their constructs, and so she requested the Knight's aid with the situation."
“Is that so,” Kaeya mulls over her explanation, connecting the already obvious dots. “So the Acting Grand Master herself decided to handle this particular—albeit trifling—affair, I suppose?”
She shakes her head, Kaeya senses a hint of reproof concealed in her steady glance. Which had been his intention to begin with; he suppresses the chagrin that threatens to take over his features.
"It is not a trifling matter," Jean sighs, "though I'm sure you know that. The road in question is a common use path for merchants, aside from being the main route from Springvale to Mondstadt. This is a supply issue that might lead to civil unrest, therefore it must be dealt with immediately."
He taps his chin, pacing beside her as Jean checks the sheath of her blade as well the golden string of her Vision once more for assurance.
"Still," Kaeya drags out the words deliberately, tests the waters before diving in, "these types of jobs are better left to the standard legionnaires. Whichever practical importance they may possess, I daresay those remain unworthy of the Master of Knight's personal heed. Needless to say, of the Acting Grand Master's as well."
He had a point, and Jean should've seen this coming; Kaeya had a knack for finding loopholes, always managed to learn that which he desires.
The man has got a certain way with words—and that is a subject in which no one else can compare—; it's one of the reasons Kaeya's proven himself to be amongst the most valuable members of the Ordo. As well as being one of the multitude of reasons that earned him the honor of being her most trusted aide.
Next, the Acting Grand Master steps out of her office, makes a beeline for the foyer's exit and Kaeya, as a right-man should, follows her promptly. “If you do wish to strip me out of the most detailed explanation I can muster, then so be it; the paperwork has been surprisingly shortened these days.Therefore, I can afford to spare some time to deal with this sort of matters, the kind which I haven't dealt with in what feels like ages.”
He knows that although Jean does have a point, that doesn’t mean by any means she has a small amount of bureaucratic work to do. Less than a lot is—especially given her work record—still a lot. By the time the Acting Grand Master returns, she's prone to find a whole new stack of paperwork, half as tall as Klee, towering over her desk.
"I take it that this shortened paperwork is due to a certain someone's rather aggravating overtime exertions," and though his tone is light-hearted, Jean senses it is meant as a mild chastise.
There's nothing she can say to counter his not-so-subtle keen remark, so she settles for listening as Kaeya eagerly plays out his chain of thought.
“It seems to me that you yearn for some sort of challenge other than administering legal matters,” he prods, seeking her eyes with interest.
Jean exits the headquarters, greeting the entrance guards with a head nod. Kaeya follows her still, and she accepts that he's likely determined to walk her to the city gates, or perhaps—Barbatos knows why—convince her to drop off the deed. She can never be a hundred percent sure when it comes to Kaeya—although it seems that, with time, she's gradually improving at figuring him out.
The thought makes a faint smile stretch across her lips and, as they're descending the stone staircase, she answers. “I suppose you could say that. Though, truth be told, the exact reason for it is that I fear I have been neglecting my swordsmanship recently. It has been longer than I'd like to admit since I've last done sword-drills.”
And that certainly made sense; it had been one of his pronest hunches. Kaeya grins.
“If that is indeed the case,” he clicks his tongue, single eye locked attentively on hers as Jean averts her gaze to him back. “I’m certain you could neglect it a lot more and still remain the best swordsman—or, swordswoman—in Mondstadt.”
“Hmm, there's no need to smooth-talk me, Kaeya,” Jean hums, and he realizes he enjoys the unique juxtaposition between her grave words and the discreet smile that creeps mindlessly. “Anyone who doesn't spare time for practice, especially when it comes to swordsmanship, is prone to losing their edge. And I am not the best swordsman in Mondstadt."
"How modest of you to say so," and he really means it. Ever since they were young Jean had been adamant on training and polishing her swordsmanship and, after years of doing so, her bladework—rather stiff, one could say, but undeniably efficient—was just about perfect.
"I am still behind Grand Master Varka's swordsmanship," she nods, as if to convince herself of her own words. Then, she looks over to him and her expression is a tad bit softer. "And you must remember the times you've defeated me when we dueled in training sessions.”
“Ah, I feel honored that you remember," he regards her with a lopsided grin, the glint in his eye more genuine than the rest of his demeanor. “Although I could say the same thing. Perhaps we should keep a record."
“Perhaps we should.” And they're already crossing the first plaza; Jean acknowledges Sara with a nod as they pass through the front of the Good Hunter, the waitress waves back before giving a short, grateful bow.
They make it to the city front gates in no time, and Jean turns on her heels to face him openly.
“I should get going. Thank you for accompanying me."
She checks her sheath once more, Kaeya gingerly takes a step closer, skims his eye over her, blinks and finally offers.
“Well then, would you like some company?” He says it casually, tentative, hoping it could trick her into accepting the offer. “I am unfortunately lacking something worthy of my interest at the moment.”
He makes an effort to keep his tone neutral, a hint of eagerness seeps through anyway. The reason, he doesn't know; it is a trivial thing, dealing with hilichurls, clearing camps. The most basic, standard task assigned to squires ever since that fateful day about 500 years ago—Kaeya purposefully doesn't dwell on that—; routine and repetition render the ordeal boring and fairly predictable. Yet, the deal sounds intriguing, interesting; likely because it is Jean herself, and it's been a while since Kaeya last witnessed her out on field. Yes, a rare opportunity, it's what he settles for.
Jean blinks, because certainly clearing the usual, albeit inconvenient, hilichurl constructs isn't something Kaeya would deem worthy of his attention, much less interest. But, if he so desires—for whatever reason that may be—to deal with so-called trifling matters, she doesn't find it in her heart to deny him.
"Right. Let us move on." Jean nods and Kaeya is already hurrying past her and, if the way his feet skip discreetly along the cobblestone paving means anything, he's enjoying himself.
With her guarding his right side, they advance. The brief memory of his lost, albeit temporarily, cavalry makes Kaeya grimace and chuckle. He mentions it to her, Jean smiles gingerly, apologetic even though it is anything but her fault.
Aside from that, they don't talk as both escort the pathway that leads to Springvale; not that there's any specific talking to be done, yet Jean doesn't engage in his casual remarks like she usually does when they're alone.
Kaeya notes that her pace increases, slightly hasty despite her composed demeanor, as they approach their destination. And it makes sense, for everything that concerns Mondstadt, be it the city or nation itself, is of high importance to Jean. He matches his pace to hers effortlessly.
It does not take long, anyway; Springvale is relatively close to Mondstadt City, likely due to occurrences like this.
As of now, the road is unobstructed, and the view is clear. Kaeya halts as a figure approaches, surprised he didn't spot it sooner. A merchant from Mondstadt, he can tell from their clothes, and, from the way he stumbles and staggers, Kaeya guesses the man had an unfortunate trip into the roadblock.
As the man approaches, Jean steps forward holding out her hand, politely gesturing for him to stop. She regards him with a calm expression, in an effort to not increase his panic any further.
"We came on behalf of the Knights of Favonius," she attests.
"The road," the merchant exhales, out of breath, his shoulder line heaving, "it's blocked, they put a barrier in it."
"And so you were ambushed?" Kaeya raises his brow, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," he huffs. "I was on my way to delivering goods to Mondstadt, same as I always do, when they appeared out of nowhere, shooting fire and–."
"Are you hurt?" Jean inquiries, courtly cutting the man off before he works himself up further. She scans her eyes in search of any apparent injury amidst the dirt and ashes that stain his clothes.
"I–I don't know," he stammers, then blinks and skims his still trembling hands over his torso. "I don't think so."
Thankfully , Jean weighs silently, for civilians getting hurt is what she considers among the worst scenarios possible. Still, a question remains; she glances at Kaeya sideways, sees it in his eye he's puzzling over the same thing.
She has her brows furrowed, hand on her chin, "I was informed the people of Springvale were aware of the situation, didn't they warn you about it?"
Which is what she had assumed from the report sent to her desk this morning. Which, if proven false, means her delay in dealing with the incident had put the people of Springvale at risk.
The man nods negatively, Jean resists the urge to grimace. It occurs to her that she should've asked for his name, but it seems long overdue to do so now. Jean just needs to make sure the man will be out of the potential risk zone while her and Kaeya handle the hilichurls.
"You should head back to the city or take the long way around to Springvale," she signals with her head towards the direction of Windrise, where you can arrive at the hunter's village through a longer path. "We will deal with the issue swiftly."
"But–, I left my cart behind, my merchandise is all in there." The man looks over his shoulder, to the direction he had come from. "It's priceless."
Kaeya resists the urge to roll his eyes. Jean holds her hands up, in a not so efficient attempt to appear reassuring. "Your cargo will be safe after we deal with the hilichurls. It's dangerous to stand close by in case more of them approach, under the threat of hilichurls civilians must stay out of the risk zone."
The merchant relents, nodding meagerly for she is right, and to keep arguing in a rather time-sensitive scenario like this is likely an awry move.
"Can you tell us at what point of the road the blockage is?" it's Kaeya's voice this time, and the merchant startles at the sudden question.
"I–I think the monsters are waiting just after the path's bifurcation, on the right road, the one that leads to Springvale through the lakeside."
Kaeya bites back a snort at the stammering way the merchant utters the term 'monsters'; if anything, at least his description of the situation seemed useful enough.
"Forgive the Knights for not dealing with this matter sooner. We'll drive them away and make sure the road is secured." Jean finishes with a short bow of her head.
Once again, Kaeya laughs on the inside, because 'drive them away' is too much of an euphemism for the fact they will slash right through those until they simply decay into black foul smithereens.
Kaeya urges ahead while Jean glances over her shoulder to the merchant that is circling around the road, apparently decided to take the longer path to Springvale.
They soon spot the rough hedge, heavy and sharp on the pathway; certainly the spot where the attack took place. Jean halts, her gaze travels to the steep, eroded small hill just by the side of the road. There, roughly half a dozen hilichurls move around a makeshift fireplace, the fact they have the high ground making it impossible to gauge their numbers with exact precision.
"Do you think the archers might be a problem? He mentioned there being pyro shooters among them."
"Not if we finish them off first," he gives a lopsided smile. Kaeya has a point, hilichurls are most often quite simple to deal with.
"Right, let's take them by surprise, approach quietly."
"Hm, what about you take left and I take right?" he presents, an arrangement they're both well practiced with after years of dealing with this sort of assignment.
Jean nods, agreeing, "I'll give you a signal. Be careful."
Regular knights would deem prudent to plan a more detailed approach, but Jean and Kaeya aren't regular knights and if the countless fights they'd faced in sync over the course of years did anything it formed an unspoken understanding between them.
And so they part ways, circling the eroded roadside in opposite directions. Kaeya skirts by the trees, always the more silent and stealthy, seizing the concealment provided by the shadows of late morning. Jean bends her upper half as she ducks behind a trail of bushes, flanking the circle in which the hilichurls are gathered.
The rise of the land is subtle, and they arrive at the upper portion with ease. Once in position to gauge the cluster better, Jean brushes the leaves aside. Five hilichurls; two archers, one shielded and two other bare save for their clubs. Though, before she can silently thank Barbatos, another small, blue and white figure swims into her field of vision.
An abyss mage, floating just above the battered grass a few feet from the hilichurls. Jean's almost sure it is a cryo one; which, given their current arrangement, is basically the worst option possible.
Kaeya peeks out from the oak tree he's hiding behind, on the opposite side of the encampment; Jean catches sight of him immediately, and if his barely concealed grin says anything Kaeya is likely enjoying the unexpected drawback. He arches his brow, a question glints in his lone eye.
And he knows Jean will not relent, she'll charge head-on into battle because, as small as it seems, this is for Mondstadt ; and he'll more than gladly follow her. Yet Kaeya waits for Jean's final verdict, because the whole point is to wait for her command.
She does as he predicts, raises her hand—a standard sort of sign, used by most knights in situations that require silence, yet Kaeya finds the way Jean does it unique and utterly hers—, and they advance in synchrony.
The hilichurls lounged around the fire squawk at the sudden intrusion, not wasting time in scrambling up and gripping their weapons fiercely. From the corner of his eye, Kaeya spots Jean going for the abyss mage, managing to push it back and fairly away from the group with a gush of wind before the creature materializes its shield.
Precisely what he was hoping for, because Kaeya can deal smoothly with the rest as long as the abyss mage doesn't interfere by shooting flying icicles in his direction. The wooden shield, worn like one's own body part by one of the hilichurls, might be a hindrance, but he can work with the remnants of the fire nearby.
Two of the hilichurls charge at him, Kaeya averts the blows of their rough clubs easily. Those aren't his priorities, and he's not about to get sidetracked by the painfully blunt and easy openings the hilichurls present mid swing. A pyro infused arrows flies by just short of his shoulder, close enough that he fills the short-lived heat; Kaeya seizes the opportunity to continue past the batters and go for the closest archer so he can finish it swiftly before it manages to aim the next shot.
The crossbow is a troublesome weapon, given the oddly precise aim the hilichurls had, but from a close distance it fails to provide any sort of defense. The next archer, growling angrily close-by, goes down next. Foul blood splatters on the grass and Kaeya shakes off some of it from his blade.
The two shooters were quick to kill, yet not quick enough that he has spare time before the ones with the clubs catch up to charge at him again. Their flailing clubs are easy to deflect, he does so until an opportune breach appears, and then his sword slashes twice in a row—deep and hard—through the nearest body. The other, with a shield covering its front, it's now truding backwards, defensive and growling.
Another one approaches—the last, according to his counting—and Kaeya makes the quick decision to kick the shielded one so that it falls backwards from the eroded ledge. The grunt it makes is immediately followed by a screech, coming from the opposite direction, Kaeya turns just in time to block the other hilichurl's blow with his sword.
He does so not so carefully, the impact catches his arm wrong; a pang shoots through his wrist, likely strained. Which is something he can't possibly deal with at the moment, so Kaeya forces himself to slash through the pain, until this one too is down to fading black smoke.
Meanwhile, Jean has managed to avoid the falling icicles and has successfully broken down the mage's cryo shield. She launches the squirming mage high up in the air with a swift blow of her anemo imbued sword, Kaeya can't help but smirk at the scene.
The hilichurl with the shield scrambles back up, noticeably angrier than before. Kaeya takes a step back and around the fireplace, lowering his sword to his side, purposefully leaving his stance open.
It is stupid enough to fall for the setup; the hilichurl growls and launches forward, running right through the flames and in Kaeya's direction. It doesn't seem to notice, skin too rough to properly feel the blazing embers beneath. But the shield does catch fire, the ember's flare promptly rising up and onto it. By the time the hilichurls realizes something is wrong, it's far too late. The flames already lick the entirety of the far too prone to burning wood shield. It halts its attack, writhing and shaking its arm in vain.
It's not long before the shield is completely consumed, decaying in ashes; Kaeya doesn't allow it a chance to recompose before driving his blade right into and through the creature's torso. His Vision remains unused, dangling from his hip; call it overconfidence, but he knew from the beginning his bladework alone would prove to be more than enough.
The direction of the wind shifts, Kaeya wouldn't have noticed it had he not been used to this subtle sign. Jean summons the power of anemo, gathering it around her before releasing it all at once for the final blow.
The creature falls back, the dancing ice shards that'd been surrounding it scattering with the gale's force. Kaeya catches the strangled mumbles of the abyss mage, words the back of his heart knows all too well, a foreign familiarity even time hadn't been able to wear out.
It means the mage is close to death, a final preach—though it sounds more like a curse of hatred—that mimics an ancient chanting. The hiss is slurred, quickly fades away into nothingness with one final swing of Jean's blade.
But still, that language, long forgotten to the world, is unmistakable to his ears. It floods his senses, even after the chanting has ceased. And then it comes crashing all at once.
It's not the first time Kaeya feels it. It being, as accurate as one can hope to describe, the sharp, stinging sensation on the right side of his face, painfully resembling a whirlwind whose center is right into his right orb, all pain converging and building up on that one insufferable spot. Aside from winning the shot of worst sensation he's ever felt,—and Kaeya's felt things worse than anyone in Mondstadt, probably—it lacks method.
There's no apparent reason to it; the first time it happened was three months after he arrived at the Dawn Winery, during a particularly sleepless night. That had been the first time, and back then he'd clutched and clawed at his bandages, making sure to keep his mouth shut in case anyone overheard.
Since then it happened again, sometimes, not that he keeps a record—it seems stupid to do so. The situations are mostly random, though if he had to make a wild guess, perhaps it was that the Abyss liked to make itself known. It made sure Kaeya didn’t forget about the truth he had so efficiently hid beneath the layers—but remained there nevertheless.
Of course, none of this occurs to him at that moment. His eye throbs violently, like someone just sunk a very sharp and very narrow dagger from his eye socket right into his skull. He staggers backwards, flinching from the twinge.
Before Kaeya could even start to process the situation, his knees already hit the ground and, following suit, his hand comes up and clutches desperately at his face. He could—any normal person would, certainly—have screamed, weren’t his teeth firmly gritted due to the initial shock.
Jean senses more than sees his collapsing. The abyss mage's body is already gone into flickering black pieces when she whips her head around in his direction.
“Kaeya,” she breathes out with urgency, rushing to his side after hastily casting her sword aside.
He clasps his lips shut, the thought of as much as whimpering in front of her unbearable. Jean touches his shoulder, feather-light, as if afraid any sort of pressure would break him.
"Where's the wound?" because it only makes sense for her to ask so; the hilichurls are gone, at last, but Kaeya's sword is tossed aside and he's on the ground, she has a bad foreboding.
Get yourself together. Kaeya tries his hardest to let go, to brush it off with a light laugh and to get up swiftly in his own unique and elegant manner, but Jean is close enough that despite not being able to distinguish her due to his blurred, swimming vision he could feel the light warmth of her gloved hand hovering over his shoulder.
“Kaeya, say something please,” Jean pleads, voice quivering slightly with the hint of panic she had failed to suppress.
Perhaps it is the urgency and concern in her voice which take his mind off the pain, even if only momentarily.
"It–It's fine," he manages to bite out through gritted teeth. "It's nothing."
But Jean has already seen him gripping around his cheekbone as if he wanted to tear whatever was under his eyepatch out. The damage has already been done.
"Your eye..." and they're close enough that she's seen his body is clean of any apparent injury.
Jean remembers—a faint memory—Kaeya pressing his fingers against his eyepatch, discreetly, faintly, when he thought no one would even notice. And she hadn't paid much attention back then, when they were younger, but it remained in the back of her mind and now it surfaces back.
Kaeya makes an effort to shake his head, even though it's short of pointless to pretend nothing is wrong.
"What should I–" she doesn't bother finishing the sentence, the thought that strikes her utmost important, because why didn't it cross her mind sooner.
Light-green glows from the glass orb as Jean dutifully summons healing anemo energy. She presses her hand down onto his shoulder, directs the elemental flow onto it—hopes it will suffice for Kaeya certainly would despise her as much as grazing his eye—, tries not to flinch at the full and foreign contact.
A part of him wants to brush it off–Kaeya doubts something as Vision power could do much against old pains–, yet the stinging eases, if ever slightly, and he can at least think clearly again. He resists the urge to grab her wrist and press the heel of her palm directly into his eyepatch—he's already taken enough—but rests his temple against her shoulder, enjoying the coolness of her caplet. Jean doesn't move, speechless while she counts on whatever she's doing being of some use.
At what seems to be the worst moment possible, hushed footsteps approach. Jean senses the presence first; she whips her head over the shoulder just in time to see what is surely people of Springvale coming towards them. Three of them, carrying each a bow and quiver filled with arrows; hunters.
"We came to help," the first one greets, because apparently the merchant didn't settle down for merely seeking shelter. Good will as it may have been, it's more of a nuisance than anything.
"Lord Barbatos, what happened?" the second hunter whips his head around, gaping at the extinct fire and the ownerless clubs, messily laying around. "You've finished them off!"
Jean nods, short and curt; it means their presence is pointless. Yet, the men gather closer, eagerly scrutinizing the dismantled encampment, in awe before the prospect of fighting and succeeding.
The third one notices Kaeya, his expression hidden and silent, doesn't move.
"Is he injured?" the man tips his head, confused and quite nosy, if Kaeya could tell. He rolls his eye and at least his annoyed expression is auspiciously hidden in Jean's shoulder.
"Not really," he snorts, sardonic and dry, before facing up to the man's direction.
The other two gather around them, as curious and prying as the first one.
"But–, err, you really look in pain," one of the hunters crouches down, trying to get a better view. Too close , Kaeya's mind snaps. Jean knows it too, she holds out her arm abruptly, defensively, and the man promptly scrambles back.
Kaeya opens his mouth to chime a retort, but Jean speaks first, using the commanding tone that cuts short all sort of objection. "We'll return to Mondstadt. I trust you are capable of dismantling the roadblock. Untie the bindings and the structure will eventually come off."
"It's so much simpler to dismantle it with Vision magic, though," the one furthest away dares.
Jean holds back the snappy retort that's just on her tongue, because that'd be impolite. Her tone comes out serious and dry, coldly formal. "It is simple enough that you three can deal with it. Now, if you excuse us."
None dares to argue any further, the three men scramble down the path side along with their useless weapons, at last allowing the much needed privacy.
"Kaeya," she turns back to him. "Can you walk? If not I can–"
Jean looks too ready to swoop him up. As tempting as that sounds, the stinging is subsiding enough that he can manage to stand.
"Yeah, don't worry about it," he cracks a smile, tries to make it genuine because a part of him oddly feels like smiling and the other just really wants to reassure her.
Jean nods and her expression is still a tad too grave and too keen on him.
"I will take you to the cathedral. The sisters can examine you, their healing is far more efficient than mine."
"It's fine," it comes out a bit more harsh than he intended to. Because he loathes the mere possibility of it.
"No, it isn't," her mouth scrunches, mild indignant, "you're on the verge of fainting."
"How funny of you to chastise me on this matter," he's already up on his feet, trying and thankfully succeeding at keeping steady.
"I–, that's not the point," she huffs, a faint hint of pink to her cheeks, and goes to retrieve both their swords lying astray. "Just–, stop pretending it's okay. You are clearly in pain."
"If it makes you happy, your healing did help there," just as he finishes speaking an awfully timed pang comes. Kaeya bites back a wince, because at least the pain is much milder than before.
He sucks in a breath, makes sure his voice is steady before speaking. "I know what this is, and I know it's not something healing magic can completely resolve."
His reasoning sounds genuine and weary enough that Jean decides against insisting. Her gaze lowers, and Kaeya notes that she too looks tired.
"It's nothing I can't endure and it goes away after a while, really," he adds.
She eyes him with lingering suspicion, lips pursed tightly. After hesitating for a beat, Jean relents. "If you say so, I'll trust you on this."
And those words will never not hurt, even if just a bit.
He should be glad, yet the relief feels feeble, for a part of him is aware that as much as they rely on each other, their slow-building trust will forever be stained because of him. The sore thought is no stranger to him, ever nagging ever present, and it spoils most things that happen between him and Jean. The fact she's not aware of this is at the same time a form of solace and a burden.
"Let's… just go back then," her voice ushers him back from his own intrusive mind. "How do you feel?"
Kaeya can't help the laugh that escapes his lips, airy from the strain. He should have kept count of the times she's asked.
"Better, I guess," he shrugs, but cracks a smile for her. She smiles back, small and a little sheepish.
She offers him her hand; the gesture feels unpracticed but that means it's genuine.
Kaeya can do nothing except take her offer, even dares giving it a light, reassuring squeeze. She leads them back through the same path, as silently as they had come, and he notes somewhere along the way—for the absence of the familiar weight on his hip—she's kept his sword attached to her belt, along her own. It's a small gesture, he smiles and just now realizes the pain is wholly gone.
And for now, it is more than enough.