Chapter Text
“Dreams have always been a weakness, both to gods and humans alike. They’re the reflections of our subconscious, of an individual's desire and the truth of their mentality. Knowing what’s in one's dream, regardless of how ridiculous these are, is rather violating, don't you agree Morax?” Guizhong runs her fingers through the blooms, their petals caressed by the goddess’ soft touch. Revitalised and renewed, they blossom and glow beneath her shadow.
“It seems that Xiao’s ability has fascinated you to an extent.” He replied nonchalantly, his disinterest palpable. Guizhong groaned, rather disappointed at her friend’s lack of interest.
“It’s because you don’t dream that you don't understand my fascination with this Morax.” Guizhong sighed, despondent. “Forget it, you won’t know how to answer.” Guizhong places her hand against her head, obnoxiously sagging against the grass, uncaring for the dirt that would stain her robes. She raises her head in a teasing lilt. “What am I to do with you, you blithering, blundering oaf?”
Morax sighed at Guizhong’s antics. “I haven’t rested since the start of the war, goddess of dust. There is no need for it when battles can be won with the advantage of the night." He sets down his spear against the blooms, much to Guizhong's chagrin. "Besides, you've said it yourself, these dreams are a weakness. Why would I wish to be weakened at a time such as this?"
Her teasing tone sank into a frown. "My my, Morax, do you truly believe you can live like this?" She traces her fingers against the blade, a trail of incandescent dust following the tracks of her fingers. The blade shimmers beneath the sun, its light glinting into Morax's eyes. "By the end of this, you're going to be dealing with humans, and that’s if you can even reach the end without dying from exhaustion."
"That sentiment is unnecessary-"
"This sentiment is realistic." Guizhong hastily cut him off, ignoring the indignant scrunch of Morax's nose. "Look, Morax. I understand that you don't understand these things well, and neither do I. The difference is I'm willing to learn, while you continue to wither away and lose touch with reality with your duty-bound senselessness. Because of this, I not only know how to understand the humans under our care, but I've also learned how to take care of myself. "
"I am an Adeptus, I don't need to be fretted over like a child," Morax grumbled at her, causing her to scoff.
"And here you are, grumbling and mumbling beneath your breath like a child!" Guizhong's eyes soften. "One of these days, you'll learn the worth of what I'm saying, and you’ll think back to all of these I’ve told you, regardless of whether or not I'll be alive to see it-"
The ground shakes beneath her, a sharp glare thrown in her direction. "You will not lose your life in this war, Guizhong ," Morax declared. Declared with the surety and confidence of a general, as if his voice could command the world to spare her from the fate the others have fallen to.
Guizhong blinks at him in awe, a small smile forming on her lips. "Oh Morax, you do care!" She guffawed. "It seems you do listen to me after all."
She placed a hand on Morax's shoulder, calming him. It calms the tremors in the earth, though it does not loosen the furrow of his brow. "One day, you'll finally learn what this is, and when you do, I hope you realise the value of these menial things I've been telling you."
"I hope that when you do, someone will be there for you."
Zhongli opens his eyes to the cracks of light through his windows, dust motes prominent in the air, and sighs.
His existence is lone.
His existence had been such since losing allies and friends amongst the sea of bloodshed and war became as common as a blade of grass. It was solidified when he, a man of stone, was carved to withstand the test of time, to stand solitary in erosion; to age with the harbour he built from the ground up; to be alone, in soliloquy, which only the gods that have befallen beneath the depths and salt and sand could hear.
To mourn, over a grave of dust and memories shed beneath a sea of extinct powder blue lilies, laying in rest with the grave of a goddess deserving to see the beauty of this modern world yet unable to. To pour regrets over a pair of antlers that held the nation he had built from the ground up in stone. To weep, for stone will erode and crack, it can tremor and can come undone. It had come undone for many, it will eventually come undone for him.
But for now, he stands by the harbour’s port, reminded of the grief–– and guilt, and ire, and revenge and hurt–– of such existence as yet another becomes out of reach. Another life was gone. Because a martial god can never truly forget pride. Because a human and a dragon could never see eye to eye. A contract is a contract, and the mortal has laid his terms: terms he was not satisfied with, terms that could not simply end at that and yet-
He, a god who believed in impartiality, had allowed such a contract because for once he had been partial, for once he chose the wishes of a mortal that had ensnared him.
For once he chose to follow a bittersweet dream.
“Dreams have always been a weakness, both to gods and humans alike."
When the feeling of loneliness settles into his thoughts after a year of caging, it is akin to welcoming an old friend, making a home in the nooks and crannies of his flesh and bones. He let it prod at him, jeer at him, and slowly consume him from the inside out. He is taken by the feeling until he is nothing but the unfeeling archon he presented himself as. He is struck and violated until the loneliness becomes the presence beside Zhongli, and not the familiar warmth of another that lingers.
The mortal had made his existence a little less lonely. This realisation dawns upon him as he feels crystals form and cloud his vision, crystals that people would not expect from the eyes of the god that looked over their shoulder, then again, he was no longer their god, so who were they to expect anyway. He brought a sleeve to his face, gently wiping his eyes as the view from the port could no longer capture the familiar silhouette on the foyer of the ship. He remained frozen in place, eyes stuck on a ship that headed back home. Liyue used to be home, but he could assume that for Tartaglia, it was that no longer.
Both of them ran along the lines of duty, of contract and of loyalty. Duty-bound it begins, duty-bound it shall end. Some would say that this ending is befitting.
"The difference is I'm willing to learn, while you continue to wither away and lose touch with reality with your duty-bound senselessness."
However, he could not escape the numbness that festered as the ship fell out of sight, the waves peacefully lapping by the dock tantalisingly taunting, as if the recently resealed Osial could see his pitiful soiree. As if his woe could reach the edges of the stone he’d kept dry. The weight of his solitude wore on his shoulders as he longingly gazed out to the sea.
The docks were relatively empty. The merchants only beginning to set up their wares and stalls. The fishermen and crew flocked in like cawing seagulls.
The sun shines overhead, gold painting Liyue once more, yet there is no familiar head to crown its gaze with, there are no dull eyes to ignite with flame, and there is no one to listen to stories of old. There is no longer anyone who knows, at least not anymore. Zhongli sighed as the glow of the sun fell upon the empty space of stretching shadows.
In the heart of the city, where people come and go, Zhongli can only stand as he is reminded once again, that he is alone.
Thus, with yet another reminder engraved herein, Zhongli continues on with his life.
He, who was once as immovable and undeterred as the Shogun’s ideals of eternity, like the eternal tempest beneath the fractals of the Tsaritsa’s domain, similar to the winds that freely live and whisper on. He is an entity that has withstood the test of time, a being that has existed long before the overcomplications of fickle human minds and inhibited cries. This test of grief and gruelling emotional strife would be but another he shall face. He was a god who gave up a title, after all, not a god who had finally become a man.
The loss of his gnosis may have permitted an exit, but it did not mean that his time was nearing its end. He had nothing but time, after all. The time to live and breathe and dream, as those around him had advised
"One of these days, you'll learn the worth of what I'm saying, and you’ll think back to all of these I’ve told you, regardless of whether or not I'll be alive to see it-"
With this semblance of closure in mind, Zhongli shall breathe and walk. He shall walk along with the stone carved by his hands, he shall breathe along the shores of a friend he once knew, and hum along the crevices of mountains where the yells of hundreds of perished will continue to emanate. He shall reminisce of wine shared over stone tables, of chopsticks chucked into bowls of rice, of omens that plague and of songs that snare. He shall stare upon the waters that never seem to cease its taunting, he will gaze upon the marks in stone that a certain weight had left.
All alone, he presses his heel into the places where Childe’s shadow had been, where it used to be. He is gone, not from this world, but from the life of pretending he and Zhongli had waltzed around. From the innocent, heartfelt teasing, to the sober, sombre confessions, lost to the wind and to memories that will be long discarded by the other in due time.
He thinks that maybe, there could be a way to preserve this memory. Somehow, through trickery and the like, he can convince himself that despite being alone, he doesn't feel as lonely. Bitter vignettes and images of those who'd slipped through his grasp. Shades he could perceive when he closed his eyes.
"One day, you'll finally learn what this is, and when you do, I hope you realise the value of these menial things I've been telling you."
Zhongli is aware that clinging onto these memories so firmly is desperate, foolish and unfounded, yet who would be there to judge his actions? All who could have done so no longer knew he existed amongst this sea of mortal dreams and humanity, and all who would've noticed may not even utter a word.
"I hope that when you do, someone will be there for you."
The art of dream-seeking was something he had utilised in grief, born out of a wretched curiosity for the subconscious fragments that those around seemed so keenly interested in.
It was selfishly indulgent, something that Guizhong would’ve asked as a theoretical at some point in their incredulous debacles. Something that Xiao had admitted to as an escape during his forlorn days under the service of a vile goddess. Something Barbatos had chastised him time and time again, even at times when his friend was fast asleep beneath the shade of a tree. A technique disguised as art, destruction disguised as a way of fare.
From the short span of time where he had obsessed over learning about these dreams, Zhongli learned a way to lucidly enforce them and keep them intact. A world wherein one lingered in long enough to remain unphased and unhaunted by reality. Wherein one could live ideally, even for just a moment, an ideal delusion for a god embroiled in impartial contracts and tumultuous grief. Living in one’s head to satisfy what could not be, and fill in the gaps of his memory with tales and merry smiles ––Barbatos had called it cowardly in his drunken, loose-lipped stupor. Azhdaha had called it inane and wholly deprecative. But there were times when these dreams were the only solid and humane thing left for him.
He should reconsider his actions. He has simply fallen into another bout of grief, head positively muddled in fresh regrets and even fresher responsibilities. He was mortal now, he had a job to go to, had bills to pay, and had necessities he needed for his continued survival. He was no longer the immovable god with adepti at his side to right his wrongs. He was no longer the unshakeable Rex Lapis, wherein he could simply slumber as he watched over his city.
He will come to regret this when he is done. He will come to regret the time he wasted living in his head. He will regret dwelling in the past, as he had done so time and time again.
But perhaps this was but another selfish trait he had come to learn about humans, another trait he dipped himself into. The selfish plight of man, of listless indulgence and desire. A possessive characteristic that simmered.
He traces the sigil onto his pillow, the silk creasing as the adeptal arts imbued itself into the object. He heaves a sigh of relief as it begins to glow a soft gold, lulling his senses. He could already imagine the disappointment at knowing he had returned to this once more, but that no longer deterred him. He was desperate for respite, even for a few moments, and as selfish as it sounds for him to lose himself as so, he feels little guilt over his actions.
He hums the accursed tune that resurfaced in his mind, one that would only reemerge during these moments when Zhongli felt at his worst. A soft tune of comfort, enough to bring Zhongli’s racing mind to rest, to fill it with the rose-tinted haze of a small fragment of his yearning imagination. Cotton fills his ears. The words that leave his lips feel sickly sweet.
He’ll regret dwelling on the unchangeable past.
He wills himself into his dream anyway.
Zhongli opens his eyes and blinks as his world comes into view. The loud chatter of the harbours merchants and investors, vendors hawking their wares left and right, the unmistakable smell of grass from the greenery in the terrace amalgamated with gaudy perfumes from the courtesans veiled beneath the guise of humble, working clerks. It was nearing dusk, he was in the middle of Liyue Harbour, perusing wares and jewellery from the store nearest the Parlour. The floor is only starting to dry from the earlier shower.
“This pair of earrings was made from the finest vein of Cor Lapis found in the Chasm. The stone itself already fetched quite a hefty price after the miners returned with their spoils, but with the use of golden backing, this particular piece has been reserved for some curious buyers in the Feiyun Commerce Guild.” Xingxi explains, a greedy glimmer in her eyes.
(He remembers this memory clearly.)
Childe stands beside him, listening with a hand already in his pocket, an umbrella lazily slung over his shoulder, drops of rain rolling onto the tail end of his rumpled coat. He stands on the balls of his heel, looking over the counter and at the piece in question. He casts a look at the clerk before turning back to him, a mischievous grin plastered onto his face. “You look like you really want it, Xiansheng.”
“I lack the mora to buy such a piece,” Zhongli replied curtly, and Childe chuckled beside him.
“Professor, no offence, but I don’t think you’ve ever footed a bill using your own wallet.” Childe heartily admits, and Zhongli has the decency to look sheepish.
“I apologise, I’m rather forgetful…” It is said in earnest, for he truly hadn’t meant to forget. Such mundane things simply slipped his mind due to how used he is to his much more godly existence. "But my point still stands, I completely lack the mora."
“Well, financial problems aside, I could actually get this for you. You could consider it a way to further strengthen our friendship.” It’s said with a smile and a smirk. A teasing lilt with eyes shining in mirth. He could hear Xingxi scoff at the Harbinger’s gall, clearly unbelieving of his ability to pay in full for this particular piece.
(She had said as such at the time, though those words were never caught by Zhongli’s usually keen ear. He was too busy studying the Harbinger’s ambivalent motives ––and tact–– to listen to her scripted explanation. He had wracked his head for an explanation for his offer, sceptical of the man he'd only known for a few months.)
“You make it sound as if you’re trying to buy our friendship, Childe?” He’d responded, heavily amused at the Snezhnayan’s asinine approach towards money. He was well aware that his salary as a Harbinger warranted compensation far above that of an average desk worker, but for it to be enough to cause such a nonchalant reaction would mean it was certainly an impressive sum. Zhongli couldn't help but feel intrigued by his frivolous approach.
“Nonsense, Professor!” Childe assured with a smile much more genuine than anything he had thrown at Zhongli during their earlier meetings. He was wearing his feelings on his sleeve for once. A smile that was neither forced out nor out of pomp. It was a rather charming sight, one that Zhongli could say he had been graced with. “I assure you I’m not doing anything like that. You Liyuen's value contracts overall, and all this information you've given me on Liyue is certainly worth more than anything in this store.”
(Zhongli remembers this memory distinctly because this was the first time the Harbinger had done something so openly extravagant. He of aeons past may have felt offended at such a display in front of a god who was leagues beyond him, but he remembers indulging in his offer. Perhaps it was a twisted sense of greed that had overtaken him at that moment, a potential treasure for him to hoard, just within his reach.
He remembers the way Childe faltered ever so slightly at that, how his eyes dimmed further at Zhongli’s actions--as if in reproach. Zhongli had fallen for the bait Childe had laid out, after all, seemingly confirming his suspicions. That was perhaps the first time he had seen doubt reflected onto Childe’s eyes, a sliver of festering distrust, quickly overturned by formality and duty and a swirl of other emotions.)
He relents, accepting Childe's offer despite his dubiety. “Well, if you insist so badly, it would be rather improper for me to refuse.” It was nonchalant and defeated.
(He decides to change the course of his dream.)
He sighs at the Snezhnayan. “While I appreciate your willingness to give me such a gift. It would still be rude of me to take advantage of your seemingly boundless wealth. Besides, your company is more than enough compensation.” It sounds endlessly cheesy for a friendly rebuttal, but Zhongli couldn't find himself caring about the semantics.
Childe relents, though the smile on his face is brighter ––and Zhongli is stunned by the image woven in front of him. Freckles accentuate cracked lips and dull eyes, yet they glimmer and string into this inexplicable etherealness that left him speechless. “Honestly Zhongli, I didn't expect you to be such a smooth talker.” He repositions the umbrella slung over his shoulder, the object finally acting as a canopy for his head.
Zhongli falls in step with Childe, his own umbrella in hand. "I am simply telling the truth, Childe." Saying such things to Childe felt natural, another breath, another step. Zhongli couldn't care less that it was sappy, layered with affection threatening to burst from the seams of his composure. His affections were bottomless and timeless and selfish and unrealistic. Wake up Morax, face reality, stop clinging to these ploy dreams. Stop running.
Childe lowers the umbrella sheepishly, positively embarrassed. "Ahh, Xiansheng, what am I to do with you?" His smile is amused, his glassy orbs reflect the sunset like the sea. An art only Zhongli could indulge in.
(" What am I to do with you, Morax?")
Zhongli only chuckles in reply. He feels light, butterflies fill his stomach, and his world is tinted and filtered to centre Childe. It was perfect.
Childe's eyes furrow at Zhongli's reply. "I honestly don't understand what goes through your head, Zhongli. Saying such things, you'll give the wrong idea." He nudges Zhongli on the side.
It is gratifying, it is self-serving, he is using Childe to serve his own ego. He needs to breathe, he is tired, he simply needs time to heal. This is foolish and beyond him. How shameful of him to resort to such tactless and vile cruelty. He misses everything. Everyone. Someone. Home.
Zhongli simply shrugs. "Oh Childe, I think I'm being very clear in what I'm trying to convey." He teases, and he's overjoyed at the light blush that dusts the latter's cheeks.
"I'm sure you realise it now, Mr Zhongli"
Childe smiles again. Zhongli no longer feels numb.
Zhongli wakes up to impatient, loud knocks on his door, the telltale steps of his ever so rambunctious boss, Hu Tao, echoing across the wooden panels of his apartment. The ruckus Hu Tao makes is enough to shake him out of his tired stupor. He feels remorse for his neighbours at his boss' antics.
"Mr. Zhongli! Are you in there? It's already lunch!" He hears Hu Tao yell at the door, and the mention of the time is enough to spur Zhongli into action, shuffling out of bed in a manner unbefitting of a dignified man.
He smoothens the creases on his clothes --he hadn't realised he had fallen asleep in them-- and hurriedly freshens his face. The mirror in front of him reflected a dishevelled lad, evidently restless despite having supposedly slept in. The earring glimmers, the stone reflecting the light from the tiny window at the top --He wants to hide the earring away. Store it in a box, sealed away where he wouldn't be tempted to take it apart. Buried and shut, like a coffin beneath the ground.
He looks at himself in the mirror once again. He sighed, he supposed he could fix himself up later.
He walks towards the door and slides it open. He schools his face, preparing himself for another monotonous, routine day. "Yes, Director Hu, I'm here…"
Hu Tao stares at him, her relief visible in the way her shoulders relax and eyes soften. Her skin was paler than usual, and Zhongli could see her visibly jitter. "There you are, Oh Wise Consultant! You're usually up pretty early." It's said in her usual, quirky and unnecessarily cheery tone, though it was apparent that she was feeling particularly solemn.
Zhongli knew the expression worn on her face. She wore it whenever she entered Wuwang Hill, about to enter the realm between the dead and the living. It was the same look she wore at her grandfather's funeral all those years ago. Her eyes reflected the acceptance and terror of her profession, the reflection of a ghost.
"Director Hu, I apologize, I didn't realise I overslept."
"Aiya~ I'm not here about work, oh esteemed Mr Zhongli. I just…" Her previous composure falls as she digs her nails into her palms, frustrated as she forms the words she wished to say. "I had a premonition, a dream or whatever. The usual Wangsheng brand madness that comes with being the Director."
"It just, it felt real, you know? I saw something bad happen to you, I swear! And I thought well…" 'You were gone' had been left unsaid.
Zhongli sighed. "Rest assured, Director Hu, I'm alright." He cracked a small smile to reassure her––though he supposed it came out more tired than assuring.
Hu Tao nods. "Yeah, I can see that. You're just... sick I guess." She perks her head up. "You know what, I'll give you a day off. You look like rubbish, Zhongli, and I can't have my best consultant look like they're halfway towards death's door."
Before Zhongli could object, Hu Tao skips away, but not before yelling "Get Better Soon!" for good measure.
And just like that Zhongli is alone, again, in front of his apartment with slightly tangled hair, the clothes from yesterday still on his back, with an exasperated, resigned look in his eyes.
The notion that he is sick is preposterous. One of the few things he had realised was that even without his gnosis, he had accumulated immunity to such mundane illnesses because of the harsher conditions he used to live in --olden Liyue did not possess the technology and cultivated expertise it had today, after all. His body unfortunately rejected modern medicine. This was but another reminder of how inhuman --or rather, inhumane-- he was. That despite losing archon-hood, he could never truly run away from the other parts of him.
He's not supposed to get sick, but when he enters his home, he feels his stomach sink.
The earring on his ear feels heavier than ever, and Zhongli has the inane urge to destroy it.
(In the end, he does not. It cost a lot of mora, it would be a waste to throw away such a piece. The design is immaculate, and the stones were of a rare quality that could only be found in the now abandoned Chasm. At least, that's what he'll tell himself today.)