Chapter Text
Now, you have to take the flask off the heat, Albedo. He did. A deft flick of the wrist transformed the colour from translucent blue to a thick, bloody scarlet, the contents sloshing against the sides like waves in a tempest. Simple task by simple task, that was his preferred way of operating when alone. Albedo was not a fountain of endless knowledge; he had learnt what he knew from his creator, in the same frantically loyal way in which an apprentice followed his master, to some extent. The slight warmth of the fire gave the cavern an almost homely appearance, despite the biting chill of the mountain itself. He had also spent more time organising it than he would have liked to admit, the delicate equipment laid out along the workbenches and shelves in meticulous order. Albedo had, thankfully prior to the notion that he may receive guests at any point, placed a pair of braziers outside the mouth to serve as signposts and sources of heat. He was not disturbed by the cold, only enjoying the appearance of the torches.
Then there was his many, many records, all pinned on the notice board for future reference and his own perusal. Some were, of course, notes and annotated sketches, others seemingly miscellaneous sketches of people and objects. A brief portrait of the Acting Grand Master. A sketch of Eula. The Knights of Favonius crest. The symbols of the Four Winds surrounding the crest of Mondstadt itself. And, unfamiliar to most, an eight-pointed black star, dug out from his memories as a remnant of the royal guards. There were notes, too. A short message from the traveller to at least sort through whatever he had on the board. A brief collection of notes on ley lines, Irminsul and artefact domains. The time he conducted a study into Crimson Agate in order to better understand how it was formed.
The easel to the far left of the cavern was reserved for scientific and artistic sketches alike. The current piece: a portrait of Aether standing amidst a crowd of people. The hero of the tale once again. The people were just that, people congratulating their saviour. Yet as he examined it closely he noticed a striking patch of blue in a sea of blonde, brown and black. He leant towards it further, surveying the oil paint crowd, though that familiar colour had hid itself, the crowd again a mass of dull colours. Maybe it was his sense of colour that was the most unnatural thing about him. Albedo knew that others could not see such a diverse range as he did, could not see the flecks of bright nothing in the constellations or notice the jarring turquoise of his own eyes. They just saw stars and sky and eyes an ordinary blue. Perhaps a little icier than others, more inquisitive, but he wouldn’t know that.
Albedo groaned and straightened his body out. He glanced at the sky. Night was soon to fall, judging by the pink and orange streaks of the clouds. The alchemist double-checked his supplies. He needed to restock his crystal cores, Whopperflower nectar and scarlet quartz, all of which he had the mora for. But scarlet quartz was easy to find on its own, Whopperflowers ran rampant at the foot of the mountain and crystalflies were always around Dawn Winery at this time of year. Perhaps he could take a detour? No, Klee had asked him to be home on time so he could draw for her after dinner, Jean expected him back in about half an hour before she sent out a search party and he really didn’t feel like working any longer. So he reached for his sketchbook and a stick of charcoal as he began plotting his journey out mentally. Albedo had just started the outline of a portrait when an explosion shook the small cave. His head jerked up at its own accord before he had time to remind himself that it couldn’t be Klee, because if it was not only would the explosion be far larger but the resultant forces would be far more destructive. It was just too controlled to be his sister. A blur of scarlet rushed past the entrance, flaming arrows flying towards the roar of a hilichurl. The scent of burnt meat hit the back of Albedo’s throat first. Therefore, he was gagging on the stench at the moment the sole remaining outrider of the Knights of Favonius cheerfully stepped inside his previously private laboratory, bow still in gloved hand.
“Captain Albedo, are you all right? Sorry about the smoke, I was on my way to relay a message to you when I was ambushed by a gang of hilichurls! You’d think they’d stay away from here with the cold and all, but these guys are certainly resilient,” Amber said, too rapidly for Albedo to fully grasp her words. He understood the gist though.
“I’m perfectly fine, Outrider. What was it you wanted to discuss?” Albedo asked. It was rare for anyone to venture to the mountains to contact him, for he made a point of asking at what times he would be desperately needed so he could remain in the office or his laboratory. Amber’s brown (golden?) eyes rested on him. He couldn’t tell in the dim light what colour they were, even with his unusual senses. Her gaze lingered on his throat for a fleeting moment, drinking in the odd birthmark he had. He was used to the mannerism, everyone noticed unnatural features first and foremost, although a shudder still ran down his spine.
Amber stared at her shoes. “Well… how do I say this? You’re not needed for intel this time, but Master Jean may still wish to consult you on that. It’s something entirely different. I don’t want to tell you right now, someone could hear and-”
Albedo cut her off abruptly. “Just tell me. If it is important do not hesitate to ask.”
“A team on patrol found someone near… where was he again… Dawn Winery,” said Amber, with a questioning pitch to her tone. “They took him back to the city with Master Diluc’s help, they were in really bad shape. Terrified and shaking. Jean asked me to find you, said you would be able to help somehow.” The girl looked imploringly at the alchemist with silent intent.
“No. Tell the Acting Grand Master that I can’t help her.”
Albedo internally winced at his own tone. Amber stumbled over her words briefly, before reminding him to return to Mondstadt anyway. He followed her out of the cave, watching the way she eyed the area and ran from place to place in a flurry of dark curls and red fabrics. It was clear that the outrider had never properly entered Dragonspine, as shown by her outward curiosity. Albedo rested his sketchbook in the crook of his arm, stopping short as Amber came to a halt.
“By the way, Albedo, I just remembered something. They seemed to know Aether somehow, was talking to him in some language I didn’t get. It probably doesn’t matter, but you know, it feels like it should.”
Albedo nodded curtly. Frankly, he was too tired to really take note of her words. Amber resumed her light tread down the winding path, humming softly as she went. Albedo’s mind strayed to who he was going to sketch that night. It didn’t seem right to draw someone from the city. He would, he decided, wrack his memory for distinct faces, people his master had introduced him to who he took stock of but never cared for.
He had always retained the appearance of a young adult. Though his mind had once been childish, it was impossible for him to think of himself as ever experiencing childhood. His master had known near enough every man, woman and child living within the walled capital of Myrkvi, so he supposed he had once had friends. Albedo could list those people on one hand if he could remember the faces that went with their names. His master, Rhinedottir, came first. In his mind's eye she was as stern as ever, in appearance and attitude. Blonde hair in a braid reaching her waist, cloak pulled over her shoulders, jawline set in composed anger over his inability to understand fully the complexities of Khemia. Then the captain of the Black Serpents, for Albedo had enjoyed seeing his skill with the sword, having thought his loyalty admirable. He was also wary of those who practiced Khemia, claiming, like many before him, that it was a means to an end. Albedo did not blame him for his scepticism.
There were others, others who he did not wish to recall. It wasn't worth it, knowing that the gods had taken their names.
Amber led him through one of the back gates into the city. Somehow, whilst he had lost himself in thought, they had reached the city. The outrider was naturally quick on her feet, he surmised. She greeted a handful of locals, slowing her pace to a brisk walk as Albedo diligently followed. He took his sketchbook out once more, intending to finish the half-hearted attempt at a portrait he had began before Amber had found him. It would not be perfect regardless, so he had to make it work with what he had. He started to construct an image in his mind of a child, with a shock of midnight hair unkempt and tousled by their movements and obscuring a piercing golden eye. He remembered how he could still see the faint glow of it in the darkness despite the child’s attempt at hiding it altogether. They had carefully rested a dark hand on his arm and smiled demurely at him. He knew then that they had wanted to befriend him. He had nodded carefully, laying his other hand on top of theirs. They had giggled, asking if they were friends. He had said that yes, they were. That child, that fledgling barely out of the nest, had made a point of throwing a bright smile his way when they passed one another, hoping he would catch it. Albedo had usually waved or smiled back in response, always rewarded with a sharp tap on his shoulder and a hissed order to finish his work and not waste time ogling the nobility. Rhinedottir was not his mother, she never was, but she did care somewhat. She had always permitted him to wander the capital a little if he had finished that day’s studies, warning him not to go further than the field of Inteyvats if he did choose to leave the city walls. It would have been cruel for her to keep him hidden away, a testament to her capabilities as his ‘mother’.
An elbow to his ribs alerted him to the fact they had now reached the cathedral, and were approaching the hospital set up for those who could not be treated at home. The deaconess and a handful of the sisters milled around, checking on patients and reapplying dressings and generally giving off an air of being organised.
“Woah, Albedo, that looks really good!” Amber cried, peering over his shoulder. “It looks so realistic! Is it… meant to be someone?”
Albedo closed the sketchbook with a shake of his head. “Thank you. It was only a draft, no need to be so kind. And no, I would not say this is anyone in particular.”
The moment those words left his mouth, he felt something click. The child he had drawn did share an excellent likeness with his friend, however looked awfully similar to someone else, someone he could not place his finger on.
“Hey! Albedo! What are you doing today?” A voice piped up from behind his left shoulder.
Albedo turned to face his friend. “Sending a message. And now I have to find some more alchemical materials. My mother’s orders.” He had always referred to his master as his mother in public. The term held back a flood of unnecessary questions.
“Oh…” the girl murmured. “I think I can show you where my brother gets materials for his own studies, he’s always buying this and that from town.”
“If you insist. Do you know where to find dust of Azoth?”
A moment’s consideration. “No, absolutely not! I’ve never heard of it. But we can always look, right?” she beamed at him.
“Are you sure? This is very important.”
After all those years he still did not know her name, never having the chance to learn it. He wished he could have done more for her, helped her, saved her. It hurt more, Albedo thought, to know that someone you cherished is dead when you could have done so much more for them. There was no stopping the wrath of the gods, even if from time to time he pictured a world where his homeland did not fall and continued to prosper. He wished he could live in that world.
His name was called and he stood abruptly as the Acting Grand Master hesitated to tell him what was going on. He had never seen her hesitate.
“Ah, chief alchemist. Glad you could make it. The Honorary Knight explained part of what had happened,” Jean said, exhaustion seeping into her tone. “I had my suspicions as to what was going on, nevertheless… Shall we discuss this elsewhere?”
“Of course,” Albedo answered.
Jean casually walked across the foyer to a small outdoor area, complete with picnic benches and table, gesturing for him to sit.
“Sorry about this. I’m still figuring out how best to deal with the situation myself. We believe, and have heard from Aether, that the man found near the winery hails from…” Jean’s stab at pronouncing the name of his homeland made it sound like she was choking. But she was one of the few who gave it some effort, even if it was hard to mould the harsh syllables into place amid the free-flowing Mondstadtian language. “He’s from your homeland, allegedly,” Jean finally said.
Just like that, the pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. “What?” Albedo asked, incredulous. There was only one known survivor of the Cataclysm besides himself, the Twilight Sword, Dainsleif. Aether had met him, had said he was cursed to forever wander Teyvat. It was difficult to believe that there were others that he did not know of. There were speculations that one of the Harbingers was from Khaenri’ah, which he could neither confirm nor deny.
“How so, Jean? It is ludicrous to have even remotely considered that, I’m sure you know that as well as I do.”
His voice had slipped into a tone that was painfully icy, a clipped sharpness to his words.
Jean sighed and ran a hand through her ponytail as if to loosen it. “I don’t know either. He doesn’t speak anything resembling common, which was why I sent for you. You have knowledge of several languages, the common tongue included. Aether told me he visited your homeland when he first came to Teyvat, and knows what happened there. But he can’t stay in Mondstadt forever, not when he’s heading to Inazuma shortly.”
“I see… Thank you, Master Jean. I will see what I can do. In the meantime, I can forward translations of the written language.”
“Thank you, Albedo. It means a lot to know you’ll help. Lisa can collect the research when you’re ready?” Jean then turned on her heel and left the room.
Albedo coaxed an easy smile onto his lips as he spoke. “That is fine.”
Jean abandoned him to his thoughts. The bitter part of himself told him whoever the knights found was not his friend, would never be a replacement for her. The other part of him couldn’t help but hope that his dear friend survived somehow.
It was unlikely, he knew, but he had no other options to consider.