Chapter Text
Kaeya was sick.
Not the kind of sick that a hot drink and a good night’s rest would cure—he was used to that. He was used to the scratch of a sore throat or the occasional chill from long nights patrolling the City of Freedom. He was even used to dragging himself through the motions with a splitting headache and that strange hollowness in his chest that only came when he felt truly, utterly alone.
But this?
This was different.
Between Springvale and Dawn Winery, the landscape swam before his eyes. The once-familiar path blurred into a wavering mirage, edges rippling like heat over sand. His coat clung too tightly to his body, suffocating, oppressive—he was too hot, much too hot.
Kaeya paused, pressing a gloved hand to his forehead. Dizzy. His breath caught in his throat and he doubled over slightly, letting out a sharp cough that did nothing to clear the molten weight in his lungs.
He grimaced.
“Just keep walking,” he murmured to himself through grit teeth, voice hoarse. He didn’t have time to collapse. Not here. Not now. Certainly not within sight of—
“On patrol, Captain Kaeya?”
The voice cut through the haze like a blade, too cold and too sharp.
Diluc.
Kaeya stiffened. Even through the fever he recognized the tone: impassive, distant, perfectly polite—just enough to twist the knife.
He wanted to laugh. He wanted to wince. Instead, he swallowed the fire in his throat and pasted on a grin, one that hurt far too much to be worth it.
“That’s what the Knights are for, Master Diluc,” he replied, his voice thinner than he liked, brittle around the edges.
He turned to walk—too fast.
The world tilted violently.
Vertigo slammed into him, cruel and unrelenting. His knees buckled and the ground lurched. He stumbled, managing to brace a hand against a tree as his breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps.
No. No no no—Diluc couldn’t see him like this.
“Kaeya?”
The footsteps were faster now—closer. The voice less detached. Alarmed.
“Whoa… Kaeya, what’s wrong?”
Kaeya looked up, bleary and pale. Sweat clung to his skin, soaking his hair and collar. His exposed eye, usually gleaming with mischief, was dull and glassy now.
He forced a shaky smile, his hand lifting in a lazy wave of false dismissal.
“‘mm-fine…” he slurred, barely audible.
Then everything tipped sideways.
And he crumpled.