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Nod Krai was not known for warm weather, but the Traveler could have sworn the air felt colder than usual. The past few weeks had been brutal, yet they had ended in victory, as they always seemed to. The battle against the Rächer of Solnari had been anything but easy. More than most, she understood just how powerful one of the Five Sinners could be, even when wielding only ten percent of his true strength.
That she had emerged alive, and surprisingly unscathed, felt less like triumph and more like a borrowed mercy.
Not everyone had been so fortunate.
Nefer had suffered the worst of it, being temporarily blinded and heavily injured despite her reluctance to take part in the mission from the very beginning. The memory sat heavy in the Traveler’s chest, an ache that refused to fade.
With that in mind, the Traveler found she could not truly feel relieved by the outcome of her latest journey.
…Who was she kidding?
Nefer was not the only reason her heart refused to settle.
It was him.
The crew had unexpectedly came across Dainsleif, an old friend of the Traveler, and he helped them seal Rerir away.
As a survivor of Khaenri’ah and Rerir’s former friend, he was the only one who was capable of bringing the mission to complete success.
And now that it was over, his presence lingered like frostbite beneath her skin.
Dainsleif was unlike any man she had met in Teyvat before. He was distant, ancient, and helplessly tragic.
There was something in him that pulled at her in ways she could neither name nor resist, a quiet resonance that settled deep in her chest and refused to leave. It was not romance in the way songs described it, nor loyalty born of shared journeys. It felt older than that.
He carried the same ruin she had felt since awakening in Teyvat, the same scars left by a world that had moved on without permission. When he spoke of Khaenri’ah, of sins buried beneath centuries of silence, she felt as though he were speaking directly to the hollow spaces within her, the ones shaped exactly like her brother.
Second only to Paimon, he was the person who knew her better than anyone else in this world.
Aether. Her twin. The one who had woken before her, who had seen the world burn and chosen to stand with it rather than flee. He had once been welcomed by Khaenri’ah, had walked its halls not as a god, but as a prince in all but name. When the Cataclysm came, when Irminsul’s truth fractured and the heavens passed judgment, he did not fall with the rest. He rose instead, taking the crown of the Abyss and carrying Khaenri’ah’s vengeance forward. The Abyss Prince now, cold and unreachable, yet still bound to her by blood and memory.
Dainsleif stood on the opposite shore of that same ruin. A former royal guard, sworn to protect a kingdom that no longer existed, cursed with immortality and condemned to remember everything. Where Aether had chosen a path, Dainsleif remained frozen between duty and regret. And somehow, every time she encountered him, it felt as though the world itself had brought them together, threads of fate tightening just long enough for her to glimpse something vital.
Then he would leave.
Always after answers half-given, after truths dangled just out of reach. He would take what he needed, offer what little he deemed safe, and vanish once more. Each departure left her standing still, hands empty, heart heavy with questions she was never allowed to finish asking. She had traveled with Archons, fought monsters and enemies with overwhelming strength, crossed nations and eras alike, yet no one had ever unsettled her this way.
She shifted slightly on the bed, careful not to wake Paimon, who slept curled beside her, breathing soft and even. She could already hear Paimon’s voice in her head, scolding and exasperated, telling her not to dwell on someone who was clearly trouble, clearly unavailable, clearly allergic to staying put. Paimon always noticed when her thoughts drifted to him, when her gaze lingered too long zoning out, thinking about him.
And yet, despite herself, she yearned all the same.
She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Dain during the gathering after the battle. How he spoke at length about necessity. About how Rerir, once a friend, was now an enemy that had to be struck down. How what they fought was not personal, but inevitable. He spoke the way he always did, in abstractions and vague metaphors, as though speaking plainly would crack something irreparable inside him. She listened, nodded, understood every word he said.
And still, she felt small. Almost ashamed. Because while he spoke of history and duty, all she could think about was how it might feel to be held by him. The weight of his arms. The feeling of his presence turned toward her alone.
—-
Sleep did not come easily after that.
The room in was quiet, only the faint, steady rhythm of Paimon’s breathing beside her could be heard. The girl floated in her sleep, unaware, blissfully distant. Lumine lay awake, staring at the ceiling as thoughts circled her mind like vultures that refused to leave her alone.
She turned onto her side, then her back again. Closed her eyes. Opened them. It was useless. The longer she stayed still, the heavier her chest felt, as though something unseen were pressing down on her ribs. She had crossed continents and worlds, endured losses that should have hollowed her out entirely. And yet this, this quiet yearning, felt unbearable in a way nothing else ever had.
Careful not to wake Paimon, Lumine slowly sat up. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet, grounding her just enough to keep her steady. She moved by instinct more than intention, reaching for a scrap of paper and a pen from her bag.
She wrote;
Paimon, I’m fine. Please don’t worry if you wake up and I’m gone. I just needed some air. I’ll be back before morning. Don’t look for me.
She hesitated, then added a small star in the corner. An unconscious habit.
Folding the note, she placed it where Paimon would see it immediately. One last glance back at the sleeping figure, then she slipped on her shoes and quietly opened the door.
The hallway beyond was dim and silent. She hoped he had not left Nod Krai yet, she knew how he never liked to stay in the same place for too long. But she also knew another thing, Dainsleif was awake. He always was. Watching. Carrying burdens that never allowed him rest.
Her steps echoed softly as she walked, heart pounding.
She was going to find him.
—-
The night air of Nod Krai carried a brittle stillness, sharp enough to sting her lungs. Nasha Town was silent beneath a pale wash of moonlight, lights dimmed. streets emptied of voices. Traveler moved through it quietly, heels soft against cool-kissed stone, past shuttered stalls and banners that stirred only when the wind remembered them. It felt wrong to be awake when the city slept, yet it felt even more wrong to remain behind.
Beyond the town, the land opened into cold expanses and fractured ruins, remnants of something older than the present dared to acknowledge. She followed a path she did not remember learning, only knowing, until pale stone and crystalline structures rose from the cliffs of Hiisi Island.
The Frostmoon Enclave.
It stood upon the bones of an earlier settlement, its foundations layered with history. Broken pillars lingered beneath newer constructions, swallowed halfway by ice and time, as though the past pressed upward, demanding to be seen. The Frostmoon Scions’ home did not feel guarded so much as aware.
She slowed, forcing herself to breathe evenly. With him, she had learned to begin gently.
Dainsleif stood near the edge of the enclave, gaze fixed on the horizon, his presence unmistakable even before he spoke.
”Dain, you’re still here..” she called out, her voice sounded happier than she intended it to be.
“You shouldn’t be wandering alone at this hour,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she replied, stopping beside him. “But I couldn’t stay still with these thoughts in my mind.”
He turned then, just enough to acknowledge her. “You should be resting. Paimon would be angry if she knew.”
A faint smile touched her lips. “She’s asleep. I left her a note. Telling her not to worry… and not to come looking.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You shouldn’t encourage her trust so lightly.”
“I trust you, and you didn’t need to encourage anything.” she said, simply.
Silence followed, heavy but not hostile.
She broke it first. “Are you hurt?”
“No more than usual.” classic response from Dain.
“That’s not an answer.” she pushed on.
“It’s the only one you’re going to get.”
She sighed softly, familiar with the rhythm of his deflection. “You fought Rerir without hesitation. Even knowing who he once was to you.”
“He stopped being my friend the moment he chose that path,” Dainsleif replied. “Whatever history we shared does not absolve what he became.”
“You speak as if it was simple.”
“It wasn’t,” he said. “But it was necessary.”
His words, measured and impersonal, filled with metaphor and restraint. Khaenri’ah came up as it always did, not named at first, but circling the truth until it could no longer be avoided.
“A nation that believed itself beyond the divine,” he continued. “A mistake the world made certain we would never forget.”
“You talk about it like it’s already over,” she said quietly.
His gaze hardened. “It is. What remains are consequences.”
She studied his profile, the way the past sat in his posture, in the tension he never allowed to ease. “And what about the people who survived? Like you?”
“We endure,” he replied. “That is all the mercy we were granted.”
The wind swept through the enclave, stirring frost, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The space between them felt fragile, stretched thin by words neither of them had yet dared to say.
She could feel it building in her chest, the weight she had carried all night, pressing harder with every breath.
She did not realize she was shaking until Dainsleif spoke again.
“You should go back,” he said. Not sharply. Not unkindly. Carefully, like someone handling a blade by the flat. “This isn’t a conversation that leads anywhere good.”
Moonlight traced the sharp lines of him as he stood there, tall and unmoving, dark fabric absorbing the night rather than reflecting it. His blond hair caught the pale light, framing eyes the color of deep water, cold, watchful, impossibly tired.
She laughed softly, breathless, and the sound startled even her. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
She turned to face him fully then. Compared to him, she seemed almost fragile, smaller, lighter, wrapped in white fabric that stirred with the wind. Her golden eyes shone too brightly against the frost-blue night, otherworldly in a way that reminded him she did not belong to this world, or any world that tried to claim her. Her hair glimmered like a fallen star.
“Do you know what it’s like,” she asked, voice steady only through sheer will, “to keep walking forward without knowing why you’re still moving?”
His jaw tightened. “Traveler—”
“No,” she interrupted, not raising her voice, just refusing to let him redirect her. “Let me finish. Please.”
“I’ve crossed nations,” she continued. “I’ve fought celestial beings. I’ve fought monsters, lost people, found truths that only made things worse. And every time I think I’m getting closer to my brother, the road bends again.” Her fingers curled into the fabric at her sides.
“But every time I see you, it’s like the world bends just enough to put you in my way again. And then you leave.”
He looked away, the tension in his broad frame suddenly more visible. “That’s exactly why this is dangerous.”
“Because you make me feel something?”
“Because I don’t have the right to be that something,” he said quietly. “Not to you.”
She stepped closer. Not touching him, not yet. Just enough that he could feel her presence.
“You don’t get to decide what I feel,” she said. “You never have. You come into my life, save me, guide me, leave me with half-answers and warnings, and then vanish. And every time, I tell myself I’ll stop looking for you.”
She swallowed. “I never do.”
“Traveler,” he said again, more strained now. “You’re chasing an idea. A fragment of a man who should not be… wanted.”
“You’re not an idea,” she said immediately. “You’re here. You bleed. You remember. You care, even when you pretend you don’t.”
“That’s precisely the problem.” His voice dropped. “Everything I care for ends in ruin.”
“Then why do you keep coming back to me?”
The question was so heavy that it almost felt like he could physically feel it, sharp and merciless.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
She exhaled, a tremor running through her shoulders. “I don’t need vague answers about the future or Khaenri’ah or the divine. I just—” Her voice faltered, finally. “I just needed you to know that you’re all that I think about, you’re the only one I’ve ever felt this way for.”
”Feel what way?” Dain asked carefully.
“Love,” she snapped, the word tearing itself free. “Damn it. I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”
Silence.
Longer than before.
When he spoke again, his voice had lost its careful distance. “You shouldn’t tie your heart to someone like me.”
“I didn’t tie it,” she whispered. “It followed me, everywhere I went. Every nation I visited. Every person I meet, I see you.”
That was when he stopped trying to convince her.
Not because he had found the right words.
But because there were none left that would not be a lie.
He stood there, tall and still, blue eyes shadowed, as if holding himself together required conscious effort. The night pressed in around them, and for the first time since she had known him, he did not step away.
He did not tell her to leave.
He did not tell her she was wrong.
And that, somehow, was everything.
“Traveler,” he said, and this time her title sounded less like distance and more like surrender. “If I do not stop this now… I won’t be able to.”
She didn’t answer with words.
She stepped closer, close enough that the cold between them finally broke. Close enough that she could see the fractures in his composure, the way his restraint trembled under centuries of discipline and denial. Her hand hovered, waiting, giving him one last chance to pull away.
He didn’t.
When he reached for her, it was not sudden. It was careful. Almost reverent. As though touching her confirmed something he had been trying not to believe. His hand settled at her waist, warm through fabric, grounding, real. The contact drew a sharp breath from both of them.
“This changes nothing,” he murmured, “And everything.”
“I know,” she whispered.
That was enough.
The kiss was not desperate. It was restrained to the point of pain, as if he were afraid that wanting her too much would undo her. His lips lingered, testing, learning, before deepening only when she leaned into him, fingers curling into the dark fabric at his chest like an anchor.
The world narrowed. The cool night air only made the longing between them more palpable, a reminder that they were not in private quarters, that the open ruin still watched, indifferent and ancient.
Dainsleif lingered in the feeling of her lips longer than he meant to, long enough for restraint to finally claw its way back to the surface. When he pulled away, it was slow, reluctant, as though separating from her required effort he scarcely possessed. Perhaps it was hesitation. Or perhaps it was the dawning horror of a realization he had spent centuries avoiding.
That he loved her just as fiercely as she loved him.
“No,” she murmured when the space opened between them, shaking her head. Her voice was soft but unyielding. “Don’t you dare stop. Take responsibility, Dain. Take responsibility for what you’ve done to me.”
His heart stuttered at her words, the sound thunderous in his ears. He had no time to answer. She was already reaching for him again, closing the distance with a certainty that stole the last of his resolve.
Somewhere between breath and heartbeat, they lost their footing. Cold, ancient stone met his back as they sank down together, history pressing beneath them. She straddled his waist, hands braced at his shoulders, leaning down to kiss him again, deeper this time, impossibly deeper. And Dainsleif, for once, did not try to escape the fall.
Dainsleif sat up, leaning back against the stone-carved railings and cupping the back of her head with his large hands as he kissed her back with equal fervor. Then he felt it, the grinding as she rolled her hips against his. He had not felt desire like this in a long time.
”Traveler..” he murmured.
”Say my name.” she demanded between kisses.
”..Lumine.”
Lumine felt her heart flutter at the sound of his voice uttering her name. She could feel every syllable roll off his tongue like a prayer, and it sent a jolt straight to her core.
”Yeah..” she whispered, reveling in the moment. “Because you’re the only one that knows that.”
Then Lumine shifted, just slightly, enough for him to feel the intent behind it. Her hands slid from his shoulders, slow, deliberate, tracing paths that made his breath hitch despite himself. Dainsleif stiffened, then exhaled, his grip loosening, fingers threading into her hair as if grounding himself.
It was no longer about kisses. It was about closeness. About learning what the other wanted without asking. Lumine’s dainty hand lingered around the area of his trousers where his growing erection bulged against the fabric, asking for access.
His hand followed instinct rather than thought, pausing only once, long enough for her to meet his gaze and nod, subtle and certain. The permission in her eyes was unmistakable. His hand reached up her skirt, caressing the damp spot on her panties.
Lumine leans into the touch, whimpering something inaudible as she ground into his fingers. Her own hands went and unzipped his trousers, and his erection sprang free.
”Do you know how long I’ve longed for this?” she asked, eyes hazed as she felt his fingers tease around her folds.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said, voice hoarse unsteady as he felt her fingers ring around his cock. “And I want it anyway.”
For every time she stroked him, he would curl his fingers inside of her. It felt like the most intimate coupling, especially out in the coldness of the enclave.
Lumine's breath hitched as Dain's fingers delved deeper, stroking her most sensitive spots with a newfound intimacy. "Ahn... Dain..." she gasped, her hips undulating instinctively against his hand. The cold air of the enclave seemed to vanish, replaced by the scorching heat building between her thighs.
“Gghhh.. keep going.. keep..” Lumine’s eyes fluttered shut, pale skin flushed pink as he pushed her over the edge. Dain clenched his jaw at the feel of her tight heat contract around his fingers.
”For someone with such thick skin, you sure come quickly.” Dain mused, a teasing hint at his voice, a genuine smile on his face, for the first time in a while.
”Or maybe that’s just what you do to me.” Lumine retorted, a breathless giggle leaving her lips.
Lumine looked up at Dain, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Awh, I didn’t make you cum?" she pouted, voice still slightly breathless, "Can I try something?"
Dain looked down at her, eyes darkening with desire and a hint of trepidation. "What do you have in mind?" he asked, voice low and rough.
Lumine smiled, a coy and alluring curve of her lips. She slowly sank down his body, trailing kisses along his clothed chest and abdomen. Dain's breath caught in his throat as he watched her descend, his pulse racing.
Reaching his throbbing erection, Lumine paused and looked up at him through her lashes. "I want to taste you," she murmured, her warm breath ghosting over his sensitive flesh.
Without waiting for a response, she wrapped her soft lips around the head of his cock. Dain groaned, head falling back against the wall as her wet, velvety mouth enveloped him. She swirled her tongue around the tip, teasing the slit and flicking over the sensitive underside.
She took him deeper, inch by inch, until he felt the back of her throat. She held him there, swallowing around his length, her throat muscles massaging him. Dain fisted his hands in her hair, fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth.
She started to bob her head, taking him deep then pulling back, setting a steady rhythm. The wet sounds of her sucking filled the cool air, echoing around the silence, mingling with Dain's increasingly loud groans and grunts.
Dain's grip tightened in her hair, his breathing growing ragged. "I'm gonna.. ah.." he warned, voice strained. "If you keep that up, I'm going to cum right down your throat."
If anything, his warning only served to embolden her. She took him deeper, until her nose pressed against his pelvis. She held him there, throat constricting around his thick length, as she swallowed repeatedly.
He threw his head back with a guttural moan, surrendering to the intense pleasure. His hips jerked and stilled as the first waves of his orgasm crashed over him, spilling his hot seed directly down her eager throat. She swallowed it all, relishing the taste and the knowledge that she had brought this strong, stoic man to such heights of ecstasy.
Lumine pulled off him with a lewd pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. She looked up at him, eyes glazed with lust and longing.
Dainsleif looked down at her, something like endearment crossing his features before they burned hot with desire again. He gripped her upper arms and pulled her up his body until she was pressed against him, chest to chest. She could feel the hard planes of his muscles even through their clothing.
"Turn around," he commanded, his voice a low, dominant growl.
Lumine's playfulness evaporated, and quickly complied. She turned around and placed her hands on the cold stone railing, the rough texture a stark contrast to the smooth, worn fabric of her dress. She could feel the chill of the night air on her back, but the heat radiating off his body behind her kept her warm.
She could feel the hard length of him, still slick with her saliva, pressing insistently behind her sex. Her breath caught in her throat.
"You're still so wet," he murmured, voice rough with renewed desire. "I want to feel you, all of you."
Dain's voice, low and rough with desire, filled her ear. "Brace yourself," he commanded. "This is what you wanted, right? What you’ve ‘longed for’ all these years?”
He thrust forward, sheathing himself inside her in one hard, deep stroke. She cried out, her voice echoing in the empty enclave as he filled and stretched her completely. He began to move, setting a hard, driving rhythm that had her seeing stars.
Dain gripped her hips, pulling her back to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The ancient stone slab creaked and groaned beneath them, the only sound besides their mingled moans and the slap of skin on skin. He pounded into her relentlessly, his thick length stroking her deepest places with each drive of his hips.
"D-dain! I-I can’t.." she cried out, and the words died on her tongue, her voice echoing in the empty night air as he drove into her again and again.
“Can’t what? You wanted this, didn’t you?” Dain's hand slid around to her front, finding her swollen, aching clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in tight, hard circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Lumine saw stars, her vision blurring as the pleasure mounted, cresting higher and higher with each passing second.
”Come for me, Lumine," Dain growled, his voice a dark, dominant rumble.
His words, combined with the relentless stimulation of her clit and the deep, driving thrusts of his hips, pushed her over the edge. She threw her head back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave.
Her sex clenched and spasmed around his pistoning length. Dain groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure male satisfaction as he felt her come undone around him. He thrust once, twice, three more times before burying himself to the hilt inside her, his own release finding him.
Hot, thick ropes of his cum painted her fluttering walls, filling her up. Lumine could feel the heat of it, the weight of it, as Dain's hips jerked and stilled against her backside. They remained locked together, panting and trembling in the aftermath of their passionate coupling.
As their heart rates slowly returned to normal, Dain pressed a tender kiss to Lumine's shoulder.
They lingered longer than either of them meant to.
Dainsleif adjusted her dress for her, movements slow, reverent, as if committing the weight of her presence to muscle memory. His hand hesitated at her shoulder, then settled there, warm and grounding.
“This isn’t something I can follow you into,” he said quietly. No bitterness. Just truth, laid bare. “And I won’t ask you to wait for a man who walks backward through time.”
Lumine looked up at him, eyes steady despite the ache blooming in her chest. “I know.”
Silence stretched. Then, softer, almost undone, he added, “But don’t mistake that for indifference.”
She stepped closer, pressing her forehead to his chest. “I won’t.”
His breath shuddered. One arm wrapped around her, firm but restrained, like he was afraid of holding her too tightly and breaking the moment entirely.
“I love you,” he said at last, the words low, unguarded. “In the only way I still know how.”
Her fingers curled into the fabric at his back. “Then let that be enough,” she whispered. “Until we meet again.”
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple. Not a kiss meant to keep her. A kiss meant to let her go.
“Until then,” he echoed.
She left before either of them could say more.
—-
Paimon was hovering near the desk when Lumine slipped back inside, fiddling with a stack of maps she had definitely already organized twice.
“Oh! You’re back,” Paimon chirped. “Paimon was starting to think you fell into a hole or something.”
Lumine slipped off her heels quietly, and smiled. “I didn’t.”
Paimon turned, finally getting a good look at her. She blinked. Then blinked again.
“…Wow. You look really happy.”
“I’m tired,” Lumine said, a little too quickly.
“Uh-huh,” Paimon hummed. She floated closer, inspecting her face like a detective with zero qualifications. “Then why are you smiling?”
“I always smile.”
“No you don’t,” Paimon said immediately. “You frown heroically.”
Lumine failed to suppress a small laugh and turned away, busying herself with folding her cloak. The movement didn’t help much.
Paimon gasped. “WAIT. Did you eat something really good?!”
“What?” Lumine paused.
“You’re glowing!” Paimon said, delighted. “Like… post-dessert glowing. Was it honey-roasted chicken? Ooo, or one of those fancy dishes with way too many ingredients?”
Lumine hesitated, then nodded once. “Something like that.”
Paimon’s eyes lit up. “You didn’t save any for Paimon?!”
“Next time,” Lumine said softly.
Satisfied, Paimon drifted back toward the bed. “Well, whatever it was, it definitely worked. You should eat mysterious late-night food more often.”
Lumine lays down, staring at the ceiling as the first pale hints of morning crept in through the window.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Maybe.”
Paimon curled up nearby, already half-asleep. “Wake Paimon up if you find more snacks later…”
”Wait, you’re sleeping again?” But by the time she asked, Paimon was already off to dream land.
Her breathing evened out quickly.
Lumine closed her eyes, one hand resting over her heart. It still ached. But it was warm, steady, alive with something she’d carry forward.
Some things weren’t meant to follow her on her journey.
They were meant to meet her along the way.
And someday, somehow, meet her again.