perilous trial is my new favorite quest the ending scene? with the fantastic compass and xiao? i will NEVER be over it

xiao was already one of my favorite characters and this just made me love him even more he was done SO well

title from put it straight - (g)i-dle


"Good morning," Aether whispers, a tender smile pulling at his lips, as Xiao's eyes peel open. The Traveler kneels in front of him, subtly boxing them into the corner. His eyebrows pinch, and he glances off to the side, muttering, "Wait, I don't know if it's morning."

Xiao ignores his mumbling in favor of skimming the cavern over the Traveler's shoulder. He makes eye-contact with Shinobu, who tilts her head as if requesting his status; he gives a minute nod, and she nods back before returning to her melons. Itto glances up at him and opens his mouth as if to say something, but then he seems to think better of it, giving a thumbs-up before turning back to his companions.

Their actions make Xiao's stomach stir, a heavy ache surfacing from his chest and settling in his bones. He can't help but see ghosts echo in their mannerisms, in their compassion, in their respective Visions. They're a mismatched patchwork of their traits and elements.

He recognizes Bonanus in the way Shinobu observes him, a tilt of her head, an unspoken understanding—in Yanfei's optimism, meshed with Menogia's logic. Yelan has his level-head and Indarias' flair for theatrics. He sees Bosacius in Yanfei's persistence, in Yelan's sturdy leadership, in the way Itto is brash but still considerate. He wants to call it a coincidence, but he knows it's not. This dimension seeks to devour them, dredging up memories and feelings Xiao has spent hundreds of years burying, ripping his mind apart with its teeth. He doesn't know where to begin sifting through the tatters. Xiao doesn't like that its attempts at fazing him are working.

"How are you feeling?" Aether asks, bringing Xiao's attention back to him. A honeyed smile adorns his face, melting tangibly on Xiao's tongue and leaving a sickly aftertaste. Bonanus always spoke with the same meek sweetness, a bit too perceptive.

"I am fine," Xiao answers through his teeth, more defensive than he intends. Aether is the closest someone has gotten to his heart since the other Five. A part of him wants to drive him away along with the vestiges he keeps seeing, hopes that Aether finally, finally understands there is nothing about him worth salvaging. A part of him wants to let Aether see how fragmented his heart is, the mangled pieces contorted into shadows of a person, and have Aether regard him with the same kindness he always has.

The Traveler reaches for his injured arm, but he stops short and glances up. It's simple actions like these that Xiao doesn't understand: asking for permission to touch him, giving him options. It used to make him uneasy, not knowing what Aether expected of him, He spent a long time trying to make sense of his behavior before accepting he may never understand.

Xiao doesn't move to stop him, tacitly giving his permission. Aether brushes the pads of his fingers underneath his cut. "Our definitions of 'fine' seem wildly different."

Xiao scoffs. "How audacious of you to question an Adeptus' word." The corners of Aether's lips quirk, and his fingers move downwards, ghosting over his green markings. "This is far from the worst I've experienced."

Rather than dispelling Aether's concern, his words make him still. Xiao can sense the air shift, watching the Traveler's eyes change as a timeworn weariness seeps into his gaze—no less benign, but heavier. "You know…" he begins quietly, licking his lips, "just because you've had worse doesn't mean you don't need treatment now."

The cave is silent save for the faint crackling of Shinobu's fire and Paimon's sleepy breathing. Aether pulls Xiao's arm closer, and he bristles at the movement. "Besides," the Traveler says, and Xiao knows he caught the wince, "I know you're in more pain than you're letting on."

They lock eyes—age-old wisdom that only shines in these quiet moments, somehow knowing just what to say; he sounds like Indarias—Xiao ducks his head. "Your concern is unnecessary and inordinate. Do not waste your time on me."

"It's not a waste," Aether replies immediately, turning back to Xiao's arm; Indarias always gave frivolous words of comfort as well, "and time is a resource we have in spades down here."

"Time here is stagnant," Xiao agrees, pointedly ignoring the first half of Aether's words. "Resting more than strictly necessary will accomplish nothing."

Aether raises a brow, then he catches what Xiao leaves unsaid. His eyes widen, and his fingers skim the slash on Xiao's arm. "If time doesn't progress… will your injuries heal?"

"I would assume so," Xiao says, and Aether's shoulders slacken minutely. "I was considerably more wounded after my fight than I am now. However, there is no guarantee that time flows the same in this space as the one I occupied previously."

The Traveler glances back at Xiao's face, eyebrows furrowed; his eyes are glazed with an ghastly sadness. "You were even more hurt?" he whispers, barely audible, his voice cracking.

Xiao shakes his head. "The damage has been healed. It matters not."

"It does matter," Aether insists.

"No," Xiao's eyes narrow, "it does not."

They stare at each other for a moment, but Aether eventually relents, dropping his gaze back down to Xiao's arm. His jaw remains tense, and the matter clearly has not been forgotten. "Do not worry," Xiao murmurs, a bit unsure as to why Aether's plight matters to him, why he itches to dispel it. "Beings of wind function parallel with time, not within its bounds. More likely than not, I will recover."

"Physically, we may be stabile," Aether says, a frustrated edge to his voice, "but we can still become exhausted mentally. That's why Paimon is asleep. So you should still rest."

He leaves no room for argument. Xiao is reminded of Menogias' no-nonsense tone, and he shakes his head to disperse the image. "I was resting," he says, reaching to lightly pinch Aether's waist, "until a certain traveler began nagging me."

Aether huffs a laugh, and the return of his smile makes a knot loosen in Xiao's chest. "Would talking about it— getting it off your chest… would that help you rest?"

Xiao rolls his tongue over his teeth. "I… I'm not sure I can articulate my thoughts quite yet. I will share, but not now."

"Okay." He traces circles over Xiao's green markings with his thumb. "Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

Xiao's eyes narrow. "Didn't I just tell you to not waste your time on me? Adepti have no need for comfort."

"And I told you it's not a waste," Aether replies. "In any case, isn't that the point of comfort—that technically, you don't need it to survive?"

"A human construct," Xiao agrees. "I have no need for such unproductive things."

He sighs. "Xiao," the Traveler begins softly, and his words are practically tangible—gently prying apart the walls he puts up, "people spend their entire lives searching for a respite from their pain, and you won't even let me give you a shred of comfort."

He wants Aether to give up on him. He doesn't know what he would do if he did. "Nobody wants you to suffer, Xiao. Nobody but you." He rubs his thumb over Xiao's skin, and his smile is far, far kinder than Xiao deserves. "You are the only one who still believes you have to atone."

"Do not make assumptions. I feel no guilt," Xiao retorts, but the words lack bite; instead, he sounds resigned. The mountains may crumble, flames may snuff out, but the wind stands the test of time. It was always going to be Xiao who remained. It was always going to be him. "The debt I accumulate is of my own doing, so it is only fair that I face the consequences. I am more than capable of withstanding it alone."

"I'm not diminishing your strength." Aether kneads his shoulder, being sure to avoid Xiao's wound. "Making things easier for yourself, lightening your load… it's not another form of giving in to the pain."

There it is. Somehow, Aether sees him, makes his defenses vulnerable and knows just what to say to rattle him—like Bosacius, slithering in the shadows, waiting for Xiao to inadvertently create the opportunity to strike. It's as though he's been turned inside-out, raw and exposed—Xiao is weak.

To tremble when facing Bosacius, to melt at Aether's words—Xiao truly is disgraceful. He has survived on nothing, taken his heart full of holes and held it together with tape and sheer force of will. If he lets himself sink into the warmth Aether offers, indulges in these moments of comfort, how can he be sure he won't forget how to endure? If he allows himself to crave a respite, to wish he could unravel his body and peel out his sins and stitch himself back together into something more solid, how will he ever be able to accept that such a reality is not possible for him? A part of Xiao will always yearn, will always wonder when he will consider his repentance complete; a stronger part of him curls away in shame. He has consumed so many dreams he no longer has the right to dream himself.

If there is one thing Xiao knows, it's stubbornness, how to fight to the bitter end. "If I could not deal with this on my own," he hisses through his teeth, wrapping a hand around Aether's wrist and removing his fingers from his skin, "then I would not have survived this long."

"This isn't… this isn't another battle that you have to win." Aether gently pries his arm from Xiao's grip, only to lace their fingers together. "We're not in the midst of war. You don't have to fight me."

"My war will never end," Xiao says. "I will always be in the throes of battle."

"You are so stubborn," he says with a wet laugh, "and so undyingly loyal that you don't even realize the only thing prolonging your war is you. You could make life so much easier for yourself, I don't know why you refuse to."

"This suffering is my price to pay for eons of slaughter."

"And you've been paying that price for thousands of years. No debt lasts that long." Aether squeezes his hand. "I called for you down here, you know? You didn't answer, and I was so… so scared for your safety."

Xiao blinks. "I did not hear—"

Aether cuts him off by leaning forwards, pressing their foreheads together. "I know you didn't. I know you didn't because I know you would never go back on your word—that's why we're having this argument. I thought something terrible had happened, and I can tell something did happen, and you won't even let me help you."

"I failed you," Xiao breathes. "It seems this is all I know how to do. This is just another transgression I must atone for."

"Stop," Aether whispers, sharp enough for his breath to fan across Xiao's lips. "I don't want you to atone. I want you to feel better."

"That is a foolish wish," Xiao mutters as Aether's hands reach for his face, cupping his jaw; his eyes slip shut. "You wouldn't give a weapon your commiseration, speak tender words of concern and beg it to relax."

"Well, you aren't an object," Aether seethes, "so your argument is completely irrelevant. And I hate that I can see it in your eyes that you don't believe me."

"I want to," Xiao confesses, barely a murmur; he wishes that he could lay himself bare, that he could be known wholly without fear. But Xiao has long forgotten what it means to be supported, how to toe the line between distance and full commitment, and Aether does not wish to command him. "But there are lessons I will never unlearn. Even you cannot shake the mindset that has been engraved in me."

Aether is quiet for a moment, and Xiao cracks open his eyes, wondering if his words once again incurred Aether's dismay. Instead, a grin tugs at the corners of his lips. "You once told me you had no desires," he whispers. "Maybe you've already started to change, and you just haven't realized it yet."

The Traveler pulls back to smile at Xiao, caressing his cheek with a thumb. His hands are warm and his smile radiant, as steady and persistent as the stars. Xiao has been pretending, for so long, that he is content with his role, with his eternal melancholy, with being sewn together—and Aether tells him this is not a battlefield. You don't need to fight. An unwavering force meets an obstinate object, but it's in the wind's nature to scatter; it only makes sense that Xiao, eventually, concedes. "I know naught of comfort, so I leave myself in your hands."

A hint of sadness leaks into Aether's eyes, but in the interest of not losing the chance Xiao gives him, he says nothing. The Traveler maneuvers to sit at Xiao's side rather than in front of him. "Rest your head on my lap."

He reaches across Xiao's shoulders to guide him down, and Xiao lies on his back with a sigh. "You're too tense," Aether chastises, far too fond. He weaves his fingers into Xiao's hair, drawing a hum from his throat. "I've got you."

Xiao turns, tucking his cheek into Aether's stomach. "You are far too good to me," he says, voice muffled.

"You deserve more," Aether replies, musing his hair. "Gather your thoughts. We have time."

Xiao presses his nose into Aether's abdomen. The Traveler's hands move in soothing, repetitive motions, and Xiao gives in, just a little, to the haze that falls over him. But no matter how much he wishes for more of this, a part of Xiao, engrained by bloodshed, will always cling to his duty, loyal to a fault—that is something Aether will never be able to untangle from his being. He can allow himself to indulge in this moment; he knows he will repay it tenfold later.