Body horror warning, along with dehumanising language/behaviour.
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Chapter 8: I guess that it doesn't matter
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Albedo is under a harsh artificial light. He doesn't remember how he ended up indoors after being carried by the Ruin Guard, his mind as sluggish as his body. His chest aches with Durin's familiar presence, but Albedo pushes him away the moment he has any semblance of consciousness.
He hears a scraping motion to his right and tilts his head at its origin, seeing the smooth metal expanse of the table he's on. His right arm splayed and bound by manacles welded into the metal, and a quick jerk of his other limbs confirms his suspicions. Firstly, both of Albedo's hands have been restrained; Secondly, he can only feel only one of his legs, and that too is bound to the table; Thirdly, there's also a cuff around his neck, pressing uncomfortably at the gold mark on his neck. All the restraints have been welded into the table, implying that not only is this purpose-built to restrain people, but that wherever he finds himself in has had to do so with some frequency.
The scraping sound returns, followed by a curious hum, and Albedo strains to see under the bright glow of the overhead lights into his darker surroundings. There is a man close by with his back turned and hunched over a smaller bench, his hair a messy light blue mop.
"And though the composition is all mineral, the layers underneath are a perfect replica of human anatomy," the man mutters, and he shifts, allowing Albedo to see what he's so absorbed with.
On the bench is his leg, partially crumbled. The man digs at it, using his scalpel like a pick before throwing the tool away in frustration.
"I can't work with this – go get me some proper tools!" he snaps and Albedo sees a few figures move from the surrounding darkness.
With a frustrated mutter, the man circles his leg, and Albedo finally catches his front. His face is mostly obscured by a black and white mask save for one side of his mouth, stretched in a wide unnerving grin. His red eyes are narrowed in intrigue and he keeps staring at Albedo's leg with growing impatience.
When a nondescript figure – it's too dark for Albedo to make out any particular details – approaches with a bundle of picks, he grabs one without looking and goes back to digging into chalk skin and muscle, each hit making cracking the chalk underneath it.
"I can't see, move this into the main light! And get the rest of them up and running, ugh, honestly why did I even bother with this lab…"
One of the figures approaches Albedo's table and he makes out a Fatui Sigil. Albedo follows it, confused.
"Uh, sir," the grunt says, causing the man to give him an annoyed murderous look. "He's moving."
The man straightens up as eyes snap down at Albedo and his grin grows ever wider. "Why hello there, Mr Homunculus! I thought you'd shut down for good, so this is a pleasant surprise." He walks up to Albedo and hovers over him, his grin still plastered on his face. "Looks like you've got yourself in quite a bind. Did you play with the wrong sort of vials?"
Albedo frowns, confused. He's not supposed to be here, the ritual…
He wretches his gaze away from the man to look down at himself and holds back a gasp.
Though Albedo cleansed most of the corruption, he never managed to replenish his depleted form, so his torso is almost entirely hollowed out. The outer layers of skin on his back are still there, as Albedo can feel them pressing against the metal, but most of the skin around his chest and the entirety of his abdomen is gone and his insides are exposed to the elements. Not that there's much to expose, as, instead of what should be there based on Albedo's knowledge of human anatomy and the general observation that his body seemed to follow it, it's… empty. There are glimmers of gold — his ribs? — jutting out of skin and glinting against the harsh light, but he can't lift his head to see properly.
But he does see more dark purple tendrils making their way across what's still left. His heart is out of sight, but Albedo feels its sickly warmth and knows it's still active.
And the terror of this situation finally catches up to Albedo. So far he's been able to redirect the corruption to his limbs and torso, areas that he could still recover from, should they be infected. Now with most of them gone or already overtaken, the corruption would have an easy path to his head and if it reaches his brain… And he's not even sure if he can withstand another ritual, if he can lose more of his chalk before he falls apart completely.
Albedo pulls at his bindings again, and a dull throb of pain comes from his ruined hand, still nearly torn in two from the Harbinger's attack. The rest of his limbs are just as weak though, and the metal does not budge.
The man's eyes narrow in a disapproving look. "No need for that—"
"Why?" Albedo lets out, as it's the only thing he can think of to say. He doesn't know who that man is, what he wants, or why he tried to interrupt the ritual. No one in their right mind would. "Are you part of the Fatui? Why would you—?"
"Ha, I imagine this must be a big of surprise!" the man cuts him off as he turns back to one of the grunts wheeling in a small metal table. "I couldn't help but overhear the eleventh's transmission – as always that fool has no idea what he stumbled into — and decided to take matters into my own hands." He glances at Albedo's leg, with half its thigh carved off, exposing a chalky replica of sinew, muscle and bone, and his grin widens. "Especially since, knowing our dear Tsaritsa, she'd rather grind you to dust before I even get a look."
Albedo blinks at the new information. The Tsaritsa? The Cryo Arcon? Why would she get involved? Why would she want him dead?
Albedo's Master never cared much for Gods, not enough to curse or praise them. Albedo emulated her neutrality, never bothering to attend any of the Church's services to Lord Barbatos and treating his Geo Vision as a mere convenient tool. But if his secret is out and the Cryo Archon wants him dead, who's to say any other of the Seven won't follow her example? Lord Barbatos had accompanied his group and his intentions didn't seem hostile, but he was the exception among the Archons.
"But don't worry, we won't be here long," the man continues as he glares at his surroundings. "Just enough for some preliminary tests and to pack things up again."
Albedo's eyes widen. No. He can't leave, he can't be sent away. It'll be too late, and then no one, not even the Traveller…
"You can't," Albedo starts and tugs at the bindings, even if he knows it's a useless gesture. "It's too dangerous, I'm—"
"Ah yes, your little… gunk problem," the man dismissively says. "A pity I can't get a Homunculus in perfect working condition, but I, Il Dottore of the Harbingers, always appreciate a challenge!" He gives Albedo a hungry look. "And I have so much new material to play with."
What's left of his chest aches again, but Albedo pushes the feeling down. Not now. He has things to do. He has to understand where he is, with who he is, and get out, to finish what he started—
But he can't do the ritual is left, so his only option is — unless he can get to the Traveller—
"Your composure is notable." Il Dottore's voice snaps Albedo out of his thoughts, and he realises the Harbinger is hovering over him, a new set of tools by his side. "Most people at this stage are begging for their lives."
Albedo frowns. He doesn't understand. What other people? He's not…
Il Dottore leans over him with barely contained glee. "Let's start simple. What is your purpose, homunculus?"
Albedo opens his mouth and closes it again. He's not sure what to say. He's never been asked that before, but the answer should be simple, shouldn't it? His purpose is to obey his Master discover the truth of this world look after Klee D̵̡̜͎͍͋͐̆͝È̶̤̼͓̩̞̒̏̚͝S̸͓̈́̔̇T̵̩͓̮̑̌̀̋R̵͚͚͈̯͇̄͂O̸̧͌̈̀͝Ỵ̷̧̭͎̅ ̸̢̧͈̤͎͚̬͎͓̗̘̹̖̥̟̥̘̰̰̗̳̑̅̐̚C̴̢͓̞̥͇͋́́̃͌̔͒̎̒͆̌͗̇̔̀̓̅͗̕͘̚͠ͅE̸̡̡̥͖̻̺̗͉̗̭̦̙̭͈͇̞̠̩̓́̑̀͂͂̓̈́̈́͌́͛̂̽͜͠-̷̢̫͕̪̭̙̪̮͉̺̰̯͘ͅA̴̩̟̰̙̗̥̫̮̪͎͙͖̖̟͍͕͔͐́̒͑́͝ͅŖ̸̧̛̛͉̤͇̖̹̼͈͙̺̼̻̥͍̪̫̤͖͉͊̄͛̇͛̎̆̍͑͑̓͐̽̍̆̋͋̕͝-̸̢͖̮̯̪̞̹̬͓̬̾̓͑̎̆͊́̈́̕̚͜͠M̸̛̠̒̇́̉͒̋̓͊̅͌̀̓͗̈̈́͝͝O̴̢̜̙̬̪͖̪̙̥͕͇̭͓̘̞͕̖̗̖̻̬̓̒͂̄̒͒̎͛̓̌͛͑̎̈́̾͂̕̚͠͝͠Ņ̶̢̛̞͖͙͚̯̤̤̪̗̃̇̍́͂̏D̴̨̞̪͓̘̃̏̊͊͑̐̒͒̀̑̈́̓̕͜͝-̵̹͚̤̘̼̺̞̯͂L̷̨̧̖̝̫͓̦̥̭̟͓͓͎̫̩̝̟̣̭̼̖̮͐̎Ę̸̛̞͔̤̗͕͈̠̯̰̟̉̿̄̀̓̈̒̈́̎͗̓͋͑͒̓́͛́̚̕͝ͅͅ-̴͎̠̥̳͉̬̻͎̤̂̌͑̏̀̒͆̐͗͌͐̒͑́C̵̛̺͎̿̓̌̔̿̈́̈̍̚͜͝Ḥ̴̡̯̬̦͚̪̩̫̭̺͓̥̙̟̞̹̗̒̇̏͆́̃̒̂̔͘̕͜͜͜Ó̵͇̰͎͈̤̖̝͉̻̥̼͔̌͂́̀́͒͗̓͆͐͘͝͝N̷̢̨͍̫̫̰͍̳̲̜͉̫͈̝̹̻̿͒͐͐̆͊̃̈̇̇̓͒̈́̿̓̕͜S̶̱̜̯͚̗͐̍̈́͆̇̀̀̀̽͛͑̀̄͌̈́̌̓̀-̴̢̨̰̺̲̠̱̮̦͇̤̬̥̥̬͉̩̈́͑̋́̂̓̈̏̎͌̂̋̌͛̕͘̕͜͜S̵̛̤̺̋̈́̉̒͒̏̒̓̌̌͊̒́͒̂͌̓͘͘͘͝ͅT̸̗̤̦͐͗́́Ạ̶̡̡̛̫̰̘̈́̓́͛̔̈́̃̐̾̔̀̎̋̇̕͘͜͝D̴̨̯̗̘̝̘͌͒́̽̈́̔̊̊̒̀͛̃͒͒̑̔̊̈͘̕͝T̴̡̢̧͔͕͓͈̟͈͙̱͈̭̫̰̈̾̄̈́͋̏̈́̉-̶̨̧̬̖̞̱̝̤̹̼͚͈̮̼̻̼̯̗̘̗̖̽̍̄̅̽͆̿͊͋͝Ḯ̶̧̨̢̨̝͇͍̹̜̬̦̤̻͎͔͙̘͇͇͎̥̲͌̍̊͐̄͘̕A̵̧̨̢͔̣͚̬̩̻͈͈͖̱̞͚̼͎͓͙̥̪̓̎̐́̋̄͊̾̾̅̂̀̐̆̿̿͘͜͝͠͠
Albedo lets out a choked sound as he tries saying four different things at once.
Nonplussed, Dottore manoeuvres Albedo's chin upwards and gives him an appraising look. "Hm. Bunch of crossed wires, I bet…"
He doesn't wait for Albedo to answer as he moves his head to the side, then up and down, then does the same for the homunculus' fingers and wrists. What is he...?
"But with any luck, I can do some spring cleaning and put you to better use—"
"You will not," Albedo chokes out, and he weakly narrows his eyes at the man. "I have faith in my Master's work."
"Of course you do," Il Dottore nonchalantly says as he continues his inspection. "Even if you weren't her homunculus, I'd see why." He stares at Albedo's mangled arm, then the detached leg. "Honestly, despite the damage, this is some first-rate craftsmanship." His eyes widen and his smile has a manic edge to it. "You would be the perfect assistant, the perfect soldier, the perfect test subject. A lot of my work is focused on improving the body, but there's so much you can do with a fundamentally flawed product." He then steps back with a more thoughtful frown. "But I can't see why you'd be abandoned—"
"She didn't," Albedo says before thinking. "I have an assignment."
Dottore's eyebrows rise and disappear over his mask before he continues his inspection at Albedo's torso. "Oh? Then, considering your position in those clueless Knights, are you a spy…?"
Albedo's sure he doesn't have a stomach anymore, but he still feels a phantom pain, as if it's churching. He has to respond. He can't let the Harbinger come to his own deluded conclusions.
"Discover the truth of this world," Albedo blankly recites. "That's what's been tasked of me."
Dottore pauses to look at Albedo, and the homunculus stares back with renewed confidence. Despite his obvious lack of ethics, Il Dottore seems a learned man, so he must understand the importance of Albedo's task—
Il Dottore starts laughing.
"Oh, this is…" the Harbinger says between choked laughs as he wipes a small tear. "Absolutely brilliant! And to think I have my Ruin Guards spin around in circles when I need to keep them busy."
Albedo's small smile drops. No. That's not what happened. That can't be what happened. Master wouldn't… "A cruel man would see it that way."
"Cruel? I won't object, but I'm not the one who created human life and abandoned it," Il Dottore casually says, looking back at Albedo's torso instead of his face. "Not yet. Oh, if I can just figure out how to replicate you…"
The Harbinger's voice quietens, but he still mumbles to himself as he looks over Albedo's arm again, poking at the parts with a small scalpel. The feeling was unpleasant but not painful, but it makes him even more lightheaded… Thankfully It's not Durin, even if his concern is now a constant thrum against his mind, one that he can still push back. He's just tired, so his mind wanders.
Perhaps Il Dottore's casual disregard is a small mercy. After all, he has not asked Albedo if he knows how to create a homunculus.
And he does.
He's not sure if he should. He wasn't supposed to. He didn't seek out that knowledge, merely stumbled upon it while tidying his Master's archives. It was by sheer stroke of luck that the pile of journals he was carrying collapsed, and one of the messier notebooks opened up to a set of alchemical circles superimposed on a human body. Albedo quickly went to gather them back up, but the diagrams intrigued him, and soon he was reading his master's notes of his own creation.
He didn't think much of it at the time. His Master did not explicitly forbid him from reading from any of her notes. Quite the opposite, she was teaching him alchemy, even if Albedo's progress was slow, considering his aptitude for it. Besides, he had plenty of time to finish his task, so such a small diversion would make no difference, and, despite some missing pages, the notes were—
The remnants of dried human gametes, mixed with chalk and placed within a goat's womb, suspended upside down and within an alchemical circle. Left to grow for a few months and topped up with chalk, the circle and protections ensure the organ would stretch according to the subject's growth and not tear.
(Which explained Albedo's youthful appearance and small stature. A fine balance between keeping his growth comparable to an adult human while minimising complexity and the burden of growth.)
Followed by a long, long list of failed attempts:
The seed did not take and the chalk blackened and rotted.
…
The womb tore and spilled its premature contents.
…
Teratogenesis.
…
A few months later, an emptied womb. Lines of gold inlaid on the body following alchemical patterns.
(And that was Albedo's first memory, a secret he's told no one, for he's never been asked. A memory made up of no sight or sound or smell, for he did not have such senses yet, but only of touch. Taken out of a snug place to a vast expanse of nothingness, a serene emptiness until something large enough to cover his whole form engulfed him, flipped him over, and carved him as he writhed. Not painful. Warm. Foreign. Incomprehensible.)
Transferred to a vat, in a slightly acidic solution. The subsequent redox reaction removing the chalk not tightly bound to the main body, the latter which was protected by the gold infusion. More chalk dumped into the vat until the mixture turned alkaline and facilitated further growth by absorbing the dissolved chalk.
Followed by a long, long, long list of failed attempts yet again:
Gold spilled and melted the body.
…
The bath was too acidic and completely dissolved the body.
…
The bath was too basic and the body calcified like a fossil.
…
Teratogenesis.
…
Increasingly frustrated notes, ramblings of moving away from fully anatomically accurate human models as those would take too long to cultivate, to simpler forms that still dissolved to nothing.
(And scratched out on the margins in barely legible handwriting, his Master wrote of how she acquired a heart from her dearest creation, how it was corrupted beyond repair but still beat with the power of alchemy that made it and she had put it in the womb along with the chalk in an experiment she would fail, like so many others before it.)
And then Albedo was born.
A simple note of 'It worked!' above a sketch of him, and back then the first time Albedo saw himself outside a mirror. Hair still wet from the solution, hands over wide eyes and mouth agape like a fish out of water. Captioned 'the little chalk princeling takes his first breath'.
And then, a checklist.
Cry ✗
Breathe ✗
Hear ✓
See ✓
Feel (Touch) ✓
Eat ✓
Walk ✓
Talk ✓
Understand ✓
Think ✗ ?
He didn't finish reading through the checklist before his master wretched the notebook from his hands. Albedo doesn't remember her expression, but she radiated an aura of displeasure.
"What are you doing?"
"Reading."
He did remember her subsequent grimace on his Master's face, and how it stirred the same sort of discomfort as when he feared he failed a task.
"How much?"
"Not all. I skim-read some parts."
"Tell me everything you remember reading from that section. That's an order."
Master's orders were typically more courteous and thorough, but Albedo obeyed anyway. He described each section to the best of his ability, elaborating that he skipped some proofs but could probably reverse engineer them, and pointing out when he didn't remember exact words and had to paraphrase.
He did not mention how this new information shed light on his previously incomprehensible first memory, of his body being molded by her hands. He didn't think it relevant.
After he concluded his retelling, Master sighed and stowed the notebook away into the many folds of her robes.
"… Did I do something wrong?" Albedo asked after she stayed silent.
"If I order you to forget all you read from this book, would you do so?"
Albedo would try, of course, but he sensed that's not the true meaning of her question. "I will do anything you order me to, but in this case I'm not sure I can make myself forget things." Though it wasn't an order yet, that admission filled him with a sense of failure, so he thought up an alternative. "But I can make sure not to tell another soul, by your order."
Another sigh. "That'll do. You are not to replicate, relay or try in any way to disseminate the contents of these notes. That's an order."
Albedo nodded. "Should I also avoid looking at alchemical texts during my spare time?"
Master gave him a long look. She finally opened her mouth to speak but Albedo can't remember her voice anymore, can't remember her answer as the memory fades to nothing.
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"I'll kill him—!"
Kaeya is barely holding back a frazzled Diluc from his lapels, a gesture that would normally put his life at risk, if his adopted brother's murderous intent was not solely directed at an inappropriately perky Harbinger.
"It's really not me," an equally dishevelled Childe casually says, ignoring the massive claymore poised for his thin neck. "But if you're itching for a fight—"
"Who else?!" Sucrose asks over Diluc's growled threats, equally outraged. "You found out that Master Albedo is a homunculus—!"
"A what now?" Childe asks with a clueless tilt of his head. "Is that Mondstadtian slang for people with beast blood like you?"
Sucrose blushes and chokes over the rest of her accusation, equally angry and flustered.
Kaeya's slowly but steadily losing control of Diluc's lapels. "Don't play dumb, Fatui—!"
"He's not playing dumb," Kaeya mutters through gritted teeth, but his insightful remarks go ignored as always.
"Everyone calm down!" a singed Paimon yells over the pandemonium. "No one's fighting anyone!"
"Yes please," Noelle adds, "everyone's already shaken up from the attack, we shouldn't be pointing fingers—"
"Hey, what is that thing you said?" Childe turns to Sucrose. She tries to back away, but his stride is too large and he catches up to her with a few steps. "Hom-what?"
"Homunculus," Zhongli repeats, equally puzzled. "A perfect human; a paradox, in my opinion at least, as what is considered perfect differs from person to person, so in universal terms it can be argued there is no such thing. But an intriguing proposition, one that held as long-standing belief that a perfect human would be perfectly rational, not burdened with emotions—"
"That's not true!" Sucrose yells loudly enough that her cracked glasses nearly fall off her face. The room goes quiet at her outburst, and she grows increasingly flustered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. Just… My start as an apprentice alchemist at the Knights of Favonius was troubled. There were so many things I didn't know, so many things I wanted to do, yet my experiments kept failing. I grew so frustrated and also ashamed of myself…" She fiddles with her hands, looking at the floor. "Then Master Albedo wanted us to have a meeting, and I was so panicked as I thought he wanted to talk about my lack of progress and even—" she cuts herself off. "… And he did talk about my lack of progress and if there was something I needed but I was sure the fault was with me and… I started crying."
Kaeya's not sure where Sucrose is going with this, but he doesn't interrupt, intrigued by the new information. Diluc and Childe must feel similarly, for their homicidal rants have been temporarily put on hold.
"It was so embarrassing," Sucrose continued. "I thought my career was over. But then Mr Albedo…" Her ears are flat against her head with a visible blush. "He came over and held my hand and tried to calm me down… And we talked a lot more, not just about my research, but about how I felt. He wanted to know the difficulties I had and reassured me it wasn't because I was stupid or lazy…" Her voice grows quieter, but she keeps talking; "And after that, he helped me a lot with setting up, getting a solid basis of knowledge to make my hypotheses, and even troubleshooting some of my failed experiments…." Her expression shifts to a small smile. "All that after a mandatory week vacation of course." She looks up, finally realising that she has been rambling, and she fumbles for her final words. "What I'm trying to say is that Mr Albedo feels deeply, but he has trouble showing it."
"Yeah!" Klee adds. As far as Kaeya can tell, she's as worried as an eight-year-old can be, meaning she has become even more hyperactive. "My mama has left for an expedition so she's not in the house, and even though I know she will be back, I miss her and sometimes I feel sad but when I do, Albedo always makes me something yummy, or we play, or we go on an adventure!"
Childe takes a few moments, but his mouth forms a perfect 'o'. "Wait, so your Chief Alchemist is…"
The Harbinger's voice sends Diluc into action, and Kaeya grabs hold of his belt for a sturdier grip this time. "Don't change the subject and don't give that bast—" He glances at a confused Klee with a grimace. "Don't give him more information."
"Interesting," Zhongli says. "From that reaction, I take it you were aware that Mr Albedo is a homunculus but withheld this information from us?"
"Eh, did you seriously just figure that out?!" an outraged Paimon starts, but Traveller quickly covers her mouth with their hand.
"The only one who knew the exact details of our plan was within this group," Diluc speaks up, glaring at the crowd before his eyes land on — surprise surprise — the Harbinger. "Or corresponded with someone outside of this group."
"Oh, like that falcon that you kept exchanging letters with?" Childe says with a nonchalance of dubious honesty.
"My correspondence was with the Acting Grandmaster of the Knight of Favonius."
"Birds can be shot down," Childe says with a mock gesture of taking aim with an imaginary bow.
The Harbinger must be deliberately pushing Diluc's buttons, taking both potshots at his falconry and genuine affections for his birds.
"And what about your correspondence, Mr Harbinger?" Kaeya asks, laying his cards on the table to prevent a premature murder. "I remember a quick letter penned while we were in Liyue."
"Oh yeah, that was just to let them know what happened with the emergency raised by the Dragonspine group," Childe says, losing none of his cheer, and Kaeya is once again confused as to the extent of his act. "Basic stuff, they died, Chief Alchemist most likely perpetrator, sticking around to monitor the situation, blah blah boring bureaucratic stuff."
"And a call to action I'm sure," Diluc growls.
"Action to do what?" Childe asks. "I admit he's strange, especially with what you said about the uh, homunculus thing, but why should I care?"
"As suspicious as this is, I must cast my doubts on a theory of direct betrayal," Zhongli calmly interjects. "Despite his allegiance, Childe is not one to go for subterfuge."
"Yeah, I am a very straightforward guy, unlike some people here." The Harbinger gives Zhongli a pointed look, which is another matter for Kaeya to unpack. He has no clue what the innocuous funeral consultant has done to draw the ire of the Harbinger, or how he is so casual at receiving said ire.
"We still have to find Albedo, though!" Paimon says, then shivers. "Oh, where did all those monsters even come from?!"
Silence falls to their group, and Kaeya glances at the member who's been silent so far. Venti, the 'bard' has stayed back sitting on a large rock and looking away in the horizon. Oh, the things Kaeya would give to know what's going through his mind…
Right on cue, Venti meets his gaze with a small smile and a strum, and Kaeya looks away.
"… Could it have been the Abyss Order?" Noelle hesitantly suggests. "I don't mean to cause alarm, but we were attacked by Ruin Guards…"
"A surprisingly well-coordinated attack too," Kaeya adds, so he can integrate himself into the conversation. "Which is unlike them… mobilising so many Ruin Guards and Ruin Hunters for… what?" Kaeya's confusion is faked, for he has a few guesses as to what the Abyss order could do with someone possessing the lost Art of Khemia, but that is something for him only to worry about.
Childe straightens in a sudden realisation. "Oh!"
Diluc all but hisses. "Oh?"
"I have a likely suspect in mind. This homunculus thing is probably right up his alley," Childe says, uncaring for Diluc's glare. "He abandoned that place, but if he intercepted my message…"
"Intercepted?!" Paimon exclaimed. "Now isn't that convenient!"
"I wouldn't be surprised," Diluc scoffs, uncharacteristically tame. It reminded Kaeya of a late night conversation between him, Rosaria and Diluc, where the nun expressed worry at the Fatui's schemes. Diluc said he shared her worries but was also of the opinion that most people have an overcomplicated view of how the Fatui operate. In his words 'They imagine the Fatui to have overlapping intricate plans of exploiting alliances when in fact, any move they make might as well be followed by eight winky faces.'
Looking back at a clueless Childe trying to defend himself from Paimon, Kaeya holds back a bitter remark that life really is a comedy of errors.
\*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*/
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