Kaeya remembered once.
Of the time he asked Diluc if he was fine.
It was just a simple evening.
The two brothers were alone in the Ragnvindr Manor.
Laying on the floor instead of their soft beds.
Kaeya remembered how Diluc laughed then.
How it was a little forced.
Maybe even unsure.
"I am fine," Diluc lied to him.
Kaeya lied to him, too, at the time, "Yeah, same here."
He remembered how Diluc had turned to his side.
Splaying his arm to rest his head against it.
How his crimson locks looked so surreal in the candle light.
"I'm a Calvary Captain," Diluc told him, "I have to be."
Although it was easy to know who he tried to convince.
Kaeya turned on his side at that time.
Mirrored his brother on the floor.
Kaeya knew he couldn't say it.
Wouldn't dare to admit it.
Master Crepus was happy.
Proud of all that his sons accomplished.
Prouder still with Diluc's achievements and prestige.
Diluc had such a large image to uphold that it held him captive unknowingly.
It wasn't an act.
It really wasn't.
Diluc was truly dedicated to his duty.
So proficient in almost all areas he had been given.
But Kaeya knew him.
Grew up with him.
Watched him from afar.
Even joined the knights when it didn't interest him in the slightest.
The Ragnvindr had too many expectations, too much weight.
Diluc drowned in it.
So Kaeya spoke for him instead.
"You're not fine. You just want to sleep for a hundred years."
It was a joke at the time.
Just like all the other jokes they shared with Jean.
Kaeya remembered how Diluc's smile turned strained.
How those crimson eyes looked tired within seconds.
Because at the time, they were only teenagers.
With burdens and expectations that stacked higher and higher.
Kaeya hated it then.
He never showed it, burying his emotions with a smile.
Diluc didn't like it either.
He never showed it, dutifully taking the responsibility without a word.
Until that simple night in the past.
On the floor of their room.
Where Diluc laughed like the tired teen he was.
Maybe that was why Kaeya leaned back.
Stared at the bright world outside of Diluc's room.
The wild mess of papers was gone.
The evidence squirreled away in the depths of his own room.
Kaeya tied a black ribbon around his wrist.
One of the many that Diluc had used to tie the wild crimson locks.
He took one last look of the room.
It really did struck him then.
How simple Diluc kept his room.
A crude reminder of the truths Kaeya discovered.
Truths that he dared to believe in.
It was probably a vain hope.
A useless endeavor.
But he wanted to—
No, he needed to.
There was so much left unfinished.
And Kaeya refused to leave it like that.
There was too much that he needed to tell Diluc.
His own truths that he hidden away out of fear.
There was too much to leave unfinished.
And Diluc was the last piece needed.
If Kaeya didn't have Mondstadt, he would've left.
He would've dropped everything, just to find the truth.
But even that wouldn't make anything better.
There was no lead, no true place to look.
Unless he searched all of Mondstadt first.
He couldn't just leave Mondstadt, either.
The very home Diluc had dedicated himself to.
The very home that took him in with open arms.
A home Crepus had promised was his.
He couldn't just leave Adelinde to the empty Manor.
Couldn't just leave Elzer the affairs of the Winery.
Couldn't just leave Jean alone— or even Lisa.
He built a life here.
He couldn't throw it away.
But he could wait.
Patiently.
Impatiently.
For years if he had to.
Kaeya ran a hand on the desk.
"Don't sleep for a hundred years, 'Luc."
A terribly rueful smile graced his face, "Even I can't wait that long."
It took seconds, maybe minutes to finally move.
Step after step.
Until he finally stepped into the hall.
The door to Diluc's empty room wide open.
"I promise, I'll be right here when you get back."
The soft sunlight that filtered through windows was his only answer in the deafening silence.
He clicked the door closed a moment later.
Held on to the knob a second too long.
And finally walked away.
._._._._._.
"What's your family like?"
Diluc blinked at Ajax, who merely shrugged.
"You know mine. It's only fair I know about yours."
Diluc looked at him.
Really looked at him—
And only saw pure honesty and curiosity.
He remembered how Kaeya used to look at him like that.
Whenever Kaeya couldn't understand the hundreds of words on a page.
Or that time when he was curious about the winery, or the Knights.
It was an expression that Diluc could never ignore.
So Diluc told him.
Told Ajax about Kaeya.
How the younger was quite the trouble maker.
How many times Diluc had to save his brother's ass in the Knights.
How Kaeya never, never failed to be there for him.
To speak truths that even Diluc hesitated to admit.
Diluc didn't care if Kaeya wasn't his blood brother.
It made no difference to him.
Kaeya grew up with him.
Knew him all too well.
Stayed by his side when he could.
Diluc loved him so much.
Even felt the joy and pride he had for Kaeya.
They were brothers— family, after all.
He told Ajax about Crepus.
The older Ragnvindr was his only parent.
That his mother passed not long after Diluc's first few breaths.
Crepus had given him the best a father could.
Raised him with love and care.
But said nothing more.
It jarred Diluc.
His mind was still a mess.
It always fell back to his father's melancholy smiles.
Of his father's broken dreams that only Diluc had achieved.
Instead of the times where his father truly smiled.
Praised him genuinely for just being his son.
Maybe, if Ajax asked earlier, then he'd have much to say.
Diluc did try— but his words would get stuck in his throat.
Long enough that Ajax assumed that he was done.
"I wonder if Father is scared of me."
Ajax rested his head on Diluc's shoulder.
"Probably scared for you," he huffed, "like me."
Diluc didn't shove him off his shoulder.
"I need to go home."
Ajax didn't look up.
Gripped the edge of Diluc's sleeve.
And said nothing else.
._._._._._.
Flames danced.
Twisting and churning in the frigid air.
Chains impaled themselves in the ground.
Splayed from one side to the other.
Diluc panted on his knees.
It took him weeks.
Maybe even months.
To pour his heart into mastering the Delusion.
But it was still too erratic.
Too savage.
Diluc swore it was like a wild animal.
The way the chains had haphazardly stabbed the grounds around him was enough proof.
The flickering black flames took long seconds to burn away.
But it was better than directly destroying the palace walls.
At this point, Diluc figured he made some progress.
He fell to his back, staring up at the gray skies.
All the snow had already melted away.
It left nothing but dried stone beneath him.
Diluc huffed.
It was strange how the Delusion was like his own Vision.
Maybe even scary.
Diluc closed his eyes.
Wondered how the hell was he supposed to master the damn thing.
At least, he managed to get his Vision and Delusion to accept each other.
Ish.
His Vision was hidden underneath his coat now.
Close to his hip, and comfortingly warm.
Unlike the times where it would be on the other side of the room.
His Vision was easier to handle.
Kinder.
Passionately warm at his hip.
His Delusion was difficult.
Vicious.
Passionately eager on his hand.
It was a horrible clash that constantly fought each other.
Diluc nearly huffed in mild frustration.
Ajax wasn't around to help him.
Wasn't allowed to, really.
He could ask.
But he tried once and never tried again.
The cold look in the Tsaritsa's eyes was enough to back away.
Words of shitty Scaramouche advice was all he was allowed.
"Still pathetic, I see."
Crimson eyes blinked open.
Scaramouche stared at Diluc.
Diluc stared at Scaramouche.
"Maybe a little more incentive might help you."
Diluc was about to ask.
About to politely (if not sarcastically) ask what he meant by that.
But he didn't.
Couldn't.
Instead, Diluc scrambled to his feet.
Almost tripped over his chains as he hightailed out of the training grounds.
A crackle of lightning followed his footsteps.
He ran down whatever hall.
Dodged flashes of lightning that blocked his way.
No— guided his way from one place to another.
It was less of a wild chase than it was a race.
Scaramouche was right behind him.
Laughed like an utter maniac.
Hot on Diluc's heels.
He turned one more corner.
Only for his neck to be caught in a violent grip.
He struggled in the hold, gripping the thin, yet strong arm that held him captive.
A light grey met crimson.
The other grey was covered by the black mask.
Like a raven that took residence on her face.
She held him, uncaring of his struggle.
"What a delicate little neck you have."
She smirked, platinum blonde falling over her shoulder.
"I would love to break it sometime."
Diluc gasped at the sudden rush of air in his lungs.
The force of her throw had him hurling out of a window.
Shattered the glass and scratched his exposed skin.
It didn't end there.
A rush of ice pushed him away.
Further and further from any saving grace.
It was only when Diluc was blasted out of the palace did he realize how much he messed up.
Airborne and nothing to hold on to.
Diluc blanked out then.
Because below him was nothing.
Nothing but solid ice several feet deep.
Then a steep drop into the city.
Diluc flailed.
Like a helpless chick that fell out its nest.
Scrambled to reach for absolutely anything.
He could barely hear anything.
But he could see everything.
Of how Ajax ran across a courtyard in a flurry.
Most likely screaming his name at the top of his lungs.
How he was struck and twisted around like a rag doll the next instant.
Two Harbingers worked in tandem to lock Ajax in place.
At the corner of his eye, he could see someone else.
From one of the many balconies of the palace.
The Tsaritsa stood serenely.
Hands clasped together, and shoulders relaxed.
Watched him with those cold dead eyes.
And did nothing.
If his heart sank, then his dread dropped faster.
But he refused to give up.
He took his fear, his growing horror.
And screamed at the top of his lungs.
"For once, just help me!"
He didn't know who he asked.
Or what he wanted.
He swore to himself that he wouldn't die.
To take the easy way out like a foolish coward.
He refused to die before he could see his family— any of them.
His desire to just survive this hell of a fall overrode everything else.
A familiar power flooded his veins.
Poured out of his hands like a broken floodgate.
The erratic chains weren't erratic anymore.
No longer animalistic.
They were surer.
Focused.
Purposeful.
They twisted in the air with a certain intent.
And imbedded themselves in a stone wall.
It didn't break.
Even when Diluc instinctively pulled when gravity yanked him down.
He almost slammed into the wall.
Almost dangled from the outskirts of the castle.
Still a couple tens of feet from a safe drop.
Diluc clung on to the chains like a lifeline.
His feet landed on the wall instead of his side.
Saved himself from a myriad of broken ribs.
And traded it for fractured legs instead.
He didn't think of what to do next.
Even when knives tore through his legs.
He didn't want to think.
He let himself go.
Moved on pure instinct.
Leapt off the wall with black pyro propelling him.
Used the chains to arc upward.
His newest flames licked at his boots.
Serene and pure.
Laced with Delusion.
Even as he was airborne once more.
His hip was warmer now.
And Diluc dismissed the chains.
Only to twist in the air to gain more height.
The air was so cold.
Almost too frigid to even breathe.
But Diluc was warm.
Like a warm summer day in Mondstadt.
He started to drop again.
Barely even reached where Scaramouche stood.
A curious glee adorned his forever young face.
He stood right next to another Harbinger.
Her face oddly smiling.
Both held Ajax.
Pinned him under a veil of Cyro and Electro.
Unable to save him this time.
But that was fine.
Because for once, Diluc knew he'd be fine.
He refused to die again, after all.
.
As he fell, a Phoenix took flight.
.
.
Burned its wings into his back.
.
.
.
And Diluc caught the wind.
.
.
.
.
Fiery feathers trailed in his wake.
._._._._._.
Scaramouche couldn't help his curiosity.
It was so strange to see a little ball of fire in the midst of frozen empire.
He could hardly believe it when he heard that Her Majesty gifted a lowly brat a Delusion.
It was so absurd that he had to see it for himself.
He never expected that damn little thing to blow a wall on him.
Intentional or not, Scaramouche still held a bit of grudge over his ruined hat.
But his curiosity ate at him.
Like a vicious itch that wouldn't leave him alone.
The crimson the brat held had been an oddity he couldn't ignore.
There was so much latent power hidden beneath that pale skin.
It slept deeply.
Yet, it argued against the Delusion.
So he watched him.
Even gave advice to see if the brat had potential.
Months of slow progress made him a tad impatient.
Which was exactly why he roped another Harbinger in the mess.
To give the brat some sort of boost.
It was easy, really.
Signora was curious as well.
Seen the crimson brat around the palace enough times to gain her attention.
(If she wasn't then she would've just killed the brat if he got in her way.)
They had a plan.
A little running around wouldn't hurt.
Whether he lived or died all depended on the brat.
They had one tiny problem.
A certain pesky self-proclaimed brother of the brat would only cause them trouble.
Which is exactly why they had no qualms pinning Tartaglia to the ground.
Who came running, just as expected, when he saw the brat running for his life.
(A bit of payback for the times their fellow Harbinger had gotten on their nerves.)
Electro and Cryo entwined enough to keep the battle hungry Harbinger grounded.
Scaramouche laughed.
Really— it was all too hilarious.
Not once in his long life had he imagined this.
Signora stood by him.
Placed a clawed hand on her seemingly delicate hip.
"When you asked about chasing a brat out of the palace—"
He ignored her sarcastic tone.
"I didn't think it would fly."
Tartaglia yelled something.
Probably something about releasing him so he could kill them both.
Something about avenging his brother for forcing a death on him just for kicks.
But it wasn't for kicks.
Or for fun.
That was just an extra.
It was purely for his own curiosity.
Scaramouche couldn't take it anymore.
He swore he heard a story about this somewhere.
About mythical birds made of pyro and some faux sort of immortality.
A worthless one that didn't have merit or proof of existing— meaningless.
Until now.
It was then that he realized that the brat wasn't just a brat.
And the Tsaritsa knew it.
His laughter died to a disbelieving huff.
A grin pulled as his lips.
"Neither did I."
._._._._._.
The Tsaritsa watched.
The little Phoenix tried too hard.
Seemed so eager to master her blessing.
A blessing she wondered if it would break him or not.
Her "blessings" were not always suitable for just anyone.
Somehow, the little Phoenix hadn't burned away yet.
Yet, she could understand.
She could see how much the little Phoenix had missed home.
The way his face softened with her Harbinger.
Or that time when she asked him.
How his face looked so kind, when he thought of home.
There would've been people waiting for him.
If they knew that he was still alive.
But Mondstadt didn't know.
Dottore ensured it.
It was cruel.
Heartless.
But just once, she wanted to see it.
That pure determination in crimson eyes.
Which was exactly why she only watched from afar.
Even as the little Phoenix was thrown from the palace walls.
Into the frigid air, hundreds of feet from any semblance of safety.
And fell to the frozen outskirts of her home.
It didn't phase her.
It was the Little Phoenix's problem to solve.
She could always send someone to retrieve him.
If he failed.
She waited patiently, still as freshly fallen snow.
The Tsaritsa didn't smile when a spot of crimson came flying back.
As fiery wings made of nothing but Pyro lifted the little Phoenix into the air.
How beautiful it was to watch red and black dance elegantly in the backdrop of white.
How those ardent, vermillion wings fluttered in its full wingspan.
Of a love so compassionate, so endearing.
Yet seemed so delicate and brilliant.
The very thing she wanted to see.
She watched as her little Harbinger broke out of his restraints.
Almost too desperate and too awestruck to acknowledge his own pain.
And reached for the little Phoenix that shouldn't be here.
Who dropped in a heap, bits of feathers burning away.
In the safety of the Zapolyarny Palace garden.
A little Phoenix that she intended to break.
To claim it as hers and seal it away.
To spare it from her brewing war.
But the Tsaritsa couldn't.
Not anymore.
Not when he looked at her.
With those crimson eyes that spoke of warmth and kindness.
Of compassion that bore deep into his bones.
Tartaglia shared those same eyes.
Cerulean emotions genuine as he declared the Phoenix family.
She wondered then.
Which the little Phoenix held closer to his own heart.
Snezhnaya— or Mondstadt.
Love or Freedom.
She wondered more.
How those precious wings of his would tear apart.
If all he knew were turned into pitiful ashes.
If that freedom of his was just a lie.
If that love he knew was just a lie.
The Tsaritsa didn't smile.
But her heart ached.
Slowly thawed.
For once, in such a long time, did she feel a flicker.
A flicker of warmth.
So dear, kind, loving—
She crushed the flicker a second later.
Refroze her heart like a glacier ripping it apart.
If only she hadn't met the little Phoenix, she could've seen it through.
Could've uprooted him out from Barbatos' hands like she originally planned.
Could've seen him sealed away with her Harbingers— never to see the light of day.
(A mercy she held for every Phoenix that appeared in all of Teyvat.)
If only she hadn't indulged in that moment of her yearning desire.
To feel a sweet warmth that was far too selfish and selfless.
But it was too late to take it back now.
Too late to spare the little Phoenix.
Nor was she ready to let go.
The Tsaritsa watched.
How her Eleventh Harbinger cherished the little Phoenix.
Threw death threats with the ferocity he was known for in battles.
How the Sixth and Eighth Harbingers merely waved him off.
Neither caring for the "almost" murder in the palace.
How the little Phoenix looked up at her.
Bore his crimson into her pure cold.
It was then that she began to wonder.
.
.
.
.
How long could she trap a little Phoenix in a frozen cage—
Before he would melt the bars and fly away?
.
.
.
.
.
.
.