There was a certain claymore against the wall.
The pale accents quietly gleamed in it.
The golden wings were carved into its' cross-guard.
The very steel of the large blade held a hint of pyro inlaid within.
It was a remnant of battles old.
Forged with a steel that stood the test of time.
Crafted with the skill of a Phoenix's flames.
The claymore had sat here for years.
But nothing close to so many decades.
The Tsaritsa hadn't moved it from the last she placed it.
A small chain was wrapped around the winged hilt loosely.
It held the weight of an empty Liyuen Vision for years.
The Tsaritsa knew these items well.
Had seen that claymore in the hands of her beloved Phoenix.
Had seen that empty, empty vision dangle pointlessly from her beloved Phoenix's chest.
It was all that her Beloved Phoenix had left with her.
She did wonder once or twice what Morax thought of it.
Wondered if Morax even cared about that wandering Phoenix born of his lands.
(Of course, that old dragon did.
How could he not?
He was the one forced to watch so many die under his wings.
Forced to witness the price of their defiance against Celestia—)
The Tsaritsa could only imagine what that past was like.
(Maybe she could ask— but would it dig up a horrendous wound instead?)
She reached over, lifted the claymore out of its place.
Its weight was nothing in her frozen hands.
Even though the pyro defied her touch, she dared not to let go.
The empty Vision dangled by her wrist, void of light.
"Come," she breathed to the blade.
"It's time that I return you to where you belong."
._._._._._.
Diluc stood beside Ajax.
His red scarf was half-assedly wrapped around him.
The ends of it sorely needed a repair.
There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Mother would probably fuss over that.
(Would his own mother do the same?)
Ajax tucked a messy strand under his Fatui mask at the side.
It was starting to get a little too long now.
Any longer and he'd have to tie it up soon.
"You ready to go?" Ajax asked.
There wasn't much in his hands.
Just a couple of essentials for their trip.
Maybe another toy for Teucer in there.
(Diluc very clearly remembered Ajax packing a large crateful of goodies to his family just a few days ago.)
Diluc, himself, had a light bag, too.
He didn't bring much to begin with.
He didn't have anything to bring home either.
Well, other than the delusion that still sat on his hand.
"Ready when you are," he answered.
._._._._._.
La Signora didn't know what to think.
For one thing, she hadn't expected to be demoted into deliveries.
She stared at the large package that the Tsaritsa had given her.
Its weight was awfully heavy— something so cumbersome to deliver.
When Signora first received it, she wanted to reject it.
But the Tsaritsa gave it to her directly.
Even gave her a look that screamed of the importance of it.
In all honesty, she wondered why she had to deliver it personally to a certain little brat.
She was curious about him, really.
A seemingly weak thing could sprout a pair of wings and fly—
And yet stayed within the walls of this Palace longer than she thought.
Then again, her Tsaritsa had a dream so beautiful— who wouldn't want to serve her?
But it was strange.
That brat felt familiar.
Oddly familiar.
("Now— remember, when greeting the Tsaritsa, you must—"
"Yeah, yeah— I can address her however I want. We're friends."
"You could, at least, listen to me."
"Ahaha, all right, sure. I'll humor you.")
Oddly familiar in a way that frustrated her.
It had been so long since then.
So long since she had to reign in her frustration to not attack a certain Phoenix.
But it hadn't been that long since she last seen that Phoenix.
That day never sat well with Signora.
She remembered it clearly.
How that Phoenix didn't fly into the capital.
Actually took a train and even requested to see the First Harbinger by name.
How that Phoenix was so quiet.
So resigned.
Even when she stepped into the throne room.
Signora never saw her again.
Now, standing here at the train station of the capital, she began to wonder.
Would this also be similar to that Phoenix?
Would this brat constantly return just like the last?
Until the day he would ask for his rest?
Signora huffed.
To worry about such a trivial thing wasn't hers to dwell upon.
Which was exactly why she crossed her arms when she spotted the two infamous brats.
Tartaglia practically shoved that little bird behind him with the most challenging smile on his face.
"La Signora!" he greeted, "Here to see me off?"
"You're late," was all she said.
Her voice was flat and leveled.
Childe wasn't who she wanted to deal with.
"Move aside, Childe. I need to talk to that brother of yours."
The skepticism on his face was almost too much, but Signora didn't laugh.
Instead, she waved a hand, "Hurry up; I have an important guest on the next train."
Diluc easily sidestepped Childe, who spluttered.
His face was slightly tense, despite the nearly convincing flat look.
He moved to speak, probably to say something polite.
(Funny how this Phoenix's mother was the complete opposite.)
And Signora grabbed the large package.
Hefted the heavy thing with a hand.
And held it up to the little bird.
"My Tsaritsa wanted to give this to you," she spoke to him, "And no, that's not a choice."
Diluc took it from her, awkwardly holding the large box in his arms.
It was then that the train she waited for finally arrived.
The breaks screeched resoundingly as it came to a stop behind her.
Passengers from all over flooded past them.
She crossed her arms, finally free of her burden, "There is nothing else I have for you."
Diluc stared up at her.
And really, she didn't expect anything from him.
But then, Diluc stepped forward, "Thank you, La Signora."
For a moment there, she almost didn't know how to respond, "This is nothing to thank me for."
He gave her a kind smile— one that looked just like that Phoenix's, "All the more reason to thank you."
The horn of another train hollered, signaling their last call for passengers.
It was amusing to hear Childe curse before they rushed across the platform.
Lugging that large package like a pair of clumsy children.
Right into the train's first class.
Or was it some weird obscure nostalgia that made her amused?
As the train left, Signora didn't bother to watch it go.
Instead, she turned on her heel and eyed her original task.
The task to escort a young man directly to her Tsaritsa.
A young man that could easily defeat Signora if she wasn't careful.
It wasn't hard to find him.
He most certainly stood out with his Liyuen overcoat.
The lack of a heavy winter coat was also a rather large hint.
A tall man stood rather lost on the emptying platform.
His golden amber eyes were oddly focused on a certain departing train.
But he looked away, meeting her gaze with a calm air of regality.
"Good day," the man greeted rather simply.
His voice was deep and calm, "You must be La Signora, the Eighth Harbinger. Correct?"
Signora put on a smile, a show that she displayed for all to see.
"That you are," she returned, placing a hand on her hip, "And what name shall I call you?"
The man placed a thoughtful hand to his chin, even hummed for a moment, "You may call me Zhongli."
He placed his hands behind his back and gave her a stony smile, "I am here to make a contract with your Tsaritsa."
._._._._._.
(While Ajax yanked him into a train, Diluc felt his breath leave.
Why— he almost couldn't explain.
There was a presence that arrived with another train.
One that was almost dismissible at first.
But it felt so damn close to the Tsaritsa.
Powerful, yet so much older—
Diluc stumbled behind Ajax.
Crimson eyes scanning the windows to find it, them— whatever that was.
Then he caught a glimpse of it— no, them.
It was only for a mere second.
Golden amber eyes spotted him through a frosted window.
It was only for a mere moment.
And Diluc lost sight of them as the train started to move.)
._._._._._.
The train rattled.
The spacious room of the first class cabin was a tad too big for just the two of them.
But neither of them minded so much.
The box that Signora gave Diluc was flat on the floor.
And it stayed there while.
It was only when they were finally a few miles out did Ajax say something.
"You should open it."
Diluc tore his eyes away from the window.
He didn't say anything for a moment.
In all honesty, he didn't want to open it.
Not much, really.
But he glanced at Ajax, who nodded to him, and opened it.
What was inside wasn't what they expected.
(—Not that they knew what to expect.)
But the intricate claymore wasn't it.
The carefully crafted golden wings almost seemed to gleam under the artificial light.
The pale accents seemed to glow under his touch.
Diluc felt its smooth surface with his barren hand, running over the etched blade.
Pyro hummed beneath his fingertips.
Even resonated with his Vision in a quiet light.
It was then that he knew exactly who it belonged to.
He looked up to Ajax, whose eyes almost seemed to glitter.
But there was a quiet understanding that hid behind those cerulean eyes.
"Firefly—" Ajax began, "We're definitely testing that out when we reach the end of the line."
Diluc knew him all too well at this point, "Sure. Why not?"
He didn't smile as he gripped the handle.
Diluc took one last look at the claymore.
And dismissed it.
Claimed it as his to call.
His to use and master.
A loud clank of a dead Vision echoed in the cabin car.
Ajax's grin disappeared in an instant.
Because even he knew who that belonged to.
The Tsaritsa told them both about Diluc's mother.
About the dead Vision she always carried.
Diluc held it in the palm of his hand.
The metal was cold.
Lifeless.
He almost didn't know what to think of it.
Maybe it was because his heart still felt heavy.
As if he just took up a burden that his own mother passed to him.
Intentionally or not.
He didn't know what to do with it.
Maybe it was nothing but a memento now.
A keepsake from those long gone.
Diluc felt his heart ache.
But he clenched his hand over the dead Vision—
And tucked it into his pocket.
He'd figure it out later.
._._._._._.
Diluc's newest claymore wasn't something to mess with.
Ajax found that out the hard way.
As promised, they tested it out.
Not against each other-
But against hilichurls that camped along their path.
Pyro danced in the air, lighting up the night sky.
It was almost on par with the stars that glittered that night.
In all honesty, there wasn't a need for Ajax to fight at all.
Diluc took them down with so much ease- as if he was born to wield the claymore.
Better yet, the claymore seemed like it was specifically made for him.
Or maybe it was just a testimony of how much Diluc took after his mother.
The sun began to peak over the horizon.
The sky painted itself with the dawn with each passing minute.
Ajax could see his hometown from a distance.
A whole weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.
The air was different here.
Calmer.
Kinder.
Gently still.
Like a moment nearly frozen in a calm kindness.
Even Diluc beside him relaxed with a tiny smile.
"Welcome home, Firefly," Ajax said, throwing an arm around Diluc's shoulders.
Diluc hummed, not bothering to shove him away, "Welcome home, Ajax."
._._._._._.
The streets of Morepesok was a busy place in the early mornings.
Fishermen from overnight hauls often trudged home with their catch.
Of course, that included Ajax's father.
Father had a sack of fish hung over his shoulder.
A small bounty to tide them over for the next few days.
In all honesty, the man often wore a frown on his face.
But it always disappeared before his children.
And yet, that morning he trudged down the streets, his mind was filled with heavy thoughts.
Months and months ago, he swore to himself that he'd protect that little firefly.
That he wouldn't make that same mistake with Ajax.
He truly feared he had done it again by letting his sons go.
The letters that came spoke nothing but good things.
And promises to come home soon.
That soon was quickly turning into lateness.
How many more months, weeks, days before that soon became late?
How much longer would his promise to Teucer, and Anthon, and Tonia become a lie?
Even Mother began to look at him with a slight twist of worry in her eye.
It was funny really.
How Father's family had grown a little larger.
How they had come to love that firefly from somewhere so far.
He knew that he'd have to let his children go as they grew older.
Like his eldest daughter.
Like his eldest son and second eldest daughter.
But truly, who was he kidding?
He would never be ready to let them go.
Even Ajax and that little Firefly.
But then—
It was only when Father looked up and come to a sudden stop.
Spotting two teens hulling around a bag of their own.
One tall and ginger hair tucked under a wool hat.
One short and crimson locks spilt from a hood.
Father felt his sack of fish drop.
But he didn't care.
He took a step after step, his pace rapidly increasing.
Until he threw his arms around his sons—
Yes, his sons.
Was it strange for him to think that Ajax felt taller?
Was it strange for him to think that Diluc felt thinner?
Was it strange that he felt nothing but utter relief that they were finally, finally home?
Just like they promised they'd be.
He heard his sons laugh.
Ajax's joyful laugh was genuine as always, "We're home!"
He swore heard a smile in his other son's voice.
Diluc's quietly polite, yet amused voice was honest as always, "We're not late for dinner, are we?"
Father laughed.
Hugged them ever closer.
And barely held back his tears.
.
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.
.
"No— you're just in time."
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