A simple drabble for an Archon (possibly) who has found a new purpose but carries centuries of baggage with him. Previous Zhongli/Guizhong, present gender-neutral Traveler/Zhongli.


Zhongli avoided this part of the house. Or tried to.

But when his mind would wander and sleep was out of reach, he often found himself staring at the wardrobe. The furniture itself was new-of this century-but its contents were ancient, priceless.

They were all he had left.

He took a deep, steadying breath, and then reached for the brass handles, the metal cold under his fingers.

As cold as she was when her body was recovered.

The legends neglect that now, giving her an air of mystery, of power. They say she was presumed dead but he knew .

His Goddess of Dust.

In her stead, he took her people and brought them to the south. To the very place he remained until the time was right.

Plates of armor and a helmet of a fashion only found in tombs stared back at him in the moonlight, decorated in her colors. The metal was polished to a shine. His handiwork from the last time he couldn't fall asleep. If Zhongli stared at the shadows long enough, the spaces in the armor faded and he could see her before him, thinking of a way to protect Liyue, creating new mechanisms in her mind's eye before scribbling them hastily onto the nearest piece of paper.

Had he not helped her build the ballista, he wouldn't have known how to fix it earlier.

He couldn't bring himself to visit the Realm of Clouds to see what other creations and ideas she left behind.

She didn't have enough time and he had too much of it.

An echo of a pain he was too familiar with ran through him. Like a rusted blade, it was dulled and corroded with everything that came between the past and present, but capable of inflicting wounds nonetheless, rough and jagged and unkind.

A long sleek box laid at the base of the mannequin holding the armor, shining cherry wood inlaid with the golden Geo seal, complete with a gold latch. The box gleamed, the glossy finish polished to a shine that made most precious metal and stone merchants envious. The work of another evening when he could only bring himself to hold the vessel and not open it.

But tonight was different.

Gingerly, as soft as a kiss of sunlight, he lifted the wooden box and placed it on the floor; not an easy feat for even him, given the weight. He returned to the wardrobe and, from a small drawer set beneath the display, he drew out a cloth, and a few small glass bottles.

The latch clicked and the hinges opened silently to reveal the box's contents. Much like the armor, the blade was of another time, crafted in a way he had yet to see replicated. The leather of the handle was worn but well-preserved, the markings of her hand present in the way the material molded to the handle ever so slightly. It should be replaced, he knew, but he had so few signs of her left…

Zhongli uncapped one of the bottles, placed the cloth on top and up-ended it one. The scent of cloves mingled with the lingering smell of incense as the oil dampened the fabric. He withdrew the blade from the case and set to work, oiling in one-directional strokes.

How many nights had they spent like this, ruminating over ideas and methods and possibilities of a better future while sharpening and polishing their tools to achieve them?

And now, here he was again, on the cusp of something far greater than himself. A few rooms away, in his chamber, another sword-bearer slept, working towards a goal that would require turmoil before a proper peace was reached.

"You would like them, I believe," he whispered. "Their selflessness rivals yours."

His fear went unspoken. Selflessness was the sword she died on; would it be theirs as well?

"If all of this goes as it should, Liyue will finally be free to grow as it was meant to. As we wanted it to. Forgive me if I take a little longer, would you? I need to see this through."

The dust motes danced in the sliver of rising sunlight as he put the sword back in its place, the box shutting just as silently as it opened. He couldn't bring himself to wipe away the tiny fragments that rested on the wood. A blessing he didn't know he needed.

For all the time and space between them, she was never gone. Not truly. And she, of all those he knew, understood the need for a purpose, for companionship.

Zhongli returned the implements to their place in the wardrobe and closed the doors with a soft click. Box cradled carefully in his arms, he padded back to his bedchamber. Her blade had another purpose, another skilled hand to be used in, and it was the closest thing to a blessing he could ever bestow on the Traveler who could carry no Vision.

He may have missed the sun rise but he could at least watch the rest of his world awaken.