DISCLAIMER: Genshin Impact is the intellectual property of Hoyoverse. I only own the OCs in this story. Any copyrighted material will be used for transformative and entertainment purposes.
CHAPTER 3
Anoscetia
We'd been about a quarter of the way, structures blotting out the setting sun and path becoming visibly tread upon, when my brain rebooted. I was about to enter actual hilichurl territory with only a pointy stick to defend myself. There was a humungous bubbling pot lending the air a savory smell, and sunsettia trees around the perimeter. The setting of which pinged in my head; we were at the tail-end of Galesong Hill past the gorge leaving behind an abandoned domain.
I wonder what would have happened if I crossed paths with an ill-fated boy. My luck stat was certainly up there with how I somehow had not wandered into the World Boss', the Electro Hypostasis and a bane of new players, firing range.
Perhaps the odds would be better dodging rock-paper-scissors rather than a whole tribe of angered creatures.
A sudden jolt in my brain had me stumbling.
Paralyzing yellow eyes, and a proclamation.
"Without the Wind's favor, may your flesh and bones become the reckoning of an unpaid debt. Blame your foolish ancestors for their mockery."
Digging my heels into the grass, it forced my hilichurl friend to stop. He grumbled, tugging at me and received resistance. As much as I wanted to, I did not remove his hand from me. Swallowing loudly, I waited until my heart wasn't dangerously stuttering.
Damn it all.
I blinked rapidly, sorting through the slideshow of half-coherent moments.
The entourage had actually managed to arrive here, dispatching a couple patrols without an issue. Maia was asleep majority of the time they set off to the mountains, only briefly waking to observe and write about the view of Dragonspine. She had one heck of a migraine, a result of continuous micro-naps and late-night studying. They actually did have plans on checking the Hypostasis, but that was before their progression into the Domain was impeded by its mechanisms. They were needling Father for assistance, which woke Maia.
Then shadows descended onto the field.
Don't. You're not there.
I could have appreciated the information if it came in my sleep and not during my current predicament.
Oh, and speak of the devil. All the trees were in the way earlier, but by the gods, Dragonspine was ginormous. Not that I'd get the pleasure of ever exploring that freezing death trap if I didn't get myself out of this first.
Another impatient tug.
"Beru si?" I kind of hoped he'd be a deterrent, not a lure. So what was he doing?
"Kucha ya." Again. That word had to be important if he kept repeating it. "Kuzi hili."
Chewing at my inner cheek, I considered my options. Running was still on the table. From my view of the area, there was little cover but a straight shot for some trees to the west.
I might be getting ahead of myself though.
I glanced at the hilichurl, who'd said nothing but was obviously curious of my behavior. Azul had taken to crawling near our legs, and I shivered.
Hilichurls were intelligent enough to form their own working community containing distinct hierarchies. That may partly be due to their true origins, people cursed to become less than human, and with sentience came a degree of logic. So, there had to be an explanation for his actions.
I'd been the one to offer the olive branch, I should abide to it. "Kuzi dala? Kucha?"
"Kucha!" The hilichurl surprisingly let go of his hold on my jacket. He pointed at me and slowly angled the stubby finger at Azul. "Ya. Movo lata. Kucha."
It's something that applied to me and my slime friend?
"Kuzi hili." Head bowed and ears twitching, a litany of indistinct hums and grunts indicated the hilichurl was struggling as I was. Randomly, he dropped to the ground with a thump, huddling as if trying to make himself smaller. "Ye kucha."
Okay..?
He drew himself back to his height, waving both arms madly. "Kuzi!"
I crossed my arms, concentrating on his performance. From an outsider's point of view, we must be a bizarre, if comical sight. A hilichurl play-acting in front of a child, making himself bigger—
Gods, I'm dumb.
Hilichurls were larger than me, and in my new friend's words, by virtue of being a tiny nine-year old I was weaker than them. Alright, I couldn't even be offended by that. In my current state, my ribs were delicate and in my combined lives I'd possessed a limited amount of combative skills. I knew enough for self-defense and theoretical offense, but not enough to execute those techniques with confidence.
I held out a hand, and nodded. "Mi kucha ya."
"Ye dada!" He clapped.
Though I smiled, my thoughts ran a mile. If he said I was weaker, was he deeming me a non-threat or something else? Maybe a declaration of protection?
Cute, but there was an issue; the aforementioned hierarchy in the Hilichurls. A normal hilichurl would be bottom tier, only higher than their offspring. Mitachurls, the bigger brutes were twice as tall and muscled. Samachurls, though significantly small had the advantage of elemental control and dubbed the shamans. The creme of the crop were the Lawachurls, towering monsters who took all those traits and could even reinforce their bodies with an element.
I wasn't completely discrediting my new friend if that was his intent. There hadn't been many instances both in-game nor from the fragments of research Maia parsed through of hilichurls attacking each other, unless it was for sport or in challenge. Rarely did they ever go to war, the handful of records cited it'd be for food (prevalent during the Archon War and its aftermath) or if nomadic tribes clashed. They'd been preoccupied fortifying themselves against humans and fostered a strong sense of camaraderie.
What did a hilichurl think of camaraderie with a defenseless little girl?
My other, less fulfilling theory was that I was being cared for like one would a pet. Other than the Musk family lobbying for the non-aggression pact, though it wasn't formally recognized and only acknowledged thanks to their ennobled status, there weren't records of successful talks with hilichurls. A hilichurl would leave a person alone if they reciprocated, simple as that. That'd been the way for many generations across the nations, broken only by curiosity of the few willing.
Being part of that small statistic did not provide me an adequate sample size to reference from. The Musks' were infamously private of their investigations, gaining a mixed reputation among the academic populace in Sumeru and a negative one in Fontaine. Jacob Musk, the founding Hilichurlian expert, literally blew off foreign scholars who'd expressed interest. His family followed the man's will even to this day, though recent developments by the latest Musk, John, had rankled a few detractors.
Maia's mother ranted on it, mostly during those sessions where she'd gotten distracted by the Steambird newspaper's opinion column. Monsterology specialists were rare and their niche dubbed appropriate for 'eccentric vapid recluses'. This wasn't helped by the Musks' public withdrawal from the community and the not-so-subtle smear campaigns employed by the spurned sect of L'université de Fontaine.
Father displayed equal discontent with a speech that elicited a surprised chuckle from his wife.
"Knowledge in isolation is flawed." His red eyes closed, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. "Difficult to reconsider when getting chased half a kilometer by a club-wielding brute."
Because that was what everyone on Teyvat thought. Hilichurls were little more than another animal, a bit more aware yet potentially rabid. If a skirmish happened, it's the fault of the beast. If a human got hurt, they will put down the beast.
My friend tapped his foot impatiently, and I had to make the choice.
Run or gamble?
Her father's words had merit.
As much as the fandom had memed on Ella Musk, I'd been drawing upon her family's legacy as much as I was with Maia's. Hilichurlian was deceptive in its surface simplicity, but like all languages it had its nuances. Communication was a deadly weapon in its own right.
Compounded to this was the fact that unless I miraculously gained the ability to scale cliff-faces, getting through Dadaupa Gorge required either stealth or unparalleled strength. A Hangout Event—an optional visual novel-style quest players could unlock—had you attempt to sneak your way towards one of the tribe's camp to save a drunkard. It was personally memorable because I failed it a spectacular six times before finally figuring out how to avoid detection.
I did not possess the luxury of a checkpoint.
His existence presented a third path not possible before. I couldn't quite give up on this yet, even with the high risk, high reward scenario.
With a resolute nod, I approached my friend. Though I couldn't keep calling him a friend in my head, not if what I was going to go ahead with this.
"Maia." He'd tilted his head, grunting in confusion. "Mi Maia. Yo..?"
There was an unnatural silence that grew between us.
"Maia yo?" The hoarse voice was oddly… sad. No, not quite. Conflicted? "Mi... hili."
The withdrawn attitude and downcast ears made me scowl. They did not have a name, yet recognized a designation. Childish, yet mature enough to ponder over the matter.
Witnessed before and outlined in the pages of a journal, the former protector of the razed land of Khaenri'ah had deemed them a lost cause. Death was a mercy, and their masks both literally and figuratively, served to hide from the cruel truth. Those spared from this were off-shoots, yet ultimately steered clear of the image that they could not reclaim.
Perhaps he was also a denizen of a lost civilization, and perhaps not. Either way, to be cognizant of this peculiarity could not be ignored.
To not have a name is a fear I know far too well.
"Mi Maia. Hili… Curio." I tried to mold my expression into a positive one. "Curio dada?"
"Curio," he repeated as he did a little dance. "Curio!"
Azul joined in, bounding to and fro in a circle. I chortled at their antics.
.
.
The newly dubbed Curio the hilichurl had taken me to his camp, where predictably we'd been beset by a group who did not take kindly to my presence. They looked to be on patrol. Two held crossbows and lugged quivers on their back, one held a visibly damaged shield, and their leader was a Berserker.
I'd initially dismissed them as being just another category of Hilichurls since Maia hadn't seen one up close, but their evolution brought a degree of menace in their darker hues. The red-maned hilichurl sported an impressive set of biceps and a suspiciously stained club, its deeper snarls raising the hackles out of me.
Not cute at all.
Curio's own voice rose in opposition.
For now, I stayed quiet. Lining up with a certain entourage's exploits, the tribe was rightfully cautious.
My gaze flitted here and there, cataloguing the locale while preventing Azul from straying too far. Across from us were a couple hilichurls gathered around a campfire, guarding livestock and watching the proceedings. Next to us was unmistakably an open fighting arena with four gates. Farther along was a congregation of them on the raised platform surrounding the pot, throwing chunks of meat and… potatoes and carrots?
That was more gourmet than I expected, though dubious flavor-wise. Although I guess that should be normal in what I surmised to be the Meaty Tribe. Sure would be nice…
There was a shriek.
I went as taut as a bowstring, subconsciously raising my disguised weapon. Curio's bag had been tossed aside and the hilichurl himself didn't seem all too bothered. The Berserker leader had thrown its club at Curio's feet. The others behind it were bashing their weapons into the ground rhythmically and kicking dirt up in the process. Every hilichurl in the vicinity shrieked along to the beat, a cacophony of noises much like a war cry.
Great. That put a damper on any negotiations.
Curio grunted in turn, and without another word ambled towards the arena. Heart stuck in my throat, I ran after him. No one stopped me, though I did not miss the heckles and subtle jabs of "Kucha gusha" and "Kundala" at me.
In terms of my reputation, being classified an enemy wasn't the worst. While it was a step above 'Ika', or a threat, they hadn't outright gone with the intent of beating me to the ground yet.
"Yo… si zido?" My tone came out disgruntled. There weren't equivalent descriptors for places, so indicating the arena as a thing would have to do. "Curio kundala hili?"
Curio nodded his head, mane swishing and sending blades of grass flying. "Aba hili odomu. Eleka kundala."
Well, that confirmed it. Being the cause of a brawl was one of those unavoidable outcomes. The Meaty Tribe were uncontested in their love for their namesake and liberal use of violence. I wanted a chance to speak to their leaders, but leaving my ally would be counterproductive.
Before I could step into the arena, Curio none-too-gently pushed me to the side of the gate. I stared at him, rather befuddled.
"Dala?" My inquiry was received with a groan.
"Kucha ya." Blink. He growled, a hair-raising heat behind it that made me involuntarily squeak. "Ye kundala hili?"
Oh.
Either it was a rule or maybe an assertion of his promise, going inside wasn't in the cards… yet.
Quietly, I shook my head.
Curio muttered and looked away, and I couldn't help but do the same. He had a harder time getting Azul to listen, who was squirming and hugging his feet.
I instead stared at the growing crowd.
Ignoring the dried trails and specks of old blood on parts of the wood walls, the eye-catching thing about this place was the unlit Elemental Monument. It was Cryo judging from the snowflake pattern on it, and loathe as I was to do so, I tore my gaze away from it. The center of the floor was slightly sunken down and packed with dirt in a circle, the outer ring outlined in sloppily tied together thin beams. The perimeter was clearly designed to host plenty of hilichurls, which explained the many entrances but not the lack of seating arrangements.
Ergo, the fact that the upcoming fight was garnering more attention meant this was a prelude. Akin to when armies sent out their best fighters to duel in a show of dominance.
There were about two dozen of the tribe members at present. Half of them appeared to be bickering between themselves.
If Curio's battle was a pretense for a free-for-all then I wouldn't put it past them. Not to mention the drastic increase in activity by the pot. Boars were being taken and boxes lugged nearby, and I wouldn't be surprised if they were hosting a banquet after this.
A suction noise had me jerking into attention.
Curio babbled, clearly relieved that he'd finally plucked the slime off. He glanced at me, and I wordlessly offered my arms. Depositing Azul in my arms came with an awkward thank you, his antennae-ears drooped.
I shouldn't chance aggravating him. But…
"Kuzi Curio." That came out weaker than I hoped, but too late now.
"Tomo." My expression must have shown something, what with him softening his voice to a raspy whisper. I didn't even know they could do that. Truly a hilichurl of many surprises. "Mi upa sada muhe."
Now that's rather bold. I reflexively smiled as a result.
You'll bring victory, eh?
"Muhe," I affirmed.
My hilichurl friend let out a soft trill. I chuckled at his renewed enthusiasm.
Curio positioned himself at one end of the ring, brimming with energy by the way he shifted from side to side. His opponent strode to the other end, one of his minions a step behind. The shield-wielding hilichurl had the once discarded club in hand, striding next to the monument and hollering. I winced at the sound.
From what I could piece together, there was only one round. The win-loss conditions I didn't know and both combatants were unarmed. Maybe it covered traditional points, like loser was the one out-of-bounds or rendered unable to continue? How would they proceed to the next phase then? I doubted time-outs were a thing.
The club striking the metal edges of the shield signaled the start of the match.
Color drained from my face.
Oh gods.
Fists reared and kicks delivered with a brutal edge. Finesse and elegance had no place in the death-match, limbs meeting blow for blow with the sole intention of breaking them—fuck, I heard something snap. Curio's smaller frame narrowly helped in dodging the speedy Berserker, body contorting with flexibility to support an otherwise disadvantageous set-up. The Elemental Monument aided a bit as well, providing space whenever they retreated.
The Berserker deserved its title, throwing Curio when he tried to do a choke-hold. Fast and packing equal power, dirt exploded when its foot struck down. My hilichurl friend rolled away at the last second, reciprocating ferociously with a jab towards its stomach. It connected, but it wasn't enough when the Berserker grabbed his arm mid-swing. Before its elbow hit, Curio tackled him.
They crashed to the ground. Wrestling had them flipping each other constantly tanking punches, before Curio flung himself off with a hiss. His feet touched the outer ring, and his opponent launched forward.
I fought the urge to bite my nails.
A Berserker I could understand, in-game it moved rather wildly and could knock an unsuspecting player off their feet, unless they mained a parry character. But normal hilichurls made their threat through numbers, not skill, even if layered in animalistic instinct.
Another deviation. Though it's still too early for conclusions.
Curio changed tactics, weaving between attacks and prodding the Berserker. He was comparatively slower than before, not by a great margin but noticeable enough with how his arms were shaking in exertion. Guarding didn't do much favors, the last time he had he'd been knocked back with enough force to earn himself an uppercut, back slamming into the monument.
He thankfully recovered and countered with yet another direct hit to the abdomen, yet…
Come on, where's that confidence from earlier? His opponent was winded, but still strong enough to engage in a steady barrage. They exchanged a few blows before disengaging, and it was then that I noticed something.
The Berserker's stance had turned crooked. When earlier it stood straighter than a normal hilichurl's posture, now it appeared to be wracked with scoliosis. There was none of that brazen aura, replaced by an off-kilter gait which provided more openings.
Case in point, Curio drove a fist straight into its right side.
The Berserker cried out, folding over in visible pain. It strained to get back on its feet, failing with another garbled screech.
The hilichurls nearby stiffened, cheering and conversations grinding to a halt. A hush fell over the arena, blanketing us in tension you could carve out with a knife.
The shield-wielding hilichurl howled.
All hell broke loose.
Azul dropped to my feet without meaning to, but I couldn't turn my eyes away. Pockets of fighting formed, yet there was a deliberate distance between them and the center stage. Eight hilichurls circled my friend, and Curio barely evaded the punch towards his head. Unlike the fast exchange before, the group was trying to clumsily coordinate by going in duos or trios to avoid friendly fire.
This was the behavior I'd come to expect but still!
To my chagrin, the Berserker managed to prop himself up next to the Elemental Monument. Though it wavered like a breeze could knock it over, it barked viciously. The group, though still awkward, did much better. They were constantly trying to either trip or disorient him, and there were too many close calls for comfort.
Yet, they haven't dogpiled him.
Curio tried to use the other fights breaking out as cover, but the Berserker caught on quick. Those tag-teaming him applied even more pressure. He'd taken down two of them, but eventually couldn't take it anymore. Someone soared above him—casualty from a fight behind —and the momentary distraction cost him dearly. A broad-shouldered hilichurl grabbed him by the face and slammed him into the floor.
I gripped my disguised weapon, a scream begging to be free.
The broad hilichurl picked him up, and shoved him forward. Stumbling and clearly out of it, Curio walked into a right hook.
Curio fell, scrambling for purchase yet was met with a vicious kick to the side. At certain intervals, they'd let him get to his feet, only to take that momentary stability away. He fumbled weakly, every attempt to simply move shut down with aggressive measure.
And again. Again. Again.
The taste of copper filled my mouth.
They weren't going to do it. It would be antithesis to the whole idea of camaraderie.
… It couldn't.
My pulse quickened, the weight of the spear heavy in my slick palms. For a brief moment, scanning the area lead to the surprising fact there was a path towards the Sword Cemetery, out this camp. The few patrol-hilis had considerable distance, most had probably come thanks to the allure of entertainment. They were watching the spectacle, and he wasn't moving—
Something inside quivered, a tiny, helpless thing screaming for his back. Suffocating and voice hoarse until it could only concede.
Never again. "Please."
Feet subconsciously moving, I gritted my teeth and committed.
I nearly flew down the entrance gate's ramp, bolting towards the little camp by the huge pot. The lone hilichurl jumped to his feet, but I paid it no heed, snatching a piece of burning kindling. It disturbed the pot and spilled some dubious morsel I accidentally trampled on. For what it was worth, I spared a short apology and ran.
I couldn't just jump in. I had to make an opening.
The northern gate was the most populated, the direct route back to the feast. West to the huts, and the east faced a short outcropping.
My impromptu torch licked at my arms as I bounded for the east-side, doing my best to use the trees as cover. In the mad scramble for dry leaves and sticks I nearly dropped my other weapon, and I had to resort to sticking it to my backpack. After I scooped a respectable amount, I hightailed it to my destination.
Dumping all on the middle of the ramp, I crouched over the bundle and fanned at it. "Come on..!"
Holy fuck, that's getting smoky really fast.
There was an exclamation indicating they noticed too, and I circled to the south gate. No one pursued, and I was treated to the chaos that was panicking hilichurls and the damnable group actually stopping. The Berserker staggered as the swarm of hilichurls sidelined him, preoccupied with the spreading flames.
Now or never.
I retrieved my weapon, wincing at the ripping sound. Quietly lamenting that, I threw the cover to the side, brandishing the spear forward and aiming for the nearest hilichurl. The cry for his name was lost to the chorus of hostile acknowledgements of my presence and momentum striking through.
There wasn't much resistance when the spear dug into its shoulder blade, tip almost disappearing into its skin.
It screamed.
We both swerved as it tried to regain balance, arms flailing. With a grunt, I pulled back, only to see the blade slide about an inch out. Panicking, I grappled against the spazzing hilichurl and the wobbling shaft of the spear. I leaned back, boots skidding as we struggled before I finally twisted the weapon out its back. The sickening squelch and spurting, for a second, sent my already spastic heartbeat into overdrive.
It fell bonelessly to the ground.
My eyes widened at the pool forming under it.
That was all I could afford to do, as I sidestepped the swing of another. From the group of remaining four, two broke off and charged angrily at me. I stabbed at the legs of one, and down it went.
Don't look. Focus.
A spear was my choice thanks to two things: reach and power. I had none as a kid, and that proved all the more worth it by maneuvering around the new one who came to assist. A couple thrusts to halt their advances, each straining at my feeble muscles. They tried to make a grab for my weapon and I barely dodged.
My still-healing ribcage made itself known, an unholy burn snatching precious oxygen out my lungs. I pushed past the surmounting vertigo and spat out a glob of discolored saliva.
Although my adversaries were weaponless, I was losing ground fast. They were pushing me towards the corner, and these two were smart enough to play keep-away with the blade.
Jab. Run. Jab.
Repeat. We were at an impasse: they aimed to disarm, and I didn't want to provide solid motive for them to be rid of me.
You already did.
I overshot, stumbling when I hit nothing but air. To my horror, Azul pounced for the face of guy I tried to shank and was thrown into the ensuing anarchy nearby. I gnashed my teeth, using that pent-up energy to dig the tip into the arm of the offending hilichurl. With a heave, I quickly yanked the spear back.
I reflexively closed my eyes when something sprayed at my face.
Oh, shit—
Stars burst behind my eyelids when my head hit the floor, chest and back screaming in agony. The thing on top of me snarled, spear clattering far in the distance. I kicked and clawed out, and I was shut down with a slap that made me blink in and out of consciousness.
"Maia!"
Suddenly, I could start breathing again.
Warmth enveloped me. The metallic stench blended in with sweat, grass and freshly-cut flora; an unusual yet soothing combination. Rough hair tickled my nose, but the solid presence cocooning me trembled as if it was being battered. My head lolled weakly, still too shaken by the blunt force.
"Nye!"
The deep and booming voice lead into a pregnant silence. Blood roared in my ears, pounding at my bruised skull. My jaw ached, cheeks stinging.
Can't lose it yet... I cracked open my watering eyes.
Uncombed hair with grass and dirt clumped was the the first thing I saw. The rest of the tribe and those three bastards slowly backed away. I couldn't muster the strength to move.
"... C-Curio?" I hated the way my voice broke.
He let out a shuddering exhale, arms loosening around me.
Did they hurt him again when he was protecting me?
I called for him again.
Still no answer.
Pursing my lips, I nuzzled the crook of his neck. "Valo, Curio."
"... Tomo." My hilichurl friend groaned, a frail note that hinted of immense pain. "Valo."
My heart clenched.
Any further introspection was cut short when Curio slowly turned from his kneeling position, adjusting the both of us. The hilichurls parted like Moses had done with the sea, revealing two figures climbing into the arena.
If the Berserker was the closest example to a human body-builder, then the Mitachurl pumped twice the steroids, veins protruding out of its bulging mass. Said mass carried a goddamn double-sided axe that glinted under the light, carrying scars of old battles. Ram-like horns dyed a bloody-red were attached to its mask, the eyeholes entrenched in darkness.
In stark contrast to the behemoth, the Samachurl hid under its formidable size. By the shades of blue it sported, it commanded Hydro. It stood smaller than I did, carrying a bulky, insect-shaped staff with legs decorating the sides. The handle wrapped in graying cloth served to highlight the Samachurl's unnatural skin color, the bone-white tattoos and necklace standing out. Its mask took inspiration from either a chameleon or a lizard. From its opened mouth, a singular teal-blue eye glowered directly at me.
The Berserker, the same asshole that heralded this mess, looked close to dropping, and so I dearly wished it. Unfortunately, it approached the two leaders, straightening itself enough to not project outright weakness.
"Sama! Mita!"
They said nothing.
The Berserker took it as cue to continue. "Ya ika, kundala!"
"Beru nye." The shaman's voice was reedy, but the authority in it was unmistakable.
Reluctantly, the Berseker backed off. Even though covered by a blood red mask, I swore it threw a dirty look in my direction. Eat shit, dirtbag.
"Kucha ya." The call interrupted the private stream of unkind words.
The Shaman's eye did not stray, inquisitive. We held each other's gaze, and instinct told me to not back down.
"Sama yo." I kept my tone neutral.
"... Plata. Ye shato." Whatever that meant, it seemed the Samachurl found it conclusive enough to end our interaction. Burying the staff deeper into the ground, it then turned its head towards Curio. "Biadam! Ya nye zido."
That did not sound promising.
Curio's arms secured themselves tighter around me. "… Eleka kucha ya tomo."
"Tomo?" The Mitachurl was bass personified and I swear the very air vibrated.
My hilichurl friend nodded.
"Ya nye zido!" The Samachurl repeated. It continued with a curse and a lecture that went over my head. It waved its staff in a circular pattern, and I was treated to a most surreal sight.
Dark clouds accumulated in the area.
Plip-plop-plip, and the drizzle became a downpour. A blanket of cold washed over the area, tickling my skin in a rather slimy way even when I wasn't the designated recipient. Yet, as if disregarding logic, the puddles forming under the raincloud did not increase in volume. They rippled when the droplets hit, a distinct blue aura surrounding those who had been defeated.
That explained why the fire was gone.
This mesmerizing act hadn't caused a hiccup in the Samachurl's tirade until the Mitachurl joined in with a low rumble and a somehow pacifying attitude. Its words escaped comprehension.
A few were stirring. The knots in my chest loosened at their steady breathing.
I probably should be listening in.
The faint distortion in the air tickled my brain in a way I didn't know how to put into words. Something familiar. Distracting.
This wasn't good. I had to start…
My eyelids were so heavy.
Now that the adrenaline high was fading, every bruise and scratch throbbed and joined the damnable symphony of my shaken noggin.
Wispy figures clouded my vision. Against the tide of skeletal hounds and the red-tinted sky, those who stood before it wavered not, for it was their duty to protect the mages. One knight looked in my direction, but his gaze went past me, a long, weary, but ultimately steely thing.
The Monument lit in a beautiful blue hue, bathing the area and reflecting in their battered armors. The lost sky, an echo of home they had to reclaim.
"The Sanctuary has been erected, but do not falter! For Mondstadt!"
Time resumed.
… What..?
I stared nowhere. Somewhere. I don't… the sky wasn't red.
When did we start moving? The rocking motion was… it felt like I was five again, waking as the silhouette of our garage became visible. Mother had always been the one to bring her back from the treehouse, a hum and the aroma of cloves leading into sweeter dreams.
I valiantly shook at the growing fogginess, just as we'd approached a small gazebo hut situated near the cliff-face.
It had the characteristic slipshod walls, this time built upon a stone foundation. Red cloth covered a good portion of the roof, draping down the porch. Two helmet-shaped totem heads stuck out from the connecting pillars, and another one stuck out at the hut's ridge. The inside was sparse, containing only a lone barrel and one hay mattress pushed to the corner.
I vaguely heard the Mitachurl speak. His intonation was urgent.
Curio did not reply. He merely moved in and laid me down the hay, stripping the bag off of me. The soft pitter-patter of his feet when he retreated left my nerves frayed. My hand shot out, managing to catch his bandage.
"Nunu," Curio rasped. "Maia."
"I can't stay here." The words were slurred. "I need…"
He silently stood over me. Slowly, Curio slid out of my grip and muttered something to the stoic Mitachurl. It was a reminder, I was missing something integral.
Pathetic.
This wasn't how this was supposed to go.
I had to close my eyes. Just a bit. Then I'll need to…
To…
.
.
In the dead of night, the stars were brighter than they'd ever been. Crossing the unforgiving desert to the cooler undershades of the rainforest had been the part of their trip she anticipated the most. The mosquitoes and the occasional annoying Shroom-kin aside, this was a better locale to live in. If one of course, steered clear of the Withering and the territorial wildlife.
It took days because they periodically took detours or gathered local specialties, but they were almost to their next destination. They'd left the last village at noon and were about to enter the boundary of Vimara Village in what must be an ungodly hour.
Maia frowned, casting discreet glances at the trees. Father's few words hadn't eased the pain in her soles after their longer than normal trek, and she suspected the reason for it lurking in the shadows.
The splinter group of the Eremites hadn't been a problem in these parts, but Maia kept her guard up anyways. Even if these were the Forest Rangers, stalking them above the branches did not provide comfort.
Not that such a thing had been present for the past week.
Maia directed her gaze to the ground, far from the nauseating shimmer of the air.
Mirages were commonplace in the desert, easy to spot and ignore. Recently they became a persistent nuisance, about the same time an ache built behind her eyes. The world would flicker like she'd foregone prescription glasses, missing or mistaking details for what they actually were. Alongside it was the warped feeling assaulting her senses, so she frequently reached for painkillers.
She'd excused it as mere exhaustion, but Father couldn't hide his worried gaze. Maia knew what he feared for, but they avoided all signs of the Withering Zones! They would have smelled the stagnant air and ran back up to the last turn on the road. In fact, the closest she'd seen it were through binoculars from a hill away.
At the very least, he wasn't showing the same symptoms.
If only Maia wasn't stuck on whatever 'Nil' meant, Elemental Sight might have provided an explanation.
As it was, she did have some speculations. It could be a Ley Line Disorder, a reinvigorated Ley Line, some weird contraption she might have accidentally touched since Sumeru had its fair share of ruins, or even illusions cast by the Aranara.
Well, it was hard not to believe the last one. She hadn't seen a sign of them in all their time trekking through Apam Woods nor Avidya Forest, but it always felt like someone was watching her. Different than the people stalking them right now. Though why would she be feeling sick then? They were the protectors of the forest, and she hadn't been doing anything other than walk and camp in it.
By that logic, Father should have been dealing with it too.
That only left… the Spirit Borneol.
It wasn't a secret that the incense could have adverse effects. The Spirit Borneol opened the mind to the Irminsul and all its divine knowledge, a process called Satyavada Life to Rtawahist (Illuminationism) students. The unprepared Rtawahists either went mad or died from it.
"Humans have a natural resistance and potential for the supernatural. Such is why Visions and the Ascended Ones exist. The Divine, on the other hand, subsists on pure Will. This is a force that fathoms all under its domain, which no human can easily achieve."
Mother had warned her long ago, after showing her the short passage from 'Divination Through the Ages, the Irminsul's Cosmic Connection'. If she ever dared to use the incense, she could not be lost in thoughts.
It'd been a rough day out in the desert, her skin an angry, blistering red, that her last excursion at Caravan Ribat turned rather daring. All areas had shady establishments no matter their reputation, and in all her time wandering, snooping and a dose of mora led her to the right places.
Maia had hit a snag in her studies for months. If the Spirit Borneol became a possible lead into unlocking Elemental Sight, she was taking it by the throat.
The thing was, she used it immediately after purchasing and discarded it so Father wouldn't see. Maia got a headache about the same magnitude as present, and a vague notion of something was broken.
It was hard to say what. Whatever she dreamt of sat on the tip of her tongue and left her listless the rest of their stay there.
That contributed to her eagerness in getting rid of it, though it did sting her wallet.
Back to the point though, her current ailment did fit the descriptions for Borneol sickness, down to the physical effect. The only thing that didn't line up were the hallucinations, something that occurred at later stages of connecting to the Irminsul from prolonged exposure that it rendered most delirious. Investigating further required actual medical aid, an avenue she left for last if the pain worsened.
That begged the question of why would it take effect now, a whole four months later? The plants used for the incense were being exclusively cultivated in Pardis Dhyai, so that couldn't be a factor.
Maia couldn't wait to get to Liyue. There's bound to be some documents on Adeptal Arts there, they were fairly well-known for casting illusions among other talents.
And Adeptis! They had tons of rich history!
… Who was she kidding, she just wanted answers. Preferably a way to get the Sight already.
Plus, who didn't want to learn more about them? They were the heroes of Liyue, they fought tons of demons, served Rex Lapis, and—
"Maia, I know you are tired but we'll be there soon. I see the lights in the distance."
Whoops. "I'm sorry Father."
She would blame the Archon-forsaken headache.
Once they reached the checkpoint, a fortress of wood hidden between foliage, rocks and more greenery, the Forest Rangers made themselves known. They jumped down to their level, cloaks fluttering with a clink of accessories. The quartet had their Visions pinned to their hoods, which also brought attention to the lopsided heart-shaped rune glowing on one ear.
It'd been the usual song-and-dance, baggage and identification presented and checked thoroughly. Their faces, on the other hand, could not hide the judging or otherwise curious looks.
Father took it in stride.
Maia tucked a stray strand of hair, grazing the bulky, padded device strapped to her earlobe. A wire trailed down to the small circular catalyst strapped to her belt, shining in a teal hue. She stared at the Rangers' runes, the modernized Akasha Terminal, before running after Father.
Whatever she said would be easily dismissed anyhow.
The inn they'd gone to had been positioned at the far side of the village, quiet and terraces lined with spice-filled pots. Though there was slight deviations from the traditional dome shaped huts, the vine creeping along the clay walls and the stairs had their charms. It reminded her of Mother's anecdotes about Fontaine's countryside before its industrialization boom.
A small sigh left her, unheard in the chatter of the crowd.
Maia hoped that Gran Colette stayed safe. After handing the medical kit, Gran shoved her out the clinic with a frightening look on her face.
It couldn't be helped. Thanks to the Court of Fontaine, those who could not adjust to its strict laws sometimes fought back. Especially so in the countryside, where the Gendarmerie could not immediately arrest them without the aid of the missing Lochfolks.
Comparing such would be unfortunately a difference between adherence and compliance. The former haunted Fontaine, down to its very structure.
Compliance was a concept that applied to nearly all of Sumeru's people. Watching all the natives wearing the Akasha Terminal with either pride or nonchalance, from young to old, was but a sample of it.
What is it like then, to be in a land where neither were demanded?
Maia shook her head and sat down the table. Dinner was being served in the mess hall, the large green-tinted window providing view of the river. Fairy lights were strewn across beams, and though did not cast the strongest shadows, figures danced in her peripherals. The smoke of the nearby barbecue and her hunger was taking toll, most likely.
Father came back with two trays in hand, and she tried not to make a hasty grab for her portion.
She nibbled on her Pita Pocket, struggling not to bash her head into the table. Combined with the clipped conversations around her, the food turned did not sit well in her stomach.
"We will be here for three days." She twitched at her Father's voice, almost swallowing the wrong way. "Gandharva Ville is a two-day trek, so I need to restock our supplies."
Three days. She had mixed feelings about that.
"We're not chartering a boat to Port Ormos?"
Father guzzled down on his drink. She wrinkled her nose at the strong scent of alcohol. Clearly, something had ticked him off. "I received a message earlier. I'm meeting a liaison for business at the Chasm."
There hadn't been any major developments in Liyue that she heard of aside the upcoming Lantern Rite. Though Father was a Kshahrewar (Technology) graduate, so perhaps one of their experimental mining equipment needed tuning?
Since he didn't elaborate, conversation stalled.
Maia bit her lip. Since it's come to this… "May I go visit the stores? I saw one with what looked to be books on the way up."
A flicker of hesitation passed in Father's eyes. "For a while. Some entry-level Darshan scripts can sometimes be found here."
She paused in her dining. That was more than she was expecting. "I thought the Akademiya would have rights to it?"
"It's mostly thanks to Driyosh or any passing merchants from the port looking for quick mora," he said. "Though the practice has fallen off in Sumeru with the advent of the Akasha and the House of Daena's Grand Conservator, there is still a market for it, especially since other nations do not have our… privileges."
His face went sour.
She gave a sideway glance at the rune on a passing little boy's ear, opened her mouth, and shut it with a teeth-gnashing click. It would be pointless.
"I understand. I'll…" She wiped the crumbs off, doing her best to muster a grin. "I think I'll go check the flea market by the docks afterwards. If I'm lucky I might be able to find a cute bracelet!"
Father huffed, the action easing the contours of his face ever-so-slightly. "That you do, sweetheart."
"Oh, and a new shawl," Maia added. "Maybe some moisturizer too?"
"You can. I'll give you some extra mora." With an absentminded nod, he dipped his naan into the curry. His eyes looked past her. "Just… don't buy too much."
She laughed, the pitch tad off but serviceable. "Like that woman with the struggling Sumpter Beast? Poor thing couldn't take that many bags!"
At last, a tiny crinkle on the corners of his mouth.
It would do no good to badger. Father might have been a Dastur, but to cast away his Akasha meant many of his connections were defunct.
To the researchers, such an act was sacrilegious. For the everyman, it was questionable.
The device she and her Father wore had been mere prototypes, relics repurposed from a time before the Cataclysm. It could register locations and people, and commune with people in short distances. A quality of life none could easily turn away from. The newer Akasha could do all and access the Akashic Records: the compendium of all truths.
Abandoning your Akasha was to forsake knowledge, the legacy of the Greater Lord Rukkhadevata.
A part of her couldn't deny the convenience in the system.
And like Fontaine's slowly draining colors, this land's dreamless people only made her yearn for Mother's home.
When the fire and creatures raged, those rose-colored glasses broke, alongside everything she stood for.
Powerless. So, so useless.
.
.
(You didn't know. How could you have known, when her stories and songs brought a piece of her back?
Rest.
You can't keep doing this.)
.
.
.
Extra Notes: I did a small update to previous chapters, just minor changes and edits. I delayed the release of this chapter since I wanted a full view of Sumeru's map without relying on leaks, and here we finally are. Plus, Hilichurlian has become a rather surprising challenge even with the help of the Wiki and Reddit forums.