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| [He hadn't meant to startle anyone, really.
Even so, he'd startled Adelinde when he showed up on the steps of the Dawn Winery, bloodied and bruised from a recent fight. He hadn't asked to stay. He was hoping to avail himself of the facilities, that was all — he wanted to wash up, get the blood out of his hair and face. He thought it might be nice to have a proper bath with hot water rather than another freezing dip in another cold stream out in the wilds. Sure, a Statue of the Seven could have fixed up the worst of Aether's injuries without all the fuss of a bath, but he'd been too tired and wounded to make the pilgrimage there, and it was easier to ignore the ache in his legs while he was gliding toward the manor.
So. Could I just take a bath here? he'd asked, hiding a scrape on his elbow behind the back of one glove. I'll be quick. Diluc won't even have to know.
Somehow, the traveler hadn't expected the head maid to turn right around, march back into the manor, and call for her Master Diluc.
It wasn't, Aether reflects, that he was avoiding the man, though depending on how Adelinde reported the circumstances of his visit, Diluc might now be under that impression. It was just that Aether didn't want to bother him. Mondstadt's richest man and part-time Darknight Hero probably has other things that require his attention — can't spend too much time on the needs and wants of a traveler who is just passing through, even if that traveler had a few heroic mishaps with the city's local god and resident dragon.
Nevertheless, they're in the same space now, and Aether can't exactly continue worrying that he might be a bother. The golden-eyed outlander is sitting in a tub, hot water up to his knees, when Diluc comes into the bathroom with a change of clothes for him — which seems a little remarkable, in truth. The man himself, and not one of the maidservants? Then again, he is the sort of person who seems to always feel that he has to do everything on his own. Aether's gotten the worst of the mess out of his hair, at least; he feels presentable enough by the time Diluc enters, so he doesn't hide from the man's crimson gaze. He only looks over at the winery owner with mild surprise.]
Diluc...
[One of Aether's hands is pushing his hair away from his face so that he can examine an open cut near his hairline in the mirror. It bled more than the actual size of the cut would indicate. He sighs.]
It doesn't look that bad, does it? | |
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| [There you are, hunter. Drenched in the blood of beasts, as well you should be.
That thought echoes in Aether's mind as he stalks the ruined streets of Mondstadt, trying to ignore the stench of blood, of rot, of infection, of burning corpses. Those previous few who have been lucky enough to avoid the sickness, who haven't yet been transformed into mad beasts, are locked into their homes, and generally unwilling to speak to a hunter like him.
This is madness, the traveler thinks. This is sickness beyond sickness. This system of hunters is itself wrong. He knows this now by the number of hunters he's been forced to kill in sheer self-defense. Weren't they all good men, once, with good intentions? How has it come to this? How is it that no one can tell friend from foe — that Aether has been mistaken for a beast like all the other beasts, and forced to kill Mondstadtians who were surely only laboring under the delusion that they were defending their homes and families?
He steps over a corpse, half-mangled and twisted from its transformation into a hilichurl. The skin has blackened, ashened; the nails have become brittle and thin. But the face is still recognizable. He's lost the ability to feel ill about it. He thinks of the little fairy in the Hunter's Dream, the one that had told him with a child's voice and face that he was destined for the hunt. A sad kind of destiny, this.
This street, at least, is quiet. The sound of shuffling and labored breathing from the next street over is putting Aether's nerves on end, but he thinks it's only a mitachurl, and he's taken enough of those down by now that his boots are stained crimson. This street might be safe.
Down the corner, and in an alley, he spots a figure lurking in the darkness, and his sword goes up so fast to guard his heart that he thinks he hears the air crack from the way it whips, razor-quick, over his chest.]
Who goes there?
[It's a man. Stained with blood, of course, but all the best hunters are, and that isn't a comfort. Even the best hunters aren't immune to frenzy. To the sweet song of blood.]
...Are you, too, on the hunt?
[There's the faintest trace of panic in his voice. Is this man another hunter? Or has he been corrupted by the hunt, like Father Simon, Cardinal of Daybreak?
That had been sick. That had been wrong. The girls — they deserved better. Simon's blood might still be fresh on Aether's blade.] | |
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| [Every now and then, the "Darknight Hero's" activities take him farther afield than usual. It's not a problem for him to be far from home, but it's a problem for his servants, who know his secret and would keep it with their lives. They never know when he means to return; they fret and worry until their young master comes home.
In days past, he would arrive home via his balcony or any of the windows, but these days, as a courtesy to his butler, who always waits in the foyer by candlelight until he's returned from his midnight vigil, Diluc comes home normally, by stepping through the double doors to his manor where Adelinde greets him with a weary smile. It's no use telling them to sleep; they won't rest until they know he's safe and sound. That's the type of loyalty money doesn't buy.
(The problem is this: none of them are battle-trained. Oh, Elzer may have once been trained in some school of martial arts from Liyue, and Adelinde may keep a knife strapped beneath her skirt, but besides those two, few people at the Dawn Winery know how to defend themselves against any kind of attack. Why would they, when their enemies would surely target Diluc himself, and their Master Diluc is so very strong?)
Perhaps he lingers in the kitchen for a midnight snack. Perhaps he takes a bath before retiring to his quarters for the night. In either case, there's no need to rush. With his foes suppressed and the safety of Mondstadt secured for one more night, Diluc surely has no immediately pressing concerns as he takes the stairs and opens the door to his bedroom —
— where he will find a complete stranger sitting at a little-used table in the corner of his room, lounging in one of Diluc's chairs like a king upon a throne.
The stranger smiles.]
Diluc Ragnvindr.
[Blond hair. Golden eyes. It's not the right shade of blond, and there's something angular and cold in his gaze that she doesn't have. But it's not hard to think of it, if he thinks of it at all. He's surely seen the missing-person posters pinned to the bulletin board in the Angel's Share, and they have the same soft jaw, the same suspiciously attractive face. Mondstadt's hero, that wayward traveler with the flowers in her hair — didn't she say she was missing a brother?
Lumine's brother presses a gloved finger to his own lips before Diluc can say a word.]
Shh... Keep your voice down. You wouldn't want to wake Hillie and Moco downstairs. They nearly stayed up all night waiting for you to come back, you know. | |
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