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The giant footprint in the forest had been the first clue.
Lumine stares at the mark, barely hears the paper forest creatures chirping and thanking her for her help as she pulls them out, and notes the way that one of the dragon’s claws seems to be missing. The first claw from the left, doubly noticeable by the way his toe curves more inwards as opposed to the others—a rare defect left from birth, subtle and unimportant enough to be left aside within the everlasting journey towards perfection—and it sends nothing short of chills down the outlander’s spine.
It can’t be, she thinks, even as she faintly hears Paimon’s shrill voice attempting to regain her attention. She inspects the clawless footprint more closely; tries her hardest to think as objectively and as clearly as her mind will allow within the sudden dread-induced haze. The resemblance is uncanny enough for her stomach to drop, but Tighnari had lectured her once on how even the rarest biological defects observed within wildlife are never entirely unique. How if one were to find a lioness with a mane, another was sure to be found; whether it be within the same pride, the same country, or half across the world, it remained a very solid possibility.
She thinks of the four-pointed star crested against her now-husband’s throat, thinks of the way that even for all his genius he was still prone to making the most obvious mistakes at the rarest of times. She thinks of his double, and how resentful and aggressive of a personality he’d had, thinks of the Rifthounds, and reminds herself that Rhinedottir’s constant strive towards perfection also included mirroring nature’s flaws within her creations.
It can’t be, she repeats, if only to reassure herself.
This is a different place; a different world. Durin— her Durin, is safe and sound within the mountains of Dragonspine, with Albedo, exactly as she had left him that morning. He’d even seen her off, pouting as best as he could between his bone-ridden snout and massive form, his less-bony ears—slowly but steadily healing through the combined efforts of both Albedo and Lumine—pressing flat against his skull as she’d left to go on her commissions run.
“It can’t be,” she mumbles, more resolute this time as she forces her stare away from the dragon’s marking and finally turns around to face a fairly miffed-looking Paimon as she goes to climb out of the shallow crater.
(It can’t, and yet, the dragon’s footprint maintains a lingering presence within the traveler’s mind even as she goes on to explore more of this strange new world she had inexplicably gotten herself caught up in.)
The second clue had been Barbeloth’s statue situated at the very top of the toy kingdom’s castle. The Goddess of Prophecy, they had called her, Mona’s master, Lumine had mentally filled in.
The traveler stares up at the statue; eyeballs the sheer craftsmanship of it and takes special notice of the many stars and constellations strategically molded around it. She bites her lip, toys with the wedding band—silver. Not gold. Never gold—around her ring finger and wishes Albedo were here. She’s fairly certain that she’s already got at least the most terrifying part of all of this figured out, but the conclusion Lumine comes to is not the one she wants, and so part of her hopes that Albedo’s sharp and dependable mind would have come to a conclusion that differed from hers; if only so she could prove herself wrong.
But alas, her husband is not with her at the moment, either furthering his research on improving Durin’s health or babysitting his sister just enough to make sure she doesn’t cause any more damage to Mondstadt’s ecosystem than she already has—he is still on probation, after all.
What makes it worse is that even Paimon, who had seemed fairly oblivious and indifferent to any mention of this ‘evil dragon’s’ deeds and didn’t even appear to notice the deficiency in his footprint back in the forest, flinches back at witnessing the goddess’ statue rotate in a serenely beautiful display of a music box; an all but heavy-handed confirmation of the Hexenzirkel’s rather obvious involvement in the creation of this world.
Rhinedottir had been one of the Hexenzirkel’s members. Rhinedottir had been the one to create Durin.
The townsfolk, as well as the fairytale-esque creatures of the forest had all disapproved of this world’s dragon. They called him evil; a danger. One that would destroy their nature and their fields, steal stars from their skies and threaten the lives of innocent bystanders for seemingly no reason at all.
“Formidable,” Grandpa Almond had said when Lumine had been foolish enough to ask. “In all my years, I've never seen something like it. He could take out half of Simulanka if he wishes so, I'm sure, and that glowing red stare of his surely must be enough to petrify a soul!”
It was that final description that had Lumine’s breath catching in her throat. After all, it was one repeated many, many times throughout Mondstadt’s history books.
“Oh, Traveler!” Navia calls joyfully, waving Lumine over with such a bounce in her step the meticulously placed crown on her head tilts sidewards just enough for it to be noticeable. The call is as sudden as it is loud, and Lumine barely refrains from jumping out of her own skin herself as she turns towards where her friends are standing next to the flying train. “Miss Nilou here seems to be a little afraid of heights. You wouldn’t mind joining us for a trip to help her out, would you?”
“Y-yeah!” Lumine calls back, her smile so fake she can feel it in her throat as she jogs over and goes to join hands with a beaming Navia and a far less enthusiastic Nilou. “Of course! It'll be fun, Nilou, I promise.”
Nilou doesn't seem all too convinced, and it's just as well, because having to reassure her friend is a reasonable enough excuse for Lumine to momentarily push her own worries out of her head. So long as she's occupied, so long as she’s required to act, she can keep the chilling revelation of her own theories out of her head and continue on as normal.
Or at least, that had been the plan, but Navia's grin is far too sharp as she looks down at their intertwined hands. “Fun, huh?” this world's king teases. “I don't know, Traveler, your hands are feeling pretty sweaty y'know.”
Lumine’s smile turns even faker. “Call it lingering nerves from saving your city.”
They end up boarding the floating train anyway, Nilou climbing on much like a newborn fawn still attempting to get used to their legs. She refuses to let go of the railings, her grip so tight her knuckles are turning white with the force of it, and all the while, Lumine can hear the dancer reciting a Sumeran prayer as she keeps her forehead pressed against the couch and avoids looking either up or down at all costs.
Lumine purses her lips. They aren't really getting anywhere at this rate; the whole point had been to show Nilou just how beautiful it was up here, but that won't do if she keeps herself hidden like that. She’s trembling, and Lumine knows how it feels, knows just how poorly she herself used to react to the sound of lightning and thunder, and so she is just in the middle of thinking up ways to get Nilou to calm down when Navia calls for her attention.
“Say, Traveler…” Navia nudges her in a way that's everything but subtle, an almost doom-spelling grin on her otherwise lovely face. “About that ring of yours…”
“Ring?” Nilou echoes, suddenly far more lively than Lumine would have expected of her at the moment. She pulls back from where she'd been clutching at the toy couches, the green of her cheeks fading to a somewhat healthier color as her eyes immediately fall towards the outlander's left hand resting on her lap. Her eyes light up in sheer surprise, and she seems to entirely have forgotten where they are or how afraid she'd been when she quickly grabs Lumine's wrist to inspect the band more closely. “Oh, Archons, Lumine, you're married?!”
The outburst is loud, and entirely warranted. Lumine goes bright red; remembers the way Nilou had dived for her as soon as she'd spotted her in the forest earlier, notes the impulsive way she'd grabbed her hand, and considers that maybe, she and Albedo need to reconsider this ‘low-key’ thing.
Of course, all of Mondstadt was intricately aware of their relationship; the rumors of their aloof Chief Alchemist and enigmatic Traveler, former Honorary Knight, not ones easily quelled. Klee’s loud and easy calls of ‘Big sis Lumine!’ hardly helped either, and so the only surprise to the people of Mondstadt had not been their wedding, but rather the circumstances around it.
To all of Lumine's other friends though, her relationship status was often still a mystery. They didn't actively hide it, but Lumine knows just how much Albedo values his privacy, and so while she doesn't deny it when directly asked, she doesn't actively bring it up on her own, either.
Nilou had been one such case, left blindsided and entirely convinced that the traveler had in fact been single. Navia, on the other hand, had had her suspicions, if only because she'd spent a lot of supposed ‘bonding time' questioning the traveler and trying to learn as much about her as possible. She hadn't directly asked whether Lumine had been with someone, but she had asked whether anyone had left a lasting impression on her so far, and if the knowing twinkle in her eye while she nibbled on a scone was anything to go by, then Lumine's poker face had not been as convincing as it used to be.
Which brings them to the present, with Nilou still examining Lumine's ring in a surprised sort of awe, and Navia smugly leaning over her shoulder to get a closer look herself.
“Y-yes,” Lumine answers finally, her stutter far less startled this time around. She pulls her hand out of the newly dubbed forest fairy’s grip, clutching it close to her chest as she avoids eye contact. “It was…fairly recent, actually.”
“Who's the lucky person?” Navia presses, her grin mirroring Nilou’s expression with how wide and ecstatic it was, yet somehow still far more controlled.
Paimon—bless her soul—wedges her way in between Lumine and her friends, acting as a rather effective barrier because for as many of Lumine's strengths are carried on her sleeve, she is also surprisingly susceptible to getting overwhelmed at times.
“A knight in Mondstadt,” the fairy answers easily, and then, with a little malice, “Lumi’s been head over heels for him since day one.”
Lumine swats at the fairy, only half-offended, but the damage had been done.
“A knight?” Nilou beams, clasping her palms together. Lumine's brows raise; she hadn't really pegged Nilou to be such a romantic.
“T-technically. Chief Alchemist is a more fitting description for what he does, though…”
Both of them bombard her with questions then, and Lumine supposes she'd at least succeeded in completing the initial purpose of this trip, as Nilou seems to have entirely forgotten her fear of heights and floating trains as she and Navia press her on how the wedding was, what her dress had looked like, what her husband was like and oh, gods, why didn't she tell them?!
“We…didn't really have a ceremony.” She explains, her laugh a little nervous. Her fingers catch around the silver band on her ring finger again, twisting it absentmindedly—something she'd been doing a lot lately—as her mind flashes back to the day of her supposed ‘wedding’. “It was just me and Paimon, and him and his little sister—” and Durin, she doesn't dare add. “Something small, really just to make it official on paper. We… do want to hold an actual ceremony though, one day.” She smiles then, and it is almost bittersweet as she reaches out on her own this time and takes hold of both Nilou and Navia’s hands. “And I promise, I'll invite both of you this time.”
It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth, either.
The circumstances around their marriage had been messy at best and questionable at worst, Lumine is well-aware. Even the way Albedo had asked, in the midst of attempting to return her back to earth; back to the present and out of her head and mind-numbingly clutter of bloodlust in her duty to protect those she loved; during a moment in which neither of them had been exactly sure of their fate and just how the night would end, was sure to raise some brows.
Lumine herself hadn't had a problem with it, of course. In fact, he likely couldn't have done it in any better way in her opinion. Albedo wasn't one for theatrics; he was blunt and to the point, sometimes dismissive or even sneaky in his social interactions depending on just who he was dealing with, but never one to drag things out in any way that wasn't sincere.
Lumine, in turn, was a creature not of this world. Her culture was far removed from anything she could encounter on Teyvat. The stars didn't necessarily care for flowery words and grand gestures—they were nice to have once every few hundred years, sure, but generally, a person’s love, a person's sincerity, was measured in the way they performed under pressure.
It was a near Spartan ideology that Aether had never agreed with, and Lumine herself was mainly indifferent to, but somehow, Albedo had done exactly as the stars expected; loving and protecting her even when faced with what could arguably be the ugliest side of her, and she hadn’t known that it would hit her as hard as it did.
So she had agreed, not an ounce of doubt to be found in her mind as she'd given him her answer and squeezed his hands tight. They hadn't had the time to discuss anything further beyond that point, faced with Jean and a cluster of injured and relatively-hostile knights, as well as a freezing child and a trembling dragon, but it had been a message. A promise that their time would come.
“I don't wanna do the whole shebang without Aether,” she had told him not too soon after, freshly stripped of her title and idly toying with a lock of his hair as she lay sprawled across his lap. Her voice had been casual; controlled, almost dry in the way she made her thoughts clear and kept her eyes on his hair. Looking back, it was very possible that she'd still been recovering from her own outburst at the time, leaving her a bit emotionally stinted.
“We'd always promised we'd be there for each other on our big days. We're all we have left,” she'd continued, and Albedo had merely hummed, breaking her one-sided focus and concentration on his hair as he'd bent to press a gentle kiss against her forehead.
“I can't imagine Alice being too happy if I got properly married without her, either.” He'd said, then paused, eyes closing and shoulders dropping in exasperation as he added, “In fact, there's a very probable chance she might just level heaven and earth if I did.”
So they’d taken Klee and dressed her in her prettiest, yet warmest dress, placed carefully-woven flower crowns made from Cecilias and Windwheel Asters on both her and Paimon’s heads, and asked Deaconess Barbara to marry them in Dragonspine.
Of course, taking Barbara to see Durin meant having Jean tag along with them, they'd already accounted for that in advance, but they—or at least, Albedo—hadn’t considered just how massive of a strain both Durin’s existence and Lumine's open threats had put on Jean's relationship with them.
The Acting Grand Master had been respectful though, entirely sincere as she'd congratulated them on their marriage even when her smile was thin and her body had been far too tense as she'd shook Lumine's hand—not daring for a hug—and tried her hardest not to stare too long at the massive dragon hovering just behind them and serving as their third witness.
(Durin and Klee had been the only ones entirely indifferent to all the tension taking form between the present adults, one happily wagging his bony tail and the other joyfully running around and leaving flowers in her wake while chanting about how she now officially had a big sister.)
It had gotten better over time, of course. Albedo's suspension period was almost over, and Jean didn't look like she was physically restraining herself from drawing her weapon every time Lumine stopped by anymore, but by no means was it perfect. Durin’s docility had helped change the people's minds, but the scars that had been left that day ran deep, and so Lumine didn't necessarily expect to ever be walking Mondstadt’s streets while armed again.
Thinking about her marriage while stuck in a fairytale world, riding a floating train car with her friends left a weird taste in Lumine’s mouth. On the one hand, it helped her relax quite a bit, the reminder of what she had waiting for her back home loosening the tension in her body enough for her to be able to breathe easily.
On the other hand, Durin was one of the things she had waiting for her, and for as much as she had grown to love and care for him…thinking about him now, with a supposedly evil dragon running rampage and the marks of the Hexenzirkel scattered around everywhere she looked…it didn’t bode well.
Luckily, Navia and Nilou, albeit for entirely different reasons, seem to be on the same page as her. Their next objective would be to go searching for this apparent evil dragon, and while Lumine only smiles and nods her head, deep down, she is praying to anyone that will listen that she is, in fact, wrong.
Paimon, for all her eccentricities and problems, simply knows Lumine far too well for the traveler to have any reasonable shot at hiding anything from her. Even when she’d found the actual Durin’s revived corpse had it only taken the little fairy about three days before she’d noticed the discrepancies in her lies and caught on to her frequent sneaking around. Three days, and that had been with Albedo’s help to boot, so it comes as no surprise when Lumine’s first ever friend since coming into this world lingers behind as their party prepares to head into the dragon’s den.
“Paimon…Paimon doesn't think it's him,” the fairy eventually tells her, though she doesn’t seem all too sure of herself even as she tries to assure the traveler. She positions herself between Lumine and the rest of their group, tiny hands a steady weight on the traveler’s shoulders as Navia and Nilou sprint on ahead towards the dragon’s den, Wanderer trailing behind them at a much more leisure pace. “It- it can't be him, right? He's back at home! And you know Albedo wouldn't let anything happen to him! Not to mention, uh, Jean—” she grimaces, likely remembering the last encounter the Acting Grand Master had had with their dragon, and quickly stumbles past it. “J-just…calm down for a bit. Paimon is sure it'll be fine.”
“I don’t know,” Lumine admits, her own hands coming up to meet Paimon’s and easing them off her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “The way it’s looking…it seems like it might be a mirror of our world.”
Through the looking glass, she thinks, a bit hysterically. A story that doesn’t exist within this world, yet somehow, the strange and whimsical activities of the Hexenzirkel—and especially Alice —often remind the traveler of the set of storybooks she and Aether used to read late at night.
(She wonders then if Aether would have thought the same, had he been in her position, or if the knowledge of Rhinedottir’s involvement, one directly tied to Khaenri’ah’s tragic fate, would have clouded his judgment.)
“It can't be him,” Paimon repeats, yet somehow, it does the exact opposite of making Lumine feel at ease.
“Sometime today, please, ladies.” Wanderer presses suddenly, somehow making his way of addressing them sound the most scalding and condescending she had heard from him in a long while. When she turns, it is to find him waiting at the den’s entrance, both Navia and Nilou long gone and leaving the former Harbinger behind with his arms crossed and his hat tipped low over his brow.
“Lovely as ever, aren't you, Hat Guy?” She retorts, and Wanderer scoffs, the usage of the silly moniker somehow bothering him a lot more when she's the one to use it.
“Just hurry up,” he bites, turning to disappear into the glowing portal himself. A roar follows soon after, loud enough for the vibrations to shake the cave enough for some stray rocks to come loose and fall to the floor, and even when she tries her hardest not to, the traveler can’t help but flinch when she steps through the gates herself.
Her composure fails miserably not too long after, feeling as if she'd been shot straight through the heart when Wanderer name-drops the dragon as Durin, and it is noticeable, because his eyes are on her when he says it yet Lumine can't bring herself to care in the slightest.
It goes without saying then that her cover is the absolute last thing on her mind when faced with this world's version of her resurrected dragon. She can’t possibly think to stop herself as she steps forward and reaches for the now significantly smaller version of Durin; her touch almost damningly gentle as she cups the dragon’s face, eyes falling closed and inhaling shakily as she presses her forehead against his and rubs her thumbs across his scales, much like she is used to doing to her own version of Durin.
Her dragon is an anxious creature, burned and scarred by the many happenings of the past to such an extent that he is prone to hiding even now; even when he knowingly has both Albedo and Lumine looking after him and caring for him like the family he had become.
Mini Durin had gone through troubles of his own, and while they are arguably less horrifying than his counterpart’s, they had decidedly still left their mark. Lumine had seen it in the way he had initially lashed out; had seen it in the way he’d whimpered and hid behind his mother’s statue. Even now, when he’s in a considerable better mood—wide-eyed and flapping his wings excitedly—can the traveler still see the hints of doubt festering in the dragon’s eyes as he looks down at himself; the way he shrinks back and deflates when Wanderer doesn’t immediately affirm his previous declaration of friendship.
“You did good,” she reassures the dragon, a whisper so soft it is barely audible, and while she is surely making a show in front of her confused friends, it is one particular set of eyes, sharp and knowing and indigo, that she can feel prodding into her back the hardest.
“....Miss Traveler,” Durin eventually says, so polite it is almost cautious. He stares up at her in sheer awe, not sure how to handle the sudden overflow of affection after so long of being shunned, and it makes her heart ache. “Do you…know me?”
The smile she gives him is almost pained, and she’s careful to keep her touch as soft and as light as it had been initially even when she reluctantly pulls herself out of his space. “I know your story,” she answers, neither confirming nor denying his question. “And I mean it, Durin. No matter what people may tell you, no matter what they think of you, so long as you wish to atone and make up for the accidents you’ve caused, you did good.”
The tiny dragon stares at her, so stunned she’d bet he’s forgotten how to think, but then he absolutely beams at her, wide expressive eyes glazing with what she swears are unshed tears. Lumine almost breaks again at the sight, her heart clenching in her chest so tightly she steps further away from the dragon and allows the remainder of her group to share some enthusiastic words with him.
(As expressive as he is, her Durin can’t cry like that; his body so roughened and decayed that all that is left of his eyes are empty sockets and an eerie red glow.
Her Durin can't be forgiven that easily either, because accidental as they might have been, his crimes had been far, far worse.)
Wanderer catches her shortly after the others make their way out of the dark and surreal void that is mini Durin’s consciousness with a heavy hand around her wrist. “What was that?” He presses, tone hard and demanding, and Lumine almost flinches away at both the touch and his voice, a part of her, small as it might be, still not fully able to differentiate her current friend from what had once been her enemy.
(She thinks she hears Aether's voice again; a memory telling her to learn to trust people. She immediately blocks it out, because if Scaramouche had been able to become her friend, there was the very chilling and yet the very real possibility of Aether becoming her enemy.)
She swallows, the thought unsettling in more ways than one, and is rather slow in the way she pulls her hand out of Wanderer's grip and cradles her wrist against her chest in a way that is almost protective. His eyes narrow at her reaction, not used to seeing her this meek, and she stubbornly averts her gaze to stare at the desk cluttered with storybooks across the room. “What was what?”
Wanderer scoffs. “You can fool them, Traveler, but you can’t fool me.” He declares, arms crossing over his chest as he stares at her, and it is eerie, that cold, calculating stare reminding her far too much of the look the Shogun had given right before attempting to strike her down. Lumine doesn’t think he’d appreciate it very much if she mentioned it. “You know of him.”
Lumine bites her lip; thinks hard of what she can and cannot say and knows from the very start that she has lost. For all his roughness and lack of tact when dealing with people, Wanderer is far more open-hearted than he seems. He is one of few that pays attention a little too well; his innate care for people being the sole reason he'd ended up like this in the first place, and also the reason he'd attached himself to mini Durin this quickly.
(She thinks of Durin again, of Subject Two and how vengeful he'd been. A failed experiment; a forgotten and discarded doll as much as Wanderer- as much as Kunikuzushi had been.
She thinks of them, and it comes with the rather unsettling realization that Albedo, her husband, could have very easily suffered from the same fate had he not turned out to be exactly what Rhinedottir had wanted.)
She still isn't looking at him when she answers. “He's…special. To me.”
There's a long, pregnant pause, and when the traveler dares to sneak a look, it is to find him with his brows raised; a muted display of surprise he hardly ever lets show. “He's dead.” He reminds her.
“So he is.”
“Traveler.”
“I can't tell you,” she finally breaks, her eyes squeezing shut as she fights to keep her voice even. “I'm sorry, Kuni, but I just can't.”
(Because telling him the truth meant admitting to Durin’s premature revival. It opened the gateway for questions asking when, why, and most damningly of all, how.
Because telling him the truth meant admitting to Aether's crimes. It meant owning up to the fact that her brother, the one she had initially been doing all of this for, had turned his back on this world and its rules….and, in turn, had turned his back on her.
She honestly doubts she would even have told Albedo had he not found her with Durin that day; her love for her brother, questionable and even fatalistic as it sometimes may be, oftentimes overruling her sense of morality. It was something they had talked about as early as the first time she'd come to him, bruised and drugged by whatever Abyssal concoction she'd accidentally ended up being exposed to, and while Lumine is aware of her limitations—of her weakness, actually doing something about it is far easier said than done.)
“You can't tell me,” Wanderer repeats, his voice almost dry as his lips thin into an unimpressed frown. He stares at her, eyes narrowed and arms crossed and it's unsettling how hard it is for Lumine to read him, but she can't do anything but take it because Wanderer always, always gives as good as he gets; and so if she refuses to expose her secrets, then neither will he.
Eventually, he relents, his tongue clicking in annoyance as he turns away from her and nods his head. “Fine,” he says, fingertips adjusting the rim of his hat as he moves towards the still-open portal. “Don't tell me, then. But pull yourself together. Watching you scramble around like this is annoying.”
Lumine smiles, happily trailing after him in a way that is entirely faked. “You could also just say that you're worried, you know.”
“Quiet.”
Lumine had set all of two steps into Mondstadt’s general area before she’s beelining straight into the direction of Dragonspine’s snowy mountains.
She hears Paimon’s startled and perhaps frantic calls of her name as she goes, her sometimes grating, but oftentimes endearing voice fading into the background and entirely ignored within the traveler’s one-track mind. Paimon had been with her for far too long; she knew Lumine better than anyone—better than any of her other friends, her husband and, as chilling as the thought is, arguably better than even her own brother.
Paimon had also been with her, glued to her side as per usual, during their exploration of Simulanka’s fairytale-like world. She had seen what Lumine had; known what kind of effect it had, and could likely make a very educated guess on what would follow once they made it back. Paimon wouldn’t stop her. Paimon wouldn’t follow.
Albedo on the other hand…
Her husband had noticed something was off as soon as he’d spotted her, because of course he had.
She’d barely had the time to process he was even there, two days after what had effectively been mini Durin’s cleansing and standing in front of the waterfall hiding what was once his lair. She’d heard him coming, ears fairly attuned to the sound of his gentle footsteps and the clicking of the many belts and buckles of his clothes, as well as the gentle call of her name, and in all honesty, she should have expected this.
Rare as the Hexenzirkel’s presence may be, it is always, always followed up with the appearance of their modern-day disciples in some way.
She’d turned, and Albedo's hands were on her immediately, gentle and sweet and above all, careful as he’d cupped her face much like she'd done with this world's version of Durin a mere two days earlier. His brows were furrowed, concern shining bright and open in teal eyes that had once been so cold, and his voice was as soft as his touch as he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs and asked, “What's wrong?”
(Lumine hadn't flinched at his touch—she never could. Albedo feels safe; her place to come back to, her home. He's stuck with her through both her highest and her lowest; stuck with her even when her own brother had betrayed her in a timeless, misguided quest for what he deemed to be justice. He would stick with her until their inevitable end, and she would do the same for as long as this world would permit her.
Still, she couldn't help but think of the memories she'd witnessed of this world's version of Durin. Couldn't help but think how much worse it must have been in reality, and how despite it all, despite his own realizations about his mother as of late, Albedo still refuses to speak of Rhinedottir in any way that would cast her in a bad light.)
Fate had, however, been on the traveler's side for once. Klee had come barreling into view shortly after, followed by Wanderer and the tiny, curious dragon he now joyfully had attached to him as his new companion.
There hadn't been time for Lumine to either attempt to explain or get herself out of doing so, and truly, she hadn't needed to, as Albedo's sharp and intelligent eyes had widened upon spotting the miniature version of what was essentially his brother. He'd looked over at Lumine immediately, but she'd avoided his gaze, choosing to focus on Klee instead to make sure she didn't accidentally say something she shouldn't in case she were to recognize the dragon, too.
Which brings them to the present, with Lumine heading straight for Durin’s resting place and stubbornly ignoring the controlled footsteps calmly echoing behind her as she goes.
There wouldn't have been any reason for her to expect otherwise, but the sense of relief that floods her when she sees the dragon, exactly where she had left him and toying with his massive tail, is enough to be near crippling. His ears twitch when she gets closer, moving every which way like an alert cat, but when the glowing red of his eyes finally settle on her, he perks up immediately, and the tightness she had been carrying in her chest ever since first becoming trapped in that fairytale-like world finally starts to lift.
The footsteps behind her have halted as well, but Lumine doesn't care, choosing instead to dive for the dragon and burying her face in his rough scales before either of them could possibly have the chance to spot the tears in her eyes.
“Hey,” she eventually says, fighting to keep her voice as light and as natural as possible as she playfully scratches her nails across Durin’s horns. “Sorry I was gone so long. I missed you.”
Durin doesn't seem to catch on to her distress yet, the low growl of satisfaction he makes nothing but content as his massive claws make biscuits into the snow and lightly bumps his head further into the traveler's touch. Lumine only laughs, his joy infectious even as she has to lean forward to avoid getting whacked in the head by his excitable tail.
(She thinks of the way the people of Simulanka had shunned their version of Durin, thinks of the way he'd cried and just how scared he'd been, and her grip on him tightens with near Celestial strength.)
She sits with the dragon, finding a sense of comfort just in being with him after all she'd witnessed and heard over the course of the past few weeks, and it's peaceful, somehow. The calm and the familiarity of being with her family enough to dull the sizzling rage into something more manageable.
Albedo hasn't said anything so far, merely sitting in front of the pair with his sketchbook and penciling out what is undeniably their likeness. Lumine wouldn't be surprised if she woke up to find a fully-polished painting decorating their home one day, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.
The alchemist looks up from time to time, be it to take in their reference or entertain Durin by rolling back the ball—a Dodoco-themed one; one of Klee’s—the dragon keeps knocking his way. Occasionally, his eyes linger on Lumine for far longer than should be necessary when studying a mere reference, and he doesn't have to say it for her to know what is on his mind. Odd behavior aside, it had especially come to a head during his initial talk with Wanderer. She'd fallen almost entirely silent, and the both of them had noticed, as Albedo's eyes hadn't left her even as he was making his tasteless request and Wanderer had excused himself shortly after with a backhanded comment for her to come find him once she's gotten herself back together.
The silence, riddled with underlying tension as it is, is somehow still calming. When Lumine closes her eyes, she can almost delude herself into thinking the situation is something normal; something familiar. The feel of Durin’s scales around her body, the sound of Albedo's steady breathing and focused brushwork. The only things missing would be the sounds of Paimon and Klee causing mischief not too far off, but even then, it's enough to cool her down just a little. She's nowhere near calm, but she's far from exploding, and that must have been his exact cue.
“I made you angry,” Albedo finally states, not a single ounce of question to be found in his voice, and he must be finished with his sketch, fast worker as he is. His supplies rest neatly beside him, legs crossing and eyes fixating on her in a way that feels like he's looking directly through her. Knowing her husband, he must've been waiting, his fickle attention span no match for his calculated way of doing things. He knows Lumine too well, after all, loved her with all her flaws included—he knew they wouldn't get anywhere if he'd tried to press her when she was still worked up.
Lumine’s jaw clenches, but she doesn’t respond, instead choosing to close her eyes and bury her face deeper into Durin’s rough scales. He’s far less bone than skin these days, her and Albedo’s combined efforts proving to be quite fruitful in his healing process. The dragon is still far removed from what they could consider ‘normalcy’, the state of his body and decaying flesh still casting a rather grotesque image, but the improvement is visible, and the feeling of rough skin digging into her cheek as she hugs him close is enough to cool her rampant mind even if just a little.
(Her Durin doesn't talk, but he's just as expressive as he coos and lifts one of his wings around Lumine's trembling body, pulling her close and tucking her in much like he’s used to doing with Klee. As if he is comforting her.)
“...’m not mad at you,” she finally mumbles, a bit petulant.
Albedo nods his head slowly, his boots crunching within the thick snow and leaving visible marks as he rises and takes a careful step closer. His hands are folded neatly behind his back, and the distance he keeps between himself and her and the massive dragon currently slouched over her reminds her far too much of his first time meeting said dragon. Except then, he’d been terrified; visibly unsure what to think or how to deal with the image of his master’s formerly dead legacy alive and well and curled around his even more visibly drugged girlfriend.
Now, however, there’s none of that. Albedo is as calm as always, as calculated as always, and Lumine suspects he already might know the answer when he states, “Someone else, then.”
The traveler doesn’t respond for the first few beats, only hugging the dragon even closer as she weighs her options and debates on whether she even wants to risk stepping on the landmine that is her husband’s family.
She’s always had mixed feelings about Rhine, that much was no secret. Knowing how she’d treated Albedo, forcing him to learn and survive on nothing but cold facts and something so distant Lumine wouldn’t even dare call it conditional love… it was difficult to find something positive to latch onto within the mess that was Rhinedottir’s legacy.
Actually seeing that legacy didn’t make her opinion any better. It had come to a head, of course, in the form of Durin himself and Albedo’s so-called prototype, but everywhere Lumine went, every place she visited, traces of what was essentially her mother-in-law was left behind. Be it Inazuma’s Rifthounds, or Dainsleif’s recollection of the past, it all left a bitter taste in Lumine’s mouth.
(The worst of it had been Albedo’s own recollection of his mother, during a time where Durin had been nothing more than a freakishly active heartbeat buried within the ruins of his own decaying corpse. He’d talked of Rhinedottir’s neglect and ideologies as easily as breathing, seeing absolutely no fault in how she’d been ready to leave or even discard him at the drop of a hat should he not produce favorable results in his studies.
The detached way in which she had raised him explained a lot of Albedo’s behavior early-on. He’d been much colder when they’d first met; far more robotic and stuck in his own, miserable world. The only time he’d smiled, the only light in his life had been Klee, and while he’s far more human now than he’d ever been, that initial coldness had resonated with Lumine in all of the worst ways. It had been eerily close to the way the stars had attempted to raise them, after all.)
“How…” she pauses, a sudden lump in her throat as she attempts to get the words out. Once more, the traveler debates on whether or not she really wants to have this conversation, knowing that she, for a fact, hadn’t responded well to being confronted with Aether’s wrongdoings either. Still, she loves Albedo—she loves her family, and some things just needed to be said. “How high do you think the possibility is of you…of you losing control, so to speak?”
It’s always a treat to see Albedo surprised, his normally controlled and sometimes even blank expressions fading into something more open; less guarded. One of Lumine’s favorite pastimes after they'd gotten together had been seeing just how far the lines went and where they blurred, trying her hardest to catch him off guard with things such as surprise physical contact, confessions, or even dropping by solely for the sake of handing him some Cecilias she'd found while exploring the mountains.
Albedo didn't necessarily get flustered in the traditional sense, but the first few times she'd done any of those things, he'd frozen in place and merely stared out in front of him as his genius brain attempted to process the affection he was suddenly faced with. It had been as adorable as it had been heartbreaking.
He must've gotten used to her antics by now, expecting to be thrown off at every hurdle because his surprise at her current question is nothing more than a stutter in his step and a subtle widening of his eyes. It's a loaded question, Lumine is well-aware. A topic that the both of them had silently decided to be left unspoken, yet Lumine can't shake the way the alchemist had openly solicited Wanderer’s aid in the event anything were to go wrong. He'd disguised it under being for Durin’s care, of course, but she had seen it for what it was; an additional safety net in the case the eventual fate of all of Rhinedottir’s creations caught up to him, as well.
Lumine hadn't said anything at the time, not very keen on the idea of making a scene in front of her friends, but she had been far from happy. She'd be willing to bet that Albedo had noticed too, hence why he'd followed her up the mountains so easily despite Paimon’s initial protests.
The knowledge hadn't been enough to prepare him for the discomfort her question brings, however, his eyes cast sideways and seemingly far too interested in the icicles gathering above Durin’s cave. “That's…” he starts, clearly unsure what to say. “Perhaps…this isn't a discussion we should have in front of Durin…”
“Then when should we?” She counters sharply, the crack in her voice audible even to herself and she hates how loud it is; hates how shaken mini Durin's memories had made her, and hates how the real thing had a very probable chance of making her collapse on the spot should she be there to witness it.
(The stars would have called her weak for it. Unfit to be a warrior. To Lumine, it is just a testament to how much she had grown to care for this gentle and once deceased dragon, and it is both a blessing and a curse.)
Said dragon whines softly at the sound of her distress, his wing draping around her more securely in what is clearly meant to be a hug, and perhaps Albedo is right; they really shouldn't be having this conversation in front of Durin. He's always been so sensitive to his surroundings, it had been one of the reasons his creator had discarded him for.
Albedo, in turn, is far less emotional; the majority of it snuffed out long ago by Rhinedottir. Lumine, however, is one of few weaknesses he had built up over time, and so it doesn't really come as much of a surprise when he sets his discomfort aside and heads for her immediately, his gloved hands reaching for her trembling ones and pressing an apologetic kiss against the freezing skin.
“You still love her,” Lumine eventually continues, forcing the shakiness out of her voice for both Durin's and Albedo's sake. She returns his hold, fingers intertwining with each other in a show of comfort, because even if they might be arguing, there's no denying how much of a calming effect his presence has on her.
“You still love her,” she repeats. “And I don't— can’t blame you for it. We both know that by now Aether is…i-is probably no better, yet I-” he turns her palm in his hold, thumb idly rubbing across her wrist in a gentle pattern. “...At the end of the day she's still your mother. I get that, Albedo, I really do. But… this — ”
The breath gets knocked out of her before she can finish, and evidently, Albedo had been right. They really shouldn’t be having this conversation in front of Durin.
The cave rumbles around them as the dragon cries out, echoing loud enough for beds of snow and icicles to come falling down from the upper layers and would surely cause an avalanche should they not calm him down and Lumine almost curses herself for not listening.
Durin had always been sensitive to his surroundings. It had been one of the many reasons Rhine had chosen to get rid of him after all. He was too emotional, too caring. He carried his heart on his metaphorical sleeve and had been punished for it in more ways than one. They had been the first to love him for who he was, his second chance at family, and she should have known that seeing them argue like this, mild as it was, would throw him into a frenzy soon enough.
He couldn’t handle conflict. Especially not after everything that had happened.
“It’s okay, Durin,” Albedo tries to reassure the dragon, his voice sounding oddly detached even as he holds nothing but affection for the dragon currently flapping his wings in a mad mirror of Lumine’s distress. He holds his hand out, a quiet offer, and Lumine takes it immediately, her own voice echoing his as she lets him pull her up enough for the dragon to get a proper look at her.
“It’s okay,” she repeats, her other hand, cold and slightly reddened from being in the snow for this long, reaching upwards to rest against the dragon’s snout. “I’m okay.”
Durin doesn’t look convinced, but he does pause, the glowing of red in his eye sockets fixated on the both of them, looking for any sign of a lie. Lumine rubs over his scales, idly listening as Albedo talks to the dragon in gentle reassurances, with her humming the melody of an old, ancient song that she now almost knows for certain Aether had sang to the dragon upon his revival all the while, and watches as he slowly relaxes.
(She’d had a hunch early on, during her first ever time of attempting to use her purification on his Abyss-stricken wounds. Her memory had been flooded with Aether as she’d worked, traces of him scattered all across the dragon and so it had been entirely on impulse that she’d started humming their childhood lullaby to him. A weaponized form of nostalgia solely meant to mask the clear evidence of her brother heading down a path she could not possibly follow with a good conscience.
Durin, however, had responded rather sharply to the song; his ears perking up and the glow of his eyes dimming in what was likely meant to mimic the closing of his eyes. His body had sagged as the breath left him in a heavy exhale, and Lumine didn’t think she’d ever seen him more content than he’d been in that exact moment.
Even when she’d first found him, frantic and only half-sane, a tad-delirious, had Lumine had the impression that Aether had done his best to care for the dragon during their time together. Durin had been confused and anxious to be left on his own, sure, but he had been safe; cleverly hidden behind an Abyssal contraption that she’d only been able to unlock due to the lingering effects of Aether’s presence, left neatly in the form of a note etched in stone and written entirely in Starsong.
It never failed to make Lumine wonder then, what had made her brother give him up?)
Albedo takes her aside once the dragon fully calms down, taking care to still be within eyeshot, and very likely within earshot as well, but the custom-made earplugs he’d fashioned for both of his siblings early on in case of thunderstorms should serve as a well-enough buffer for them to continue their conversation in pseudo-private. Apparently, seeing Lumine’s distress in full had been enough for him to note the importance of the matter for what it truly was, and she has to give credit where credit was due, at the very least. Durin’s brief outburst could have been the perfect escape, yet here her husband was, as carefully determined as ever, settling down in front of her and taking her down with him with a gentle tug on her wrist as he goes.
“....Truthfully, the possibility is quite low.” Albedo finally admits. The hand that had been on her own slides down towards her waist, freakishly gentle, as if she might run should he be anything but careful with her. Lumine, however, doesn’t even think of fighting him when he inevitably pulls her into him; a rare show of affection—of intimacy, that he’s only comfortable sharing when it’s just them.
Something must have shaken him though, even before Durin’s outburst. Something in her eyes, her voice, or her words, but it had been enough for him to forgo his usual sense of privacy, rendering Durin, arguably the cause of their current discussion, a near moot-point as the alchemist focuses on his wife and his wife alone within her distress. She settles against his chest; listens to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and tries not to think too hard on how much dread the thought of ever having to quell that artificial beat will bring her.
“Low,” she eventually mumbles, almost bitter. “But not zero.”
“Not zero,” he confirms, pressing a kiss against her temple. “However, given my current state of mind…given my current state of…well…” There it is again, that rosy, not-so-quite flustered color to his cheeks, the steady way in which he tries to avoid her eyes as his hand traces the bottom of her dress in lieu of a distraction. He falters, the words unable to slip past his lips even after all this time, and Lumine can’t help but smile.
(She remembers the day of his proposal, how bold and sure of himself he’d been; popping the question even if they had been directly in front of a rather large audience within an arguably hopeless situation. She thinks of how professionally he carries himself at any other moment of the day, remembers how he’d damn near shut down the first ever time she’d kissed him, and thinks that, for all his genius, perhaps he runs at his sharpest on impulse, too.)
“A-anyway,” he clears his throat, squeezes her just a little closer even as he bashfully keeps avoiding her gaze, and Lumine lets him. “You have to understand, Lumine. Even if I personally think I won’t meet with a fate such as theirs, all of master’s creations have met their demise or corruption one way or another. I know you may not like it, but all I do, all the insurances and backup plans I create, it’s all for you. So that even if there is the slightest chance that I…won’t be here, I know that the four of you can continue on. I-”
“Stop.”
“Even if I’m not there, I-I don’t think I can bear the thought of you-”
“Albedo!”
“....starlight…” Albedo starts, and it’s stilted, his voice muffled by Lumine squeezing him near half to death in her distress. “Please don’t cry. You know I can never stand to see you weep.”
“Then why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye to me?”
“I promise I’m not. Please listen to me.” There’s a gentle pressure against her shoulder as he pushes her off, just enough for him to meet the star-ridden tears in her eyes, and his gaze softens, gloved thumbs reaching up to wipe the glittery mess from her cheeks. He lifts her hand, lips falling to her wrist next, and the stare he gives her is nothing but sincere as teal meets gold. “The chance certainly exists, yes, but it is still low. For all the steps I take to ensure that everyone I care for can move on safely should the worst happen, I need you to absolutely understand that I have no intention of leaving you alone anytime soon. Not in this life,” he drops her wrist, smile turning impossibly fond as he reaches up to wipe her tears again. “And not in the next.”
“I’m starting to see how Sethos is always able to find you so easily,” Lumine chirps as she comes up from behind him, swiftly hopping over the thick tree roots hidden behind the Akademiya and settling herself on the adjacent branch he’d seated himself on with a helping gust of Anemo. “That big hat of yours stands out no matter how hard you try to blend into your surroundings, Hat Guy.”
Wanderer only scoffs, the scowl on his face the sourest she’s seen it in a long while, and it’s almost nostalgic, in a weird, probably unhealthy, way. Still, he doesn’t snap at her, doesn’t attempt to push her off the branch or even fly away in his annoyance. Nahida’s influence is a powerful thing, Lumine is well-aware, but it only goes so far. She can’t make him do things he truly doesn’t want to, and so Lumine also knows that for all his haughty complaining and scathing use of his tongue, the former Harbinger had grown to at least tolerate her presence quite a bit.
“Very funny,” he bites, but it’s half-hearted, his sharp eyes focused on the overgrown tree branches on the opposite side of the Akademiya. When Lumine follows his gaze, she is not at all surprised to find mini Durin flying there, happily soaring between Sumeru’s birdlife and staying expertly hidden between the leaves and branches as he does so.
She smiles, noting the poorly suppressed look of fondness on Wanderer’s face, but choosing not to say anything about it. He’d never been good at admitting to his own emotions, and while he hadn’t pushed her off the tree branch yet, Lumine was fairly certain that he 100% would during the inevitable tantrum that would follow should she mention it.
They sit in silence for a long, peaceful moment. Lumine looks at mini Durin, her hand resting against her cheek and a soft, bittersweet smile on her face, and wonders if her Durin had been like that too once, or if Rhinedottir had stunted his sense of adventure from the start. She’d like to think that it was the former.
“Tell me about him,” Wanderer suddenly says, and when Lumine looks over at him, startled out of her thoughts, it is to find him fidgeting in his seat; his own stare stubbornly locked on the tiny dragon having the time of his life across from them.
Her brows furrow. “About who?”
“This Durin that ‘means so much’ to you.” Wanderer is still not looking at her, but he nods his head to the miniature version across from them, faking casual. “I know this one’s story. What’s his?”
Ah.
(Kunikuzushi had been abandoned without reason. Kabukimono had been left to wonder why it’d happened again. Scaramouche had gotten rid of his own bleeding heart; taking any and every minor inconvenience as a personal slight against him and retaliating twofold in ways that were far more reminiscent of a wounded animal lashing out than he would like…but Wanderer, it seemed, had recovered that bleeding heart. Wondering about the fate of a dragon he didn’t even know. Wondering, despite knowing full well the truth would be far more familiar than he’d be willing to handle.)
Lumine bites her lip, and to her credit, she thinks very hard about her decision this time. Wanderer doesn’t like being told no. Never had. He’s calmed down over time, sure, but his scars ran deep; deeper than most she had encountered on Teyvat so far, and so he was still prone to lashing out from time to time, during the most unexpected of times, too.
Still, she thinks of him, of his past, of how much he had related to Simulanka’s watered down version of Durin’s past, and shakes her head. “Bad,” is all she offers, eyes distant and voice sagely. “I’m sure you can think of something, given what you’ve seen of the little one’s past.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“Why?” She rounds on him then, and is almost startled to find that he is looking at her, too. The look in his eyes is unreadable, however, and she swallows thickly, unable to meet the intensity of it as she tries to lead him off her trail. “It’s all Teyvat’s history, you know? I’m sure Nahida could tell you everything you’d want to know if you’d ask her.”
Wanderer eyes her, notes her discomfort, her vulnerability and shakes his head. “I want to hear it from someone who loves him.”
Loves, she notes. Not ‘loved’. Wanderer, for all his rudeness and indifference of the people around him, paid far too much attention, and Lumine considers herself nothing more than a fool for putting herself into this position so soon after her talk with Albedo. The scars were so fresh, really, it’s like she went into this willingly.
So Lumine tells him. She tells him of Durin’s creation, what little she knows of his childhood, and then his abandonment. She tells him of his corruption, his rampaging of all of Mondstadt despite having nothing but pure intentions and seeing no fault in his actions as to him, he was only making friends with the townspeople.
She tells him of the Anemo Archon’s appearance, and then Durin’s subsequent death that followed shortly after. She mentions his corpse, and his eerily beating heart within the remains of his own skeleton. She does not, however, tell him of his early resurrection, nor does she mention anything that could link back to either Albedo or the Abyss, but she doesn’t have to. Wanderer is smart; intuitive. It’s likely that he’s already figured out that Durin was alive and well, had likely clocked it as early as Lumine’s first reaction to his name.
At the end of her story, Wanderer gives nothing more than a disinterested hum of acknowledgement, but Lumine knows the indifference is false. Had seen it in the locking of his jaw and the clenching of his fists throughout her story.
“That…guy of yours,” she raises a brow and he scoffs, rolling his eyes and waving her off in clear dismissal. “The blond that tried to rope me into his mess, whatever he is. He’s not human, is he?”
Lumine stares at him, unblinking. She knows she can’t lie to someone like him, someone who’s intuition is far too sharp, experience far too learned for something like this. But she can’t tell the truth, either. “Ask him.”
Wanderer scoffs again. “Yeah, so that’s a no, then, Traveler. Your lying skills are as lovely as ever.” He sneers at her, defensive, because he doesn’t take well to being lied to, either, yet still, she doesn’t do or say anything to confirm or deny his assumptions, and he sighs like even he can’t believe where he’s going with this, before— “Anyway, tell that human of yours that I accept his request.”
Lumine blinks twice. Then once more. “Really?”
“What? Do you not want me to?”
Honestly, no, because Lumine would rather there be no need for his help at all. But Albedo had been right, and she can’t keep deluding herself into thinking her happy life could continue on like this forever, nor could she allow herself to spiral into the everliving sense of doom the thought brought with it. He had said it himself, after all. The possibility was close to, but never zero.
“...I’ll tell him.” she says, and then, much softer. “...thank you.”
He shakes his head, the look in his eyes taking on something darker, almost pitying, as he pushes himself off the tree branch. There’s moss sticking to his shorts as he goes, and Wanderer absentmindedly swats it off as he hops off the tree and catches himself mid-fall. When he turns to face her, his hat is off, hanging behind him in a halo very reminiscent of his mother’s Electro usage, and his voice is a lot less scalding than she is used to. “Should you really be thanking me for this?”
Wanderer is smart. He’d studied Lumine’s reactions the entire time they’d been stuck together in Simulanka—had studied her even more when Albedo had made his appearance. He knew what he had really been asked. He knew this wasn’t about Durin.
“No,” Lumine admits, far too easily, and her smile is so, so fake. “No, I really shouldn’t, but…thank you anyway.”
After all, Lumine doesn’t think she’d have it in her to kill Albedo herself.