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“Have you heard, Lumine? Apparently the festival we’re attending here in Fontaine is based on a story about a doll who falls in love with a human! Sounds pretty romantic, huh? They’re even putting on performances of it close to the festival site. We should check it out when we can!”
“What a pathetic story,” said the Wanderer.
“Nobody asked you!” Paimon said with a loud harrumph. “If you were going to complain this much, you could’ve just stayed in Sumeru, you know!”
Lumine bit back a sigh as they entered the elevator of Fontaine’s waterway hub. When everybody was parting ways in Simulanka, she and Paimon had announced that they would be taking a quick trip to the Fleurféerie festival. The Wanderer was also headed there—for his fieldwork assignment in sociology, he’d said. Lumine had suggested they travel together, more out of habit than any real expectation that it would happen.
To her surprise, the other two agreed. Paimon had been set on making nice with him after seeing how well he handled the Mini Durin situation. “Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all!” she’d said, which had lasted a grand total of one morning before she exploded at his being snide over a road sign.
“Come on, you two. Let’s not do this for the seventh time today.” Lumine reached past the Wanderer to press the button for the third floor. “Although I’m also surprised you chose to come here with us. Didn’t Nahida give you free rein to go wherever you wanted?”
“It’s close enough from Bayda Harbor. Besides, Fontaine is rather to my taste,” said the Wanderer. “No other nation in Teyvat is so keenly aware of their own artifice and still revels in it.”
Lumine and Paimon exchanged a look as the walls revolved around them.
“Can you ever say anything nice without being twisted about it?” Paimon asked.
“No,” said the Wanderer. “In either case, this keeps me away from the Akademiya for a while. That lot from Vahumana have been harassing me recently about visiting some ‘cat café’ that has popped up in Sumeru City. ‘It’s physically healing,’ they kept saying, as if I were another feeble human prone to toppling over from stress. Ridiculous.”
“Seems like you’re getting along pretty well with them,” said Lumine. She still remembered how he had written several months ago about their making him a surprise cake for his birthday.
“They’re under the delusion that we are classmates, that’s all. These foolish gestures must be compensation for how they keep pestering me for academic advice. Any charade of friendliness on their part is bound to end the moment they either graduate or learn how to actually read.”
“Talk about being gloomy,” Paimon whispered to her at a volume that wasn’t much of a whisper at all.
The doors whirred open to the Navia Line stop, emptied of any occupants. The aquabus had just left, and another wasn’t due for an hour. Fontaine’s capital was bustling with visitors and late-summer vitality, vendors competing to foist off their stock on ignorant tourists, but this particular platform was a bubble of quiet among the city ruckus.
In wait for their ride, Paimon floated over to the shelf on the other end that functioned as a free book swap. The Wanderer stood on his own while Lumine took a seat on the cushioned bench. A lazy warmth suffused the air. At least here they were sheltered from the blistering sun, the stained glass windows above them deepening in color with its passing.
Turning them to almost the same hue as the Wanderer’s clothes in front of her, Lumine noticed. Even the streaks of gold to his cloak and other metallic adornments matched the stained glass motif. A small cleaning meka trotted along at his feet, cleaning up a Fonta stain with its short arms like a clockwork marionette.
The Wanderer narrowed his eyes at her scrutiny. “You’re not thinking something along the lines of how well I fit in here because of my origins and outfit, are you?”
“Well, you are pretty blue.”
“So are you. Your ornaments have been glowing in the same color since we set foot in this country.” He glanced at the passing automaton with distaste. “And I am far better than that, thank you very much.”
Lumine’s mouth corners twitched. “I never said otherwise.”
She was startled when he leaned into her space. The Wanderer slid a finger down her jaw, indolently tipping her chin towards him. “Shall I remind you in every way I differ from a regular machine, Traveler?” he asked. “It can certainly be arranged, if you prefer.”
At once, heat rushed through her. A year had passed since that moment in Sumeru. Lumine had turned over its implications until they were run smooth and forgettable in her thoughts, a what-if headed nowhere and best left dwindling to nothing. It was just a one-off, she convinced herself. A temporary lapse in judgment on both their parts. When they met again in Simulanka, she had already banished what had happened to the back of her mind.
But now his touch brought it all back, sending her pulse into overdrive. She remembered his caress that had sketched a line from her ear to her jaw, tracing over her lips like the ghost of a kiss—or the promise of one. A promise that would have been fulfilled soon enough, had Nahida not walked in on them.
Lumine had almost let him kiss her then. Against all rational thought, she would do the same now. The Wanderer cocked his head as if he could sense it, the picture of smugness.
“Wait, what are you doing? Back off, you meanie!” Paimon flew between them and flailed her arms at the Wanderer. “You’re not allowed to bully Lumine!”
The moment popped like a bubble, leaving Lumine reeling. She felt lightheaded from tumbling back into reality.
“Do you have nothing better to do than being a hovering nuisance?” said the Wanderer, dropping his wrist. “At least find some food to buzz around instead like your fellow fruit flies.”
“Who are you calling a fruit fly, you—”
To Lumine’s relief, the sound of a rapidly approaching motorboat cut them off. “Yoo-hoo!” Navia shouted over the noise, waving from the helm. “Happy Fleurféerie, guys! Sorry to keep you waiting, I got caught up in something on the way.”
“Finally!” said Paimon, crossing her arms. “I thought we would have to take the aquabus after all.”
“No way, the Spina di Rosula always keeps our word! I promised to pick you up for the festival, so I definitely would. Hi there, partner,” Navia said, beaming at her. Lumine gave a quick nod in greeting, not keen on eye contact. The tips of her ears were still burning. “And glad to see you with us too, Hat Guy! It’s too bad Mini Durin couldn’t join us. Is he back in Simulanka?”
“They were putting on one celebration or another in Constellation Metropole for the ‘venturers’ guided back by the lighthouse,” said the Wanderer, climbing on board. “So he returned for the time being.”
“Oh, good call!” said Navia. “If he ever wants to be accepted by the denizens there, he needs to spend more time with them. So you’re pausing his trip in Teyvat and taking a detour here in the meantime yourself, I take it?”
“Yep, and now we’re stuck with him,” Paimon groused, floating after him. Lumine hopped onto the boat last, still saying nothing. “All because of his stupid assignment.”
With a sputtering of the engine, the boat took off again, leaving a spray of white foam in its wake. “Do they usually send people in the Akademiya abroad for their assignments?” Navia asked. “I’ve seen a few researchers around here before, but nobody who just dropped by to turn in a paper.”
“My jailor insisted,” the Wanderer said loftily. “She said it would be a good change of pace.”
“Your… jailor?” Navia repeated. “That sounds pretty complicated. You wouldn’t happen to be some major criminal offender back in Sumeru, right?”
“He means, um… his guardian!” Paimon hurried to add. “Like, er… a parent, kind of…?”
Lumine watched as the Wanderer’s mouth contorted at the word. “More a mentor than a parent, I think,” she said. “She is the one who made him study at the Akademiya.”
“Oh, I see! Still, you must be on good terms with your mentor to call her something like that.” Navia merrily turned the steering wheel, navigating them down the waterway bend. “You didn’t give me that impression initially, but you’re pretty open to others when you want to be, huh? You were even the first of us to reach out to Mini Durin and brought him here to Teyvat at his request. Guess you’re the type that comes off as standoffish, but when you’re invested, you get really invested.”
“That’s—” A strange, almost troubled look flitted across the Wanderer’s face before he pulled his hat brim low for cover. “I was just appeasing him. Sooner or later he will permanently return to his own world, anyway. Our time together amounts to nothing in the long run.”
“Don’t say that, Hat Guy! Life is all about connecting with others, you know? It doesn’t matter how brief those encounters are, or even if it ends with loss. The memories they leave behind will stay with you, and those in turn can serve as motivation for you to move forward.” A forlorn shadow passed over Navia’s face before vanishing again. “You’ll wind up alone one day otherwise, realizing all the connections you missed out on—all the people you could’ve reached out to—and be filled with nothing but regret. It’s better to act on the present than being stuck in past what-ifs!”
“Which reminds me, Navia—how come you are on your own today?” Lumine asked, changing the subject out of mercy. “I thought Clorinde would come with you. Or others from the Spina di Rosula.”
“Don’t even mention it,” said Navia with a grimace. “Everybody’s held up at this investigation for a falsely accused murder—or at least, we’re pretty sure it’s false—and the trial is happening as we speak. Spina di Rosula is on an emergency hunt for counterevidence. I wanted to join in too, but they said I was too high-profile for the search. On the bright side, that means I get to see you one last time for quite a while! You two are off again on your journey soon, right?”
“We are,” said Lumine. Beyond the jagged peaks of Fontaine’s mountains, the great blue tree of Vourukasha Oasis served as a reminder of where they were headed next. A desert trek to enter Natlan waited just around the corner.
It hadn’t occurred to her that Navia would be thinking of this as a goodbye, even a temporary one. There would be another local celebration in Fontaine again soon enough, another quest or adventure that would have their roads cross. A few months was nothing to Lumine. She and Aether had once spent decades exploring every nook and cranny of other planets. But time didn’t pass the same for her friends in Teyvat, she knew.
“I don’t know the first thing about Natlan, so I’ve got nothing to contribute,” said Navia. “But regardless of what it’s like, I know in my heart you two will be just fine there! Lumine will win over people everywhere she goes, solving problems for the local populace left and right. And Paimon… is going to sample every dish Natlan has to offer, for sure!”
“Hey, at least come up with something more flattering for the last part!” Paimon protested.
The conversation moved on after that, Navia and Paimon taking turns to guess at and make up different Natlan dishes. Lumine chimed in with the occasional suggestion. The Wanderer said little, as usual. At some point, Lumine found that he had turned his back on them.
He again stood alone, figure silhouetted against the horizon. Now more than ever, the Wanderer’s looks matched his environment: his hat tassels seemed threaded out of the cloudless sky, and his sleeves billowed like the cresting waves below. But for all that, he stood out to Lumine even in a vast expanse of blue.
*
The road outside of the Marcotte Station swelled with activity. Pedestrians bumped elbows as they curved around children laughingly jumping up and down the stairs. Beyond the fountains, the stretch of road to the Opera Epiclese was lined with stalls selling traditional dolls, candies and cookies in ribbon-wrapped bags, brightly colored ceramics. Others offered everything lavender: sachets, soaps, perfumes, creams. Nestled between them were the obligatory crêpes and gaufres, filling the air with their buttery smell.
And throughout the whole space, floral decorations dotted every corner, from fresh bouquets on stall counters to crayon daisies drawn onto pricing boards. Everybody seemed to be carrying flowers on their person or swapping them with each other. Little blue dewdrops from Petrichor had even been stuck in busking tip hats.
Like that sea of flowers you wanted, Lumine could almost hear her brother teasingly saying—then shook off the thought. This was no time to get morose.
“Wow,” said Paimon, ever the blissful distraction. “I’ve never seen so many people here, not even for opening nights of big shows!”
“And that’s exactly why I came to pick you up,” said Navia. “The aquabus has to be jam-packed. We’ve got tourists coming in from all over the country and beyond.”
The Wanderer clicked his tongue. “It would be faster to fly ahead of this crowd.”
“You would probably be mistaken for a street performer and peppered with questions about how you pulled it off, I’ll have to warn you. And then you might miss out on a bunch of fun run-ins. See?” She pointed at Furina, who was standing on her tiptoes to glance at a stall menu. Navia put a finger to her lips before sneaking up on Furina from behind and covering her eyes. “Guess who?”
Furina jumped. “Wh—who dares to ambush the star of Fontaine’s theater industry? If you’re planning to rob me, I’ll have you know I already spent most of the leftover pay I got from the last show I directed!” She pulled off Navia’s hands as the latter began guffawing. “Geez, it’s just you bunch. You scared the living daylights out of me.”
“Robberies usually don’t start with somebody asking ‘Guess who?’ in the middle of a crowd,” said Paimon. “Besides, don’t you have a Vision to protect yourself with?”
Lumine suppressed a little laugh of her own. “Long time no see, Furina.”
“Yeah, hi,” Furina said, embarrassed. “And look, I’m not used to having elemental powers like this, alright? I wasn’t a fighter even back when I was the Archon. Clorinde took care of such things. Speaking of which, I thought you were helping out with her investigation for that serial murder trial, Navia?”
“Right, about that—” A man wearing Spina di Rosula’s uniform pressed through the crowd at that moment, panting hard as he tapped Navia’s shoulder. She leaned in to hear his message and brightened. “Looks like I’ll be joining the search party, after all! I’ll leave telling our friends all about Fleurféerie to you then, Furina!”
“What? Why me?” Furina exclaimed to Navia’s already retreating back. “I was hoping to buy the limited festival edition rosewater gelato and slip away before anyone else noticed me…”
Paimon gestured pointedly at her. “You said it yourself—you’re the star of Fontaine! Plus, you’ve been around for the longest, so you probably know the history the best. Who would be better for the job?”
“We would be honored to hear it from you,” Lumine added for good measure. “You especially would make it more entertaining.”
As she expected—and to her great amusement—Furina stood straighter and immediately changed her tune.
“Hmm, well. I suppose I can at least give you a brief rundown. To give you the basics: Fleurféerie is an old celebration of a folktale. But in the past, people simply made dolls and put up flowers in their houses for luck. It only took off and became this huge festivity after the story got adapted into a play by the legendary playwright, Coppelius—no, not the meka,” Furina said, seeing the question in Paimon’s expression. “Those things are named after him and the main character from his last opera, a different one.”
“Aw, I thought maybe the meka could write stories too. If it could, we could’ve asked it to write about me and Lumine!” said Paimon. “So what’s the story behind Fleurféerie then, then? Can you tell it to us?”
“Here we go again,” the Wanderer muttered. He never had the patience for Paimon’s endless curiosity. Lumine gave him a warning nudge with her foot, to which he rolled his eyes, but said nothing else.
Oblivious to their exchange, Furina began narrating with a flourish to the equally oblivious Paimon.
“Our story begins with a famous toymaker in Fontaine City. For his daughter’s birthday, he wanted to present the most beautiful toy ever made, a masterpiece rivaled by no other. After toiling countless nights, the toymaker finally created a doll—a little soldier—so lifelike, he seemed like a human. Perhaps that was also why the girl came to like him best among the many toys her father had gifted her over the years: when their cat stole away with him and he fell into Loch Urania, she even jumped into the waters to save him.
“That very night, the girl had an odd dream. The little soldier appeared as a human and led her to his kingdom, of which he was the hereditary prince. This was where the souls of all dolls dwelled, he told her. In the waking world, they were cursed to be immobile, victims to their environment. As thanks for saving him when he was unable to on his own, the doll gave her a flower which would bless her with good fortune, and with which she could find her way back to these lands. He dubbed her ‘the lady of the flowers’ before his kingdom, then asked her to dance—and so they would again, and again. Every night, he would leave a new flower by her pillow, brought fresh from the land of dolls and dreams. A Sweet Flower for luck; a Marcotte to express affection; a Romaritime to pledge his loyalty.”
“Oh!” said Paimon. “Is that why everybody is giving different flowers to each other today?”
“Exactly! The language of flowers is a big deal in Fontaine, you know. You don’t want to accidentally hand over a Dendrobium and get dumped in front of everyone on a day like this. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right.” Furina cleared her throat. “As the nights passed, the doll’s heart was filled with doubt. The farther he brought her into his kingdom, the more it dawned on him that they couldn’t be farther apart. For in the end, a doll can only ever be a doll—while the girl’s world kept expanding, his would remain unchanging and unmoving, and he will never have a beating heart like a human does.”
Lumine glanced at the Wanderer, but he showed no reaction. His face was wiped clean of emotion.
“‘Alas, my waltz extends into eternity, while hers ends with the night!’” Furina put a hand to her chest, absorbed in her role. “So the doll despaired, watching her disappear into the waking world each morning. Sooner or later, she would tire of her toys, leaving her dreams behind for reality. It was only a matter of time.”
“Then what happened in the end?” Paimon asked eagerly.
“There are different endings to the play, depending on the troupe that performs it. In most versions, he lets the girl go, who upon waking from their last dance writes it all off as one long dream. But a few years ago, one troupe decided to follow the ending of the original story—where she swore to stay with the doll out of love, breaking his curse and turning him into an actual human.” Furina crossed her arms. “It was a gutsy change, but a popular one. Many troupes have tried their own spins on it ever since.”
Paimon clapped her hands together. “Whoa, I really want to see that now! Thanks for the recap, Furina. I could imagine the whole thing in detail from your descriptions!”
Furina was all set to preen when she was interrupted by a smattering of applause. The two of them had been too absorbed in the story to notice, but a crowd had been steadily gathering next to Lumine and the Wanderer as Furina spoke.
“Beautifully summarized, Lady Furina! As expected of our opera star! That one quote was delivered with perfect pathos!”
“Huh? Wait, other people were listening in?” Furina stopped in a fluster before giving a loud, exuberant laugh. “Thank you, everyone! If this intrigued you, I will be directing an upcoming production in...”
The following minutes were spent on Furina doing publicity for her next project and receiving enthusiastic fans. “You’re as popular as the rumors suggest,” said the Wanderer once the onlookers had somewhat dissipated. “I suppose I can expect no less of a professional crowd-pleaser.”
“I do have the longest-standing record as the #1 Crowd Favorite of The Steambird’s celebrity popularity polls—which is not an easy win, let me tell you that.” Furina eyed him curiously. “And you are…?”
“An admirer of your longtime performances,” said the Wanderer, plastering on his fake smile. “Sorry, I got a bit too excited. I meant a longtime admirer of your performances.”
“He is an Akademiya student traveling with us for the time being,” Lumine said before either the Wanderer or Paimon could run their mouths and make things awkward. “He came along for his research.”
“From Sumeru? I would’ve thought…” Furina blinked, taking in his attire. “Well, they say fashion is universal.” In the distance, someone eagerly called her name. Furina sighed. “So much for my day off. I suppose it’s inevitable when you’re as high in demand as I am. Enjoy the festivities, and happy Fleurféerie to the three of you!”
They waved her off as Furina yet again was swallowed up by a circle of admirers. As soon as she was out of earshot, Lumine turned to the Wanderer with a raised eyebrow. “You already know what happened here in Fontaine, don’t you.”
“Lesser Lord Kusanali filled me in on the details. I have always despised the Archons, and Focalors’ hysterics were no exception.” The Wanderer let out a laugh. “But to think that she was also a divine creation, another god-pretender! And her fraud even went on for centuries. That’s a more thrilling twist than any of the mind-numbing operas my subordinates showed me in this country.”
Lumine put on the most unimpressed expression she could muster. She tolerated his comments better now that she knew it was more bark than bite—and it wasn’t as if she expected him to get over his past demons overnight—but that didn’t stop her from wanting to scrub out his mouth with soap at times.
Meanwhile, Paimon struggled with the comparison. “But… but… Furina’s case is still different! She was just trying her best to save Fontaine.” She jabbed a finger at the Wanderer. “Yeah, that’s right, she’s not a big bully like you!”
“What was that? I think I heard a bug buzzing somewhere. Oh, look, Traveler—there’s some other frivolous performance happening over there. We should see what all the fuss is about.”
“Ugh, you’re so annoying!”
The performance in question was ahead at the Fountain of Lucine, where another crowd had gathered. Lumine glimpsed the top hat even before they pushed their way to the front—whispers of “It’s the golden-haired Traveler and her flying companion” following them from all sides—and was unsurprised when they found two familiar twins at the epicenter.
“Does everyone have their paper confetti?” Lyney asked. Lynette gave a thumbs-up next to him. “Good! Now, on the count of three, say with me—happy Fleurféerie!”
“Happy Fleurféerie!” the audience chanted in a disjointed chorus, throwing their confetti into the air. Gasps and cheers erupted when the confetti transformed into flower petals, softly scattering over them in a shower of pink.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! This is all for today’s show, but we’ll return tomorrow afternoon with a different performance—be sure not to miss it!” Lyney winked at their group. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have some much anticipated visitors from afar we must attend to.”
“And of course they are your friends,” the Wanderer grumbled. Lumine shot him a wry smile as they walked over to Lyney and Lynette, Paimon greeting them enthusiastically. Several cleaning meka had already started to suck up the stray petals at their feet.
“We heard from Navia you would come, but we didn’t think it would be this soon,” said Lynette. “It’s good to see you, though.”
Lyney grinned. “How did you enjoy the show? It isn’t quite as flashy as dropping out of a box in mid-air, but still.”
“We only caught the tail-end of it, but the color-changing trick was great,” Lumine said warmly. “A new one for the occasion?”
“Yeah, we had to come up with it on short notice. The rest of our family wasn’t too pleased. We were nagged with ‘Lyney, Lynette, you’re leaving flower petals all over the house!’ for days on end.” There was a flash of recognition in the Wanderer’s demeanor at their names, which hadn’t gone unmissed by Lyney. He turned to the Wanderer with a gauging look. “Who do we have here? I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”
“This guy is from the Akademiya! He’s traveling with us for his summer assignment. But never mind him,” said Paimon. “Are you two at this festival to celebrate too? Or are you busy working?”
“A little bit of Column A, a little bit of Column B,” said Lyney. “But now that you are here, we should definitely do more of whichever column has us celebrating together in it. You don’t mind, do you, Lynette?”
Lynette closed her eyes. “Entering relaxation mode as we speak.”
“I guess that answers my question,” Lyney said with a laugh. “That reminds me, though, do you actually know how Fleurféerie is celebrated?”
“You give each other flowers, right?” said Paimon. “Furina just told us!”
“Yes, but not only that. Come this way—it’s easier to show you.”
They started walking away from the Fountain of Lucine, the Wanderer trailing behind them. Lumine looked back his way, but his expression was again obscured by his hat, face turned down to his feet.
“—today?” asked Paimon, and Lumine realized she had no idea what they were talking about. She hadn’t been listening at all.
“Freminet couldn’t deal with the crowd, so he’s back at Hotel Bouffes d’été setting up tonight’s banquet. Some of the others also can’t attend the festival for their own reasons, so Father gave us permission to hold several mini-celebrations over the week at home instead for them—you and Lumine are more than welcome to join, if you have the time. Ah, and here we are.” Lyney made a grand, sweeping gesture. “Voilà, my friends—the highlight of the Fleurféerie festival!”
Lumine’s eyes widened. At this vantage point, they had a perfect view of where Coppelius and Coppelia usually spent their days locked in perpetual dance. But now the meka were absent: instead, dozens of couples had taken to the floor, layered Fontainian skirts rhythmically swishing about. A string quartet was playing a jaunty tune in the corner. Other couples and even groups of children stood on the stairs leading down to the scene, eagerly waiting their turn.
“Whoa,” Paimon said in awe. “So you dance during Fleurféerie, too?”
“Of course!” said Lyney. “That’s what the doll and his lady love did in the Land of Dreams every night, after all.”
“And the original play has a lot of ensemble numbers,” said Lynette, “so to honor that, there are also a lot of chances for non-couples to dance.”
“Our younger siblings have been pestering us all week to teach them the steps to everything.” Lyney chuckled. “Even Freminet had to join in as a dance coach a couple of times, if you can believe it. Only for the group dances, though.”
“So how do the flowers tie into this?” Lumine asked.
“See, that’s the fun part,” said Lyney. “They can be given as a normal gift to celebrate the holiday, but they’re also used for another purpose—to invite others to dance.”
“Children usually pick Sweet Flowers for either purpose,” Lynette explained. “And family members or close friends like to give Marcottes.”
“As for me,” said Lyney, snapping a familiar pink rose out of thin air, “I thought you wouldn’t mind having another of these. Would you do me the honor of granting me a dance, my fair lady of the flowers?”
Lumine gingerly took the flower by the stem, careful not to squash its small leaves. “Sure. But where should I—?”
“Here,” Lynette said, stepping forward with a silk band and tying it to her wrist with the Rainbow Rose. The ribbon carried a slight weight to keep it from being flung around; Lumine noticed that many people around them sported similar ribbons attached to their arms or waists. “My brother was fussing so much over whether or not you would keep it like you did the last one, I figured I might as well make sure.”
“You didn’t have to tell her that,” said Lyney, hurriedly leading Lumine down the stairs once the flower was fastened in place.
“She received a Rainbow Rose before?” said the Wanderer in an odd voice behind them.
“Yeah, Lyney gave her one after we helped with their show!” said Paimon. “Last time when the Phantom Weasel reappeared in Fontaine, we…”
Paimon’s words faded in their wake as she and Lyney blended into the shuffle of couples entering or leaving the floor for the next dance. As the string quartet once again began playing, Lumine recalled from muscle memory the style she had recognized from afar—waltz. Many other worlds had similar dances. It was just a matter of picking up the local differences, but the basics were the same: stepping in boxes of one-two-three, one-two-three, following the lead’s cues.
“That guy who came with you,” Lyney suddenly said, interrupting her thoughts. “Is he a new acquaintance of yours?”
“Depends on what you mean by new.” She tried to adapt as Lyney added an extra step to the chassé she knew. “Technically, I met him several years ago.”
“He seems like somebody hiding quite the backstory,” said Lyney. “But I trust your judgment, Lumine. If you’re traveling with him, he can’t be too bad. I would be the pot calling the kettle black if I warned you that he might be more than he gives the appearance of, right?”
Lumine laughed. So was she, though few on Teyvat knew the truth. “Maybe a little.”
“Then I won’t.” Lyney spun her around before almost playfully pausing to change directions. “Shall we focus on this waltz of ours instead, milady?”
They did. Lyney glided her across the dancefloor like the brushstrokes of a Fontainian oil painting. If there were colors to a dancing style, his would be bright and vibrant: the pastels for a Beryl Region meadow in spring, sunlight catching on a water surface in dashes of paint. He led with an easy grace, as if he’d done this a hundred times before—and he likely had with his family, if nothing else.
After the dance concluded, they split up to search for wherever the others had been swallowed by the crowd. Lumine ran into people from the Fontaine Research Institute on the way—“Honorary Senior Researcher!” they yelled, already half-drunk from the wine stall they had staked out—who told her that Lynette and Paimon were busy sampling the food stalls farther up the road.
With Lyney already headed off in that direction, Lumine went hunting for the Wanderer instead. She found him by the stone seat farthest away from the dance floor, looking more sullen than she had left him. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “Watching you dance from here reminded me of another story I once heard, that’s all.”
She walked up next to him. “You seem displeased.”
“Revolted, more like.” He leaned back on the balustrade facing the sea. More flowers were strewn about on the railing, some tied with weighted ribbons and name tags, others haphazardly tumbling over each other in the breeze. “The House of the Hearth and their familial pantomime are an eyesore.”
His strange mood since their boat ride seemed to have worsened, the bite to his words that more acerbic. But there was no point in asking him directly what the problem was, Lumine thought. Not when he was like this. He would sooner take it as bait for a fight.
So she set her elbows on the railing in the opposite direction. Booths for mini-games had been set up by the shore, those disinclined to dance gathering by the small wooden dock to compete for festival prizes.
“I thought you liked Fontaine for its deceit?” she asked.
The Wanderer made a derisive noise. “Only when they are self-aware. The Knave likes to pretend that she is better than her predecessor, playing house with her delusional ilk. ‘Father’, ‘Mother’—as if either makes any difference. When push comes to shove, they’re all as disposable to her as I was to that woman.”
She gave a murmur of acknowledgment, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. The little Lumine had seen of Arlecchino’s character seemed too complex to stow away in either camp. A truly caring “parent” wouldn’t raise their children to become Fatui agents; yet Arlecchino’s little mercies and her last goodbye to Clervie had not been the actions of a tyrant.
But it wasn’t her place to decide what judgment the Wanderer or the House of the Hearth should pass on their parent figures. Lumine had little interest in changing people’s convictions unless it served a purpose to begin with. As long as it harmed no one, the Wanderer was free to feel however he liked.
Sensing no argument, the Wanderer also seemed content to let the discussion end there. A silence pooled between them like a slow soak into warm water. There was a comfort to it that Lumine would have been hard pressed to explain—a mutual agreement that not every thought needed to be put into words, not every feeling made shared knowledge. That it was better to be whole and alone together than cut up into socially acceptable pieces for the world to see.
Lumine took to watching the game by the beach instead, where the gossips from outside Chiori’s store were trying and failing to land their garlands onto the shifting pins. Another waltz came to a close on the dancefloor in a rumble of strings. She was surprised when the Wanderer spoke up again over it.
“Your company is so much more tolerable when you are on your own,” he said. The prickliness to his tone had faded a little.
“If you’re trying to tell me how much Paimon bothers you, I have to remind you that I spent the past couple of days or so listening to your bickering. Shockingly, I think the feeling is even mutual.”
“It’s not just your little blabbermouth companion,” said the Wanderer. “You are always surrounded by people. Wherever you go, people line up to be in your presence, one person easily replacing the next.” A new melody started up at their backs, a beat more harried than the last. “Tell me, Traveler—is one year a long time to you?”
Lumine stalled for a moment, unable to follow his train of thought. It wasn’t like him to jump this much between topics. “Not really. Why do you ask?”
“I haven’t seen you since the end of the Interdarshan. Since then, I have been wandering Sumeru’s wilderness when I’m not cooped up in the Akademiya. I spend my days peer reviewing one pitiful paper after another. Yet so many other new things and creatures keep crossing your path.”
Creatures? Lumine felt a nagging suspicion that he wasn’t talking about Simulanka, but thought it wiser not to ask. She still had no idea where he was going with this, however. “It comes with visiting new places. If you left the Akademiya more often, you would do the same.”
“Would I?” The Wanderer’s expression grew icy at something in the distance. “I spent centuries with the Fatui, but you seem to rub elbows with them far more than I ever did.”
Lumine turned around to catch Lyney approaching. At the sight of her, he brightened and skipped up the last of the stairs.
“So this is where you went,” he said. “I looked for you everywhere after catching up with Lynette and Paimon. One of the nougat vendors chewed me out for several minutes when I did, by the way. Did you know that they managed to polish off half his stock by themselves while we weren’t looking?”
“How much was it?” Lumine asked in concern. “I’m sorry, Paimon is terrible at keeping track of how much she eats without supervision—”
“No worries, I could handle their snack fees just fine. You’ve done so much for us already—paying for some sweets is the least I can do.” Lyney lowered his voice. “More importantly, there’s another thing I need to discuss with you. I didn’t get the chance to ask earlier, but have you found anything about your brother since last time?”
It could have been her imagination, but the Wanderer seemed to still at that, as if listening in.
“No,” said Lumine. “But there was a strange encounter a while back that left me with…” She still couldn’t make sense of what that whole debacle with Caribert had been, even less how to put it into words. She shook her head. “I have nothing but a cold trail at the moment.”
“I understand. I haven’t been able to find anything on our end either, but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.” Lyney gave her hand a quick squeeze. “And don’t forget, you still have us. One family can never substitute another, but the doors to our home will always be open to you. I’m sure my younger siblings wouldn’t mind another sister.”
The Wanderer let out a snort beside them. Lyney inclined his head towards him.
“And what about your new traveling companion here? You seem to be far away from home, yourself.”
“I have none,” said the Wanderer. “Neither do I need one, unlike some.”
“Is that so?” said Lyney. “What a shame. You know, Fontaine is pretty open to strangers. I noticed that you’ve been standing here the whole time like a far removed observer. Have you never thought of joining in the festivities instead of hiding away all by your lonesome?”
The Wanderer sneered. “Dancing is a pointless waste of time. Once the music ends, it might as well have never happened.”
“Hmm, I don’t know if I agree. You could say the same of magic, yet a show might stay with the audience longer than you expect. Sometimes it’s the fleeting things that are the most beautiful. On that note—” Lyney took her hand again, gently closing it into a fist, and brushed his palm over it. A Lakelight Lily appeared in her grasp. “What do you say, Lumine? Care for another go? It’d be my honor to have a second dance with such a natural talent.”
Lumine smiled, well aware that he was trying to distract her after bringing up her brother. She smoothed her thumb over the Lakelight Lily’s stalk. “I don’t think I’ve learned the meaning of this flower yet.”
“Really now? That’s perfect, then. Allow me to—”
A sharp gust pulled it out of her fingers. She heard the clink of his hat tassels before she saw him move: then the Wanderer was between them, jabbing something into her hair next to the Inteyvat there.
“I changed my mind,” he said. “If I have to stand here and watch you twirl around again like a dandelion with its head half-detached, I might as well show you how it should really be done.”
“Nobody asked you to watch in the first place,” said Lumine wryly. But Lyney’s attention was on whatever the Wanderer had put into her hair.
“A Lumidouce Bell?” Lyney raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s an interesting choice. Are you possibly—”
“What we are or aren’t should be of little consequence to you,” the Wanderer cut him off, marching past him in a flurry of fabric. He stopped to inch his head over his shoulder in Lumine’s direction. “Well? I don’t have all day.”
You haven’t even asked the question yet, Lumine wanted to retort. But something about the way he stood at the top of the stairs—as if whatever she said next would decide whether he’d vanish on the wind—made the protest die in her throat.
And so she nodded apologetically to Lyney, heading after the Wanderer to the dancefloor.
She had no real reason to turn him down, she convinced herself. This didn’t have to be more than what it seemed to be on the surface. Neither of them were mortals. When life moved at a slower pace, so did loss. Only the short-lived could afford to pursue their feelings with reckless honesty.
It’s just a dance, Lumine thought as she followed the Wanderer down the stairs. But a part of her knew that was a lie.
He glanced at her in disdain as she rejoined his side. “Did your feet turn leaden, or what? How long can it take to descend half a flight of stairs? One would think you had legs the length of an Aranara’s.”
Lumine smiled blandly back at him. Maybe she could save herself the effort of scrubbing and just shove an entire bar of soap into his mouth. The Bulle Fruit-shaped ones that were currently all the rage in Fontaine would be fitting for the purpose.
Still, when he offered his hand in a mockingly grand gesture, she took it. The palm that enveloped hers was warmer than she’d expected. His other hand settled on her back like a mark.
Music filled the air again—and with that, Lumine was swept out onto the floor in a dance far more brisk than her last.
“Where did you get that flower from?” she suddenly thought to ask. “I didn’t see you carrying one around earlier.” He could’ve taken the time to buy it while she was out dancing with Lyney, but Lumine couldn’t picture him standing in line at one of the stands for her sake. “You didn’t take one from the railing just now, did you?”
“Does it matter? Don’t overthink it,” the Wanderer said, effortlessly dodging around another couple despite his pace. “This was a mere whim.”
Then he threw her outwards with just enough Anemo force for her to stumble from the momentum. That little—!
“What, Traveler, can’t keep up? And here I thought you were a natural.”
She meant to protest, to point out that he was at fault for leading like a madman. But the Wanderer left her no time to argue. Tugging her towards him again, he inverted their positions—Lumine facing forward, him leading from behind—and began promenading her across the floor, throwing in the occasional pivot to rapidly turn her back, only to invert it all again. Lumine felt like a pancake being flipped back and forth.
The sensible thing would be to walk away from this, she reasoned as the Wanderer stopped and spun her in place a dizzying amount of times. To be the bigger and more mature person who could look past such provocations.
Unfortunately, the part of her that took on every absurd request for the challenge or spent hours on infuriating ruin mechanisms wasn’t exactly known to be sensible.
What followed was the most aggressive waltzing Lumine had ever experienced. Though it couldn’t be said that the Wanderer danced without grace—it simply was nothing like Lyney’s, or anyone else in their vicinity. His control was that of a storm staying contained at will, better suited for snapping a fan open with the flick of a wrist than swift-footed pivoting. He moved with the precision of somebody used to long, sweeping fabrics. Even the way he arched his neck was different—poised but almost sensual, as if he was deliberately exposing his throat.
Not that she had time to appreciate any of it with the violence of their movements. It felt more like fighting than dancing: and they might as well have been. One moment, Wanderer would toss her in an acrobatic lift so that Lumine had to invent new ways to hook her limbs around him as to not fall off. The next, he’d slide her across the ground, dodging the kick Lumine aimed at his shins as she vaulted back up. The Rainbow Rose tied to her wrist had long gone lost somewhere in the melee.
And here it was again: the Wanderer fueled elemental energy into his wrists to launch Lumine high into the air. Nearby couples stopped moving just to stare. Spotting a gap between them, Lumine twirled in mid-air to land in their midst—until a small Anemo slash cut off her path, forcing her to use her own Anemo powers to change her trajectory. She promptly fell straight back into the Wanderer’s arms on the ground.
“Is it a habit of yours to attack your own dance partner?” Lumine asked sardonically as she stepped back in rhythm alongside him.
The Wanderer seemed to be in a good mood as he began twirling them in quick, assured turns. “I wouldn’t know.”
“So you haven’t done this with anyone else before?”
There was a tiny delay to his step. The Wanderer abruptly changed directions on the floor as if to smooth over his slipup. “I was made to be talented in the arts like her sister was,” he said. “Dancing poses no greater challenge, even styles I have no prior experience with. Be honored, Traveler—aside from a sword, you are the only other thing I’ve held to music.”
“I’m not a thing,” Lumine retorted as she was spun out and away from him.
When the Wanderer pulled her back in, she swept close enough to hear the small intake of his breath. The tassels of his hat brushed over her calves.
“I can see that,” he said quietly. They had come to a standstill.
The Wanderer’s eyes traced down her face, his gaze carrying such weight it almost felt physical. His fingers slipped out of their joined grasp to slide a strand of stray hair away from her cheek. Lumine couldn’t breathe.
Then darkness descended on them.
It happened so suddenly that even the Wanderer froze, adjusting his hat brim to check their surroundings. String instruments halted mid-stroke, their music replaced by whispers and mutters. Everyone’s attention was on the heavy clouds now coating the skies.
“Is it going to rain?” a man on the dancefloor asked.
As if in response, rain began pelting down like a rage unleashed. A rumble came from the distance.
Chaos erupted all at once: shrieks sounded everywhere as people held onto their hats and skirts and began running in the direction of Opera Epiclese. Vendors hastily shoved their wares into crates or bags to close their stalls at the speed of light. “Hurry!” somebody was yelling. “When it rains here in Fontaine, it pours!”
Lumine only ducked further beneath the hat brim. “They must have revealed something terrible at the trial,” she murmured.
“Are you using my hat as an umbrella?” said the Wanderer, seemingly unable to decide whether to be incredulous or affronted.
She’d acted on pure instinct, but now she felt awkward about it. “It’s wide enough to serve the purpose,” she said, trying to cover it up.
He scoffed. “I suppose it’s just like you to come up with such an inane idea.”
Then the Wanderer yanked her even closer while taking a step backwards, causing her to almost topple into his chest.
“Well, what are you standing there for? If you’re going to use me, then use me properly.”
She shot him an irritated look right as a shout came from the stairs leading to the Opera. “Lumine! Are you still here?”
It was Lyney, carrying one of those black portable umbrellas sold in every street corner of Fontaine City—though most of him was getting soaked anyway as he held it over Paimon and Lynette. Lumine realized in that moment what had just happened: with the decorative hedge between them, none of them could see where she was. The Wanderer must have tugged her out of their view on purpose.
“Was that really necessary?” Lumine asked, exasperated.
“I was only shielding you from this city’s pollution.”
“Oh, is that what we call Lyney now?”
He made a satisfied hum at that ‘we’. “If you wish. You do have quite the proclivity for putting a new name to things, no?”
Then what name was she meant to put to this? Lumine wasn’t a stranger to being cordial with former foes. Childe wrote updates on the regular about his family and battle prowess, calling her a comrade in his letters. Lyney and his siblings counted her among their friends. Even Arlecchino, for all her hard-to-read ambiguity, had treated her as a temporary ally in freeing Clervie.
But none of those terms seemed fitting for what she thought of the Wanderer, or the way his fingers were closing in a clasp around her arm.
“Where did Lumine go?” Paimon asked, floating along with Lyney onto the dancefloor.
The Wanderer’s eyes fixed on her with the intensity of a hawk gauging its prey; or perhaps the other way around. His fingers linked together above her gauntlet, the hold just loose enough for her to break free with ease. If Lumine made the slightest sound—anything at all to alert the others of their presence—it’d be impossible to escape their notice.
Lynette abruptly stopped short in her tracks, then turned to her brother. “Maybe she already went somewhere else to search for us. We should hurry and take shelter for now, in any case.”
“You’re right,” said Lyney. “At this rate, we’ll be dripping water all the way back to central Fontaine. Okay, let’s run! Paimon, try to keep up if you don’t want to catch an early evening shower!”
“But—hold on, don’t just get a headstart like that!”
Their footsteps splashed away in the puddles already speckling the grounds. She and the Wanderer were the last to remain: alone and awaiting something Lumine didn’t want to find words for.
She’d made her choice.
The Wanderer slowly released his grasp. There was a sense of inevitability to his touch. As if their every word, their every action, had been building towards this. A biting chill hung in the air, but his fingers seemed to burn where they slipped off Lumine’s bare skin.
It was like the beginning of another waltz, or the end of one. Around them, the dancefloor was unrecognizable in its silence: it had been teeming with life just moments ago, and now it seemed as if they alone were left in the world. Standing this close, she could count the Wanderer’s short lashes, trace the minute stroke of his red eye-rouge like a bloodless cut against his pale lids.
Lumine’s next words were almost lost to the rain from how softly she spoke them. “This means nothing.”
“Nothing at all,” said the Wanderer, his gaze fixed on her lips.
She didn’t know who moved first. Their noses brushed, breaths mingling. Then they breached the last gap with an urgency that sent lightning down her spine.
He kissed like he spoke, was Lumine’s first thought—with poise, with impertinence, boasting a confidence they both knew he didn’t possess. But that only went as far as the first touch of their lips. She could taste his inexperience in the greedy rhythm that he set after it, as if he was rushing to have his fill before being denied.
It faltered with a hitch when she kissed him back with the same fervor. Lumine slanted her mouth to his at a better angle and deepened the kiss, fingers fisting into the front of his shirt. His chest was devoid of a heartbeat. Her own threatened to beat out of her veins.
He caught her wrist with one hand, the other ghosting up her back. There was a question in that touch he would’ve deemed beneath him to ask, so Lumine answered it in full—with tongue and teeth, skin pressing against skin. Only then did his fingers thread into her hair, the Wanderer pulling her in with a small, vexed noise.
This body heat was artificial, she knew. He had no scent of his own after the rain washed away the incense on his clothes. But something about him was so nakedly earnest and real in this moment that Lumine felt herself unraveling from within, immortality forgotten.
They could’ve been any two humans clinging to each other in the rain. The Wanderer’s breath even came out shaky in the space between them as they pulled apart, though his chest didn’t heave at all.
The illusion crumbled when their eyes locked again.
“This meant nothing,” said the Wanderer, his voice raw.
Lumine looked away. “Nothing at all.”
Her shoulders were already drenched. When the Wanderer backed away, it didn’t take too long until the rest of her followed suit. She heard the quick and irate steps of his retreat, then a telltale whirring as he took flight into the haze.
Lumine knew better than to stop him. An apology was all she had to offer right now, one that would fix nothing but her own growing sense of guilt.
Aether used to tell her off for being reckless. For all their similarities, he had always been the calmer of the two. Where Aether would take stock of a new situation before taking action, Lumine marched forward because she wanted answers. They were both easily driven to emotion, but she was stubborn and driven where he was soft and attentive. Aether had always been the one to even out her blunt edges while she spurred them both forward.
Yet it was he who was planning a divine coup for a kingdom not their own, while Lumine fixed the world, chasing his shadow.
It felt strange to think of Aether after what had just transpired, but she missed him more than ever. Since she woke up in Teyvat, she had felt lost even with Paimon to guide her. For as long as she could remember, Aether had been her tether: they balanced each other out, served as each other’s compass when they had nowhere left to—
Or had they? Something was off. Lumine’s memories before Teyvat were blurring into a haze.
Slowly, she reascended the stairs to the railing where they’d been standing before. Only stray petals remained where the flowers had been; the rest had been whisked off by the wind into the sea below. The waters were as murky and forbidding as when they’d threatened to swallow Fontaine whole.
“I was really only trying to defend Lyney,” she’d told Navia back then with an apology, when the latter had asked for her help with the serial disappearances. Yet Lumine still wound up volunteering to unravel Vacher’s schemes after the failed assassination on Navia, just like she had volunteered to help Neuvillette with his worries about the Melusine or seek out the truth behind the Narsissenkreuz Ordo with Ann.
Step by step, she had tangled herself further with the people here, sinking deeper into a mire of care and concern. Until squeezing the truth out of Furina had taken precedence over asking about her brother; until saving Fontaine had come as second nature because Lumine felt their desperation to defend their home and loved ones as keenly as if it had been hers.
She thought back on her first reunion with Aether, the ease with which she’d begged him to leave Teyvat together. If it was now, would she still have been able to do the same?
Lumine couldn’t say. She was starting to get too invested. In this nation, in Teyvat, in… all manners of things.
Don’t lose sight of what you truly want, she could hear in her brother’s voice.
She stared out at the sea for a moment longer, then began her return march towards the station. If Paimon wasn’t there with Lyney and Lynette, she would be waiting back at their hotel in the city.
Ahead of Lumine, the waterdrops pelted the road like so many tiny bullets—as they did her, landing icily on swollen lips and sluggish limbs. The fabric of her dress clung to her body as she walked against the wind. And in her hair, the Lumidouce Bell’s scent lingered, intensifying with every step.