Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began with Layla.

Layla was sweet, Scara had no qualms with her. She was a bit odd, a bit quiet, clearly had crippling insomnia and maybe narcolepsy- but she was kind.

She was also fucking stalking him, which he didn’t appreciate. So, late one night as he caught glimpses of blue among the crowd, he slipped off somewhere quiet; somewhere a scene would not be gossiped about too much. He turned on her, watching her freeze like a deer in headlights, and crossed his arms.

“So I wasn’t hallucinating, you are following me.” He hissed, stepping forward. “What’s your fucking problem, Layla?”

“Oh,” She blinked. “I um- I didn’t expect you to know my name. Apologies. I- this is not a, uh, situation of strange infatuation or anything like that I promise. I’m actually a lesbian.”

“… Cool. I didn’t think you were in love with me. What’s your deal​?”

Layla didn’t look happy with the results of her assurance that she wasn’t obsessing over him. She stood a little straighter, shifting her weight uncomfortably as she began a practiced spiel that apparently had not yet been practiced enough to match her standards. “Well, I noticed you are… strange. Not in a bad way! Ah- not like that, no. Um. I wanted to speak with you, because you seem strange in a way that I think I can help with. Not to fix, there is no ‘fixing,’ but I used to struggle very much with it and if you’re anything like me you probably just think you’re crazy.”

Scara stared at her, incredulous. He had expected many things. He had expected perhaps someone who was smart enough to find out that he was not who he said he was, maybe going so far as to know he was connected to The Doctor’s failed attempt at creating a god, maybe someone who was clueless but really intense about finding answers in the way that most of Sumeru was. Someone who… thought he was strange in a way similar to them, whatever the fuck that meant, and implied they could teach him something to make him feel less crazy?

He laughed. Really, it wasn’t his fault. She was in so over her head and had no idea, and had probably jumped to some weird conclusion that was mundane in comparison to his reality. After all, who the fuck would assume he was an a puppet of the Raiden Shogun, ex-Harbinger who’d tried to become a god, and had proceeded to erase himself from Irminsul in a disastrous failure of a suicide attempt?

“I think you are severely overestimating your deduction capabilities, but sure, I’ll play.” He stepped forward, eyeing the book clutched tightly in her arms. “What is it you think you can help me with, o’ wise scholar of the Akademiya?”

She frowned. “Don’t patronize me. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but… I can’t just ignore it. Not if you’re hurting like I was.”

With that, she held the book out. It had probably been a very neat, beautiful notebook at some point in the past. That point was long gone, clearly, as it was now full of pages taped in and color-coded notes to bookmark important sections and the like. Scara looked between her and the book, only taking it when she brandished it at him once again insistently. He felt like he was the one in the dark, now.

“This is… not a book from the Akademiya. This is a personal notebook, something you wrote.”

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding, “this is something I wrote. Or- ‘I’ to an extent. At least, most people would argue that we are the same. I think that’s a rather close-minded view but that’s not really relevant right now- the point is I think it may help you.”

“You… huh?” He didn’t understand. She was making no sense, and flipping through the book wasn’t helping either. He didn’t glance at any given section too long, as what he found only worried him. Segments from other books were pasted in, detailing ‘similar cases.’ Whatever this was, the language used scared him. He wasn’t easily intimidated, but upon being handed a book in which Layla had clearly written about her personal life in relation to some sort of psychological research he couldn’t help but not only feel like he was looking at something he shouldn’t, but like he was being seen and judged in a way he shouldn’t. She had said this might relate to him, after all.

“Most of the books I read were very clinical,” she explained, fidgeting with her hands now that she had no book to hold, “and they were scary. Very scary. They made it seem like something was wrong with me, like I was broken. It only made things worse. I asked around in the Akademiya, and, well. The Akademiya is very knowledgeable, but the Akademiya also likes poking and prodding at anything and anyone that isn’t quite normal enough for their tastes. Back then, I wished that I could just talk to someone like me. I wished that I could see what it looked like, in day-to-day life. What it felt like. So I saw you, and how you go about life sometimes… I wanted to give you that, if at all possible.”

Scara looked down at the book, then up at Layla again.

“Sorry, what the fuck do you mean? What are you talking about? Wh- have you been fucking psychoanalyzing me?” He bristled, and Layla flinched.

“I don’t think something is wrong with you. I just saw my own behaviors in some of what you do, is all! That’s all! I don’t have to be right. I’m probably wrong, even. Really, I promise, I’m not trying to say I know you better than you do or something so rude like that. I just…” She chewed on her lip, something between fear and sympathy for him in her eyes. It made him want to gag. “I just wanted you to take the journal, is all. This was my notes, on everything I could find related to it. You don’t have to talk to me about what you find, just please don’t ruin it as it’s very important to me.”

He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. This was a ridiculous conversation. This was a ridiculous conclusion for her to have jumped to, even more than he thought. He didn’t even know what she thought he had, but he didn’t need to. He didn’t care. “Yeah, okay. Sure. I’m not looking at any of it.”

“Okay.” She agreed softly, watching him walk off at a brisk pace. He still had the book, so she figured that was a good sign. “Just please tell me if you want to talk about it. Otherwise, I’ll ask for it back sometime this month.”

“It’s weird to diagnose people for fun!” He shouted over his shoulder, and Layla simply shrugged.

It took a week for him to finally look at it. It wasn’t fear that made him hesitate. It wasn’t. He just didn’t care about it, and that’s why it took so long for curiosity to get the better of him.

His room in the Sanctuary of Surasthana was small, but he open enough that he never felt claustrophobic. His bed was round, right by an open window large enough that it he wanted he could stretch out of it in his bed and still be laying down. He’d filled it with as many blankets and pillows in shades of blue as he could find, except for an impulse buy that was his old shade of purple that he just kept buried under everything else. The bookshelves on the other side of the room were already nearly filled, even though he kept the strange little nick-knacks to a minimum. Reading was one of the only interests he’d managed to be consistent with, since he could pick from a wide variety of books.

Evidence of attempted and usually abandoned hobbies scattered about. He was still keeping the plants alive so that was a good sign, he figured. The barely-woven tapestry still hung on the wall, a few art pieces in different mediums he’d attempted and gotten frustrated with, on the other hand… Well, at least he had that one painting he was proud of above his desk. His desk, on which he had tossed the book Layla gave him and avoided looking at since then.

He was bored, he told himself. It was just because he was bored that he was groaning loudly and finally cracking open the stupid book, staring at the first page.

Multiplicity. ‘Alternate personality states.’ Dissociative Identity Disorder. Quotes from other books, all copied down, speaking in clinical language that made his head spin. They spoke at first glance of amnesia barriers, of losing control of one’s own actions and life, of parts being volatile or scared, of a shattering of personality-

He shut the book with a snap maybe sharper than it needed to be, standing up and walking to the other side of the room before he realized he had no idea where he was going.

What the fuck had she given him?

No. Fuck this. Fuck this, this was ridiculous and it was a nightmare. He wasn’t a bunch of pieces hiding in a trench coat of a person, that was fucking stupid. The quotes written down felt far too close to the sort of way Dottore spoke, in words Scara couldn’t pronounce and names of bones and organs as if he wasn’t a person and-

He needed air.

He felt less trapped by the time he’d gone down to Lambad’s tavern and gotten something to drink. He still felt angry, and vaguely exposed, but at least he didn’t feel like he was in a cage anymore. He stood outside, leaning against the railing overlooking the sunset, and breathed in the fresh air even if he didn’t need it. He’d grown to be actually very fond of breathing, after his Anemo vision; it was no longer just a way to mask but a way to connect to his element. It calmed him, sometimes.

Sometimes.

He sighed and hung his head, smacking it lightly against the railing. Layla was crazy, it was that simple. If she was actually a bunch of people good for them he guessed, but he fucking wasn’t. He took a sip of his drink. Besides, what behavior could she have possibly seen that made her think that? He didn’t behave that differently from day to day, surely.

His mind flitted to the purple blanket hidden under the rest of them, the blanket he hated because it was merely a sign of his old self shining through on an impulse. It flitted to the Naku weed he’d asked Tighnari for, and then wondered what the hell he’d been thinking and told Tighnari to cancel the order, and then been devastated when he remembered it once a week later. A reminder of the nation he’d so hated, in his room, what would he have even done with it? Kept it alive with the Electro he repressed with every cell he had, no matter how much it clawed at his ribcage and begged to be let out?

But he’d cried, then, because that little flower had meant so much to him for some reason. He’d made the choice to destroy his chances of ever seeing it, he hated thinking of the flower even now. He didn’t understand his own tears.

He nearly choked on the drink when he heard someone call his name. His hackles raised as bright green eyes met his own, and the owner of them flashed him a grin and hurried over to the railing.

“Hey! Hey, you look like you’re having a great day.” Sethos hopped up on the railing, ignoring Scara’s vaguely annoyed grunt at the sarcasm as he kicked his feet and leaned forward. “What’s going on with you?”
“You say that like you expect me to tell you.” Scara grumbled, already tired of the conversation. Sethos truly had a gift for hunting him down when he was in the worst mood possible.

“I don’t, really, but it’d be nice. You look like you could use the conversation. What’re you drinking?”

“I just told him to get me whatever has the most alcohol. Nothing really hits right in Sumeru, y’all have boring alcohol after Sneznaya.”

“I didn’t know you’ve been to Sneznaya. Sneznaya’s alcohol might as well just be pure, anywhere else is probably boring in comparison. It’s not Sumeru’s fault.” Sethos rolled his eyes, although the look on his face was sickeningly fond. He snatched the drink, ignoring the shriek he got in response, and merely sniffed the glass. The way he jerked back made Scara worried he might properly fall off the railing, but he stayed upright and handed Scara back his drink. “Please, please never let me steal your drink again. You realize it’s not even night yet, right? It’s barely evening. You don’t seem like the type to drink in public, either.”

“I’m not going to get drunk. It’s fine.” Scara didn’t elaborate, glancing away. He knew Sethos would ask questions if he didn’t distract him, but luckily for him Sethos was easily distracted. He threw him a bone. “Do you think I ever act weird?”

Sethos blinked. “… That’s a trick question, yeah?”

“No. No- Someone recently said they think I’ve got something. Like, one of those fancy-ass words for ‘fucked in the head.’ Do you think sometimes I act differently than I normally do?”

Sethos frowned, and absently Scara tried to remember if he’d ever seen Sethos look so genuinely upset. He was too distracted by the way his hand fell on his shoulder to follow that thought, though.

“Did they call you anything? Did they actually call you crazy or fucked in the head, Scara?”

“What? No. No, they gave me a big word which I will not be telling you.”

“… Well, okay. I don’t think you’re fucked in the head.” Sethos muttered, shifting uncomfortably as he seemed to think back. “As for acting differently… I don’t know, maybe? I don’t really know what you mean. Like mood swings?”

“I guess.”

“I mean, some days you’re angrier than usual, does that count? Normally I can get a pretty good conversation out of you but sometimes you resort to genuine animosity pretty quickly.” Sethos said, quickly raising his hand when Scara opened his mouth to defend himself. “I don’t blame you. I just assume you’ve had a bad day, Scara. I think it’s okay to be in a shitty mood.”

Scara sighed, running a hand through his hair as Sethos finally let his hand slide away. This wasn’t helping. “No, no, I don’t think what they were talking about could just be mistaken as a shitty mood. That can’t be it.”

“Horses or Zebras.” Sethos offered, cackling when Scara looked thoroughly done with whatever the fuck he was talking about. “I mean, most people are going to look for the more common thing first. So I could be assuming something’s a shitty mood, but really it’s a… whatever this is.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Am I not?

“No, I want this to not be true. I don’t even think entertaining it is a good idea. This is fucking stupid.” He huffed, downing the last of his drink and setting the cup on a nearby table. “I looked at the first page of their stupid book and it’s all… Everything talks like there’s something wrong with it. I’m not fucking broken.”

Sethos slid off the rail, and Scara leaned away but didn’t protest more when an arm carefully looped around him. “I don’t think having whatever you might have means you’re broken.”

“No that- Sethos. Sethos shut up. That’s literally the whole thing. Literally the fucking whole thing is that you’re broken into pieces or whatever, and that’s why there’s a bunch of you.” Scara responded, pinching the bridge of his nose. He no longer cared if Sethos knew what was being suspected of him, as long as Sethos stopped sounding like a fucking idiot.

Sethos froze, the gears visibly turning in his head, and when he spoke again he spoke in a slow sort of way that made Scara feel like he was being treated as something breakable. “I think that’s a very, very painful way of looking at it. I think that’s a very Akademiya way of looking at it, to be fair; it’s very like a book of ours to tell you that. But I don’t think it has to be like that.”

“Ugh, don’t talk to me like I’m in therapy.” Scara groaned, resting his head on his hand and leaning heavily against the railing. Sethos kept his arm on his back, even then, leaning with him.

“You’re not in therapy, I promise. I’m not smart enough to be a therapist. But… Someone talked to you and thinks there might be some, uh- fuck what’s it called?”

“DID?”

“No, no, the- there’s a bigger word for it. For all of it, even the chill versions of it. Multiple. Someone thinks you should look into that?”

“I guess. They all but hunted me down because of it.”

“Well that’s… a lot. Uh. But I mean, maybe you should play around with it. It doesn’t have to be scary. You’re not broken, but maybe you’ve got some extra! That’s like a package deal, y’know, I think that’s actually very fun. Buy one get however many free, that’s more friend per friend.” Sethos offered with a wide gesture, grinning when Scara let out a quiet huff that was dangerously close to laughter and shook his head. He figured that, if that got a laugh, he could keep going safely. “So- so what if you did have a bunch of people in you, hm? Who would they be?”

“That’s a dumb question.”

“Oh come on!” Sethos pouted. “Bare with me. All the freaky way people talk about it aside, let’s just pretend that you’ve got more than one person running around in your brain. That your self is actually selves. What would you put in what ‘category’ if each category is a person?”

Scara thought again to the purple. To the Naku weed. He sighed; this felt too real. He tried to sound bored. “I dunno, the purple one and the one that cried that one time?”

“Wha- uhhhh…. Okay. Elaborate?”

“I dunno. Y’know, how sometimes you disagree with yourself? Regretting impulse buys, and shit.”

“… I don’t know if I would describe regret as disagreeing with myself,” Sethos admitted, “but yes.”

“That. If I think of what they could’ve possibly seen in me that made them think ‘that’s more than one dude,’ I think of the times I fucking hate myself. Not in a self-loathing way, but in the sense that I cannot fucking fathom what my own thought process was. I mean, I hate Inazuma, Sethos. I hate it. I never want to see it again, and I sure as hell don’t want any plants that remind me of it in my room every day just staring at me. So why the fuck would I ask Tighnari for a Naku weed, and cry later when I remembered that I myself canceled the order? I hate those things.” He grumbled, huffing. “and I don’t like purple anymore either, but every once in a while I miss it. It’s just one of those things.”

Sethos gave a soft hum, his thumb slowly rubbing up and down Scara’s back in an attempt at a soothing gesture. It was closer than Scara would normally let him, but… today was already too much. He could allow himself this.

“And how do you know the one that likes the Naku weed and the one that likes purple aren’t the same?”

“Because that’d be stupid.” Scara rolled his eyes. “I don’t cry when I feel like purple. I mean, I don’t cry normally at all, unless it’s a panic attack or something. It’s too intense, it just gives me a headache.”

“But this wasn’t like that?”

“No. I- hey hold on, why are you fucking asking me about times I’ve cried? I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this, I’m going to regret this later-” Scara was already pulling away, stepping back and away from the railing. This was the exact sort of thing he’d go over for weeks hating every word he’d said, and he knew it.

“Why?” Sethos asked, crossing his arms. “I don’t care whether or not you’ve cried, Scara, everyone cries. Why would you regret it? My opinion doesn’t matter, and I don’t even have a negative opinion to begin with.”

“It’s called trust issues, dickhead.” Scara shot Sethos a glare, and Sethos only sighed.

“Okay, I get that, but- my point is that I’m hearing a lot of talk of regret, and not a kind I can really relate to. I know what it’s like to judge yourself based on your decisions, but it still… feels like my decision, that I made, just a stupid one. Maybe I pick apart why I did it, groan thinking that goddamn I wish I hadn’t been so tired and overstimulated or maybe I just was really angry and snapped at someone, but I still know what the thought process was.” Sethos stepped closer, slowly, like he was aware that Scara might feel trapped and wanted to avoid that. When Scara didn’t move, he rested a careful hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should try and pay a little bit of attention to yourself, that’s all I’m saying. I won’t say that you’re definitely any sort of anything- that’s not my place, and I don’t even fully think that. But… I do know that what I’m hearing from you sounds like a really upsetting way to be.” He said softly, cringing when Scara’s hackles raised and he bared his teeth a little.

“It’s not upsetting-”

“I don’t mean like I think it’s something wrong with you, Scara. I mean I think that it sounds like, if there is more than one person in there, you’re hurting each other again and again because you don’t know how to account for differing opinions between yourselves. Or maybe you’re just one guy, and you just have different moods. I don’t know shit. But maybe- maybe you should start somewhere. Maybe you should keep a Naku weed outside, or something? Somewhere you don’t have to see all the time. That way if you ever feel like you do want to see it, you have it.”

Scara blinked. He hated the idea. He hated the idea of bringing something like that into his space, A weed that reminded him of the place he had finally freed himself from. It needed the Electro he so heavily shoved down to survive; he’d have to zap it every once in a while. He hadn’t used Electro since he’d fallen, out of sheer anger and rejection for the power he’d never wanted from his mother.

Something in him latched onto the thought, though. Something desperate and scared wanted to cradle just the idea of that stupid little flower and hold it close because it was like home. Just one thing, anything, like home in the strange place he found himself in. A living thing to consider kin, in the sense that he, too, was a being of Electro. He, too, was forged in the static and lightning that made most people turn and run. They were, in many ways, the same.

He felt sick. He wanted to throw up. He could feel the hatred of the thing and the yearning for it all at once. The juxtaposition was too much.

“Scara?” Sethos looked confused. Concerned. Worried about him.

And, like he often did, he found himself running.

Chapter Text

Scara had a few places he liked to go when he just needed to know that no one, no one, would find him. He liked the Mawtiyima forest and its calm blues and vines dripping from the mushrooms like glowing strands of water droplets, the way the bigger mushrooms had perfect little hidey holes for naps where no one could really see him. He liked the Apam woods, and the shelf fungi that made a good viewpoint for if he just needed time to listen to the rain and watch the massive pillar of water that the strange mechanism created when it reset. He never really had understood it, but he didn’t need to understand it to grow fond of watching it do its work for the ecosystem.

But neither of those were close to the city, so he ended up in his little backup nook on the roof of the Akademiya. The roof of the Akademiya nestled itself nicely into the tree itself, and he often found himself sitting up there since there was no real way to get up there if one couldn’t fly. The branches of the tree around him swayed, thousands of leaves rustling in a cacophony that he usually found calming. Today it just sounded loud. Everything sounded too loud. But, at least, there was no chance anyone would find him here.

Except, of course, the very god that knew everything no matter how much he wished she would just leave him the fuck alone.

“He’s looking for you,” her voice called softly, carefully placed further away than it needed to be up in the branches somewhere, “you know. He won’t find you here, but he will spend his day trying.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped without thought, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. This whole situation was too much and Nahida talking to him on top of it was the last thing he wanted. “You’re smart, you know what’s happening. Just please go away.”

“I will if you really wish,” she slipped down a branch and onto the stone of the Akademiya roof, lowering her vantage point in comparison to his, “but I don’t think that’s really what you want. I do try to avoid watching you best I can, you know. I don’t always know what’s happening to you, especially when Sethos is involved. I don’t think he likes me either, he doesn’t like gods.”

“So then you’re clueless, and that’s not helpful either.”

“I never said that.” She muttered, shrugging. “I said I try to avoid watching you. Being the avatar of Irminsul doesn’t make that very easy. Besides, I… noticed Layla. She’s been watching you for a while. I would have told you if I thought it was a bad, unhealthy thing. I think she just wants to help. Do you… want to talk?”

He glared at her, loathing the cautious way she reached out to him. He hated being patronized, hated feeling like he was being treated like a ticking time bomb, even if that’s what he was and he knew it. He was dangerous, after all. He’d proven it time and time again. And if this was just one more thing that made him dangerous, then what? Then what was the fucking point of even looking at it? Maybe he didn’t want to. No one could make him poke around in his own head, he could shove it down all he wanted-

“You are not dangerous, Wanderer.” She whispered, snapping him out of his thoughts even if it was only for him to hiss at her. Formal title. That meant she was trying to be sweet; she knew he held the name close to himself, something he’d come up with as a word for what he was at his core.

“Stop fucking listening in on my goddamn head.”

“You… I try,” She stepped closer, hesitant when he leaned away from her like a cornered animal, but still sat down on the little ridge he was on before the roof sloped upwards in a sphere, “but sometimes you think so loudly, you know. I do avoid actively reading your thoughts, I promise, but at times they’re very… ah, it’s the equivalent of shouting in an empty room and telling someone not to hear you.”

“I kind of thought I’d be like that all the time, if that’s how this thing worked.” He admitted, blinking. Nahida only shrugged.

“No, only sometimes. Usually it’s the more angry thoughts that are like that. You yourself are not as intense as that, you’re very in tune with your surroundings and it’s quieted you down significantly since your time as a Harbinger. Most of the time it’s when you’re angry with yourself, or trapped, that I can’t exactly ‘listen in’ so much as I can hear what you’re shouting.”

Scara frowned, not exactly thrilled at the idea that it was his self-loathing that was the loudest and easiest to hear. “Thanks, I hate that. That’s fucking annoying.”

“I’m sorry. But if you would like, I… I can offer some insight. As the god of wisdom, I’d like to think that it would be of use.”

Scara hesitated, but eventually he nodded softly. Nahida kicked her feet in an idle motion, thinking for a moment. He let her choose her words carefully; he knew how busy her head was. Hell, now that he thought about it, Nahida would probably have a comparable experience to having more than one person in one head. The whole of Teyvat was with her, all the time. Sure, technically she was the only one living in her body, but her connection to Irminsul resulted in a constant overload of information from the ley lines that he still couldn’t imagine managing.

“I think of all of Sumeru as my children,” She began, “and I know you don’t like being someone’s child but hear me out. Sumeru is, just like any other place in Teyvat, an ecosystem. We all have a place within it. Being part of an ecosystem means accepting that many plants look the same to each other, with little differences. Sometimes, some people have to accept that they are like those. They’re ‘boring’ and they’re not very extraordinary; they’re merely part of the bigger picture. Their life is still worth something, they still have a part to play, they are just as vital as everything else and even if they weren’t so vital they would have value merely because they are a life. All life has value; it is innate to what we all are. Down to the smallest plant.”

“You’ve already been teaching me this shit,” Scara murmured, “That’s how I got to being less of an ass in the first place. Life has value, regardless of its usefulness, all that shit.”

“Now- wait, be patient.” She tried gently, shaking her head and turning to him. “Because that’s not your problem. Your problem is that you are a mushroom.”

Scara looked at her, bewildered. “What the fuck does being a mushroom- you’ve lost me.”

“Well, think about it. People don’t like mushrooms, really-”

“Tighnari likes mushrooms.”

“Tighnari,” She huffed, her patience visibly waning in a way that amused some part of Scara and made him feel a little less like crap, “likes mushrooms because he understands what I’m about to tell you. In a lot of cultures, even Sumeru’s, mushrooms and fungi in general are often associated with death. They help things decay, they’re a reminder that one day we’ll all be food for the plants whether we like it or not- or, well, most of us. Mortals don’t like that reminder. Mushrooms also refuse to be categorized; they’re not a plant, not an animal, no one really gets mushrooms. They’re confusing. You can’t put them in any neat category or box.”

“I think I get what you’re trying to get at, and it’s dumb.” Scara watched as Nahida pouted, and lightly shoved him.

“Let me finish. Mushrooms are only part of the actual organism. We don’t see most of what’s going on, because that’s in the mycelium. The mycelium is entirely underground. It’s like the Akasha; the entire ecosystem can access it, it’s thousands of little connector points all around, and everything can use it to sort of speak to each other. It’s a beautiful thing; which is why Tighnari never stops talking about it. What I’m saying is… the Akademiya likes things to be very nice and neat. Very categorized, understandable. The Akademiya also sees things in some ways that even its own god does not approve of, and I’m trying to… figure a way out to work with them on that. It doesn’t acknowledge the mushrooms as anything but a reminder of decay, and it doesn’t even see the mycelium at all, and it gets people hurt.”

She looked… sad. He didn’t see Nahida look sad often. Sure, she looked sad when she spoke of how little she was able to speak with her people, and when she admitted that she still could barely leave the sanctuary because the people staring at her was simply too much- but it was still strange to see her sad in the context of something so disconnected from her. This had nothing to do with her, but she was sad.

He took a deep breath, loathing the way it shook. “I’m not gonna pretend to understand any of what you just said, or how it relates to this. I think I get what you mean, but…”

“What I’m saying is that you’re seeing this as finding out something is wrong with you, but I think that’s not the way to look at it. You’re just more than a mushroom or a flower; you’re mycelium. That’s those little connector points; they’re good, they’re natural, you’re supposed to have those. Or maybe you aren’t, maybe it’s something you adapted to have, but either way I don’t think it makes you wrong. I think you should look at more of Layla’s book, you know. It gets less scary. The first few pages are all the stuff that made them realize that the Akademiya wasn’t going to be very helpful.” Nahida rested a tiny hand on his arm, and he could only sigh.

“This is fucking stupid.” He ran a hand over his head. “This is so fucking stupid. You do realize you interrupted my meltdown with a fucking philosophy lecture?”

“Did it help?” She asked with a look of sheer glee, because she already knew the answer.

“I don’t even know why, but I’m not hyperventilating anymore, so I think?”

“Good.”

He started simple. He started with Layla’s goddamn notebook. Sure enough, after the first few pages, it shifted to more personal notes. It started as just Layla speaking, or at least supposedly it was just her. Research on the topic itself, notes on how she experienced identity. It was… relatable. More relatable than he wanted it to be.

---

“Dehya tells me that she didn’t just pick a favorite color based off of what she likes most consistently, and she actually always like red and doesn’t have days she hates it. I kind of don’t believe her.”

“Starting to think the issues with consistency in hobbies may not just be ADHD.”

“Okay this isn’t a note but if there is someone else can we PLEASE drink some more water? I keep trying to implement a certain amount and it never works because I always forget. Please don’t forget.”

“No idea who I am right now but not Layla. Seriously the water situation is dire, I’m fucking dying. Get your shit together.”

“Asked Tighnari what his anxiety voice sounds like. He said himself. This is devastating news.”

---

After the page of little notes, there was a solid chunk of pages dedicated to notes on individuals. Pages had been taped in, like they hadn’t skipped enough pages to account for the room this section would take up. The notes were extensive, more extensive than he could imagine having on himself. But it…

It was a good place to start. He could do that. That was easy. It was easy to write about himself, and see if it stopped applying one day. He already had a journal, this wasn’t so different.

So he left for the market, and came back with a fresh journal and a couple different colors of ink. It was a pretty thing, but he tried to get something he figured he would still like later. That meant less blues, maybe some purple, but nothing too dark. He’d settled after way too much overthinking on black with a few vine designs crawling up it, in different shades of purple and lavendar. He wasn’t the biggest fan of it, sure, but the vines were nice even if they weren’t his color.

It was when he got to the blank page that he suddenly realized this was a lot harder than he expected.

Scara

•  Likes: Blue, Anemo, divine imagery

He stopped. Did he actually like anything to do with divinity? It was a harsh reminder of where he’d failed, or really now what he felt had been thrust upon him. He frowned, struck with the realization that he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He just remembered feeling certain ways about it, and had never re-evaluated those feelings. Why would he? He had felt that. That was him. Unless it wasn’t.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before continuing to write.

•  In the same way I know I am a man despite being told otherwise, I know that I am a god and a human. I refuse to be confined to one or the other. I think, now, I see myself as a bridge between the mundane and divine. To me, being a puppet is also a form of divinity. It’s not a lesser form of life; we’re like Adepti, or gods, or any other of the number of nonhuman life in Teyvat. That does not make me a poor mimicry of humanity.

He stared at it. Yeah, that worked. It sounded kind of formal, but he normally sounded like that when he was writing- it just felt better. No one else could see it and consider his wording to be too poetic or some shit, after all.

Well, except himself, he could judge himself later and probably would, but that was besides the point.

•  Likes: Blue, Anemo, divine imagery, the rain, trees, I don’t fucking know, I guess nature in general. Music, music is nice. I like any time I can spend sitting and listening to whatever sound is going on around me with no distraction.
•  In the same way I know I am a man, I know that I am a god and a human. I refuse to be confined to one. I think, now, I see myself as a bridge between the mundane and divine. To me, being a puppet is also a form of divinity. It’s not a lesser form of life; we’re like Adepti, or gods, or any other of the number of nonhuman life in Teyvat. That does not make me a poor mimicry of humanity.
• Sumeru is home to me by now. I like it here.
•  I think my need for autonomy and freedom is way more intense than most people. Nahida called it demand avoidance. I think this is part of why my vision is Anemo. I refuse to bend to the will of anyone else no matter what the fuck they want from me. I like that no one can really pin me down. I’m too fluid, like the wind.

He sat and stared at the page. It was less than he expected. He supposed it was a similar sort of thing to being asked what one would like for a gift, and suddenly feeling like you’ve never wanted anything in your life. It was just hard to think about what he was like when he was sitting down and trying to write about what he was like. But…

But that wasn’t just it. He could remember that he liked purple and red, he could remember that he hated the sound of birds outside, he could remember that he was easily overwhelmed by the music in the bigger areas of the city and he’d had to run away. Some days he felt like sweets, even though he fucking hated them, and he always felt a sort of shame in buying some for himself because he knew he’d never eat the leftovers if there were any because later he’d hate them. He wasn’t human, loathed being compared to them because they were useless. He hated Sumeru, he felt out of place here.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands. This was a mess. Something in him clearly thought this was fucking hilarious, which he pointedly ignored because this was already overwhelming.

‘Hey wait didn’t Nahida say Sethos was looking for you?’

He blinked. Shit. Shit, he’d forgotten about Sethos completely. Sethos had no idea where he lived, where to find him, anything, just that he’d run off on the verge of an anxiety attack. Oh, shit, that was great. Sethos was probably feeling super great about this, surely, having no idea if he was okay or even safe-

He shook away the sarcastic commentary and grabbed his hat, already sliding off the balcony and into the air. He had to find Sethos.

Sethos had ended up just wandering the streets, which made him easy to find. When Scara called out for him, Sethos lit up and spun around in a way that made him feel both incredibly fond and borderline sick. Some part of him in the background of his mind wanted to gag.

That ‘part of him’ disliked being thought of a part of him. He shut it up and met Sethos halfway, for once allowing the man to throw his arms around him and hold him a little closer than necessary.

“You scared the shit out of me, are you okay?” He asked, pulling away enough to look at him and inspect him for any signs of tears or damage.

“Sorry,” Scara shook his head, “I’m fine, now, by the time I was done having my fucking crisis I forgot I’d left you and just went home like an idiot.”

“Wh- can I get that in writing? No, no, that’s fine.” Sethos shook his head, rubbing Scara’s arms. Scara didn’t normally let him get so damn touchy, but he looked worried, so he supposed a little bit was fine. “That’s okay. There’s a lot going on right now. Are you feeling better?”

“Uh… I’m feeling more complicated.” Scara admitted as he shrugged, absently walking forward. “I think I’m better. I don’t really know.”

“Do you, uh, feel any more sure of yourself?” Sethos looked at him hopefully, and Scara could only cringe in response.

“You want the nice answer or the real answer?"

“Since when do you give the nice answer?”

Scara laughed. He was a little more at ease, now, with Sethos able to keep him out of his head. “Yeah, good point. No, actually I think I feel less sure of myself than before.”

Sethos hummed, following Scara’s lead and tilting his head every which way as he thought. “That sounds unpleasant. Any revelations from your panic attack?”

“That’s a weird way to ask that.”

“It’s a honest question, though.”

He was right. It wasn’t polite, but it was honest. Scara could at least appreciate that. He fidgeted a bit, hesitant. He wasn’t sure where to even start. Or- well… “What’s your anxiety sound like?”

“H- what?”

“What does the voice of your anxiety sound like? In your head. Just- stop fuckin’ looking at me like that and humor me for a second.” He grumbled, shoving Sethos when he didn’t wipe the dumbfounded stare off his face quick enough for Scara’s taste. Sethos shook himself out of it, taking in a breath as if to speak before frowning and closing his mouth. He took a second before opening it again.

“Like, what it says or literally how it sounds?”

“All of the above. I’d be curious about what is says, but mostly the second one is what matters.”

“Uh. Mostly I just worry about people, or if I’m doing things right, or like- I mean I get really freaked out around authority figures I guess. It just sounds like my thoughts? Y’know, how my in-your-head voice sounds. Is this a trick question?”

“Mine doesn’t sound the same.” He said, crossing his arms. He didn’t like where this was going. “It’s darker, a bit deeper in tone. A lot louder. It’s not anxious, really, either, I just didn’t know what to call it. Negative thoughts, I guess, that’s what everyone calls theirs.”

“But… yours isn’t just negative thoughts.” Sethos quietly pointed out, trying to lead him to what he was getting at.

“Everyone fucking calls it a separate voice! How was I supposed to know that for you guys it’s just… the same voice?”

“Well, it’s- sometimes it’s easier to personify things and give them a will of their own that they don’t really have, because it’s less scary when you don’t have to own those thoughts. Do yours really have a will of their own?”

“I mean, I can’t get it to shut up half the fucking time, so I’d consider that a will of its own.” Scara hissed under his breath, much to the offense of the ‘thoughts’ in question. Sethos looked sympathetic, sidestepping a little closer as they walked and bumping against him.

“So, maybe it’s time to give them a little space for that will of their own. I mean, I’d be pretty upset if I were being dismissed as just someone’s negative thoughts.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Scara muttered, “I don’t know if that’ll work. Last time-”

Silence. He couldn’t stop himself from looking horrified, borderline offended, because what the hell was that supposed to mean? What was last time? What the fuck was he saying?

Sethos bumped against him again, his eyes concerned. “Last time?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I don’t really know where I was going with that. I’ve never gotten so far as to call anything in my head separate from myself, so I don’t- last time could be anything.”

“Mm. Well either way, maybe something small to start off. Name, pronouns? Choosing things for oneself, especially things like that, can be a big deal. You could start there.”

Scara hesitated, but after a moment he sent out a little tendril in his head. If nothing answered, that was fine. But if something- someone- wanted free will? He wasn’t the sort of person to deny anyone that. He knew how important freedom was; he knew that sometimes something as simple as choosing an identity for oneself meant everything.

Just a name. A name. Any name.

The only response was a sudden crackle of energy from somewhere in his chest, the same Electro innate to his body that he repressed so hard, and a very clear “Fuck. You.”

He stopped dead so fast Sethos nearly smacked into him in his attempt to turn, but Sethos had quick reflexes so he was fine and Scara had bigger issues frankly. The Electro. The purples. The fury clawing at his ribs like it was alive, like it wanted to fucking kill him for what he’d done to them, for taking them so far from home and claiming a place and people that would die soon as home and kin. He was acting like he was something he wasn’t, and when it inevitably failed he would too and someone else would be left to pick up the pieces of his miserable attempt at normality. Even the tree that Sumeru City rested on would die one day, no matter how much the people living in it tried to make sure their architecture gave it room to breathe, and it was probably the city itself that would strangle it to death.

Inevitably, they would strangle people to death just the same.

Scara hadn’t noticed that he’d pulled his hands close to his chest, balled up in fists, until warm fingers encased them and Sethos spoke softly.

“Scara? What’s going on in there, do we need to find somewhere quiet?” It was a tone that was ready to move, take action if he needed to make sure they were somewhere safe. It hurt to hear. He was too kind for them.

Scara stared at him, hands shaking. “Should it be changing this fast?” He asked softly. “Shouldn’t things wait, before I start fucking- hearing voices or some shit? Shouldn’t this be a slow grueling process that lasts months or something?”

Well that was a stupid question. Obviously, when he went poking around like that, something was going to answer. And a thing it was; or at least it demanded it be acknowledged as such. It was not a man, not like he was. It was a creature. A thing. It was everything he fucking hated, everything he tried to shove down after he’d fallen. It wanted to be feared, even by him. It demanded that fear, thrived in it. Scara didn’t like being feared anymore unless it was useful, but it wanted nothing more than to break someone down until they worshiped it. It wanted power and he could feel the way it breathed in his own fearful reaction to its presence like it was oxygen.

Oh, what the fuck had he woken up?

“- ‘making it my whole personality’ when really I was just finally- Scara? Hey, hey buddy, you don’t look super good.” Sethos frowned, rubbing his shoulder and carefully pulling him somewhere as he realized that none of what he was saying was being processed. Scara followed, unable or unwilling to pay attention to where they were going. “Can you tell me what’s going on?"

“It’s fucking talking.” He whispered, painfully aware of how nauseated he sounded. “I shouldn’t be- this should not be happening, this is not fucking normal-”

“Scara, breathe for me. You’re not breathing.”

That’s because breathing is stupid and he didn’t even need to. The flash of anger surprised even him. There was an urge to wrench his hands away from Sethos and tell him off because the fact that all anyone could ever do was tell him to breathe was getting on his nerves. It was just masking! It was just pretending to be something he wasn’t, why should he?

Instead, he took a shaky breath and nodded as the anemo filled his lungs, moving so he could grip onto Sethos’ hands. Sethos let him, carefully sitting him down against a wall and lowering himself down with him. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe. What do you need from me?”

“You’re being too nice,” He muttered, his voice weak, shaking his head, “this is too much. This is way too much. Why are you so calm about this?”

“Because you’re not and someone has to be,” Sethos didn’t miss a beat, “and because I don’t really think anything about this is too out of the ordinary. I’m no scholar, but you sort of absorb some information on a lot of topics by just being in Sumeru City. It’s pretty common for situations like this to be kinda complicated and messy, from what I hear. I didn’t expect you to be fucking sunshine and rainbows about it.”

He sat closer beside him, keeping their sides pressed together. It was comforting, grounding, at least. Scara felt like throwing up, but at least Sethos was warm and wherever they were was quieter than the city streets.

“I think I fucked up.” He blurted it out without thinking.

“… Okay?”

“I think ‘last time’ was before I, uh- I don’t know if I existed yet, oh fuck, I don’t know how long it’s been me-” He felt his eyes burn and his stomach and chest tighten like he needed to eject the knowledge itself immediately. Had he existed before the fall? Had that been him? The thing in the back of his mind let out a bitter snort of laughter.

‘I was waiting for you to figure that one out.’

“Woah, hey. You don’t know how long it’s- do you think you’re kind of new?” Sethos asked softly, rubbing his back, and Scara hated how frantic the nod he responded with was.

“I mean I have all the memories, I have all the- the like, agency, I feel like I did all those things and went through all those things. But I don’t know if it was me, and if what I’m dealing with is shaped like old me, or if that is the old me and I’m just a kind of copy-”

“Hey, hey now, you’re not a copy. Even if you are new, that doesn’t make you less real does it? You’re still real.” Sethos shifted even closer than before, and Scara couldn’t bring himself to snap at him for it. He turned his head and carefully rested it on Sethos’ shoulder. He wasn’t sure when the tears had gone from an idea to a reality, but between that and the utter failure of breathing to actually soothe him, he was pretty sure he was going to hate life tomorrow thinking about how fucking stupid this must look from Sethos’ point of view. He was crying and his shoulders were shaking and it was, honestly, pathetic.

“I have spent So much fucking energy trying to come to terms with what I did, and-” anger, boiling hot and sudden, and he ripped himself away from Sethos as it replaced the existential panic. “And this fucker is the one who did it and it’s not even sorry for it?!”

‘Ha.’

Scara never wished something had a physical body more in his life so he could rip its fucking throat out-

‘Also Sethos has no idea what you’re talking about my guy.’

He froze. He looked at Sethos. Sethos simply looked worried for him, not scared or upset or any combination of things that could even imply he was experiencing this as an inconvenience or bother. The thing made a sound akin to a gag. Scara was too stunned and afraid to return its mild disgust with animosity.

“Um, I promise I didn’t-” What? Didn’t kill anyone? Didn’t do anything ‘too’ bad? He did all of those things, or at least someone in their body had. Those were all lies. That someone was very pleased with the current predicament. “I- I worked really hard on change, and Nahida knows-”

“Scara, if you’re worried I’m going to judge you for having some shady past, that’s really sweet of you and I appreciate it but it’s really not needed. You appeared out of nowhere, there’s no record of you in Sumeru beyond ‘hat guy’ which is a name you fucking hate but tolerate for reasons I cannot fathom, and a few weeks ago you dropped that you’re living with the Dendro Archon.” Sethos counted on his fingers as he spoke, before carefully reaching out to offer Scara his hand again. “I kind of assumed you’d committed some sort of horrific crime, and that Nahida got you out of it because she saw some potential in you. The least I could do is see that potential too, and allow you to live your life without the past I don’t even know about biting you in the ass. It’s fine. I don’t care about that, I care about right now, and right now you’re saying that last time something bad happened…?”

It took Scara a second to remember what Sethos was even talking about. He’d already jumped to different thoughts, different realizations, far too fast. He wasn’t the original one. He wasn’t the original one. The other didn’t seem to care much about this realization, giving off vague vibes that implied it didn’t really matter, but it did matter. It did to him. He couldn’t handle another reason to be considered not really alive.

“Scara, talk to me. Please.” Sethos asked softly, cautious hands forcing Scara’s gaze to meet his. “Just tell me what’s going on?”

“… Last time it was in charge, everything went wrong. It did bad shit. Really, really bad, Sethos. The kind of stuff I’m not telling you because I don’t want to ruin everything I’ve worked for, and whatever you’re guessing is probably comically small in comparison.”

Sethos tilted his head a bit, like he was wondering what could be worse than what he was imagining. He probably guessed murder. Murder was child’s play. “It… Is it an ‘it?’”

Scara nodded. “Trying to ask was what freaked me out so bad in the first place. No name. Just.. ‘it.’ A thing. And some description.”

“Huh. I mean, Tighnari likes using ‘it’ sometimes, so that makes sense.” Sethos hummed, wiping off Scara’s face in a motion that was far too gentle. “How did it describe itself?”

“Everything I hate, and it hates me back.”

Chapter Text

After he’d spoken with Sethos, he’d spent the next few days just trying to integrate what he’d learned. Now that it wasn’t dismissed as the voice of anxiety, the ‘other one’ who refused to name itself was far louder than before. Far more opinionated. It was upsetting, but it was oddly helpful in one way at least; it was very easy to write about.

The Balladeer?

• Uses “it” as a pronoun.

• Absolutely fucking hates everyone around us. Regularly throws insults around in the back of our head. Seems to act as a voice of ‘self’-loathing, paranoia, anger, etc. Is very sure that our life will inevitably collapse.

• Likes: Purple/red combo, general violence and whatnot.

• Dislikes: “Bullshit moral obligations,” authority figures, any rules at all really, most criticism but we have that in common. More prone to voicing dislikes than likes.

• Doesn’t like breathing or even pretending to be human. Does not seem to see us as human like I do; adopts our older view of being unable to ever be human. Has implied a god complex way more intense than my own.

He woke up feeling different. Before he even really opened his eyes, he knew something was… off. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but something was different than yesterday. He could feel it in his chest. Something was darker than usual, heavier. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of the Anemo swirling around him, and he half wondered how he could ever tolerate the damn breeze in his room-

He opened his eyes and sat up with a groan. He wasn’t breathing. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but he didn’t feel the Anemo around him in his lungs. He didn’t want to breathe, either. It was stupid. He frowned, then, his brow furrowing.

“Oh, shit, when did I get out of jail?” It whispered, glancing around. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be able to take the reigns. What the fuck?”

It poked around in its head a bit. Silence. No one else around; just it, alone, in front. No Scara to be seen. After a few moments of trying and failing to get a hold of the fucking idiot in charge, it reluctantly stood up and stretched. They had places to go today, surely? The memories were a bit fuzzy, but it knew they were taking classes and had mentioned one today at dinner last night. It could manage that.

It started to gather up clothes to wear, trying to shake the sleep off. Sleep was something that they didn’t need near as often as humans, although their body did admittedly need it sometimes. It had avoided sleep in their time spent as a Harbinger as much as possible. Not only were the nightmares inevitable, terrible things, but it hated waking up. Pulling itself from panic after a nightmare was one thing, but the rare occasion that the nightmares weren’t so bad was somehow an entirely different beast. It hated the lethargy and the feeling of what it could only describe as ‘mock exhaustion’ since it wasn’t in need of more sleep, and in fact more sleep would only make it feel worse, but its body begged to stay still and quiet and relaxed nonetheless. It had never enjoyed having a body that needed things; the experience was akin to taking care of a weird pet that it, personally, often failed to understand.

Its thoughts were interrupted when it realized, halfway through pulling on the white and blue shirt Scara usually wore over the first and second layer, that it couldn’t stand the thing. The fabric was a nasty texture, for one, and for two the design of it was just… too soft. Too flowy. Hell, it didn’t even like the light blue they wore underneath. Only the black, sleeveless shirt was actually something it felt comfortable in.

It was already prepared to hiss and complain to itself about it, before it realized; no one was forcing it to wear anything it didn’t like. Scara wasn’t here, so even if he would end up feeling self-conscious about it, he wasn’t there to stop it from making its own choices.

It took off the over-shirts, leaving only the black one, and rummaged through there closet again. Surely they had some remnants of before? Something it would wear.

They did not, in fact, have any remnants of before. That made sense; Scara had every reason to want to throw it all out and never look back, but it was still upsetting. It was stuck in the usual shorts and shirt, without the over-shirts, and that would have to do.

Something, ever so quietly, spoke in their head.

“The journal. He wants us to write in the journal, doesn’t he?”

Externally, it just stood there and bristled at nothing. Internally, it hissed and whipped around and bared its fangs. Their internal world was small, at least as far as they could tell; just a void, just nothingness as far as any of them could see. It knew who that voice was, not Scara but someone else, and it wanted to thrash and bite and tell the pathetic creature off. Instead, he was gone before it could get to him, under the surface of.. water, maybe. Somehow, it knew that he was hiding under ‘water’ despite the barren appearance of their world. Coward.

“Fuck the stupid journal,” it grumbled, glaring at the desk before reluctantly wandering over, “He wrote a bunch about me in here anyway, didn’t he? He’s doing fine on his own, for someone so incompetent-”

It stared down at the information on it. The Balladeer. Rage filled it, which it could not truly explain or justify. The title was its own after all; nonetheless, it was not its name. Scara of all people knew names were important.

It scratched out the title and wrote in the most sharp, messy handwriting it could manage if only to contrast Scara’s gentle, flowing script. It was pretty sure that, naturally, their handwriting wasn’t very different; muscle memory was a powerful thing. A thing it loathed, in this case, because how dare their body force it to look the same as Scara on paper. At least Scara bought ink in different colors for them.

The Balladeer? BELIAL

• Uses “it” as a pronoun. He/it. Use both or I’ll make your life hell.

• Absolutely fucking hates everyone around us. Regularly throws insults around in the back of our head. Seems to act as a voice of self-loathing, paranoia, etc. Is very sure that our life will inevitably collapse.

• Likes: Purple/red combo, general violence and whatnot.

• Dislikes: “Bullshit moral obligations,” authority figures, any rules at all really, most criticism but we have that in common. More prone to voicing likes than dislikes.

• Doesn’t like breathing or even pretending to be human. Does not seem to see us as human like I do; adopts our older view of being unable to ever be human. Has implied a god complex way more intense than my own.

• I am NOT human. I don’t want to be. It’s not a “complex,” I am a god. I became a god even if you didn’t. I’m not gonna write some fucking poetry about being a “bridge” between humanity and divinity; I’m just divine and I demand to be acknowledged as such.

He shut the journal with a harsh thud, setting aside the pen and ink and leaving their room. Nahida usually had breakfast outside; if he was lucky, he could get in and out as fast as possible with no room for the goddess of wisdom to question him.

Sadly, he was not so lucky. Of course, he never was, so why should he hope that would start now? That’d be too damn convenient.

She nearly dropped her cup when he entered, trying and failing not to look too startled. She blinked at him, he glared back. There was a long moment of silence in which Nahida looked a bit like a prey animal frozen under the gaze of a predator and he was a bit entertained that the tables had turned. Here she was, speechless at his presence; it was satisfying after his destruction at her hands and the terror he had felt when she shed the human mask when he’d tried to take her gnosis.

“You’re the loud one,” she blurted out before he could soak in her discomfort any longer, “and you know that’s a little mean. I don’t pretend to be human, I just try to be approachable.”

Now it was his turn to freeze awkwardly. “What the fuck do you mean I’m the loud one?”

“Well- I mean I always thought the contrast was strange. Your thoughts. Most of the time you’re so quiet, or I guess that’s Scara-” she frowned, “but he’s always been so guarded, you know? Impossible to listen in on. Not that I’m complaining, that’s fine and frankly it’s nice to have someone who knows I respect their privacy because I have no choice, but it’s a bit jarring when every once in a while I can hear some of what he thinks clear as a bell and can’t even ignore it.”

“You… said that, yeah. How did you-”

“I’m getting there! That’s you, isn’t it? I thought it was his, but it’s you. But you I can hear; all of it. You’re very loud, not guarded like he is.”

It bristled. It wasn’t guarded enough for her? It was the most violent of them, it was the Harbinger and the god, Scara was a ray of fucking sunshine in comparison and yet she called it not as guarded-

“That wasn’t an insult,” She pinched the bridge of her nose, “I’m sorry. There’s breakfast, I’d had made something nicer if I knew you’d be out. You don’t speak much to him, so I’m guessing you don’t get out much?”

It hesitated, for a moment, before stalking over to the table and sitting down. “I’m not supposed to be able to ‘get out’ at all. I just woke up today instead of him for some reason.”

“Well, then maybe that’s a good chance to figure yourself out some!” She smiled, perking up. “If you haven’t been allowed out in a while, you must be very disoriented. Do you have a name yet?”

“I already had a name,” He glared at her, ignoring the fact that she called him disoriented like some child, “Belial.”

That threw her off enough that he got a moment of peace, even if only a few seconds. Her brow furrowed, putting a finger to her lips and frowning. “But… that’s an Archon name. That’s- that’s a very distinct style of name, how did you get that name?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. That’s my name now.”

“Now?”

“Well before it was Scaramouche, but I never liked the full thing and Scara took ‘Scara’ but I don’t really want that anymore anyway. Belial fits me better.”

Nahida squinted at him, in something more curious than suspicious. It made Belial uncomfortable, regardless. “An Archon name can only be given by Celestia, as far as I know.”

It cackled at the thought alone, which Nahida seemed a bit startled by since Scara was prone to muting his expressions, “I’m pretty sure if Celestia knew what I did they’d fucking smite me. Hell of a way to go out though, so I guess I wouldn’t complain. God’s favorite? No, I’m god’s worst nightmare and that’s way funnier.” It took a bite of its food, shrugging.

Nahida watched it for a moment, until it pointedly thought at her that she was being fucking weird. She reluctantly picked at her own food, kicking her feet absently as she seemingly mentally tried to work out the puzzle of his name.

“You’re not a puzzle,” she said softly in response to his thoughts, “you’re a person. I intend to respect you as such. Even if you think loudly, I- I can try and shut it out by thinking over it, and letting Irminsul’s information drown it out. So your name is Belial; do you refer to yourself the same way as Scara, or…?”

“Not entirely. Same pronouns, but I’m more of a thing, so ‘it’ gets thrown in there too. In the same way sometimes a god is so far from human that you stop referring to it using human pronouns because that’s an idiotic attempt to confine it to human constructs anyway.”

Nahida was visibly intrigued, sitting forward in her chair. “Oh, like how there’s honorifics specific to The Seven and Celestia in Sumerian? A sign of respect, yes, but also of nonhumanity. Would you like me to use those honorifics for you?”

Despite itself, Belial coughed and stared at her like she’d proposed the most insane idea in the world. It would have loved to act like it was an obvious basic decency, because of course it was a god; it was only right it be referred to as such. But if Belial was honest with himself, he hadn’t even thought of that. As much as he referred to himself as a god, it was something that he’d spent most of his life in the process of fighting for. He hadn’t been a god as a Harbinger, just a puppet fighting to become one. As much as he truly believed he was a god, now, he had still been defeated and had the physical manifestations of his divinity ripped from him. He hadn’t expected the same goddess who pulled the gnosis from his chest to offer such a sign of respect to him, much less so casually.

She seemed pleased with herself as she waited for an answer. Belial just scoffed and leaned away from her a bit. “You’re insane. Isn’t that blasphemy or something?”

“You don’t really seem like the type to care. What you did was certainly blasphemy in every sense of the word, wasn’t it? I think I can handle a little bit of harmless blasphemy if it makes you feel more comfortable, especially in place of more harmful behaviors.” She shrugged, unbothered.

Belial ate the last few bites of his food in a hurry, deciding he was done with whatever the hell this was. He stood, taking the dishes to the sink as Nahida sighed. “Sure, yeah, use whatever you want for me. I don’t care. I probably won’t be around much anyway.”

“That’s not a helpful way of looking at it. Surely, Scara could handle allowing you some space to breathe?”

“I don’t breathe.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

“I still don’t breathe. Scara doesn’t need to give me room to do shit. Giving me room to do shit usually ends in problems.” He gestured, starting his way towards the door. “I mean, Harbinger. I think that’s self-explanatory. Besides, who said I was interested? I don’t like Sumeru, I don’t like you, I don’t like anyone he considers a friend, apparently we’re taking history classes which is fucking stupid for an immortal to do. Things are boring here. I’d rather let Scara deal with the life he’s so invested in.”

“Boring?” Nahida asked, apparently unbothered by his admittance that he didn’t like her or anything about their current situation.

“Yes, boring. I’ve spent hundreds of years with my life centered around violence and bloodshed and danger, expecting me to enjoy anything less is fucking laughable. Fish don’t climb trees and I don’t do well in mundane life.”

“That must be frustrating, to be put in a life no longer your own. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t patronize me.” He hissed, and with that, Belial left her to her own devices.

He had a fucking history class he didn’t care about to attend, and that was better than some awkward attempt at a therapy session with the goddess of wisdom.

He didn’t bother to listen to most of the lecture. It was shit he could vaguely feel Scara already knew anyway, although at one point Scara woke up long enough to hiss in the back of their head that the professor was telling a biased version of events. It was entertaining that he cared so much about a bunch of dead people he’d never known, but when Belial pointed out Scara just told him it was better than making murder a hobby.

He knew when Scara’s comeback had been funnier than his own, he could admit defeat in that sense. Thus he’d continued his quiet doodling in class that was probably unbecoming of him, but if he got called on it he could just drag Scara into front and let Scara wipe the floor with the professor and their apparently biased lecture.

Unfortunately for Belial, it also was painfully aware that going back to the sanctuary just risked more conversation with Nahida. When their class ended, it found itself wandering instead. Boredom was sinking in but it was better than dealing with invasive questions, and it wasn’t difficult to find somewhere it wasn’t likely to be bothered. It ended up sitting with their main journal- the one Scara used as a commonplace book, a place to both journal and take notes and doodle if he felt like it- on one of the massive roots of Sumeru City’s tree near the docks. It was out of the way enough that no one was likely to walk all the way over to bother it just for being there, but still directly by one of the stone platforms that made up the city. The sound of the water lapping at the stone and wood below it, and the chatter of the market, was a pleasant background noise.

It sat criss-cross, hunched over the notebook in a position that would probably be bad for its back if it wasn’t a puppet. It stared down at the empty page, resting its head in its hand and its elbow on its knee. It had nothing to write about, really. Scara had taken to journaling but ‘whatever you want’ was not a fucking writing prompt that Belial could make anything out of. Instead, after a few moments, it glanced at its surroundings. The market stalls had fabric hung over them, and long pieces of patterned fabric hung over the whole platform, tied to posts and hung from the platform above. The shadows made by some of the architecture nearby looked nice.

It figured it could probably draw that, or at least get it across somewhat. It could draw something. That would at least ease the boredom.

It only lasted about half an hour before it began to get frustrated, finding that it was much more difficult to manage both the patterns of the fabric and the shading all with one goddamn pen in the same fucking color. Their pen was made for writing, not art, and Belial found it had very little control over whether the lines it drew were light or dark and god forbid it want to cover a whole area with something very light while showing the darker lines underneath because that wasn’t how their goddamn pen was made and it didn’t have the skill to think of a way to work around that-

“Scara?”

Belial froze like it was assessing whether or not it should snap the neck of the creature in front of it. Sethos, being the creature in front of it, looked a little bit confused and very much concerned.

Belial only realized after a moment of furious staring that not only was he being perceived when he’d been getting more and more ready to rip apart a piece of paper for existing in a way he’d decided was offensive to him, but he was also expected to shift gears into being able to speak. Oh. Right, people. Luckily for him, Sethos gently repeated himself. “Scara?”

Belial finally blinked, which made Sethos relax a little. Maybe he hadn’t been blinking until that point. “You don’t sound so sure.”

“I’m not,” Sethos admitted, “You uh- you look a little… different.”

“You’re not as stupid as you look. Congratulations.” Belial muttered, glancing away with a sigh. “No, I’m not. You don’t get my name.”

“Oh, uh, okay. You um- your pen.” Sethos pointed awkwardly, cringing as Belial glanced down and hissed at the small puddle of ink now forming where he’d left the pen against the paper. He cursed loudly, quickly lifting the pen and shoving the book onto the root he was sitting on where it couldn’t get ink anywhere. He capped the pen and eventually just ripped the drawing he’d been working on out of the notebook, standing and holding the thing out at arms length as the bit of ink dripped from the edge.

Sethos slowly approached the root, not wanting to invade the space but not wanting to shout from below too much either. “Was that Inazuman?”

“Fucking- what?” Belial glared at him, caught entirely off guard by the question.

He shrugged. “You cussed, but it wasn’t Sumerian. It sounded Inazuman, to me. Was that Inazuman?”

“… Where the fuck- nevermind. Yes, sure, good for you for figuring that out.” He hissed sarcastically, shaking off the paper and setting it down. “The hell do you want?”

“I just don’t usually see you down here. You’re normally up in the trees and whatnot by the sanctuary, or way further out of the city. And then I saw you didn’t have the hat, which half the time I forget isn’t actually just attached to you,” Sethos gestured above his head, earning a scowl, “so I figured either something was really wrong because you’re breaking routines that I know are practically sacred to you, or you weren’t Scara. In which case I wanted to make sure you were okay, since this whole thing has him pretty stressed so I can’t imagine it’s been easy for you either.”

“He’s not fucking stressed-” Belial started, before freezing. That was a complete lie and it wasn’t even a good one. “Okay he’s stressed but I’m fucking not. You do realize that your first impression of me was me goading him into a panic attack entirely for fun, and you’re coming up here all sunshine and rainbows acting like maybe I’m just a little shy?”

“I don’t think you’re shy,” Sethos frowned, “and I didn’t even think you’d want to talk to me, for the record. But I know some folks have really intense memory issues related to this stuff, so how was I supposed to know you even knew the layout of Sumeru? For all I know you could be sitting here pissed because you don’t know how to get home.”

“I know how to get home, I’m not fucking helpless. Our memory is functional enough.” Belial snatched up the notebook and his bag, starting to shove things in. There was clearly no peace to be had here so he might as well just leave.

Sethos snorted, much to Belial’s offense and confusion.

“’functional enough’ it says.” Sethos hid a smile behind his hand. “That’s very convincing- wait, are you the ‘it’ from before? That’s rude of me, hold on, I don’t know what your whole deal is and just because you mentioned being the one from before-”

“’It’ works.” He snapped and walked down the root and onto the ground, stalking away. The consideration was, sure, basic, but it still disturbed him. Everyone was being so fucking nice, like they were friends, and they weren’t. The complete lack of hostility in the way people regarded him was unfamiliar, unsafe, and insulting because they only regarded him like that because they knew Scara and expected him to be the same. They didn’t know him. He didn’t understand the way people were here. He understood the games the Harbingers would play; those were fun. Staying three steps ahead of everyone else, acting oblivious to their manipulation while knowing what they were doing the whole time and playing right into their hand only to make it clear last second that it was the other way around? That was his style. He could do social games of chess.

Whatever the fuck these people were doing, it was a whole new game and he didn’t know the rules. And, maybe, it was also just getting on his nerves being asked questions about himself like an introduction. It was such a simple thing, but something about it stressed him out. He felt too exposed, like they were casually asking for information that he should be guarding with his life.

Unfortunately for him, Sethos took the opportunity to follow him. “Okay, I can work with that. Are you going home, though? We could get something to eat; on me. I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to meet you again, and besides it’s a really nice day. Do you know what food you like? I know what places Scara likes to go, but I know that varies too-”

“Would you stop with the fucking questions? I didn’t sign up for an interrogation. Stars, you’re nosy.”

Sethos blinked. Belial could see a question forming in his head, and he got as far as opening his mouth before he shut it. Instead, he just looked uncomfortable, frowning and nodding. After a moment of silence, Belial sighed and put him out of his misery.

“Say it. You look like you’re going to explode.”

“’Stars?’ Most people say Archons, or Celestia. I don’t hear ‘stars’ very often.”

Belial shrugged. “It feels dumb referring to the Archons as a higher power when I live with one, and Celestia is either dead or officially the most absent god ever. Khaenri’ahn people used to refer to ‘stars above and below,’ it got shortened to ‘stars’ by the few people it was relevant to after the cataclysm and I picked it up at some point.”

Sethos stared at him, eyes wide. “… Is it okay to ask questions if they aren’t personal?”

Belial was starting to understand how this guy got under Scara’s skin. He was persistent. He gestured vaguely for Sethos to ask his fucking questions, pulling on the strap of his bag to shift its weight.

“’Stars above and below,’ that’s referencing the abyss, yeah? Why reference the abyss in a saying like that, isn’t that meant to be a higher power usually?”

“They worked closely with the abyss. For them, the abyss was just as sacred as the stars above, if not more. I’d definitely argue more, actually, especially right before they got punted by Celestia.”

“That…” Sethos hesitated, “That’s certainly a way to refer to the cataclysm."

“You’re the one who asked.”

“About the stars, not about the cataclysm.”

“Well, yeah, but Khaenri’ah can only be a topic for so long before genocide gets brought up.”

“Genocide? Hold on, now, you can’t just-” Sethos hurried forward to catch up with Belial and stand in front of him so he would stop walking faster, “What do you mean genocide?”

“Khaenri’ah. Duh.”

“The cataclysm?”

“Dude, have you picked up a single history book?”

“Yes, actually, and they don’t call the cataclysm genocide!”

“Well that’s a them issue, then. That’s what it was. I mean, I wasn’t even alive yet, but I know that. Celestia showed up with the Archons under their thumb and eradicated the population overnight, I think I’d call that genocide regardless of why they did it.”

Sethos looked like he was fascinated, horrified, and maybe questioning his entire worldview. Humans were fragile like that. Belial shrugged and started to move on, but Sethos yelped and followed him after him.

“I knew Scara was taking history classes, but I didn’t think you’d like history somehow. Neither he nor you seem like the type.”

“I don’t like history,” Belial scoffed, “I don’t give a shit about history. It’s just stuff I picked up over time.”

“Tell me more? C’mon, I can get us something to eat and you can tell me cool history stuff.”

Belial frowned. It wasn’t fond of being looped into conversation it didn’t want to be in, but… Well, this human was kind of sweet and innocent. It’d be fun to ruin that. Even if it wasn’t that into history as a whole, it did know a lot of random fucked up history that humans weren’t fond of looking at. That, and even if their body didn’t need to eat to survive, it did need to eat to be comfortable. It should probably take care of that.

“Fine,” it said, crossing its arms and motioning for Sethos to lead the way, “but I’m starting to understand why Scara compares you to a bee.”

“He calls me a bee?” Sethos lit up, gasping. “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever been called-”

“It’s because you’re loud and annoying and buzzing around us all the time even when we try and get rid of you.”

“… It was the nicest thing I’ve ever been called.” Sethos seemed unbothered nonetheless, leading the way down the street. “Do you know what you like?”

“I mean, I have the same body as Scara. Our tastes can’t be that different. We’ve at least never noticed any major differences.”

“You weren’t looking for them, though, and I know Scara limits himself a lot on what he eats. Maybe that’s because it’s what you can agree on?”

“No, dumbass, that’s called autism.”

“N- I know that.” Sethos huffed, “What I’m saying is maybe some of that isn’t just your sensory stuff. Maybe he’s working even more limits because he remembers not liking something, because you didn’t like it, but he’d like it if he tried it, and vice versa.”

Belial wasn’t sure if that was a smart thing to think of, or annoying and inconvenient. It didn’t have the fucking time to try new things, that was a waste of money and really was it willing to put in effort on the off chance it would find something new that it liked? “I don’t really care. He can try that. I’m not even supposed to be out here. It’s not really worth subjecting myself to something I don’t like just in case I do.”

“I guess, but- you’re not supposed to be out here?” Sethos stepped a little closer, much to Belial’s annoyance.

“Scara has been keeping me under lock and key without realizing I’m a whole entire person. He just thought he was repressing certain aspects of himself, things about his ‘past self’ that he didn’t like, but surprise- that’s me, I’m not really going away.”

“Well, then he can stop repressing you so much. You deserve to exist just as much as anyone.”

Belial rolled its eyes, like Sethos’ response was naive. “Just because I’m a person doesn’t mean that changes. I mean sure, I’m sure him and his morals and ideals are all like ‘oh freedom you deserve to have a life’ or some shit but the reality is that I can and will fuck shit up. I’m not supposed to be out here, because I cause problems, and given the chance I will continue.”

“Well… you’ve been pretty agreeable so far, to me. I think you should be allowed to try new things. Plus, isn’t that different entirely from like… imprisonment? In prison, you’re still existing at least. You’re still able to try and change or something, I guess. But…” Sethos glanced at it, and it scowled.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. That’s too close to pity, don’t fucking pity me. That’s weird, and gross. Will you shut up if I let you buy me food?”

“Yes I will!” Sethos flashed it a grin, bouncing a little as he picked up the pace. “Is the cafe okay?”

“Fine. Scara has something he usually orders there.”

Sethos clearly had a specific routine when it came to the cafe, quickly relaying Belial’s order along with his own and picking the table he always sat at. Belial set his bag under the table, resting his chin on his hand as Sethos sat back in his seat.

“So… Khaenri’ah?” Sethos prompted, and Belial just looked at him with vague disinterest.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say. Celestia obliterated the whole nation, there’s some rumors as to why. I don’t know all the details.”

“But-” Sethos crossed his arms, “But you didn’t seem to know that it wasn’t common knowledge. Yet what I’ve heard is that Khaenri’ah was committing great sins; was responsible for the first stages of the cataclysm even, in the form of monsters from the Abyss, and Celestia put an end to what they started.”

Belial scoffed. Yeah, that sounded like what the rest of Teyvat would be told. The Harbingers had never bothered with calling it anything other than what it was, and had done some significant digging into the details of it, so he had admittedly gotten used to being around people who knew about it. He took a moment to choose his words, then simply shrugged.

“None of that’s true. Maybe the bit about the monsters, but I don’t think so. If it is true, I’d bet money it’s leaving out important information to make it seem more like their own fault than it is. It’s definitely not black and white, don’t get me wrong, but my understanding of it all is that Celestia just didn’t like what they were doing.”

“Why would Celestia ‘not like what they were doing’ if it wasn’t a genuine atrocity?”

Belial would have laughed, were the question not so damn genuine. It was naive at best, but it was far more likely just… so misinformed. Everyone was. Then again, that wasn’t Belial’s problem; Khaenri’ah had long since been destroyed, what did he care if the history preserved was an accurate one? “Think about it this way. You have an ant farm. You’d freak the fuck out and flood half the thing, too, if the ants started fucking talking, and they’re talking about unionizing.”

Sethos snorted, caught off guard by the wording, but he frowned as the reality seemed to set in. “So… they were getting too smart, and maybe not liking the way Celestia was handling things.”

It made a vague noise of confirmation as their food came, sitting up properly and taking its plate. Sethos seemed a bit saddened to hear about the history, and it wasn’t really as satisfying as Belial expected it to be. It was much less entertaining if he wasn’t going to be loud about it; instead he was just sort quiet for a moment.

After a moment of poking at his food, Sethos spoke up. “You said Scara’s been repressing you specifically, yeah? Do you know more about what’s going on with you guys than he does?”

“Oh who gave you the fucking audacity?” Belial raised a brow, surprised and almost entertained by the question. He answered anyway. “I do, to an extent. I was also just mistaking myself for him, but in a weird mood, but when I’m not in front- uh, taking control- then yeah I know way more. I know more now that I know I’m me. I’m not telling you shit, though.”

“That’s fair. You don’t owe me an explanation. I just… I want to know if there’s any way I can help.” Sethos spoke quickly, before Belial even got the chance to protest. “Not even just you! I’m not saying I think you need my help. I’m saying I think Scara was really upset, especially about not being the… um.. ‘original’ or whatever. If there’s a way I can help, I want to.”

“That’s disgustingly sentimental,” Belial held one of the samosas, uncaring of the heat, absently dipping it, “but at least you’re funny. I don’t think you can exactly help the existential crisis he’s having, no, not really.”

“I don’t think I can fix that, I think it’s less terrifying to have a crisis when someone is offering to help with the little things. Y’know, like how the go-to thing people do is to offer food. That way, needs are being met while you don’t have to work, so you can focus on resting or processing what’s happening.”

Sethos said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world that he would want to help them through… whatever this was. Like it had never crossed his mind that he could just decide that this was overwhelming or inconvenient, and simply leave them to their own devices until they’d figured themselves out. Belial found itself glaring down at the samosa. “Is that why you took me here?”

“Wh- no! No, genuinely I just wanted to talk to you, and you knew some cool history stuff and food is always a nice thing to talk over, y’know? No- if I was going to specifically try to make you feel cared for with food, I’d bring it to you. Or just tell you that’s what I was doing. But you don’t… really seem like the type to take that as anything but pity. Even moreso than Scara.”

“If you do anything to try to make me feel cared for, I will sink my teeth into you.”

“Fantastic, noted.” Sethos chuckled, taking a bite of his food as he thought. He opened his mouth to say something, but froze when Belial bit into the samosa and promptly made a face. “Too hot?”

“What? No.” Belial shook his head, looking at the filling, “No, they had to have fucked it up or something.”

“What? You always order the same thing, don’t you? They know you.”

“Yeah, but...” Belial frowned, now glaring at the thing. After a moment, he took another bite.

Sethos covered his mouth, visibly withholding laughter as Belial reacted even more openly this time. He didn’t want to laugh at what was seemingly a major sensory issue, but… it was entertaining to watch someone who was all bite be so animated about anything. Belial had to force himself to swallow the food, immediately setting the samosa down. Sethos waited a moment, trying to be polite, before he leaned a little closer with an inquisitive look.

“You uh… you good?”

“That. That is like five textures at once, who thought that was a good idea?”

“Scara likes it. I thought you didn’t have differing tastes?” He sounded a little too entertained for Belial’s tastes.

“Oh shut the fuck up.” It snapped at him, but Sethos didn’t seem bothered. “I- normally it’s fine. It’s just wrong today. Too many different things in one food.”

“It’s normally Scara eating it, I guess. Are the mushrooms at least okay? We could order you something more simple.”

Belial shook its head without even really thinking about it, biting into one of the mushrooms on the smaller plate. Those, at least, were safe as always. If nothing else, they could always rely on mushrooms to be the same for the most part. “The mushrooms are fine, I can just eat those.”

“Are you… sure? I really don’t want you just eating a side dish.” Sethos muttered, pushing the Samosa plate to the side. “It’s not a problem. I have more than enough mora, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t give a shit about the mora, or if I’m being a burden, I’m gonna be honest with you. If you thought Scara’s ego was bad? I’m worse. You getting me extra food isn’t something I’d feel bad about.” Belial shrugged, taking another bite of the mushroom. “I’m just not willing to subject myself to any more food I might not like. Besides, what’s the point of getting something else? I might not like that either. I can stick with the mushrooms and if Scara’s hungry when he fronts then that’s his problem and he can fix it.”

Sethos hesitated, but he smiled a little at the uncaring attitude. “You think you have an ego?”

“I know I have an ego.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Most people don’t call themselves gods.”

That got an eyebrow raise, and Belial simply stared back at him. The look it gave him was quietly challenging, daring him to scoff or dismiss it. Because, honestly, it was bored. It could have fun, arguing with some idiot human that was way too invested in Scara’s well-being for his own good. Whether he took the angle of telling Belial it wasn’t a god, or struggling to reconcile Belial’s ego with his clearly rose-tinted perception of Scara, it could do for some free live entertainment.

Instead, Sethos looked curious, lacing his fingers together in front of him and tilting his head like a confused dog.. “You’re a god. I mean, I knew having people who weren’t human but were in a human body wasn’t uncommon for folks like you guys, but I never thought about someone who’s divine. How’s that work?”

Once again, Belial found itself flailing to find its balance again after it had prepared to push as hard as it could, and was instead met with absolutely zero resistance. It blinked, stunned, before quickly neutralizing its expression into something mildly annoyed. “The fuck do you mean how does that work?”

“I mean a god is a lot of things. To me, gods are authority figures. Powerful beings, more powerful than really anyone should be, enacting their will through those weaker than them. Is it a power thing, or…? Like, I guess how does it feel, is what I’m asking. What does that mean to you, to be a god?” Sethos didn’t seem judgmental, even though the way he spoke of gods didn’t seem to be a positive thing. Belial certainly couldn’t judge him for that; it felt the same about most of them.

“It’s just what I am. Yes, it’s a power thing, but that makes it sound like I wanted to feel powerful so I just decided I was a god one day.” Belial made a vaguely disgusted noise, “It’s not like that. I am a god, I didn’t just decide to call myself one.”

“That makes sense,” Sethos nodded, gesturing with one hand, “like Tighnari didn’t just up and decide to be a guy one day. You could argue that being a man appeals to him for specific reasons, maybe, but that doesn’t change that it’s just the truth of what he is and not some weird pathological thing and could even argue that those specific things only appeal to him because he was always a man in the first place. So don’t make it deeper than it is, got it.”

“… Yeah, sure.” It wasn’t sure what to do with his response, the words too understanding, finding its footing before it continued. “It’s the difference between Electro and true lightning. Electro is dangerous in the hands of an allogene, sure, but one strike of lightning can fry your brain for good. You can still spar and use your Electro just fine, and sure it can hurt people but it’s not gonna give them lifelong medical conditions. Comparing the two is fucking laughable.”

“Lightning is shorter lived, though.”

“Yeah well sometimes metaphors fall apart.”

Sethos laughed, lacing his fingers back together to rest his head on them. “Y’know what? That’s fair.”

“It’s not shorter lived, I think, it’s just… intensity of an unfathomable degree, so it only needs to strike once. Metaphor still stands, happy?”

“Very. So it’s about intensity. And maybe danger?”

“Also just ego. I have ego. Scara tries to be less of an egomaniac but I don’t care that much.” It was vaguely aware that Scara would likely be upset that it said this, later, but that wasn’t really it’s problem. “I’m better than humans are. I think I should have been worshiped. I think Scara’s trying to play human, and it’s pathetic, because we’re better than that.”

Sethos didn’t seem as bothered as Belial wanted him to be. He just seemed a bit intrigued, if anything. He nodded, the motion soft, as if giving Belial the opportunity to continue if it wanted. When it didn’t, he hummed. “I think it’s not a matter of worth, I think it’s a matter of wanting different things. But I’m not gonna try and talk about feelings, I know you’d- what’d you say earlier, fry my brain? Or sink your teeth into me? Whichever sounds more fun.”

Belial rolled its eyes, leaning back in its seat as it seemed to decide it was done with its food. “You’re right, I would. Scara likes you, but I don’t.”

“You did give me a fun history chat, though. And a lesson in divinity.”

“I gave you the Khaenri’ahn genocide and a shitty metaphor about lightning.”

Sethos stood and stretched, leaning with his hands on the table. Belial took the hint and grabbed its things, standing and slipping out of the booth. Sethos just smiled, shrugging. “Well I think it was fun, and I like learning new things. Do you think we could talk again?”

“I think Scara’s going to lose his fucking mind when he realizes I’ve been running things all day, so I highly doubt it.”

“Mm. Maybe I’ll have to talk to him and see if I can get you some free time.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Belial shook his head, already starting towards the door as Sethos hurriedly thanked the person at the counter and paid. He stepped outside, glancing back only when Sethos ran to catch up with him.

“Is it really? Why, because you’ll cause problems?”

“Yes. I’m bored. Now will you stop following me? I’m going back to the sanctuary.”

Sethos frowned, chewing on his lip, but nodded quietly nonetheless. “Okay. I’ll see one of you later, then. Go home- or, well, Scara sees it as home but you don’t seem to- uh… go back and get some rest.”

Belial just made a vague noise in response, not particularly comfortable with the care in those words, walking away.

He didn’t really know what to do with himself that night. He had already told Nahida; he didn’t do well in mundane life. It was best for him to just get back into their internal world as quick as possible. He wasn’t sure why their brain had decided a whole day to himself was a good idea, but he couldn’t get ahold of Scara so he was left to his own devices. He ended up sitting outside within the branches of Sumeru’s tree, testing what flight felt like to get up there. He didn’t like it. Scara had a distinct trust in the air around him like it was an ally all its own, a living thing, and he knew it would always hold him exactly as he asked it to. Belial lacked that, he felt, and instead weaving the breeze into something to lift him only felt like he was trying to wrangle an animal that refused to listen to him. In the end he walked up the branches most of the way, finding it surprisingly easy to do with minimal climbing involved.

The rest of the night, he listened to the leaves and read. It wasn’t something he’d ever been able to see himself doing, much less enjoying, with his hyperactivity. Nonetheless he enjoyed himself, laying on a branch and slowly making his way through a horror book that he remembered buying ages ago. He half wondered if it had actually been him doing that instead of Scara- looking back, it felt more like him. He’d ended up willing to chat with the bookstore owner, even, when his request for something involving body horror had gotten a look of glee in response and about five recommendations with different specifications about each. He didn’t like humans, but that one had been entertaining to talk with.

He hissed at the little voice in the back of his head, well-meaning and pathetic as ever, that told him that maybe he wasn’t so bad at this after all, because how dare he imply that his issue with mundane life was one of inadequacy. This wasn’t something he wanted to be good at, he hated it. It was boring. Humans were the problem, not him. He just didn’t take well to being contained. He went to bed that night, even if he hated to sleep, in hopes that Scara would be the one to wake up the next morning.

Chapter Text

Scara didn’t realize something was wrong until Nahida was weirdly quiet at breakfast. Normally one of them had something to say; either she wouldn’t shut up about whatever was going on in the world because the poor goddess had a direct line to all of Teyvat via Irminsul, or he had some interesting tidbit from classes lately. Inevitably, he caved first, speaking up as he got himself some water.

“The hell is wrong with you today? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Well, um. I was trying to figure out how to ask you if you didn’t remember Belial fronting, or if you just didn’t want to talk about it, without being rude.”

The words hit maybe a little harder than they should have. But how the hell else was he supposed to feel, being asked if he remembered something as if it had happened, but having no recollection of it? He was just getting up to go to class and instead this weird bomb was being dropped on him. He shook his head, shaking himself from his thoughts, before turning to her. “Who the fuck is Belial? What the fuck do you- How long?”

“Just two days. It stayed away from me yesterday, though; he was rather upset about being stuck here for however long your brain so pleased. He said even he doesn’t know how to force a switch.”

Scara was sure the color had to have drained from him. Two days? Two full days. He promptly clawed at his memory, trying to find anything. Upon searching he did find bits and pieces; he vaguely remembered himself commentating on history class. The memory made him feel sick, because it was from the wrong point of view; someone else’s point of view, although it was his body so shouldn’t it have been his point of view? But somehow, it wasn’t. ‘He’ in the memory wasn’t him, was someone else with too much genuine thirst for blood to have ever been him. He remembered, from the same wrong point of view, drawing something and getting frustrated with it. Sethos asking him too many questions. Trying to use Anemo and struggling with it, which of course he had struggled with it why was he treating it like something that needed to submit to him, you’d get nowhere like that-

“Scara?” Nahida’s voice was gentle, cautious. She was worried about him. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Who the fuck is he?”

“Well, I don’t know everything,” She ignored the loud bark of laughter that got in response, because she literally did, “but he seems to be the one ‘in charge’ before you, so to speak. He’s very, um… confrontational. It was likely the Harbinger who attempted to take my gnosis, and the one I can hear.”

Scara raised a brow as he sat down, pulling his plate to his part of the table. “The one you can hear?”

“I can’t hear your thoughts right now. I thought that it was when you thought loudly, but- when Beilal fronted, I could hear all of its thoughts. I think it’s not so much that your angrier thoughts are louder, but that it is louder and it’s more prone to speaking angrily”

“So… okay.” Scara pinched the bridge of his nose, “So I don’t have classes today. It’s the weekend.”

“It is, yes, the weekend.”

“I have to hunt down Layla.”

Nahida laughed. He shot her a glare. She only shrugged; she was right to laugh. The image of him going to sweet, soft Layla for help was definitely funny. Surely students would talk. He made a face, which only made Nahida stifle louder laughter, because apparently he’d just come to the conclusion she already had.

“Oh fuck off!”

“I’m not laughing at the fact that people will start rumors, I promise! I’m laughing because it’s silly, because the reality is so much more complicated than what they’ll assume. They’ll start wondering if you’re finally interested in someone, when really you’re going to her because no one else will understand what it’s like to find out there’s someone else in your brain with you. It’s just… funny, how clueless they are.”

“I’m starting to remember that you’re the goddess of knowledge, and sometimes that translates to seeing everyone as ants.” Scara muttered, much to Nahida’s offense.

“I don’t see them as ants! I just- it’s just a little funny how narrow-minded mortals can be sometimes. That’s all. It’s not a bad thing, it keeps them focused I suppose. I just means they make assumptions that are very, very wrong. I do think you should find Layla, or- whoever is functioning under that name at the moment. They’ll be able to help, I reckon.”

He hadn’t thought about it, but it was true, wasn’t it? Chances were it wouldn’t be Layla he was speaking with. Just someone who knew better than to correct anyone when they were called that name. He frowned; it made him a little sad. He wasn’t a very empathetic person, he actively struggled with it in fact, but fuck he knew how important names were. He only had ever tolerated the whole ‘Hat Guy’ thing because it was good for days he didn’t… like his name.

Well, that was probably a sign, looking back on it.

“Yeah, uh, I think I’m gonna talk to her. Or them. Whoever the fuck I’m gonna end up talking to.” He muttered, taking the last bite of his food. He should probably eat more but he was starting to feel a little too unsettled, and technically his body didn’t need it to survive so what was the point? It wouldn’t turn to discomfort for quite a while. He stood, stretching.

“You should eat more.” Nahida said as she crossed her arms.

“I’ll eat later, I have someone equally crazy to go track down.”

“You’re not crazy!” She called after him, which only earned a dismissive sound in response.

He was really lucky. Layla was home, and at least awake enough that she opened the door. He cringed upon seeing her hair in a bun that bordered on ‘mad genius’ levels of disastrous, and the way her eyes looked a little less open than normal. Her usual clothes were replaced with something simpler, just white pants and a wine-red shirt that hung loosely on her. She definitely seemed.. well. She always looked tired, that was her whole thing, but he’d never seen her like this. She at least made herself presentable when she left the house; was this how she always looked on the weekends?

She stared at him like she hadn’t been prepared to be perceived in the slightest, and for once he felt awkward. Unlike usually, this wasn’t really a her problem. This was definitely his fault. “Uh… I wanted to talk. I brought your book. Journal. Thing.”

It took a rather long moment for her to process, and then she gasped. “Oh shit! Y- yes, come in, um- give me two seconds. Do you want coffee?”

He walked in slowly as she rushed from the door, moving about her house to shove some things out of sight. The place was messy but nothing he could judge when his desk had more books on it than empty space. It looks mostly like things from studying, and plates and whatnot that hadn’t been cleaned up yet. “If you’re making it. Which, uh, it looks like you are. Is this a bad time? I can come back later, you look fucking exhausted.”

“Oh, no, I’m always exhausted- which sounds really sad but I promise it’s just how insomnia is.” she gestured dismissively, clearing off the table near the kitchenette. The kitchen was right at the door, with a nice little table beside it. The living room was off to one side, with presumably the bedroom and maybe bathroom off to the other. He wasn’t about to go snooping. She motioned for him to sit down and he did, setting both books he’d brought on the table as she turned to the kitchen.

“I’m not gonna pity you, fuck that. If this is your usual weekend I won’t feel bad for showing up.”

“Mhm. So, you brought- two books, not one.”

“I started one of my own.”

That got an eyebrow raise. “You… did?”

“There were some, uh, interesting finds.”

She abandoned the coffee for a moment to turn around. “Oh tell me everything please. I know we thought you were an egg but I didn’t think you’d crack that fast. My money was on at least a month before you even spoke to us.”

Scara frowned. “Crack, really? C’mon.”

“Sorry. So- interesting finds?”

“… You may have been right.”

“I’m not going to say I told you so because that would be cruel, but know that I’m actively restraining myself.” She hopped up to sit on the counter, biting absently at her finger.

“What happened?”

“Well- hold on. I’m not just gonna tell you everything without asking a couple questions first. For one, who are you? You’re not the same person who brought the journal to me, there’s no way. You're wearing red, for one, and you're not acting like normal.”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you to think I can’t mask that well.” He bristled at the condescending tone, and the other simply raised their hands in surrender. “I’m fucking with you, you’re right. But you shouldn’t just assume; it could've been me, I'm an okay actor. We know how to mask pretty hard. I’m Ruya, they/them but I'm not super picky. My whole job is being way more chill than half the people here, so do with that what you will.”

“You have… jobs?” He blinked. They shrugged, tilting their head all sorts of ways, unsure.

“Only sort of. Some of us. Some of us are like ‘my job is studying and I’m going to make it everyone’s problem’ and others are just. Here. That’s their job, they’re here. Actually a lot of us are like that. I just happen to have a job, because someone needed to get us to take breaks. Now tell me what happened!”

Scara hesitated, chewing on his lip and leaning against the table. Where did he even start? ‘Hey so I had a panic attack in front of Sethos and turns out I think I’m not real?’

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ruya softened and spoke first. “You don’t have to. I know it’s probably a lot. It was a lot for us too. If you need me to give like… generic advice, and whatnot, without knowing any of the details? I can do that.”

“No, no. Just- a lot happened. How did Layla take it?”

“Huh?”

“How did- when you guys started figuring things out. I mean, she’d been used to living her life on her own, and then suddenly there’s other people, right? That’s fucking complicated.”

“Oh, uh. I mean…” Ruya rubbed the back of their neck, almost sheepish, and laughed. “If I’m honest she was pretty burned out. We’re not really built for forcing someone to spend a lot of time in front compared to anyone else, but before we realized we were sort of subconsciously making her spend the most time fronting, I think. At least, that’s our theory. So she sort of dipped for a solid year and a half right off the bat to recover from all that, and that was best for her. Best for everyone involved, if I'm honest.”

Scara was sure it was obvious he thought that was insane, staring at Ruya with an incredulous look on his face, but it was difficult to really hide it. “She just… left?”

“We floundered a bit, obviously. Most of us had a lot of guilt around it, felt like we were taking over her life, but um.. it really was for the best. It gave us space to exist without this whole looming feeling of our life not really being our own, because we somehow owed it to Layla to give her the most time out. She made it very clear she didn’t want all the time to herself.”

Scara frowned down at the table as Ruya went back to making coffee, setting water to boil. That answer didn’t help him at all. He knew the question he was asking was probably rude even if he couldn’t figure out quite why, but he asked it anyway.

“Is she the, uh- fuck. What I read in your journal never really talked about an original?”

“We don’t really find that whole idea useful. I mean you might! Good for you if you do. But it just stresses us out. People ask who the original is, and what they’re asking is who the real one is.”

Scara didn’t respond right away. They had a point; that was sort of what he was asking. He was asking it because it applied to him though. He shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other and glaring at the books in front of him. If he wasn’t the real one, who was? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“But isn’t there one?” He settled on, after longer than he intended.

“We’re all the real ones. I mean, you wouldn’t look anyone in the eye and call them not real, would you? That’s rude.”

“I would if they were a ghost or something.”

“Th- well, okay, but I’m not a ghost. Also, ghosts are still real. They’re just dead.” Ruya rolled their eyes, crossing their arms.

“Okay, bad example.” Scara admitted, frowning. “But- still. I’m serious. How do you know you’re not just something Layla is imagining herself as?”

“Why does it matter to you what’s real? You’re all there and experiencing it as real, that’s all that matters. Even if you weren’t ‘objectively real’, even if you were just one dude trying to make sense of himself, who the fuck cares? What matters is that you make more sense to yourself, or selves, like that.”

“Because- Damnit it matters.” He huffed, sitting up a bit straighter and fighting the urge to grit his teeth. “I don’t want to be just some figment of someone else’s imagination. I’m not fucking around and just asking these questions for no reason, it matters to me.”

Ruya looked a little confused, but suddenly seemed a little more hesitant. Careful. Treating the situation like it was fragile, him like he was fragile. He didn’t like it. “Well… I don’t think there is an objective way to tell. Even the people who do diagnosis and stuff can’t agree. A lot of people will just tell you it’s one broken person, but- that’s not true for everyone, or even the majority. A lot of people agree that it’s a really gross thing to enforce on everyone like us.”

“So the people who know what they’re talking about say it’s not real.” It came out snappier than he meant.

“We are the people who know what we’re talking about, it’s going on in our brains. Look- I know it’s scary, but this is your head, what you say goes. You have the authority. No one can say if if you’re real or not, that’s for you to decide.”

His hackles raised and he scoffed. “No one has to say it, that’s the fucking problem. It’s not something they ever say, they just bake it into every interaction with you until you learn the lesson anyway. I don’t care what people think, I care what is. I want to know if it’s true or not.”

There was a pause as Ruya grabbed mugs from the cupboard, sighing. “Well there’s not- like I said, there’s not really a way to tell what ‘is’ objectively. But I think that ultimately, you’re talking to me. You’re speaking, living, thinking, experiencing life; that’s all you need. You’re real.”

He frowned, almost deflating as he shook his head. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s- I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You’re right, you don’t.” They shrugged, setting the mugs on the counter and squinting almost suspiciously at the coffee. “I’m just nosy. Do you- you don’t have to answer this- do you… not feel like you’re the original, the 'real one?' Is that what this is about?”

They glanced back at him, which he was grateful for. He couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He’d already said it to Sethos. Instead, he just nodded, running his hands over his face. They made a vague sound of confirmation, pouring the coffee into the mugs and quietly setting on in front of him. They set their elbows on the table, leaning forward as they held their coffee. After a moment of staring off into space, they spoke. “There’s nothing I can say that can fix that. That’s not an easy thing. Personally, we aren’t out. No one knows anyone but Layla, and even Layla doesn’t really feel known because everyone knows this idea of her that encompasses what the whole system can mimic but it’s not the reality of her on her own. It’s kind of lonely. Some days it’s really easy to just feel unreal, not because I don’t think I’m real, but because no one sees me. There’s no one to witness my existence, to know what I look like and sound like when they’re not seeing me through the filter of the body I’m in, or to even just know like- what I like, and what I don’t. At least, no one who doesn’t also live in our brain.”

They chuckled, but it sounded bitter. Scara couldn’t blame them. He started to speak, but they held a finger up.

“Hold on. I’m not done. Because yeah, it fucking sucks. Especially not being seen as the real one. But- if no one’s gonna give you that, then you have to at least give it to yourself. You owe that to yourself, don’t you? If you have the sentience to stress about whether or not your real, then to me that settles it.”

“I- that helps, I think. I don’t know. I’m just fucking sick of this. It’s like I keep finding new ways to ‘not be real.’”

“For what it’s worth, now at least one person out there thinks your real. Or- well, assuming you think I’m real enough to count. If not then we might have a little bit of a problem, because then this conversation is between two fake people.”

That, at least, got a quiet huff of laughter as he sipped at his coffee, shaking his head. “No, you’re real. I’ve met Layla and she’s not near as snarky. Half the time I feel like I’m gonna snap her in half if I say the wrong thi- wait hold on. Have I met Layla?”

“Now you’re asking the real questions!” They laughed, clearly pleased with the way he suddenly stumbled over himself as if his train of thought had just been clotheslined. “Don’t worry. Yes, you have. She’s the one who brought you our book. Which, speaking of; has it helped?”

“A little. I haven’t looked at it much since the first couple of times, it’s overwhelming. I made my own.”

They leaned forward, and he raised a brow at the way they moved their shoulders like a cat wiggled to calibrate before pouncing. “So? Who else should I be aware of, then? Gimme details.”

He was unimpressed. “You sound like you’re asking who my fucking crush is.”

“Am I?”

“What? No.”

“It happens. We have a few relationships in-system. More common than you think.”

“Y- I don’t want to think about that, no. Shut the fuck up.” He rolled is eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Its name is Belial. He kind of fucking hates me, and everything actually. He was the last one in charge, he caused a lot of problems, I think he’s angry with me for building a life that has nothing to do with him.”

“I mean, I’d be pissed too if the others… what, moved to a new nation and started taking classes at a strange school I’d never been to? While I was dormant? There’d be blood.”

“Can you even-?”

“Nah, our system doesn’t work like that. So did you come here because you wanna know how to handle him, or just chat about it all, or…?”

“I- mostly I was just freaked out because I don’t remember the past couple days.”

Ruya sat up a bit straighter, eyes widening suddenly. “Wait, seriously?”

“Wh- don’t you have that?!”

“No. No, not really. Our memory is shit, don’t get me wrong, but it’s just sort of bad in general. Not like actual greyouts or blackouts.” They pulled their journal from on top of his own, opening it and flipping through it. “I can’t… actually help with that, honestly. I have no idea what amnesia barriers are like.”

Scara groaned loudly, resting his head face-first on the table. “That’s the whole fucking reason I came here.”

“Sorry.” Ruya offered only a sheepish smile, looking up from there book. “How much do you know about you guys so far, then, beyond Belial fronting?”

“Uh… he exists, and he’s a god apparently, he doesn't like blue.”

Silence. Ruya realized a moment too late that he wasn’t going to continue the list, coughing. “I mean that’s a start! You can start working together now that you know he’s there.”

“I don’t know how well that’s gonna go over.”

Ruya laughed. “So, sounds to me like lesson one should be conflict management.”