Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

Varka had suspected that Flins wasn’t human the day they met. The unsettling yellow eyes that seemed to bore into his soul, the ancient mannerisms that stood out like a sore thumb, even something as simple as his courteous bow aroused suspicions. One day, after a particularly long battle that had left the two of them drained and exhausted, his hunch was confirmed.

“I do wonder why humanity exerts such effort to destroy one another,” Flins pondered idly as he purified the Tideseal Stone with a gentle hand.

Varka had been resting against a stray boulder when he had caught the comment, and he looked up from where his boots were slowly sinking into the sand. “Humanity?”

Flins blinked, his expression holding the slightest amount of surprise before returning to his nonchalant mask. “Oh, I simply meant the entirety of the world. It is quite an intriguing thought, isn’t it?”

“It’s not particularly up my alley,” Varka joked, steering the topic back to their earlier conversation about the Wild Hunt. “In Mondstadt, the worst we’d face would be a lawachurl, and even those are rare. Nod-Krai, in comparison, seems like it’s in constant conflict.”

“That wouldn’t be too far away from the truth, Grand Master.” Flins glanced at him for a moment before returning his gaze to the horizon, patiently waiting for him to continue on their patrol. “The Wild Hunt is quite a malicious force on the best of days, let alone now. They’ve been becoming more and more aggressive with each night, much to the Lightkeeper’s perplexment.”

Varka let out a noise of agreement, pushing himself to his feet with the help of his greatsword. “There’s gotta be something that’s riling them up, right? Can’t just be a coincidence.”

“I do suspect that there is some greater force at work here, but it’s unlikely that we’ll be able to identify such a power–” Flins stopped in his tracks, eyes flickering with a violet light as the lapping of waves quieted.

Varka had survived enough ambushes to know that when a companion felt that something was off, you didn’t question them. Smoothly, as if he was taking a stroll on the beach, he slowed to a stop before listening to their surroundings. There was nothing, not even the chirping of birds or the sound of waves hitting the shore. Almost as if there was a vacuum of sound…

“Close your eyes.”

For whatever reason, he didn’t hesitate to do so, hefting his broadsword into a defensive position as he listened closely for the sound of monsters nearby. They didn’t know each other well, but Varka could recognize a seasoned warrior when he saw one. He knew that they would fight with unparalleled efficiency, and that he would be safe when he fought with them by his side. So he kept his eyes closed even as the crackle of flames began, and blue light infiltrated his eyelids with an intensity that brought tears forth.

“Φυλάττεσθαι τὰ τῶν νυκτὸς θηρία.”

His eyes snapped open at the sound, ancient words dripping seductively from an elegant tongue as a heavy fog settled in around them, occasional bursts of lightning reflecting against the water droplets in the air to create an atmosphere of tension. He heard footsteps running towards him, recognizable not with the graceful evasions and parries of Flins, but the lumbering stomps accompanied with the swinging arc of a clawed hand. Varka smoothly turned with his greatsword in hand, letting the momentum of his movement carry on through his weapon until it pierced through the chest of the monstrous creature.

Glowing pink-purple heads began to rush at him, alerted by his attack upon one of their own as they charged. Perhaps if he was alone, he would simply use his Vision to shred the Hunt into strips of gore, but the risk of catching Flins in such a move was far too high. Instead, he slowly cut through the horde with wide swings and precise gusts of wind, quite literally ripping them into oblivion.

“Duck.”

Varka lowered his head instinctively, barely avoiding a bolt of lightning as it incinerated the remaining monsters with ease. He turned to the Lightkeeper, who looked no worse for wear as he stared intently at him in a way that sent chills down his spine.

“Please don’t feel that you must hold back on my account, Grand Master,” Flins murmured, smoothly casting his weapon away. “I am not as fragile as I appear.”

Varka grinned, quietly storing the remark away in his collection of suspicious comments. “You can just call me Varka, you know. And I would hate for a careless strike to cut your hair short.”

Flins stared at him, clearly unimpressed as he slowly twisted his hair into a bun with a gloved hand, even summoning a band of Electro to keep the hairdo in place. Surprisingly, Varka did not drop dead or get a nosebleed from the sight. But he did stare with his mouth open for longer than what was socially appropriate.

“Would this be sufficient to avoid such issues?” Flins asked finally, raising an eyebrow after a minute of silence.

“Y– Yeah,” Varka replied awkwardly, hoping that his shock wasn’t too obvious.

He had never met someone who radiated such ethereal beauty, let alone a man. The waist-length hair that faded from night sky to dawn was neatly pinned up, several strands already escaping out from the tie to cascade over his shoulders once more. Under the moonlight that illuminated the sandy shores, the Lightkeeper looked eerily similar to the fae depicted in children’s storybooks.

Now’s not time to think about that, Varka berated himself, plastering on a smile for Flins as he hoisted his greatsword back onto his shoulder. “Shall we continue?”

They continued on their patrol without another word, parting ways silently at the Flagship.

2.

Two weeks later, Varka realized that he had never asked Flins about what language he had been speaking during the fight. He had searched for someone who knew rare vernacular in Nod-Krai, but even Ineffa and Nefer had been unable to help him. Without hearing the language for themselves, a vague description wouldn’t be able to help them narrow it down. And so he had dug around for a while, eventually finding his answer with the Flagship’s bartender. Apparently, Flins spent quite a bit of time at the cemetery on Paha Isle, which would likely seem rather vulgar to people who hadn’t met him. But Varka suspected that the Lightkeeper didn’t care for others’ opinions on where he rested, and he was going to use that to find him.

He had eventually found himself a rare day in which his schedule wasn’t swamped with chores or battles, and waited until all of his knights were busy before setting off, leaving a note that he’d be back soon. Last time he had disappeared without an explanation, his soldiers had spent nearly all of their emergency funds for intel from Nefer in a panic. Not fun for everyone except Nefer herself.

Much to his surprise, the Wild Hunt was particularly subdued during his journey, despite how his Vision typically drew them in like fish on a hook. There weren’t any noticeable signs of abyssal corrosion either, and Varka suspected that a certain Lightkeeper had already made his rounds long before he set foot on the island.

After skirting around several Fatui troops and obliterating the ones he couldn’t, he finally made his way across the land bridge—although that may have been a stretch to call it as such, considering the half foot of water that covered it—and at the entrance of the cemetery. Varka froze, realizing that he was not alone.

Ghostly spectral figures stood still, indistinct and wispy yet bright as they watched him. He thought he could catch them whispering to each other, but they dissipated when he had stepped closer to listen. He straightened after several moments of silence, looking up at the lighthouse, standing proud and tall at the edge of the cliff. Without the ghosts’ rambling, it was eerily quiet among the tombstones.

Varka took a deep breath, strapping his weapon to his back before daring to venture any further. No matter how long it had been since these people had passed, it was still only proper for him to treat the dead with respect. Once he made sure that he at least looked presentable and not like a deranged grave robber, he quietly began to tread up the overgrown path that led to the watchtower.

Just as he passed another of the illegible tombstones, the unmistakable sound of a hiss followed by a crackle echoed from a corner of the cemetery. And resting on what was by far the largest monument on the island was Flins’ lantern, still burning with that strange blue fire. Before he could consider the consequences, Varka found himself standing in front of that lantern, hands reaching to touch before pausing.

“Flins?” He whispered.

A hand gently tapped his shoulder, and Varka was not afraid to admit that he nearly punched the Lightkeeper in the face before he could stop himself. Flins watched him intently, yellow eyes flickering with amusement as he gently swung the lantern from a finger. There was no way that he could have grabbed his lamp that quickly without Varka noticing, and both of them knew it.

“Is there something you need?” Flins asked politely, breaking eye contact after a moment.

“Ah, I was just wondering what language you were speaking when we fought together,” Varka offered lamely. “I had a free day, so I decided to ask you about it.”

“Considering how far you’ve had to travel here, it would be quite rude for me to not disclose such information. It’s one of Snezhnaya’s older dialects, but I don’t believe there’s a proper name for it in the common tongue…Φαή, perhaps?”

“Φαή?” Varka tested the word out, feeling the tone and phrasing completely escape his grasp as it slipped from his tongue.

“Consider the name of the ancient race from Hyperborea,” Flins clarified, although it didn’t offer him much clarification.

“Fae?” Varka frowned.

“Yes…” Flins paused. “In the common tongue, Φαή in the form I used it in would roughly translate to ‘the fae’s speech.’”

Varka had many questions, the most pressing of all being just how Flins knew fae speech, but he held back. “What else could Φαή mean?”

“Φαή in the context of the species would simply translate to ‘the fae,’ whereas Φαή in literature would be ‘fae script,’” Flins explained patiently, seemingly unperturbed by the question. “A single word’s meaning relies entirely upon the sentence surrounding it, unlike the majority of the common tongue’s verbiage.”

“Actually, most of the modern tongues have similar structures, although some words do have a singular meaning or only partially rely on the sentence it’s in,” Varka countered. “For instance, ‘fae’ in the common tongue would represent the fae species, Fae Script, and the fae language.”

Flins blinked, tilting his head to one side. “I suppose you could say it depends on the perspective between a human and a fae.”

Varka shrugged, fixating on the way the blue fire illuminated one side of the Lightkeeper’s face with the motion. With the lighting, it was easy to spot the eyebags that lined the bottom of those yellow eyes, and even the smudged eyeliner that only added to his intimidating appearance. For a moment, he felt the inexplicable urge to smear the eyeliner further, to run his fingers through Flins’ hair to see if it really was as silky as it looked.

“I apologize for disrupting the conversation, but I do have several tasks to complete before the day ends.”

Varka smiled brightly, exchanging pleasantries for another minute or so before heading back to Nasha Town, his heart filled with some strange emotion he couldn’t name.

3.

It was a late night at the Flagship, with Varka and his soldiers ordering several rounds on the house for the rambunctious crowd that had gathered. He had kept himself from drinking more than two glasses of wine, knowing that barfights were all too often even on the best of days. His wariness had paid off when Aino burst into the tavern with a strength that made the customers fall silent.

“Uncle Varka! Uncle Varka!” Aino cried frantically, her mechanical tail pushing the crowd aside as she hugged his leg.

“Aino?” Varka signaled for the bartender to usher the crowd away, crouching down to speak with the young engineer. “What is it?”

“It’s Flins! I was asking Ineffa if we could make some Krumkakes before bed, and she kept saying no, and I was angry, and then I was going to go outside to buy Krumkakes by myself, but I saw Flins on the way and he didn’t look good so I asked him if he was okay and he just fell on me! He won't wake up and I don’t know what to do!” Aino sobbed.

Varka took a deep breath, processing what she had just said. “Where is he?”

“Ineffa’s helping him to the workshop, but I don’t think she knows what’s wrong,” Aino whimpered, and Varka couldn’t help but ruffle her hair in an attempt to comfort her.

“We can go meet up with them and see how Flins is doing, okay?” Varka suggested, offering a calloused hand to her. He knew from experience that the best way to calm a distressed kid was to simply guide them—instructions could go a long way in the middle of chaos.

The pink-haired girl sniffled, wiping snot on her sleeve before clutching onto his ring and pinky finger with her own tiny hands. “Uncle Varka, is Flins going to be okay?”

Varka swallowed harshly, forcing down his own fear as he smiled. “Of course. He’ll bounce back in no time.”

Aino’s entire being seemed to melt as she relaxed, believing his words more than he did himself. Of course, it didn’t take long for the engineer to become impatient, tugging him towards the exit of the tavern as the other customers watched in shock as the little girl dragged the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius out of the Flagship and into the cold night air. Varka didn’t comment on the white-knuckled grip that Aino had on his two fingers, instead quietly picking her up when her occasional yawns became a continuous cycle of open-mouthed sighs.

When he knocked on the metal entrance to the Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop, Aino immediately lunged upright, nearly falling from his one-handed carry as he frantically lunged to catch her. The pink-haired menace offered nothing other than a sleepy grin as his heart pounded, nearly beating out of his chest with the sudden rush of adrenaline.

“Varka? Aino?”

Varka took one look at Ineffa before practically shoving the poor kid into the robot’s arms, too shaky to handle her safely. Ineffa tilted her head for a moment, clearly confused yet somehow unoffended.

“Good evening. I thank you for bringing Aino back home, Varka,” Ineffa greeted politely.

Varka laughed awkwardly. “It was no trouble, I have someone I’d like to see here anyways. I heard there was a certain Lightkeeper resting here?”

Ineffa nodded, opening the door further to invite him in. “Aino found him, presumably during one of his patrols. He appears to have collapsed from exhaustion and strain, which would be expected considering recent events. Please come in if you’d like to, the house is beginning to get cold.”

Varka apologized hastily for allowing the hot air to escape the warm house, quickly stepping in as the sky-blue-haired robot shut the door with one hand, perfectly balancing Aino in the other. Pointedly ignoring the embarrassment that colored his face, he turned to see Flins’ lantern resting near the fireplace, weak blue flames washing out by the roaring fire next to it. It was rare for Flins to not have his lantern by his side, and he had just opened his mouth to speak when–

“Varka?” A hoarse voice whispered.

He was proud to say that he indeed did not jump out of his own skin, instead letting out an extremely mature yelp as he stumbled back in surprise. Ineffa lowered her volume before whispering out a “Good night,” heading upstairs with Aino in tow. Leaving him with the talking lantern. Who may be the person he’s been running circles around for weeks.

“...Flins?” Varka asked, and the lantern burned brighter for several seconds before dulling once more. “Uh, do you wanna come out of there?”

“It is rather troublesome to recreate a physical form at the moment,” the Flins-lantern murmured. “And…my current appearance may not be pleasant.”

“I just need to see that you’re okay, nothing else. I’m sure I’ve seen much worse than whatever you look like now, and I swear I won’t run screaming, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Varka promised without hesitation.

The lantern flame crackled, as if laughing in amusement before beginning to expand, slowly but steadily building an outline of a body from the blue fire. Varka could only watch in awe as Flins’ human form gradually appeared from the numerous strands of light, shaky in some parts but possessing the same sharpness as usual.

“See, it’s not bad at–” Varka began.

The construction paused for a moment, before collapsing into itself with a quiet hiss of a doused flame. Varka panicked for a moment, thinking that the fire had somehow been extinguished before the smoke parted.

Flins sheepishly stood by the fireplace, in all of his typical Lightkeeper garments. One side of his face was covered in what he now knew to be magical fire, his eyes also burning an unnatural blue along with the left side of his body. Half fire, half human, yet Varka realized that he didn’t think of the fae any differently. He had always known that Flins was a mystery, someone veiled in obfuscation and deflection, but he had always considered it as part of his charm, an added bonus in the process of getting to know him. And the fae features that bled through his disguise…those were the most beautiful of all.

Fiery wings that were practically walls of cold fire, sparks and shadows dancing around the handsome—no, he knew now that it was more than handsomeness, it was an ethereal beauty that transcended any description that he could offer—fae, all of it made it so obvious that he was of nobility, that he was of an ancient race and nation that had nearly been lost to time.

“Beautiful,” Varka breathed out, and oh, the burning gaze that met his could have brought an army to its knees, made a sinner confess, leave an Archon shaking with emotion.

Flins blinked, wings stretching out to reveal a monarch-like pattern that appeared with every crackle of his flames. There was a small smile gracing his lips, and Varka wished he had a Kamera to forever immortalize him in that moment, raw power and radiance that burned down all of his mental walls.

“It’s…been quite a long time since I’ve been called that.” Flins’ smile became softer, more affectionate as they stared at each other. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.

4.

Slowly, they began changing their routines to match each other’s. Meeting up every other night at the Flagship to drink and talk about the affairs of Nod-Krai, of their organizations, of themselves. Varka had already memorized their schedule; he would meet up with Flins at the lighthouse just as the sun was beginning to slip under the horizon, walk with him to the tavern, talk for hours until the stars shone brightly as they hung from the night sky, then the Lightkeeper would escort him back home to “keep him safe from the creatures of the dark.”

He wondered if he should have been worried about how close they had become in recent days, sharing with each other the most precious of secrets, trading tales of treacherous battles and delicate viewpoints from their homelands. He offered stories from Mondstadt, pride growing in his chest at the wonderstruck look that crossed the fae’s face when he described the windmills that decorated the land. Flins would often remain silent, occasionally mentioning a fellow Lightkeeper who had stood out to him in the past, or a legend from one of the three islands.

But Varka had begun to treasure each full moon with a certain kind of reverence, because that was when Flins would remain at the cemetery, his thin figure blurring like a spectre in the moonlight. The Grand Master would quietly sit down beside him, watching various emotions war within those dull eyes before hesitant words slipped out.

“During Belyi Tsar’s reign, the aristocracy was comprised predominantly of fae. We were seen as gods, perhaps not as powerful as an archon, yet our reputation preceded us nonetheless. Mortals would flock to us at parties, asking for favors, wishes, debts. We lived in luxury befit for a king, with servants and peasants alike groveling at our feet. I suppose this kind of arrogance only hastened our inevitable fall from grace when Belyi died. Even after the Celestial Nail dropped on Hyperborea, our status remained rather untouchable…at least, until the Tsaritsa rose to power.

“I do wish, at times, that I had been in the Golden Realm when the Heavenly Principles decided to annihilate us. After all, even as a fae, it is nigh impossible for me to be killed. If we become tired of existence, then the best we could do would either be angering a god, or magicking ourselves into eternal slumber. And the latter can be easily broken by bloodshed near our tomb, which renders the spell useless.” Flins glanced at him, the melancholy in his eyes easy to mistake as mirth. “It is quite a tiresome cycle for us.”

Varka knew then that the “Chudomir” gravestone that rested only several paces away from them was one such tomb. It was horrifying, to realize that the calm and polite Lightkeeper had once longed for a long sleep, one that had almost come true. But the fae only laughed at his stricken expression, dismissing his worries as he continued.

“But, I find that the Lightkeepers’ motivation has provided me with a cause to fight for, at least for the time being. Despite their willpower and determination, I fear that their situation is already perilous enough with my help, and I must admit that I do not believe that there will be a pleasant outcome without it. Thus, it’s only logical that I stay until the threat has been resolved, is it not?” Flins finished, looking at him expectantly.

Varka stared at the Lightkeeper for a long moment, processing his words. “If you’ll stay only until the Hunt has been defeated, then what would you do after? What would happen?”

“I suppose I would return to my resting place,” Flins admitted, shifting guiltily. “This…experience, I suppose, was quite an enlightening journey of humanity’s perseverance, of how you will stand no matter how many times you’ve fallen, of how you will chase your dreams. You fly, and if you can’t fly then you run, and if you can’t run then you walk, and if you can’t walk then you crawl, and even then you must fight. It’s been exhilarating, to witness the past decades of human achievement and accomplishment. But there’s little reason for an ancient fae to remain in a nation that can properly defend itself, and even less for me to remain and risk having my identity exposed.

“Do you not enjoy our outings together, dear Lightkeeper?” Varka teased, despite the drawstring that stretched taut in his chest. “I thought you’d enjoy this experience of ‘mortal affairs.’”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever said that I didn’t,” Flins countered, eyes sparking with blue fire. “It seems that even by fae standards, your silver tongue is a powerful foe to battle.”

“I wouldn't be the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius if I didn’t know how to persuade people a little,” Varka pointed out. “Besides, isn’t the use of words to get your way more preferable to using a sword?”

“Why must you continue to argue when your opinion is unneeded?”

Varka had to tense every muscle in his body to stop himself from flinching at the icy tongues of flame that lapped at his skin, unable—or unwilling—to burn. Flins’ sudden anger was a tangible force in the air, writhing and pushing at him as the fae gripped the stone wall he sat on, fingers indenting the weathered rock as his knuckles turned white. He didn’t know what had caused the Lightkeeper’s mask to break, which of his words had dealt the final blow to the lilting calm that they had held.

“Flins.”

Silence.

“Flins…”

Silence.

“Kyryll.”

The strangled gasp that escaped the midnight-blue-haired man was enough encouragement for Varka to continue. “I’m saying all of this because I don’t want you to leave, okay? I don’t want to win the war only to lose you as soon as I find you. I want to get to know you, the real you. Not just the Ratnik, or fae, or legend. I want every part of you, every facet of your personality that makes you who you are. I want to know about Kyryll of the Snezhnayan nobility, the Lightkeeper Flins, the Blue Flame, and the Lantern Fae.”

“What if they’re ugly?” Flins snapped, but his voice was weak. “You don’t know what the fae are like.”

“You could show me, and let me decide for myself,” Varka suggested gently.

The fae stared at him for a moment, emotions warring in his eyes. “...We’ll see.”

5.

Varka had nearly had an aneurysm when Venti walked into the Flagship, eyes scanning the crowd before spotting him and waving wildly to catch his attention. It had been awkward enough for the two of them to exchange pleasantries, the leader of a nation making small talk with the god who created the very landscape of it. He didn’t think it could get any worse, but that was before Flins had joined them.

Barbatos had trailed off during the middle of a story about the bluefin whales that roamed the seas of Nod-Krai, eyes briefly flashing with Anemo in a way that had him considering if he could run out of the tavern without getting caught. Flins paused before sitting down, visibly tensing as the Archon smiled cheerfully after freezing in shock.

“You must be the Flins that Varka couldn’t stop talking about!” Venti exclaimed brightly, concealing the wariness that he had possessed just moments before. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Varka couldn’t disguise the shock on his face at the words, turning to see Flins’ reaction to the Anemo Archon’s greeting.

Flins blinked, then offered a small, uncertain nod. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I make a blunder, it’s been quite a long time…Ἄνεμος ἐλευθερίας?”

Venti smiled softly, and Varka was beginning to feel like he was intruding on something sacred. “And you are the mysterious Blue Flame of the Chudomirovich family. You tried to teach me some fae magic, if I remember correctly?”

“I believe ‘tried’ would be the key word,” Flins responded smoothly. “You were always more skilled in illusions than magic.”

Venti laughed then, light and carefree, and Varka realized that the Archon was…relaxed. It had been years since he hadn’t seen the subtle signs of erosion and abyssal contamination, the centuries of war and overexertion taking its toll on the god. But…it seemed that reuniting with an old companion brought the bard some semblance of companionship.

“I’ve missed you,” Venti murmured, scooting to sit closer to the fae. “It’s been…what, 2000 years?”

“Somewhere around that time,” Flins agreed, eyes sparkling with amusement. “By the way, how have things been going with the little bird of yours? Last time we spoke, it sounded like you two finally sorted things out.”

“Little bird?” Varka echoed, shooting a look of I-swear-if-you-hid-some-ancient-god-in-Mondstadt-again-I’m-going-to-kill-you at the bard.

“Ah, um…” Venti smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “His health isn’t the best, and we don’t see each other that often…but I’m hoping that I can find a solution soon.”

“Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” The fae blinked up at Varka innocently. “The difficulties of love are quite arduous indeed.”

“Thank you.” Venti cleared his throat, quickly diverting the topic. “Anyways, how did you two meet? Knowing that a Snezhnayan noble is well-acquainted with the Grand Master of my nation brings up many questions.”

“Our paths happened to cross during patrols, and I assumed he was another Lightkeeper who had been ambushed by the Wild Hunt. But much to my surprise, he cut them all down before I even had a chance to lift my sword,” Varka laughed, heart warming at the recollection. “I must have stood there for at least two minutes before he asked if I was alright.”

“Grand Master Varka, being starstruck by a fae’s fighting prowess?” Flins looked at him curiously. “I can’t say that my talents are very unique in my species, nor would I be considered particularly powerful in terms of physical strength. I am, as they would put it, ‘quite an oddity in the ethereal realm of the fae.’”

“I suppose the ascension from wind spirit to Archon would make me a rather unique individual,” Venti mused, taking a sip…of what Varka recognized as firewater.

A minute passed. Then another. When they reached the third minute without Venti choking on the burning alcohol, Flins ordered another bottle of the drink without a moment’s hesitation. Varka briefly considered joining them in their drinking, but the unpleasant memories from his last tango with the aptly named drink was more than enough to discourage him from attempting to compete with the immortals. He settled on asking for one of their more popular beverages, some wine from a local vineyard that was somewhat reminiscent of his beloved Dandelion Wine.

Eventually, Venti did have to leave, and Flins was left staring at the spot where the god had sat just moments before in some tipsy haze. Varka decided to remain silent, knowing that some sadnesses were better left alone.

+1

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a loud voice rumbled, one that was all too familiar to the fae’s ears.

Flins took a deep breath, forcing himself to smile despite the anxiety curdling in his stomach. “Greetings, Varka. What brings you here today?”

“I’m just looking at Nasha Town, enjoying the sights and sounds before I have to go,” Varka explained, smiling with a happiness that Flins had never seen on his face before—and that seemed rather distasteful for a cemetery. “Mondstadt’s been going through some changes, both politically and socially, and Jean thought it would be best if I came back to help maintain order there. It’s been a long time since I’ve stepped foot in my homeland, so I figure it’ll be both a nice break from all the fighting and a reunion with everyone who stayed.”

Flins blinked. So the rumors had been true. Varka was leaving. Just like that. The logical side of his mind scolded him for the thought, he’s his own person, he makes the decisions about where he wants to go. But his inner fae, his true nature that he had fought to suppress for so long, was screaming at him with a fury that rattled his conviction. You can’t let him leave, he’s yours, he should be with you, you mustn’t let go.

“I’m sure that your family will be quite relieved to see you again,” Flins remarked politely, ignoring the burning cinder in his chest that screamed at him to bite the Grand Master, to drag him away into the shadows and never let him go.

“I sure hope so, I practically raised those kids,” Varka chuckled, but his smile faded rapidly. “Hey, Flins?”

“Yes?”

“You’re on fire.”

“Oh.” Flins closed his eyes for a second, smothering the flames that had been creeping onto his face and simultaneously pressing down the blush that threatened to show. “I apologize, my attention lapsed for a moment.”

“Ky.”

Flins startled, staring blankly at the Mondstadtian for a moment before realizing that Varka had, indeed, been talking to him. “Ky?”

“Figured you wouldn’t like me trying to pronounce ‘Kyryll Chudomirovich Flins’ when I’m trying to get your attention,” Varka pointed out. “And saying ‘Kyryll’ in public might be a bit too…awkward.”

“What was it you wanted to say?” Flins cut in. It was better to just get the hurt over with rather than stretch it out, and he had long since run out of patience—and hope—for Varka to make a move.

“I’m going to come back next month, and I…I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?” Varka’s face was flushed in embarrassment, an emotion that the fae had never seen on the Grand Master’s features before. “You don’t have to say yes, I just…want to spend more time with you. Get to know you better.”

Flins took a deep breath.

“All due respect, Grand Master Varka, it’s about damn time.”