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The Wanderer hadn’t always been the person he was today.
During the long centuries he had lived, there had been many—not “names,” nor identities, but rather—parts he had played; each with its own history and role in shaping his current self, yet none which had ever felt "authentic" or any different from donning a mask and putting a performance on stage.
The first role he’d ever played had been that of the failed prototype, discarded by his own creator. The greatest burden the Wanderer had had to carry throughout his centuries-long life had also been the hardest one to break free from. What had followed was the role of the Kabukimono of Tatarasuna. The most genuine—the happy, as well as the painful—emotions the Wanderer had ever experienced could all be traced back to his time as the wandering eccentric, as the locals of Tatarasuna would call him.
Then the spotlight had shone on the thrice-betrayed puppet, which had bled into his most famous persona yet: the role of Scaramouche, the Sixth of the Eleven Harbingers. At the time, he had thought it to be worth playing the Harbingers’ scapegoat, the Doctor’s research material, the Jester’s attendant as long as it led him one step closer to possessing the Electro Gnosis, to becoming a supreme god.
And yet that fateful day he had been dreaming of had not ended up being the coronation of his ascension to godhood, but rather the “death” of Scaramouche and everything that had preceded it. In short, this was the new beginning of the puppet’s life.
In the process of tampering with the natural course of history contained by Irminsul’s memories, all of the puppet’s past identities had vanished into thin air the same way dandelion seeds scattered in the wind when one blew on them. What was left of him was merely the stem, ready to begin anew.
And begun anew, he had. Although one play had drawn its curtains shut, another would soon reveal the stage to its audience.
The first act of his new plane of existence debuted exactly as he’d wished once upon a time; with the two things the puppet had most desired since the very beginning: a heart and an identity. After his “heart” had descended from the skies in the form of an Anemo Vision and he had decided on a title he'd chosen himself in the form of “the Wanderer,” the puppet had the freedom to write his own story, at last.
Then came the second act, in which the puppet—who now called himself the Wanderer and who hailed from the Land of Thunder—found himself wandering the place of his rebirth, the vast and large Nation of Wisdom in its entirety; from the lively jungles where various species of animals dwelt, to the arid and mysterious deserts which hid a myriad of secrets he had no care for.
By the time the third act began, the Wanderer had already set his mind to traveling the world—Inazuma and Snezhnaya not included, at least not now—and experiencing it with new eyes, vowing to use this journey as an experience not just to observe humans in their natural state, but also to live among them and partake in the same activities as they did.
And so, the winds of Teyvat had first blown him West of Sumeru and the Wanderer ended up living among Muratans, the people of Natlan. In the land of the God of War, the Wanderer had witnessed many a duel that people partook in for entertainment and had seen, just as often, an irritatingly large amount of festivals and celebrations being organized for reasons unknown to him.
He couldn’t figure out what the point of each and every festivity they held was, but he knew that they were all very grandiose and far too tedious for him to properly revel in some good-natured, mortal, celebratory “rituals.” Moreover, from his observations, Muratans took all celebrations as an opportunity to practice intercommunal bonding. Every community in Natlan had a particular way of dressing that not only made the distinctions between them quite apparent, but also made foreigners such as him stick out much like a Rishboland Tiger on Yashiori Island.
Thus, the Wanderer decided he did not much like Murata's land, so he collected what little belongings he had and made his way north-east for Fontaine without looking back at all on a nation which prized community a bit too much for his liking.
Much to his dismay, the Wanderer commended Focalors on the way she had managed to hide the ugliness of a country under a rotten justice system with beautiful bright lights and innovative technology. Not wanting anything to do with the judicial side of the country, he had tried taking up a job as an apprentice to a puppetmaker in a quieter part of the land.
Although he had witnessed the smiles of many happy children, the Wanderer had not felt fulfilled and so he vacated the land of Justice through Qiaoying Village.
Though his stay there had been short, he had had the chance to meet the most peculiar of people, with a fierce passion as far as the art of teamaking was concerned. Puppets like himself had no use for eating or drinking, but throughout his long journeys, the Wanderer had found that he rather liked the taste of bitter tea.
Plain and transparent is how I like tea best. So unlike this vast, wide world, he’d said to the person who knew him best, once upon a time.
Tea from Liyue was wildly different from the way Inazumans brewed it, he’d concluded, after taking a sip from a cup of tea given to him by an unsuspecting old lady who had dragged him inside her house once it had started pouring—no thunder, thankfully.
He had been taking in the clear waterfalls and beautiful vegetation of the region when rain drops started falling off his hat and soon enough the skies had darkened, the wind had picked up and the people of the village had rushed inside their homes in a frenzy.
An old woman who had noticed him not minding the rain at all had taken what he’d reasoned to be pity on him and had clutched his wrist until they’d both made it to safety inside her abode. Pity. The Wanderer had no need to be pitied, least of all by a being as fragile as a human. Rain could be cruel to them—were they drenched by cold droplets of water long enough, they would shortly develop a cold; to the Wanderer, rain was, at most, a mild nuisance.
Just another reason why I will never be able to fully assimilate among them, he’d thought.
And yet the woman had thought him to be human and insisted on helping him because it was what she had considered to be the right thing to do. Because humans always thought they knew best, even when they barely knew anything at all.
“Thank you,” the Wanderer had said earnestly after finishing his cup, although he had needed neither the woman’s pity nor the protection offered by the roof of her house. She had offered him tea and he was simply not about to refuse the warm beverage.
“It’s my pleasure. Do tell if you need anything else.”
She had smiled at him then made toward the room’s door, silently closing it behind her.
Just as noiselessly as her, he had left the woman’s house in the middle of the night after making sure she was asleep and started his journey for Liyue-proper.
༄༄༄
The rest of Liyue, the Wanderer concluded, was nowhere near as fascinating as his stay in Qiaoying Village had been. The small town’s atmosphere had a distinct feel to it that made the village appear alien and so eerily unlike the impression the country overall gave him. He supposed that was due to the Fontainian influence, although as far as he was concerned, Qiaoying Village had somehow managed to maintain its “purity” in the face of the morally polluted state of the Land of Justice.
He had seen Jueyun Karst—the so-called realm of the adepti—with his own eyes and had even visited the famous Chasm, yet he had not been particularly impressed by either of those “legendary” places; in fact, they had rather bored him.
Traveling and exploring for a concrete reason wasn’t really his specialty; wandering for the sake of wandering was much more to his taste.
And wandered, he had, until he’d ended up in Liyue Harbor, the bustling commercial center of all of Teyvat, which seemed obnoxiously crowded and suffocating to the Wanderer as soon as he’d crossed the bridge leading up to the city entrance. Try as he might to reconnect with humans, he supposed, he still had a certain limit as to how many of them he could handle having in his proximity and the population of Liyue Harbor grossly exceeded that line.
The Wanderer would have none of it. So, he simply cursed the Lord of Geo under his breath for having such a densely populated city and continued on his journey, with the destination of Mondstadt in mind.
Yet before he had made it to Stone Gate so he could arrive in the City of Freedom, he had gazed long and hard at the towering building that was Wangshuu Inn and decided he would give Liyue one more chance to impress him before departing for Mondstadt.
༄༄༄
Sitting in the hands of the Anemo Archon statue was almost worth the violent gusts of wind menacingly encircling Barbatos’ statue this time, the Wanderer conceded.
Almost worth because tonight was a full moon, perfect for meditating on top of one of Mondstadt’s most sanctified monuments, as he’d often found himself doing since arriving in the City of Freedom.
Of all the views and places the land of Anemo had to offer, the one the non-believer had taken the most liking to had happened to be the holy statue. How ironic. Though, Barbatos seemed to be against that, otherwise he wouldn’t have summoned what the Wanderer deemed to be an incredibly pathetic attempt at keeping him away from the statue every night.
His own creator had discarded him like dross and sealed him away; he’d had no expectation when he’d set foot on Mondstadt soil, that he’d be greeted by its Archon with warmth and open arms, despite his newfound Vision: Anemo, the proof of identity that he now “belonged” to the Anemo Archon.
The very idea that an elemental trinket such as a Vision was the living proof that an Archon had cast their gaze upon someone, decided they’d proved their worth and—poof—spawned a Vision in front of them as a sign of acknowledgement out of the kindness of their heart was simply preposterous. Still, the Wanderer had no doubt that idealistic piece of information was deemed fact by thousands of ignorant, moronic humans.
Whether or he had a Vision had not changed the fact that at worst, the gods repulsed him, and at best—at best, did gods have any redeeming quality at all? Weren’t they removed enough from the humanity of their respective peoples as it was, that multiple Archons had needed the intervention of an outsider, the Traveler, to move past the problems their nations had been facing? The issue had already plagued Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma and most recently, Sumeru.
Although he supposed Sumeru—where he’d been the most involved, as the Fatui had mostly been the cause of such nationwide conflicts—was a different story altogether.
The Lesser Lord hadn’t opposed the Fatui’s plan of creating a new god, not out of a lack of care for her people, nor out of ignorance or any ulterior motive, but because the Doctor had made sure she wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.
He had thought about that a lot, in the days following the assertion of his new identity as the Wanderer. What if the blonde-haired traveler and their flying companion hadn’t teamed up with the God of Wisdom after rescuing her, and hadn’t managed to defeat Shouki no Kami, Everlasting Lord of Arcane Wisdom?
Would he have felt content for long with being a god, with possessing the Electro Gnosis he’d craved all his life and the very reason for his creation? Or would he have sooner realized none of that filled the deep void in his chest, the way he had always thought it would?
Maybe Beelzebul had been right to discard him and he’d simply been too blind—too emotional—to see past his own point of view for centuries on end.
Ultimately, he was neither mortal—for he’d been graced with mechanical joints and long-livedness upon creation, nor god—for he hadn’t even been deemed worthy of housing a Gnosis.
Perhaps Fate had always planned greater things for him than just fulfilling the role that was now being taken care of by the God of Eternity’s Shogun, and she, as his creator, had simply played her part in his destiny.
He supposed being a wanderer was a far better fate for him than merely being an Archon’s right-hand man, after all. But hadn’t that role already been fulfilled by the youkai shrine maiden even before his creation?
The Wanderer was weirdly grateful that he would never get answers to all of the what could’ve been’s that plagued him on sleepless nights and that they would always remain just that—mere questions.
And it was all thanks to the Traveler and the Lesser Lord that he was even here, in Mondstadt, of his own volition, corrupting Barbatos’ statue with his bad aura and his very presence, contemplating the nature of irreversible things such as the past, instead of being captive like a bird in its cage.
They weren’t the people he’d once hoped would be by his side—the Narukami Ogosho and the Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine—but they were a god and their closest confidante nonetheless. More than that, they were the only two people who had known him as he was before and who knew him as he was now.
They had neither pitied, nor underestimated him when he’d been engulfed by profound loneliness after being defeated. He may have had no Electro Gnosis, no Fatui allies, no abundant power, but he’d still had his resourcefulness.
How much different had he really been in that moment, from that discarded, slumbering puppet?
The only real difference was the sins he’d burdened on his shoulders throughout his entire lifetime. Sins he’d only been able to shoulder because the Traveler and the Lesser Lord had respected his wishes and made sure he got all the memories of his past life back.
He may have no kin, but these two were the closest things to “friends” that he was left with. Although he knew winning their companionship would not be easy, he owed it to himself to try and build those bridges between himself and them that might just one day bloom into genuine friendship.
After all, in the months following the restoration of his memories, the Lesser Lord Kusanali had seen him merely as a partner she had contracted with, until the day he’d deserted Sumeru and had left her with no information regarding his whereabouts.
Could she, the wise deity that she was, come to see a puppet as her equal, as her friend?
As for the Traveler, he wasn’t sure if he’d already crossed the line of how many times he could try to kill them before they either decided they never wanted to see him again or tried to kill him back, but he’d been filled with the determination to test that on his own skin and there was no going back on his word.
He remembered how Paimon had still called him their arch-enemy even as the Wanderer, but surely there were plenty of topics the Traveler didn’t agree with Paimon on? Perhaps he could still persuade them to see him in a good light.
There was also the matter of the Sabzeruz Festival approaching once again…
A year ago, he’d been preparing to ascend to godhood and overtake Sumeru; now, he was preparing to befriend a god. How Fate liked to laugh in his face…
So be it. He’d decided on a goal and he would be damned if he didn’t plan on seeing it through to the end.
He’d cut his stay in Mondstadt short and start his journey for Sumeru now, so he’d make it in time for the God of Wisdom’s birthday to pay his respects to her, apologize for his sudden departure and try to improve his relationship with her. Then, he’d chase the Traveler’s footsteps all the way back to Fontaine, where they were likely to have gone after Sumeru, and help them in their search for their sibling. Perhaps they might stop hating him after that.
As the Wanderer sat up from the statue’s hands and flew to the ground, it occurred to him that his only regret about having to leave the City of Freedom before he’d originally meant to was that he hadn’t managed to make Barbatos himself show up and confront him for daring to climb his statue.
When he’d finally crossed the bridge that connected Mondstadt City to the rest of the land, there was no one present to witness the Wanderer’s lips quirking upwards ever so slightly into the tiniest hint of a smile except the moon.
His third act was coming to an end, but soon enough a new one would begin to continue the play.
༄༄༄
The people of Sumeru City might as well be ants, the Wanderer mused.
He hadn’t meant to make the comparison, but in his defense, from the branch near the Sanctuary of Surasthana that he was resting on, Sumeru’s citizens really did resemble mere specks of dust, dancing on the city’s streets in the way they knew best and enjoying the festivities they had prepared for this year’s Sabzeruz Festival. The celebration of Lesser Lord Kusanali’s birth.
She deserves this, he thought as he twirled a small leaf he’d picked up off the giant branch between his fingers. She deserves this more than anyone.
When he’d arrived in Sumeru—back when he’d had grandiose dreams of being turned into a supreme god with the help of The Doctor—he’d been informed by Dottore’s underlings of the Sages’ plan to make the most of the Sabzeruz Festival by trapping the population of Sumeru City in a samsara so that their harvested dreams could empower the Akasha and, in turn, elevate him to god status.
It had been mere curiosity that had driven him to pester a random subordinate who was all by himself for details about the festival. He’d supposed it must have been of great importance if the Sages had planned for the dream-harvesting process to begin on that particular day, and he’d said as much to the trembling man who towered over him in height, but not in rank.
“Quite the opposite, Lord Scaramouche. The festival is meant to celebrate the birth of Sumeru’s Archon, but from what I’ve heard, every year the Sages pretend like it’s just another day, so Kusanali’s followers, few as they are, get no funding from the Akademiya to hold festivities. All they’re left with is the Dance of Sabzeruz, the most important part of the festival—unless the higher-ups at the Akademiya intervened to shut that down, too. This year’s festival is only special because it will bring you one step closer to attaining godhood, sir.”
How utterly stupid he’d been to think he could ever become a fully-fledged god and then he would—what, replace the Lesser Lord as Sumeru’s deity?
He couldn’t even get the courage to join the people celebrating their god’s anniversary, yet at some point he’d thought—no, believed—he could make all of Sumeru’s citizens not only respect him, but also worship him in the ways the Dendro Archon had never gotten any opportunities to begin with.
He would have only achieved that by making them fear him. He’d always been good at that; it was the only way he’d ever known to command respect.
However much he’d wanted to be human, the simple fact that he was a puppet—more durable, more powerful, more experienced than humans were—had made it so, so easy for him to wave that innate advantage he had in front of their faces his entire life.
But that was all in the past now; in his failed attempt at changing the fates of Tatarasuna’s people via Irminsul so they wouldn’t suffer anymore, he’d successfully managed to erase every trace of himself from the minds of Teyvat’s natives.
So why did he find it so difficult to simply waltz into the streets and start dancing and celebrating the birth of the Lesser Lord just like every other human present?
Dancing wasn’t a problem for him—he’d learned long, long ago, although quite a lot of time had passed since he’d last felt the need to do that—and neither was the audience. At worst, people would simply gawk at him and his strange attire, and just as quickly dismiss him as an eccentric follower of the God of Wisdom, while being none the wiser about his identity or his past.
After all, only two people knew him for who he really was, and for now he only had to deal with one of—
Decisive, yet slow footsteps made contact with the stairs that led up to the Sanctuary of Surasthana.
At that, he had half the mind to fly off the branch and hide behind the greenery while waiting for the person who’d disrupted him to leave, and he really would have, if only he hadn’t frozen due to his unexpected visitor; he hadn’t counted on anyone climbing all the way up here when there was a festival going on all the way down there.
He was certain he’d heard only a single pair of feet climbing, so it couldn’t have been the two guards coming back early from the festivities, unless they decided to take turns enjoying the festival while the other guarded the Sanctuary. Maybe he should just face the stranger and tell them to go.
“Somehow I’m not surprised at all that you’d decide to hide here, of all places.”
Instead of a stranger as he’d expected, the Wanderer was greeted by a steady, yet snarky voice he would have recognized anywhere, messy, blonde hair that no one else he cared about had, and the strangest outfit he’d ever seen that could only match his own in uniqueness.
“What are you doing here?”
The question had slipped out of his mouth almost robotically, and much harsher than he’d intended to make it sound, which bothered him more than he let on. Old habits died hard, didn’t they?
He bet the Traveler noticed the naked shock that had made the tone of his question sound more like self-defense, rather than outright curiosity. Traveler or not, they’d still disrupted his peace and train of thought, so he reasoned his response wasn’t that outlandish. If it upset them, they did not let it show.
“I was passing by to visit my friends and celebrate Nahida’s birthday.” A small smile tugged at the corners of the Traveler’s mouth, one that spoke of great affection and nostalgia for these people they called their friends—people they hadn’t seen in a long while and people among whom he was convinced he didn’t count. And why should he? One didn’t greet friends as hostilely as he’d just done. “Same as you.”
That same cheeky air from earlier permeated the small addition to their response. The Traveler’s eyes had fixed his own and he realized he must have gotten on his feet when he’d meant to hide because he was at the right height to stare back.
The Wanderer knew the Traveler was old—although how old, he had no idea and he had no desire to press for an answer—so what struck him as odd, more than their supposition, was the childish glint in those golden eyes. They must’ve witnessed centuries’ worth of history, yet they had somehow still managed to hold on to that shred of juvenile innocence. He remembered how he’d once thought that was stupid. Maybe he’d just been jealous.
He realized he’d forgotten to reply when he noticed the way the Traveler’s expression had changed from playful to serious, yet quizzical. They seemed determined to stay quiet and give him time to gather his thoughts until he’d decided to speak his mind.
Normally the lack of communication would’ve bothered him to the point that he would have felt compelled to say something just to fill the air with sounds other than the locals enjoying the festival, but the Traveler looked in no rush to get an answer.
The Wanderer cleared his throat and—sitting back down on his branch so he had an excuse to avoid the Traveler’s gaze—said, “I have no friends to visit and no idea why you would think I want to celebrate her birthday.”
He doubted he would have managed to keep up the lie with them looking directly at him, but when no response seemed to come, he regretted positioning himself with his back to the Traveler and not being able to see their expression. Maybe they’d realized they’d had enough of his shenanigans and would rather return to the festival, where all their friends were probably having the time of their lives. He couldn’t really fault them for that.
Still, now that they were here, he found he didn’t want the Traveler to go at all, and so he racked his brain for something—anything—to say that might make them stay, without sounding desperate.
Before he could think of anything, the Traveler’s half-whispered question reached his ears: “Can I sit?”
So they haven’t gotten sick of my antics yet. He knew he had to stop being a jerk, but it would take a while before he would break a habit he’d built up over centuries.
“Aren’t you even a little bit scared I might break the branch so you’d fall off? There’s a long way down, you know,” he said, finally daring to look back over his shoulder and smirk mischievously at the Traveler.
Naturally, he had no intention to do that; he was merely curious to see if they trusted him and he didn’t know how else to ask that.
“Would I have asked if I were?”
Fair, he thought, as he scooted over to the side so the Traveler could sit to his right. He pretended to study thoroughly the leaf he’d been holding the whole time as they made themselves comfortable on the giant tree branch.
The Traveler was sitting so close to him, quietly looking at the setting sun that turned the sky into an orange-purplish mess, and it dawned on him that it was the first time the two of them were truly alone. How had it not occurred to him that Paimon wasn’t by their side?
He hated having to disrupt the ambient silence that had set in, but his curiosity got the best of him, so he asked the Traveler as much. “How come your little flying companion’s left your side?”
The question made them bolt upright. They’d been too focused on sungazing the whole time that the inquiry must have caught them off-guard. They quickly collected themselves and said, “Well, Paimon,” they emphasized, since he’d pointedly avoided using her name, “said she wanted to check the buffet stands, so she’s likely stuffing herself silly right now.” They looked at him and laughed, “You know, she’s so small, but she has such a big appetite.”
The Traveler must have noticed the serious expression on his face because they immediately schooled their features into a grave front.
“And you? Why’d you come? And how did you even know where I was?” He was staring so intensely at the leaf in his hand that he wasn’t even sure whether he was actually talking to it or the Traveler.
“A little birdie told me,” they said, smiling at him in a way that suggested they thought the answer was obvious.
Right, he frowned. He’d been foolish to think he could have simply sneaked back into Sumeru City without catching the Dendro Archon’s gaze. She may have been only one, but she had eyes as if she were many.
Once more his frown made the smile fade from the Traveler’s face and they carried on with their explanation. “Nahida told me you were around and she said there was something she wanted to talk to you about, but she didn't want to pressure you since you didn’t seem to leave your hiding place. She thought you'd rather talk to me first before seeing her.”
“Ah,” the Wanderer replied, uncharacteristically dejected. He'd much preferred the earlier narrative he'd concocted that the Traveler had come looking for him of their own volition.
“I can’t conceive any reason why she would think I needed company,” he added when he noticed the Traveler had gone back to quietly watching the setting sun, and he flicked the leaf into the autumn breeze to distract their attention.
Unsurprisingly, it worked. “For whatever reason, you came back on her birthday, when you knew there would be lots of people present for the festival—certainly more people than last year in any case,” they said with a small, sheepish grin. “Yet you made no move to join the celebration from up here. Maybe she thought you might be feeling lonely.”
“I—” Coming from anyone else, the words would have stung and come across as judgmental, but the Traveler’s firm voice had no hint of judgement in it as they’d spoken. The words simply made him feel small and defeated, because it was the plain truth.
He was lonely and he didn’t know how to deal with that.
“I simply returned to pay my respects to the Lesser Lord. Nothing more, nothing less,” he managed to say without his voice trembling as he got up from the branch and made for the railing in front of the Sanctuary. The sound of laughter and screaming from the people below was starting to get on his nerves.
He heard the Traveler’s sure-footed steps follow him, but he dared not turn to face them. “What better way to pay your respects, as you say, is there than celebrating Nahida’s birthday? She’d be delighted to have you join.”
The Traveler was right, but the Wanderer wasn’t about to acknowledge that, so he kept his mouth shut and back turned.
“Even Paimon won’t mind it,” they went on to strengthen their point. “You know, you came up as the topic of conversation a few times after we’d left Sumeru—not that we were gossiping about you or anything—but she had started giving you a nickname, so I don’t think she’s mad at you anymore.”
He made a mental note to ask Paimon what she nicknamed him, but still he said nothing and still his back was turned.
“Look, it’s probably almost time for the Dance of Sabzeruz, and if we don’t hurry, we’re both going to miss it and Nahida will definitely feel our absence, so if you could just—”
The choice of pronoun took him by surprise. “’We’?”
“Have you even been paying attention to what I’ve been saying for the past minutes? Nahida wants you to come celebrate the Sabzeruz festival. Is that clear enough for you?”
Now the Traveler actually sounded like they’d had enough of him. He was so impressed by how long it had taken for their patience to run thin that he had to stifle a cackle.
They grabbed his shoulder and turned him around to face them with so much force that it took him aback. He’d forgotten who exactly he was talking to; a foreign traveler and explorer of great renown across all of Teyvat, who possessed an impressive amount of not just physical, but also elemental prowess. Or better said, who exactly was talking to him, considering his sudden unresponsiveness that finally pissed them off.
Yet when his indigo eyes reflected into the Traveler’s fierce, golden ones, they didn’t look the least bit mad. Rather, their expression betrayed hurt. “If Paimon and Nahida aren’t an issue, and since no one else… knows about you, are you so hesitant because of me? Because if that’s the case, then I don’t feel any animosity towards you anymore.”
The Traveler’s warm hand, which was still resting on his shoulder and made it so hard for him to concentrate on their words, seemed to burn right through all his layers of clothing. His own hands, however, had been perpetually cold his entire life. Was that simply another one of their hidden powers?
He gave no response again, but their eyes had a determined gleam in them to make sure he understood that wholly and undisputedly. When the Traveler retracted their hand so they could rub at their chin in deep thought, the Wanderer felt like he could breathe again, though he had no reason for it.
Their face briefly lit up, then turned serious when they spoke again. “I know how important names are to you, and there’s so few people who know mine.” When the Traveler fixed him with their golden gaze, he had to look away; in that moment, he wasn’t sure if looking at the Traveler was any different than staring directly into the blinding, mid-day sun. Both seemed like a terrible idea. “Can I get you to trust me, if I told you my name?”
That stopped the Wanderer in his tracks.
He’d already started trusting the Traveler at some point in the past that he wasn’t exactly sure of either, but what he was sure of was that telling him their name was not only a grave mistake, but also a secret he didn’t feel worthy of knowing. Still, he’d often wondered about the past and identity of the famous, foreign Traveler who had received so many titles throughout their journey in Teyvat and about whom he’d heard his former co-workers, the Harbingers, talk so much to the point it made him sick.
“Alright.” The word left a sour taste in his mouth.
So they did.
The only thoughts going through his mind were that the Traveler’s name was beautiful, and that he was grateful to have been trusted with the secret of their name.
This time, when the Traveler offered him a smile and the palm of their hand, the Wanderer smiled in return and took it. The firmness of their grasp on his hand faintly reminded him of Niwa’s.
Without any more words spoken between them, the two ran down the million flights of stairs until they’d made it to the Grand Bazaar’s door, where they stopped to catch their breaths, hands still clasped together.
As they burst through the door, both of their gazes first flew to the big and beautifully decorated stage only to confirm the Dance of Sabzeruz hadn’t started without them. Then they noticed the plenitude of faces, amongst which were Nahida's and Paimon's, staring in shock at them.
If anyone in the Grand Bazaar was bothered that the Traveler—Teyvat celebrity—was holding hands with the Wanderer—a nobody, they kept their silence.