Work Text:
What do you do with someone who looks just like you, who wants a life just like you too?
Albedo sinks a sword into it.
But then comes the question: What do you do with a dead body that looks just like you, with your sword through its chest, its weight collapsed into your arms?
❀
The moon is high in the sky when the Traveller drops him off at Gandharva Ville. A Forest Watcher with long ears and a long tail is already waiting for him along the main road.
Tighnari's handshake is strong, but still a gentle one.
"Albedo, yes? It's nice to finally meet you in person. The Traveller has told me a bit about you and your research. I hope we'll get along for the duration of your stay."
Albedo nods. "Likewise. Thank you for having me. I know it's late."
Within the first ten minutes of Albedo's arrival, Tighnari has already provided him with food, shelter, and a desk to work on. The crafting bench in the corner is one he'd loaned from the Akademiya, having correctly predicted Albedo's needs in advance.
It is more than Albedo would expect, especially if the only connection between them is a mutual acquaintance.
"I hope I won't be taking up too much of your time," Albedo says. He is used to setting out on research expeditions on his own, but Sumeru's forest is no Dragonspine. He'll need a guide to help him find his way around in these unfamiliar parts.
Tighnari shakes his head. "I am happy to help you investigate the Withering. You might even discover something I've overlooked. I consider that mere possibility to be something of equal value to myself, so don't feel like you have to trade favors with me."
Albedo's hands are left empty when Tighnari collects his empty bowl from him and starts putting away the rest of their dishes. He itches for his sketchbook.
"If you would like, I can also put you in touch with people at the Akademiya who might be more familiar with your research topic," Tighnari offers.
Albedo's answer is easy. "There's no need for that. I prefer to have a firsthand look at things myself. If you don't mind, I can simply accompany you as you perform your duties."
Tighnari nods, satisfied. "Then it'll be no different than having a trainee shadow me on my patrol."
Albedo hums in affirmation. "I'll see you in the morning."
Tighnari smiles, and Albedo thinks he's found his first subject to sketch for the night.
"Goodnight, Albedo."
❀
It takes a few days for a report of a new Withering Zone to come in. When it finally does, Tighnari immediately fetches Albedo so they can set out early. It is best to deal with it as soon as they find one, and not let it linger for too long.
It is further out in the northwest reaches of the forest, and Tighnari spends the long trip there tidying things along the way. Branches that lean too far into the main path are cut down. Abandoned bonfires in abandoned camps need to be properly extinguished. He also hunts down a few Spinocrocodiles to thin out the crowd by the river. Their behaviour has been getting aggressive lately, especially in larger gatherings.
"How do you know if they're growing active to a point where it's harmful?" Albedo asks.
"The Forest Watchers keep a loose record of their territory and population, so we notice when things start to shift," Tighnari says as he scribbles something into his notebook. "The recent Withering Zones in the area have been agitating them."
Every plant, tree and critter with a noticeable change is recorded carefully in Tighnari's notebook. He mutters to himself as he does so and seems to know the name of every species by heart. Every so often, he will spy a flower or a particular variety of leaf on the ground, perfectly intact, and he will scoop it up and store it in his pouch.
The Forest Watchers are a bit like gardeners, Albedo thinks, if you could call a forest a garden.
Instinctively, he raises a hand to the side of his coat, where he feels the outline of the vial that lies beneath the fabric, tucked away safely in its inner pocket. Even without looking, he knows the exact shade of golden-white, and the fine texture of the dust that lies within the glass.
(How could he not? He had scooped it up himself, every grain of it, from the fabric of a coat that looks just like this one. The alchemical process itself only took five minutes. It was harder to gather all the dust into the vial by hand. Hours spent kneeling in the snow on the peak of a lonely mountain.)
The journey with Tighnari is quiet, and conversation is sparse, but Albedo doesn't mind. He has his sketchbook with him and an endless choice of flora and fauna to sketch. Klee would like the star shapes on these mushrooms, he thinks.
Tighnari makes food for him again when they stop for lunch. Albedo recognizes every ingredient in his meal—the sweetness squeezed from the sweetflowers along the riverbank, the meat from the gators he cut down earlier that morning, the mushrooms he cleared off an overgrown lamp along the road so its light could shine more clearly.
Tighnari's cooking is mild, and not too flavourful, but Albedo doesn't mind. He prefers it this way. It's enough to fill his stomach and satisfy his tongue.
Before he can feel too sleepy from the sunlight on his skin, Albedo sets his sketchbook down for a moment and waves to get Tighnari's attention. "I have a question for you," he says, and waits for Tighnari's curious nod before he continues, "Hypothetically, if the Withering managed to gain a sentient form… or, if it could take the form of a person—would you be able to destroy it?"
Even before the entire question leaves Albedo's lips, he knows that it is half-baked and poorly worded. He finds his thoughts unusually muddled today and hopes that Tighnari doesn't mind.
Tighnari's tail swishes from side to side as he ponders the idea. "If the body wasn't stolen from a real human? Then yes, I would cut it down without hesitation."
"...I see."
"But I have a feeling that's not really what you want to ask." Tighnari is a good listener in more ways than one.
"I apologize. My thoughts are quite scattered at the moment," Albedo sighs. "Matters in life that don't pertain to research are… often less straightforward."
Tighnari's patient nature is in the slope of his eyes, if you know how to look. He gave the same face to Collei that morning before they left, when she knocked over a basket of fruit on her way out. "Take your time," he told her, softly smiling. "Don't rush."
"In any case, it's a moot point," Tighnari says. He stands and packs his things, getting ready to go. "I can't imagine a dilemma like that. I wouldn't be able to think of it as something that has life."
"What do you mean?"
"We're almost there. Let me show you."
❀
As one of the few vision holders among the Forest Watchers, Tighnari has grown incredibly familiar with the Withering, probably more so than anyone else in Sumeru.
It saddens him to see it every time, the aura of death in the air, seeping into the soil, the trees, and every nook and cranny that should be full of life. To be within it and feel it in person—it wears away at something deep inside you, where the soul resides. It is not difficult to imagine how inevitable and devastating it would be for someone without a vision to be standing where they are right now.
"Do you understand?" Tighnari asks.
Albedo casts his calm gaze upon every part of their surroundings. The wilting trees, the browning grass, the sour air. The riftwolves crowding the Tumor of the Withering.
"Yes," he says. "I see what you mean."
Death in the forest is also always full of life. The death of a tree is the life of another tree, and the death of a forest boar is the life of a Rishboland Tiger, and on, and on, and on. The Withering is different. It yearns for more than death. It yearns for an end.
"Nothing about this could ever be a lifeform of any kind," Tighnari says. He summons a bow into his hands, and the vision hanging off his belt begins to glow. "Now, if you're feeling up to it, I could use some of your assistance dealing with this."
The both of them work quickly as a team—Albedo and his transient blossoms keep the riftwolves occupied while Tighnari darts around his periphery with his bow in hand, clearing the Withering Branches. When Tighnari finally destroys the Tumor, life pulses back into the land, spreading out from where he stands. The next breath that Albedo takes tastes like the sweet wind from Mondstadt.
"Thank you for all your help. It would have taken me a much longer time if I was working alone," Tighnari says, scanning the area for any anomalies. When he turns to Albedo, he finds the alchemist crouched on the ground, staring at something he holds in his hands—a sharp claw left behind by one of the riftwolves.
"Gold…" Albedo murmurs.
Tighnari crouches down next to him. Their eyes meet.
"I suspected," Albedo says. "The Withering's connection to the Abyss."
Tighnari hums, and files the information away for later. For now, there is a more pressing issue in front of him—how to soothe the look in Albedo's eyes. Tighnari has been watching Albedo in the time they've spent together; he gets so absorbed in the middle of a sketch. In those moments, his eyes remind Tighnari of a clearwater stream, the ones that carry the fullest and brightest lotuses.
What could be troubling a mind like his? Albedo is someone who can gather light in his hand, and with just a simple wave of his fingers, summon flowers Tighnari has never seen before, only for them to dissipate into light again not long after, nothing left behind. In the days spent waiting for a Withering Zone to pop up, Albedo had seen the flowers he collected from his walks around the forest, and taught him how to make paint out of their petals. An art piece now hangs on the wall of Tighnari's room—Nilotpala Lotus on the water—a result of the paint they made together. Albedo is a strange and gentle soul, someone he can call a new friend.
"You know," Tighnari says, "I think it would give me feelings of regret."
Albedo blinks at him. What would?
"If I ever had to take away a person's life in order to save the life of the forest. Even if it's the best choice I could make at that moment, or one that is necessary. I would still feel regret."
"Why?"
"Because it didn't have to happen, if the circumstances were different," Tighnari smiles at him. "It's that simple."
It's quite amazing how even the sunlight seems brighter after the Withering is cleared away. The birds are starting to come in too, landing on the branches of renewed trees. Albedo can hear them fluttering their wings.
Quietly, in a whisper to himself, Albedo confesses, "I think he would've liked to hear that."
Tighnari's ears twitch in his direction, but he says nothing. Albedo has always thought him to be a kind person.
Instead, he shuffles forward. He takes the concealed claw away from Albedo and replaces it with something he retrieves from his pouch—a dried Nilotpala Lotus.
When Tighnari takes Albedo's hands into his own, Albedo thinks he would like to be able to do the same, some day. Alice often tells him that there's no need to be so light-handed with Klee, that his touch has always been a bit too cool and a bit too faint, like he's ready to fade away at any moment. That sometimes, when he holds on to Klee, it feels like she is holding onto him instead.
When Tighnari takes Albedo's hands into his own, it is with a steady and gentle touch, like he would any flower he picks up from the forest floor.
"I suppose I should be grateful for how unlikely a situation that is," Tighnari says. Albedo barely remembers what they were talking about. "The life of a Forest Watcher is quite a simple one."
Tighnari closes Albedo's fingers around the lotus. "This is for you," he says. "A gift."
Albedo feels the softness of the petals under his fingers. It seems to have been fashioned into a pin. When did Tighnari have the time to do this?
"It was the most vibrant one I found today." Tighnari gives his hands a squeeze. And then, he says something completely baffling: "Ah, it really does suit you."
Tighnari chuckles. The sound it makes is so clear, and so bright.
❀
Burying the body was not an option. It felt like a step backwards, like returning it to the belly of Durin as if everything that happened was only a dream—only a story he'd told to the Traveller.
So he turned it into something small enough to fit in a vial, and kept it with him ever since, perhaps due to some misplaced sense of pity, or sentimentality. The way he's seen people do with ashes in an urn. He's considered the possibility of scattering the dust into the winds—some people in Mondstadt do this for their loved ones—but even that does not feel quite right. How can he return someone's remains to a land that it did not come from, to a world that it never belonged to? Even if beings like them had souls, the winds of Barbatos cannot return one to a home it does not have.
The only thing Albedo ever did differently was be lucky enough to be the one who came after, lucky enough to meet people who smile freely at him and take him in with open arms. What right does he have, to decide on what a meaningless life should have meant.
And yet, he is the only one who can.
It is not difficult to infuse the golden-white substance into an object of his choosing. Borrowing a bit from his own knowledge of biochemistry, everything after that is just step after step of basic alchemy.
Albedo holes himself up in his room for a whole afternoon, putting the crafting table to good use.
When he finally emerges, he makes his way straight to a certain hut in Gandharva Ville, energy abound in his step.
"Tighnari," he calls out, reaching for his hands. "May I have…?" Tighnari meets him halfway, offering them up easily.
Albedo places his gift onto Tighnari's open palms.
"A seed?" Tighnari turns it from side to side, examining its golden-white sheen. "Where did you get it? I've never seen a species like this one."
"I made it," Albedo answers. Belatedly he realizes how suspicious it looks to give someone a mysterious object with unknown properties. Perhaps, an explanation. "I took the time to run it through some tests. It should be perfectly safe to plant."
"Fascinating," Tighnari says. "Any requirements for its environment? Sunlight, watering conditions…"
"Not particularly. It is the only one of its kind, so it will be hard to predict its needs."
Albedo tries to picture where it will be in five years, ten years. Maybe still a sapling in a pot in Gandharva Ville, or in the courtyard of Pardis Dhyai. Maybe in the forest, among the other trees, reaching for the sun.
Albedo smiles. "It will be different from any other thing in the forest," he says. "But I think it will, at least, be quite resilient."
Tighnari wraps it up in some layers of cloth and carefully stores it away in the pouch he always carries with him. "I see. That won't be too much of a problem. It's not exactly my first time taking care of unconventional lifeforms. That's all the more reason to do so, I think." Tighnari looks to the side for a moment, as if towards a memory. "I'll do my best to find a good place for it," he reassures him.
Something in Albedo's chest eases, something he didn't even notice was there. "Thank you."
Tighnari looks amused. "Why are you thanking me? Isn't this a gift?"
Albedo blinks. He lets himself be guided towards a chair.
"Now, sit down," Tighnari says. "Collei made us Pita Pockets for lunch. She'll be here in a moment."
Under the soft light filtered through some of the greenest leaves in Teyvat, Albedo sits down for a warm meal with Collei and Tighnari. This land of wisdom has given him many lessons—what flowers can be used for, what mushrooms are safe to eat, the exact shade of yellow paint that the Nilotpala Lotus produces. How to make Pita Pockets, and how to make new friends.
How the forest is life, and so is death, and maybe even dreams can have a second chance.
❀ ❀ ❀
Bonus:
Here comes the day Albedo has to leave. There is still a life waiting for him back in Mondstadt. He sent a letter ahead in advance, so Klee must be getting excited by now. He shouldn't leave her in anticipation for too long.
Albedo heads down the road leading away from Gandharva Ville, his bag of belongings slung over his shoulder. He counted each item as he packed them in: a collection of research notes, a sketchbook full of things from the rainforest he'd promised to show Klee, one last boxed lunch courtesy of Tighnari, and the flower that he'd received from him. The inner pocket of his coat is empty when he runs his hands over it, and his chest feels light.
Someone is waiting for Albedo at the bend in the road up ahead. Dark and imposing, the man leans against a rock formation, arms crossed over his chest. His long hair and the headpiece he wears obscures most of his face, with only the flash of a red eye peering up at him.
Albedo gives him a quick glance over.
"Cyno, if I'm not mistaken?" Albedo says, extending his arm for a handshake. "You were the one who brought Collei here. I wasn't present for that particular incident, but I've heard a bit about it from the other knights in Mondstadt."
Cyno stands and accepts his handshake. The careful strength it holds reminds him of Tighnari. "That's right," Cyno says, sharp red eyes assessing him in return. "And you're the alchemist the Traveller brought over. Did you find what you were looking for?"
"I suppose so," Albedo considers carefully, "but the time I spent here is more valuable than any knowledge I could've gained. I've learned a lot from Tighnari."
Cyno nods sagely. "He's like that. It's the same reason I decided to leave Collei with him."
"Hm?"
Cyno takes a moment to think, and Albedo can see the smallest smile that peeks through his naturally guarded expression, and the eyes that soften ever so slightly. "I see it happen all the time," Cyno explains. "In Tighnari's hands, life somehow finds a way to bloom beautifully."
"Yes." Albedo smiles. "I know exactly what you mean."
("Hope you wind up back in Mondstadt safely, with no troubles along the way."
Albedo blinks.
"...I see. Thank you.")