Chapter Text
When he had first encountered the goddess of dust the thought of, it would be a shame if she had to be put down, crossed his mind. A sentence he thought many times before but never had the opportunity to expand on.
What would that bring him except pain? To think of an outcome that would defy the war and slaughter the surrounded him? The violence that befell any and all that came to face; came to trick and lie and hurt him?
And yet, still, the thought crossed his mind and for a moment Morax wondered, ever so briefly (ever so naively), that this time would be different.
(Wasn’t the definition of insanity to do over and over expecting a different outcome?)
But. This was different. A far cry from the meetings - slaughter, endless, endless, endless slaughter - he had with others. This goddess of dust had reached out to him. Her hands open revealing nothing obvious to harm him.
(But not all weapons were physical.)
Her smile was small and her expression reminded him of the clouds he’d once stared up at after a long, arduous day of battle. But it was the first time he’d experienced the taste of victory on his tongue and it was— intoxicating. Perhaps it was this that made him stay his own hand in the field of flowers? An early memory; a never-ending stream of something that wasn’t blood on his hands and a want for more.
In that field of flowers Morax saw many things as they shared a silence that lasted for an age. There were people (would he end up having to end them too?) at the edge of the marsh, huddled close and their whispers were carried by the wind. It sounded like fear. Tasted like a hope he didn’t understand on his tongue. Their goddess of dust smiled at him, much like the glaze lilies surrounding them did under the light of the moon. Waited until he said, “Speak.”
With their first meeting her voice was soft.” Those little people,” and with her billowing sleeves and a countenance that he could not name (did not understand) the goddess of dust gestured slow and careful to the humans at the end of the marsh, “Are as small and fragile as dust.”
And Morax, a being that knew slaughter and contracts like a second skin, wondered which would bear fruit first. To want something was to have temptation and temptation far too often led to the breaking of a contract. Thus his cycle continued.
“Because they are so small,” she continued. “They know not when they will lose their lives to disaster or strife, and so they are afraid.” And Morax had thought - that is the way of the world. To be afraid was a constant; Someone has to die so that someone else may live. This goddess would have thought him cruel, he was sure, so he continued to stay quiet. “Because they are afraid, they try so hard to become more intelligent. This I understand.”
Morax looked at her with her billowing sleeves and a smile that would bring no protection (and yet, it was warm. Looked warm. Was there a purpose for it?) and then to the humans that flocked to her like sheep in a herd. There was no power to protect them beyond their own wits and if that was not enough to keep them alive then it would be… a shame. A surprising thought, but true all the same.
“So I thought that since there is such a gulf between us in strength,” ah, it seemed his river of blood was known to others and not something that dwelled in his mind and his mind alone. “I should use technique and wisdom instead.” Then with a smile smaller than the first and as gentle as a petal she added, “With your brawn and my brains, this city would surely become a great one.”
It was only then she proffered something from her sleeves. It was a puzzle. Her tone was not expectant but it sounded as assured as his own when he advised foolish monsters and gods that they would find no victory against him. “I ask that you consider my words and enter a pledge with me; in this way something greater than a half may prosper.”
When Morax gazed at her it was difficult to not think of the fact that she was something like a blade attempting to persuade a mountain. An impossibility. Yet, she had to try. There was a chance on her own that her people could thrive - but Guizhong had never liked slim chances. Not when there were scenarios that promised better.
Morax, or rather, “You may call me Rex Lapis and as I have listened to your words I see them to be true,” it was a difficult thing to have those steely eyes settle on the humans and witness no change in his expression. That one could look at such beings and not shift - but it wasn’t as if Guizhong had gone into this expecting different. War was such a terrible thing in her eyes. “If it is power you seek then I shall mantle myself with such a request, but know this,” and even as his tone dipped with something like rage and anger Guizhong smiled. “They will be held to justice as is fit if a time comes they have proven undeserving of trust.”
Hiding her hands in her sleeves to hide the way her fingers twitched she nodded. “To a new fellowship.” Rex Lapis did not twitch when she reached for his wrist slow and careful like he was an animal ready to bite. (Wasn’t he?) Nor did he soften - only grew more rigged, throat tight with warnings on his tongue - as the humans came to her. To him.
They looked at him in awe and fear; asked questions he was sure they did not truly want answers to. It was. Overwhelming. Rex Lapis had up until now been a solitary being. The burden of slaughter was one he wanted alone - this land was tainted with filth and anger and death and the creatures that would bend under it should not shoulder it.
Guizhong had filtered the questions and crowd with ease as she led them - and now him - through the marsh. She said, “I think this will be a prosperous meeting,” then quieter with eyes that knew too much despite this being their first meeting, she added, “People can take on the burden of other things. It is not always strength alone that keeps something alive.”
And he did not understand.
\
Cloud Retainer had been the second to last non-mortal addition to the Assembly. When the other Adepti joined their midst - Moon Carver, Skybracer, Mountain Shaper, Madame Ping, Sea Gazer - it made their Assembly almost… homely. Cloud Retainer… Cloud Retainer was an interesting addition.
He was leaned against a tree as Cloud Retainer and Guizhong studied one of those…machines. They were large. Large than him and them and just about anything in their Assembly.
“Your interest in machinery - while admirable - does not make it clear why you had me salvage this?” Salvage would perhaps not be the right word to use considering it was in reality, just about obliterated. Tempering his strength was a difficult thing; even more so when it came to threats such as this.
It had made him bleed. Gold and heavy and crusted like molten armor on his skin until he’d started to heal. Even now, as he watched the two resident tinkerers, well, tinker, he could feel the residual heat over his body. Could smell overheated metal and rusting joints.
Guizhong was handling what she was calling the core in her hands, twisting it this way and that as she told Cloud Retainer to take notes - which. That was an interesting sight. She held a brush in her peak and from where Rex Lapis was standing the characters looked like chicken scratch.
“If we can understand this,” she pointed the core at him and even though she had explained that the husk couldn’t operate without it, Rex Lapis felt his lip curl all the same. It was not an ally. “Who’s to say that we couldn’t create something similar to protect the Assembly? The ballista is just the start!”
He understood her excitement to a degree. Guizhong’s inventions were often a marvel whether they be simple in nature such as the irrigation pipes she’d helped the humans craft to help water in the dry season or divert excess during the rainy season. Other times, like with the ballista her mind seemed to envision things far greater than one could dream - it was these inventions that earned his attention whole heartedly.
But still… “Cloud Retainer,” she looked up like a bird in the headlight saying something around her brush that he took as a sign to continue. “Are you of the same opinion? That these machines may potentially be of use.”
She struggled to hold the brush in a way so she could speak. For a few moments the clearing was filled with only the noise of Guizhong’s tinkering and the rustling of wind through the grass and trees around them.
“This one…”
“Speak freely.”
Cloud Retainer stood taller, her feathers ruffling as she tried to put her thoughts into words. “This one and Lady Guizhong’s expectations are high. Between our great minds and the ability to create wonders of our age - the use they could prove bypasses most concerns my lord.”
Rex Lapis looked at her quiet and contemplative. He said, “My trust in your abilities has never wavered; rather my concerns fall on if there is a chance they may harm the mortals.” For even if he was not as… open with them as Guizhong he had started to care. In his own way.
Cloud Retainer ruffled something hard in the way she held herself. “It is the Adepti’s duty to look after them - this my lord I will hold true. This one and Lady Guizhong will guarantee no harm if brought to them.”
And when Guizhong and echoed with her own, “We would not put our pursuit of knowledge and engineering above them.” Rex Lapis relented in questioning them further.
Not entirely convinced of the merits of these machines Rex Lapis decided to keep watch. If Guizhong was wrong (though he was sure she wasn’t) he’d be here to intervene. Thus he watched.
And he watched.
And watched.
Then they were sealed to never be worked on again.
\
When Guizhong died.
Wasn’t it still insanity in the end, he wondered, to have expected something different (less death, less strife, less pain.) than a lonely smile as Guizhong dissolved into the finest dust? He could feel the grains between his fingers, in the grooves of his nails and joints, even when days passed and he was moving her people to the sea. (Even centuries later he could still feel the grains of dust if he thought of her.)
The other Adepti gave him distance. Left him to his own thoughts and ideas and part of him was grateful. Grateful that they were perhaps too respectful, or scared, or wary to disrupt the rampage he reigned upon the land as they travelled. What was once beautiful would become distorted.
There was a time early in the foundation of the harbor that Rex Lapis did indeed hate the humans. It was brief and something he looks upon with shame, now, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t felt that way. Guizhong’s love and care for humanity is what ultimately led her to her death and he was - bitter. Felt ash and dust on his tongue as he looked upon them and they looked up to him.
But even in that bitterness he could hear her in the back of his mind, “Those little people are as small and fragile as dust,” and he was stalwart and strong where she was kind and intelligent. And he continued to help them even if he was not as kind as she once was. Not as inventive, either. Could hear her when years later after his bitterness had shifted to something like care (because they were fragile and ever so tenacious. Curious, intelligent, curious beings that in the end, he did wish to see thrive - it was their wish after all.) “With your brawn and my brains, this city would surely become a great one.”
And it had. Would. There was nothing bitter and ragged edged in his throat when he agreed to let them govern themselves. Growth would do them well. Besides - what if, one day, he gripped too tightly? He had already been bitter once. Who was to say that the next time he experienced bitterness that it would not prosper into resentfulness?
He would not ruin their dream in that way. Their people would prosper, and while they learned how to do it on their own, Rex Lapis would protect them until they no longer needed him. (And hoped that when that time came he would not feel bitterness.)
\
The Yakshas came after Guizhong’s death. Taint and filth continued to rot the land, attempted to wrest his people away from their home for deaths they did not deserve, and Rex Lapis felt nothing but guilt as he forged this contract with them. To him, with his age, few things did not seem like children. He was older than them all - had witnessed the worst of war and carnage (and hoped, oh so desperately hoped) that they would not experience the same.
The Yaksha despite their loyalty and ability were but children. Adults truly when one thought about it, but to him? To him. They were children. He was damning them to a fate of filth and loss and strife; if they begrudged him in the end he would not blame them.
(Even still not being able to begrudge them did not mean he would be able to turn a blind eye if they broke their contract; that was still his duty after all. One that weighed on him more and more.)
For all that he wished to see Guizhong’s dream bear fruit, wasn't he in this way also ruining it? A long, long time ago when the Adepti had grown and joined them in battle, in growth, in camaraderie Guizhong had said to him, “Do not distance yourself,” where most time she was wise and elegant in ways that the him from centuries ago had never understood, with him some of that fell away. This was something like a warning but for his or others sake he didn’t know. “For all that they are warriors, they are still individuals. They will need guidance and someone to follow at times, especially in a war that was never intended for them. Try for them, Rex Lapis.”
And even though those last two sentences were meant for his Adepti and the humans, as the Yakshas pledged to him, he couldn't help but include them, too.
And he was damning them.
As he closed his eyes to the way they pledged to wage a never-ending war against the manifestation of the past, fallen gods’ hatred and pride and disgust, Rex Lapis wondered, not for the first time, if he was truly doing something good.
Was it selfish of him to wish that he’d never have to place burdens as large as this on others’ shoulders?
\
Few people knew Guizhong had a grave.
Even fewer still knew that however difficult they may be to obtain, Glaze Lilies still grew in the wild. This wasn’t a fact that Zhongli kept to himself either - he had been asked numerous times about them and had always offered this, “One just has to know where and how to look if these flowers are your goal. It is best to search by moonlight if you would like to increase your chances.”
Perhaps not the most helpful advice, but he remembered a time when they had bloomed across all of Liyue until people had kept picking them to dangerous numbers. So yes, his advice was vague, but it was out of a desire to make sure all those that grew wild would not disappear before they could pollinate. If someone found them, then he just hoped they would not take them all.
(The other reason he was so vague was for his own purpose. It was already a difficult thing to craft a crown from normal flowers, it was exceedingly so with something as fragile and rare as glaze lilies, but over the centuries and centuries of his life span he would never forget the way Guizhong had taught him.
“Why?” He had asked when it was just them in the marsh. He was sitting on a rock, legs and arms crossed as he watched Guizhong fiddle with the lilies and horsetails that grew there. It was such a simple thing. He was sure she had to have learned from the mortals’ children.
“Because it’s fun,” The stems were twisted this way and that until a circular crown was made out of them, When Guizhong had twisted towards him crown in hand Rex Lapis looked at her blankly. She huffed but it was amused. “Been down a bit?” Still just as confused he did and when she put the crown on his head with a little smile he just blinked.
What was the purpose of such a thing? He hadn’t realized that he said it aloud until she laughed into her sleeve.
“Sometimes things don’t need a purpose besides the fact they make you happy.”
And at the time he thought of fighting. (But that had been before he felt the loss of people he trusted. The loss of those that did not deserve such a fate.) Later as years passed and he grew Zhongli thought of different things: his adepti and their loyalty and growth. Liyue itself. The cultivation of plants.)
Kneeling in front of a small stone pillar he’d made years after his grief (and years after Guizhong had passed) he set the little crown of flowers around it. He didn’t visit every year - sometimes he couldn’t find it in himself to make the trek and speak to her grave - but this year as he looked at the characters of her name he’d etched out Zhongli felt something in his chest lighten.
“You are no longer here,” He said and when long ago the words had felt like sand on his tongue now it was easy. Easier than it ever had been before. “But I think if you saw what those fragile little people of ours have become you would be proud.”
Guizhong had always been proud of them. Smiled and cheered with them to the mortals great delight. (She would have loved the Liyue of today. Of the camaraderie and inventiveness and their individual crafts. She would have loved it.)
With a deep breath he sat next to her grave and looked out upon the city with it. It shined gold in the afternoon glow and - a long time ago he’d chosen this spot because it had the best view. Or what he considered to be the best view. His last gift to her; a way to overlook the dream that had come true.
“I am no longer an Archon,” he told the woman that was not there. These words too, were light. “But I would hope that even without you that you are proud of what I managed.”
And for a brief moment as the wind tickled his skin and the clouds moved across the sky ever so slowly he thought he heard her but perhaps that was just the whims and wishes of an old man?