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What is “human” and what is not? In the world of Teyvat, there is a pretty simple answer to this question. There are classifications of beings. Gods, and humans. But…what exactly makes a human, a human? Is it their actions? Gods are able to act in the same manner as humans. Is it their feelings? Gods are able to feel just as much, if not more. Is it their thought processes? Gods are able to think and analyze just as humans can, and, again, if not even more. So…what makes a human, a human?
The Wanderer saw the Traveler up ahead, gracefully floating through the air, skillfully dodging attacks, and fighting with the machine. The machine which was previously constructed…for him. Memories flooded into his mind, flashing around, dancing, as if they were mocking the Wanderer. It was a sorry sight. He was barely able to stand, and had his right hand placed where his heart was supposed to be. The Wanderer himself didn’t know what he seeked when he placed his hand onto his chest. Comfort perhaps? He knew he wouldn’t feel a heartbeat, but the gesture was still calming. Taking short but quick breaths, he was living through his previous life yet again. It felt like his mind had frozen. Was this him? Was this all he was before? Was this…what he was running from? Cowardly was how he would describe the previous version of himself. Just a coward who was running from his own wrongdoings. But was that really his right to do so, while the Traveler was in front of him, protecting him from the machine, in the creation of which he took part?
He had always felt imposterous. Not knowing where he belongs, from a young age, spiraled into a long series of events, the result of them evident in front of The Wanderer. He remembered his own words. “Humans... they can't be trusted. And the gods fill me with pure loathing”. All his life, he had searched for someone similar to him. Not human, yet not a God. But his mission failed. Not belonging to either side, his spiraling thoughts consumed him. Diving deeper and deeper into loathing the World, he might have gotten a bit crazy. Him? A God? Didn’t he himself say that he hated Gods? And neither was he a human.
“Anyways, what makes a human, a human?” - he thought to himself. The Traveler is human, right? Is it courage? No…Maybe the wish to protect and help everyone around? Not really, that was their altruism…Then…what is it…This is so frustrating. He had always perceived himself as a puppet. A lifeless being which was being pushed through life, at an incredible pace, and expected not to break. But was he tricking himself? Is the fact that he doesn’t have a heart really stop him from being…human? Most certainly, that’s one aspect of it. But he had studied humans for his whole life, hadn’t he? Interacting with so many of them gave him insight into how they function, but…not more. He couldn’t fathom one thing. There has to be a pattern. Some sort of pattern which defines whether a being is human, or not. But he had never found one. Some people are pyro users, some are hydro. Some wake up early in the morning, others wake up much later in the day. Some enjoy social events, some loathe them. Some drink alcohol and others don’t. Some are regular people and some are figures of authority. There was no consistency no matter how hard he tried to find it.
In this moment, something clicked.
Is, perhaps, the only thing that makes a human - human, in Teyvat…not belonging to any pattern? Was, perhaps, the Raiden Shogun, not the only one who could mold him into the shape she wanted? Was this…what it means? To Be Human? To Be the writer of your own story?
“Yes, man is in a way his own project and he does make himself. But also there are limits upon what he can make himself into. The project is predetermined biologically for all men; it is to become a man.”
— Abraham Maslow
At this moment, everything froze. His question was answered.
“Finally…after all these years'' - he thought to himself. After glancing with admiration towards the Traveler, who had just cut a ginormous piece of ice which was targeted directly at him, he couldn't help but think of how lucky he was to have them as his enemy, and not someone else. It’s all thanks to them, why he was standing in front of this giant machine, realizing so many truths about himself and the world. Realizing that he...is his own sculptor…
“Now let me clean this whole mess up”