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“You play a dangerous game, little fox,” Morax rumbles, all imperious words and frowning brows.
“Ah but gege,” Childe purrs, “those are my favorite sort.”
Geo energy roils. Morax’s eyes flare with heat—churning fractals of molten amber coiling around pupils suddenly slitted. Draconic. Morax very deliberately closes his eyes. When he opens them, they’ve reverted to human once more. Childe tamps down his grin. How easy to rile up this Morax was, how quick to anger!
“Impertinent,” Morax grits out.
There’s a certain set to his jaw, something a little mullish, that Childe’s never seen before on Zhongli’s face. This version of Zhongli, who wears his inhumanity freely—ethereal grace and divinity so bright it nearly burns to look at. How could have he ever resisted in the face of this?
Childe—fresh off Foul Legacy rearranging his organs one too many times too recently and
Zhongli’sMorax’sbetrayaldeception—finds himself millennia in the past.It goes spectacularly.
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Pride is the domain of the strong.
But she is weak.
That is the inescapable truth that has haunted Guizhong for all her years of divinity.
What is dust?
Insignificant.
Her domain was that of forgotten, paltry things. But they had been hers. And one day, there had been a lonely mortal who had dared to pray to a derelict goddess. She had embraced the little mortal with all of her heart, because who else did she have?
That mortal became two, two became a family, and no more was she only a goddess of miniscule, broken detritus. To these precious souls she was hope.
They praise her for her ingenuity now. But it is not creation that is ground into the fiber of her being—it is failure. Her innovation stems from failing a thousand times before a single ephemeral success. She has tried, over and over. Shedding fruitless hopes, changing every time, until something new, something foreign, something useful emerged.
Her weakness, her failures, her drive to grow—these qualities she sees mirrored in mortals, and for this she loves them.
The identity of a god is hardly static. Some gods cling to it. What they once were, memories of times long past. But how could she? All she has ever known is change. And so, when the prayers on the wind shift, so too does she.
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6, r7, childe travels back in time, eats hearts
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