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She meets him in the forest. His face is dark behind the shadow of his hat, but both of their bodies are dappled with crescents of sunlight that's filtered through the trees.
"It's not safe for someone like you to be alone out here," he says.
"I'm stronger than I look," she retorts.
"Sure. How well do you know the jungle?"
Not well, she has to admit. She has passed through part of it before, but only briefly, and that was many years ago when she hardly came up to the height of her master's waist. She's gotten this far soley because she's been following directions from the stars. They'd led her here, though she hasn't the slightest idea where “here” actually is.
He smirks. She considers tossing his question back in his face– by looks, neither of them is a local. She probably would, if he was anyone else, but there is something odd about this particular stranger. Somehow, she gets the impression that he has watched every tree in this forest grow from an acorn, seen nurse logs grow and die and fall just to nurture new life. She doubts that there is anyone alive who knows the jungle better than him.
"Well. If you're the expert, why don't you lead me to the city?"
"I could," he says. "Is there something in it for me?"
"The ability to sleep soundly at night knowing you didn't leave a helpless young lady to her doom."
He laughs at that, though it's more like a snort than a real full bodied thing. Something about it seems stilted.
He takes a step towards her, moving silently like a tiger in the middle of a hunt. If Mona were less curious, more sensible, she would be bothered by the fact that she's been made his prey.
"Might I get your name?" She asks.
"Call me whatever you'd like," he says.
~
Sumeru city is not really that different from Mondstadt, when she thinks about it. Both have a small port, a very small number of proper entrances, and both slowly slope upwards towards a temple to their respective gods. She would probably say she prefers Mondstadt, but only because she lives there. This city, she's sure, has its own charms that she is simply unfamiliar with.
Her guide is still with her. She still has not gotten a good look at his face, and she cannot let that stand.
"Thank you for your help," she says. He had not given much. They had mostly walked shoulder to shoulder in silence, pretending to ignore the glances they'd shoot at each other. "Could I treat you to a cup of tea?"
He considers this. He is facing away from her. She wishes she could see the look in his eye.
"I'm the one who lives here," he says. "Don't waste your mora. We can stop by my place if you want something to drink."
~
His house, she finds, is not a place one stops by. It's very much out of the way, nestled high up in the branches of the tree upon which the city is built, and remarkably small.
"Student housing," he tells her.
"You're at the Akademiya?"
"Unfortunately," he replies.
He pulls out a kettle, blows the dust off of it with a deft use of his vision, and sets it on the stove to boil. Everything in here is dusty, she notices.
"I wasn't expecting you," he says. "I don't spend a lot of time here, so it's exactly the cleanest."
"Prefer to spend your nights elsewhere?"
"Oh, don't look so judgemental. I usually sleep outside."
She glances around the room again. It is just a room, with a bed in the far corner and the little kitchen at which he's making their tea. There is nothing at all that reveals the personality of the person who lives here. It stands in stark contrast to her own apartment in Mondstadt, filled completely with all her astrology equipment alongside several strange knickknacks she cannot quite recall the origin of.
"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"
He says nothing.
"Have you ever lived anywhere that felt like home to you?"
He leans forwards, smirking. He opens his mouth, his every movement somehow theatric, and it is clear that he's about to impart some grand secret upon her.
The kettle sings. He pours them both their tea.
She watches him silently as he sets their cups on the table, pushing the sugar in her direction. The little vessel it's in is full, seemingly having never been used, but it does not match his teacups. Perhaps it was gifted, though it seems a little strange for someone to gift him something both so obscure and that they must have known he would not use. But if he bought it for himself–
He takes the seat across from her and finally, carefully, removes his hat. She drinks in the sight of his face, finding it very pretty and completely unfamiliar. Nevertheless, something inside of her wants to break out of her body and join his. She could not say what.
“So,” he says, “why did you come here?”
“I'm on my way to Fontaine,” she replies smoothly.
The corner of his lip twitches upwards.
“There are easier ways to get from Mondstadt to Fontaine. So, why did you come here?”
“There's something you want to ask me,” she says.
He nods, moreso in a way to let her know she's right than to imply that he actually means to come clean.
“Was it fate that brought you here? Did you see a little red string tying you to this country, Mona?”
*How do you know my name?” She asks.
His face drops, though not into a frown out into a mask of perfect stillness. He looks nearly lost in a past Mona has been shut off from forever.
“Why'd you follow me?” He retorts after a moment, though there's no vitriol in it.
“You wanted me to,” she says.
“Why'd you listen,” he asks quietly, his mouth dry. He does not seem to expect an answer, or else he's asking himself more than her.
Mona looks at the tea on the table as she considers the question anyways. Her hands curl tightly around her cup.
“I came to Sumeru because I felt like I was missing something important,” she admits quietly. “I thought I would let fate guide me to whatever that was, and at the end of it there you were.”
“There I was,” he echoes, part relieved and part incredulous. His lackadaisical mask, already fallen, shatters completely.
There's a number of questions she could ask him next, and they stampede through her mind like a kaleidoscope of butterflies on their homeward bound migration. Only one of them, she finds, really matters at all.
“Who are you?”
He smiles, but he looks sad.
“I used to be a god,” he says. She feels nothing.
“More than that– believe me or don't, but I used to be your lover.”
She feels everything at that. In the space of a single moment, she breaks into joyful laughter and enormous sobs that wrack her body so intensely it hurts. Outwardly, she shows nothing, the feelings so intense and so opposite of each other that they can only cancel out.
She reaches for the pot of tea and refills her cup. Her hands only shake a little.
“Tell me about it,” she asks.