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It is almost ironic for the Archon of love to wield the power of Cryo. A cold, merciless element that provides no chance of life. A cold so bitter that it threatens to burn. And perhaps that is why the Tsaritsa alone carries that burden. She has seen far too much of what this world has to offer. A cruel pattern. An unfathomable repetition that never ceases to end, forever looping. And it had all began with her.
Over these past centuries, she has witnessed the countless sacrifices that each of the Seven had dealt with. And with each moment, there was a loss so desperately cruel, that it left the very world itself changed.
That fourth descender and her sibling. Lumine forever stuck chasing after Aether, learning the secrets of Teyvat that she could do well without. Makoto and Ei; lightning and shadow. An eternity fated to end. Focalors and Furina, a mirror with no reflection. Kusanali and the odd connection she has with Irminsul; the very fabric of this twisted reality. Barbatos, an image in time of one held dear. Zhongli and his memories returning to the dust of a God once beloved.
One always fated to be ripped away. Forever apart, living or dead. Existing or forgotten.
And perhaps the very reason those who wield Cryo are always quite the unfortunate bunch is directly tied to the governing Archon's grief. An unescapable loneliness. A burden set upon their hearts that could not melt even with the most passionate of flames.
"Your majesty...it seems Signora has perished."
"I see."
How many of her precious followers have gone up in flames already? How long did she have to sit upon this dreaded throne, always so petrified of what was to come? No matter how much she had hardened herself. No matter how many centuries have passed.
She never wished to be upon this throne. She never desired such a power. But when she saw the previous Cryo Archon upon this seat, with a piece of her beloved in the shape of a chess piece of all things, she had grown mad.
She may have been a creature born of this world, yet her lover had come from a world beyond these stars. A being born of the purest flames far beyond this world, so concentrated and beautiful, that they shone like the very sun. And she had spent many centuries in their loving embrace. She had no need for power. No need for the conflicts that arose around her. Not as long as she had them. Everything was as perfect as a one of a kind snowflake.
Until the war had broken out, and she had found herself separated from her beloved. It was as if they had vanished in much the same way they had first appeared. Where had they gone? Why had they left her all alone, completely forgotten?
In her journey to once again find her lover, she had traveled around Teyvat, bearing witness to all the chaos and loss around her. How foolish these gods had been to fight against one another. How cruel had the Heavenly Principals been to pit everyone against each other. Her beloved was nothing of the sorts. They were warm and kind. They had melted her heart and left her blood flowing just for them. But now that they had vanished, she had been left frozen in time. What was this sickly emotion that overtook her from the inside out? What was this forsaken rot?
She had grown so pitiful. So, so lonely and tired. If only she could die. If only she could disappear. Would she meet them then? Would she find where they had went then?
It was not until she had stepped into the frozen lands of Snezhnaya that her heart had begun to flicker with a returning warmth akin to what she felt in their embrace. But by the time she had stood before the then appointed Cryo Archon, everything in her had frosted over.
She knew then what Celestia had done. She knew what the consequences of her disinterest in power was. Because she did not crave it, she had forced herself out of the competition. And because of this, she instead had become a victim of the very first act in this endless loop.
What was a lover without her beloved? Her love had grown so much over these lonely centuries, and now that she had found them, she had learned of what they were turned into. Their pure energy twisted and broken apart. Stuck into measly pieces and distributed across the Seven. A means to further harness their power. A connection to the accursed Celestia.
It was then that the love she had harbored and warmly fostered, had frozen solid. She had no room for love as she was. Not when she had something else to reach for. The Heavens would pay for having stolen her Sun. And if it meant destroying the so-called Archon before her, then so be it. But even after the bloody battle, holding her treasured Sun in the palm of her hands did nothing but further enrage her.
"What have they done to you?"
But they could not respond. Not when their once glorious form had been shaped into measly tools. Not when their shining smile had been stolen. When they could no longer embrace her bitter cold and turn her into the lush kiss of a first snow instead of a raging storm. So she took that seat upon the throne. And even if her fragile ice-cold heart could no longer beat with love for the people she now reigned over, she knew all too well that they were not at fault. All this suffering was for what? This never-ending storm only grew in intensity. Her icy touch pulled towards her all who have felt the frigid sensation of loss. And whether that was formed into a dedication to protect, to kill, or to rebuild; all of it fell under love. For what was love but a reason to act? Grief? Vengeance? Even death? All were love hidden beneath a thick coating of ice.
She would embody this role. She would play the act of Cryo Archon. Of her majesty, the Tsaritsa. Until every last piece of her lover was returned to her. Until she could bring them back and destroy the very world the Heavenly Principles had endeavored to build. Everything would be as it was. And if it meant she had to become frigid and unfeeling, then perhaps that too was fate.
--
She stepped into her throne room, the clacking of her heels reverberating through the emptiness of it. She stopped before a pure white statue made of her own ice. Her hand came up to cup the cheek of the statue, staring into the dull unliving eyes of the replica before her. She had tried to recreate them, her only knowledge of their existence present in her memories alone.
"I'm sorry," she said, drawing closer, arms wrapping around their freezing shoulders. How many times has she done this? She would not fall victim to erosion. She would never forget their warmth. And even though their touch only left her pale cold skin aching, if she held on long enough, she could feel the sweetness of a faux touch.
"I'm sorry, my burning Star...to also have you shoulder the grievances of the world," she said, cold lips pressing against the imitation, her eyes shutting as a few tears escaped her. They froze as they fell, iridescent as they shattered upon the floor.
She pulled away, her eyes set upon the unmoving and lifeless statue of her beloved. "Since you could endure my bitter cold, you must have the desire to burn?"
The statue did not answer, and the Tsaritsa stood in silence, once more hardening herself. She took control of her trembling lips and the foolish tears that would inevitably fall every time she looked at them. Every time she touched the Gnosis hanging from her neck, knowing this warmth had not embraced her with a smile in so, so long. She turned away, stepping towards her throne and seating herself where she knew she did not belong. But until she could bring them back. Until she could restore all that was, she would sit here again and again. For what was love but unwavering intensity? What was it but a choice?
"Then, burn away the old world for me."