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✧⎻☀⎻✧
Tartaglia was the sun. He was so full of energy, his playful and charming personality able to liven up any situation. From what Zhongli could tell, Tartaglia usually had a smile on his face, be it a joyful grin or a calculating smirk.
Because, like the sun, Tartaglia could turn in an instant. The sun could be the warm and cheerful light of a spring morning, but it could also be the unrelenting heat that brought a nation to its knees, calling droughts upon unsuspecting creatures. The sun could kill, its rays burning skin and leaving landscapes barren.
Tartaglia mirrored the sun in this way too. He could burn with rage and fire. He was a monster that could win battles single-handedly. It was sometimes difficult for Zhongli to see past the bright facade, to realize that the man with the bright smile that sat across from him was known not as a warrior, not even a soldier, but as a weapon.
Tartaglia was the sun. Cheerful and bright like a spring morning, yet deadly and ruthless as the heat that beat down on dry and barren lands.
✧⎻☾⎻✧
Zhongli was the moon, a quiet man who watched everything unfold around him. People paid him little mind, and he wandered through his newly-acquired mortal life peacefully. But even in this unassuming mortal form, he was still constantly vigilant, constantly present.
He was quiet and reserved, for the most part. Tartaglia had never seen him lose his temper, and never once had Zhongli raised his voice. His gaze was cool and calculating, though it often concealed hidden emotions.
But, like the moon, Zhongli was full of mysteries, secrets, and, above all else, power. Just as the moon never showed more than half of its face, the mask that Zhongli wore – the person he became when he lived among humans – was only a small part of him. Hidden from the world was his true self. A god, an adeptus, an archon.
And though the moon seemed far and distant, keeping half of itself hidden, it held a great power over the land. The tides, often thought of as great unchanging power, were the work of the silent moon. Just like the moon and its tides, Zhongli was always secretly at work, spreading his power over the land that he ruled.
Zhongli was the moon. Cold, distant, unassuming, yet powerful and secretive nonetheless.
✧⎻☀⎻✧
Morax was the sun. He was a beacon for his people. He burned brightly with hope, and he burned brightly with power. On the battlefield, he was feared. Any who dared to go against him would surely lose.
But, in the minds of his people, he had burned too brightly. His flame had eventually fizzled out, leaving his husk, an empty body that he had once occupied, dead at their feet.
✧⎻☾⎻✧
Foul Legacy was the moon. It hid within Tartaglia, cool and calculating, constantly extending its power to Tartaglia’s mind, making him hunger for battle. When it was finally released, it held immense power.
But even Foul Legacy was not immune to the effects of its own power. The tides that it controlled could easily drown Tartaglia in an instant. Its power threatened to snuff out what little light remained on the waning face of a crescent moon.