Chapter 1: Fracture - A Village Tale of a Wandering Cat
Notes:
subject for editing, if i want to add more content to buff up the word count.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"May I ask. What is a priest like you doing in Tatarasuna?"
"Some last second sightseeing before I depart."
"Where are you off to?"
"Mondstadt."
"That is quite far, what's the rush?"
"I intend on understanding mankind."
Grandfather was always a shrewd man, he had suffered through the downfall of the Raiden Gokaden, the five blade smithing schools of our nation, he always mumbled incoherently, and always repeating the same nonsense about the lost arts. In the winters, he'd stare at the dark skies aimlessly, and occasionally, the whiff of fresh shores would awaken his eyes for just a moment before it subsides to a dulled lull.
At times, his frail and wrinkled body would shiver and collapse in the rays of the sun, and over and over again, I would always lift him back up to no praise. Every week, we would indulge in our past times of craftsmanship, a variety of strong wood bows and glossed white katanas that help us hunt the local livestock, and yet, my grandfather would always prohibit me from fully creating a katana of my own efforts, all I would do is stare aimlessly as he strikes the impurities from the screamed orange glow of the iron.
"Grandfather, I have seen others strike the hot iron in half your time, and the blade comes out sufficiently, why must you always take twice as long just for a homemade product?", such words were repeated so often, and so often, there is only repetition in the silence he gave, only striking the iron once more. It wasn't the fact that I had run out of patience, but rather, the fact that his arms would always cramp and become sore, a soft purplish outline that was always seen once completing the blade.
It always piques my interest on why he pushes himself even to levels of pain, just for a measly increase in quality, we are not a rich or powerful family, we may have past teachings but my father has no professional support nor the body to supplement his lack of resources and yet, he strikes the iron once more, for the next few hours.
"Little one, have you heard of the tales and stories of the 'Wandering Cat'?"
"Grandfather, I believe that is a superstition, not a tale."
"They say that the feline is a god's creation, meant to judge the world, and man itself."
Neighbouring villages had passed on a small bedtime story, whether or not it was created by a troubled parent meant to scare their kid, or an actual samurai who had met a deity, the story itself became a local superstition that surprisingly led the youth to a mature and calmer complexion. The tale spoke of a young feline deity that was created off the whims of its mother, whether or not the mother wanted a successor to her role as a deity, or perhaps some accident made from a lack of care, it was clear that the young cat was destined for some grand purpose.
Except, quite the opposite occurred, the elders would speak dramatically on the abandonment of such creature, even to the point of tears and the darkness in the clouds, almost as if the mere mention of its existence would darken the world's light, and the joyfulness of life. The cat would spend its year interacting with the people, and in those times, a few key events occurred.
Mentions of catastrophes, civil wars, damage to historical lineage and even the death of a child, those sorts of nightmarish lullabies were definite in its ability to scare a young mind into behaving, the tale ended with a harsh reminder that judgement befalls on all, and the cat would represent a god's glance upon man, and the darkened heart of society would bring its own demise.
I reminisce to my first hearing, I remember my mother's warm embrace, in spite of the darkness of night, and the smallest of rain droplets that etched into my clothes, I had the comfort of a familial presence that soothed away the harsh taste of the air, and the angered spirits of the skies.
"Grandfather, do you truly believe that story?"
"I didn't pay too much attention, but, in my youth, I had met someone who had a similar mindset."
"Are you saying that you met the cat?"
"Not necessarily, but I believe that there is someone out there who will judge man."
I think about our final conversations, I am nothing but grateful that a strong individual like him, who even pushed past a century of existence, was able to carry on his teachings to me. Even at the age of deterioration, he could strike a hot iron stronger that I could have ever. His raspy critiques, and his headstrong attitude to work, that powerful and familiar mentality that is now lost on me.
I stand in acknowledgement, I stare at the skies, pitch black, and a small line of stars that surround the resting place. My nose twitches, and I inhale the slightest fragrance of the flowers around. Nothing but moss, and the vines of the grass, which remain on his gravestone, the etched name and message begin to fade too. A soft crack from the nightly breeze, and the equilibrium of my heart, matching its pulse with the singing of the wind.
Then, a step, and another, and then once more, a chorus of shuffled grass brings its melody across, and the outline of a small figure meanders across. He speaks no words, but, it is as if every move forward speaks of some melancholy dribble. A darkish red uniform flashes, and from the corner of my eyes, I see the slightest grimace on his face, his wear resembles that of a travelling priest, but his colours do not speak of peace but rather domination and chaos.
His face, as pale as the white moon, and his eyes, dazzling and yet, could pierce the heavens if he tried. He closes the distance, and stares quietly at the flowers laid upon the rested dirt, a period of silence, and the soft rustles of the fireflies that nest nearby. I think about our final words, and I picture that tale of his youth, of how he met a man with eyes that bled, a heart that stopped, and a walk that dripped of sorrow and tears.
"To think that he'd pass so soon."
"Grandfather was a good man."
"And yet, he left you, abandoned you, as expected."
"He stays in my heart."
I could barely make out a strained expression in his eyes, the eyebags underneath reaching up, and flaunting his purplish outline.
"I envy you."
Notes:
i seriously have to give flowers and applause to people who can write like 2-3k words PER CHAPTER, i seriously dont get it, how? how? i struggle writing 1k but i see so many people write like 2-3k, its so cool and admirable and i would love to give my respects to them.
Also, for "Fracture" chapters, which are short passages that are not sequential in the fic's index, they are suppose to be short, the real chapters I will try my best to write as much as I can!
Chapter 2: The First Truth - Wine Amongst The Chatter of Man
Summary:
Kunikuzushi visits the City of Song and Wind, but in the lyrics that are sung, there will be the critics that want their downfall.
Notes:
subject for editing, i wrote this in a rush and on the spot
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Kunikuzushi had never understood the true essence of gossip, however silly it may sound, as long as it was a collective gathering of false accusations and mockery, it could shift and dramatically become a monster that could weaken even the strongest of wills.
Mondstadt had taught him that the nation of freedom, was truly free of social expectations, but that the "freedom of expression" will always be corrupted no matter how pure the heart. In that regard, perhaps dominance and restriction was not a faulty pipeline for civilisation.
His eyes shut, and in the fogged depths of his subconscious, he dreams of a burnt house, a pool of blood, but the familial presence of a young child, no older than seven. A whiff of ash in his nose, and the smoked sight of burnt wood done to a crisp, accompanied by the splotches of red around him, but it was his home for now, and he would imagine that 'time' once more.
"Friend, why do others say such mean things to each other all the time?"
Kunikuzushi had a vivid dream that night. He watched as a pale and sickened bard would threaten his own livelihood with a broken and sharpened lyre, the one that he coddled and cared for as if it were a child. A subtle tremble in his voice, tears of sweat that roll down his head, his irises shaking furiously as if being spun around endlessly.
With a decisive swing, he saw nothing but blood on the ground, and the desperate movement of the body, as the blood vessels and vocal chords flap through that large cut, creating a unnerving gasp and slap of flesh that pierced the drums of his ears, and into the shape of his soul. He couldn't move, he couldn't talk, and that was left was the subtle thump of a dying heart, and the broken cries and whistles that came with a cut throat.
Open your eyes, dear puppet.
"The freedom of expression allows for the mechanisms of torment to be freed."
The crisp air that Mondstadt had to offer was definitely an acquired taste. He despised the fact that if he spent enough time focusing, he could smell the faintest scent of homebrew wine across the wind. This was beyond a culture shock, it was more so a war crime to have your air be possessed by the spirit of drunkards and the constant stench of Dandelion Wine. He mindlessly listened the clips and clops of the horse, and the constant mumbling within the carriage gave him no respite.
He spent an hour merely trying to explain how he got to Mondstadt shores through Inazuman waters, was it that incredible if a boat could just sail across the lightning-filled Inazuman waters? They spoke as if he were blessed by the Raiden Shogun, but in his heart, he knew that his mother could not even care to strike him down with lightning. That is how little he meant to her.
"Inazuman vagrant, may I ask, why did you plan to move to Mondstadt?"
"It gets too monotone back home, I intend on experiencing a 'new wind' here."
"I see, you've even picked up local jokes, I'm sure Barbatos would be proud."
It's the most basic joke he could muster really, and Kunikuzushi knew that if he wanted to have a peaceful time exploring the world, he would need to at least resonate with the locals. The gradient of the lands would change, and the greyish rocks of harsh hills and ledges would shift to a grassy compliment and a blueish finish, in the distance, he spots a decently large settlement.
Large stone walls with a clean pattern, and some watch towers that were evenly spread, an internal compliment was given, despite it's small area, it could fit a lot of homes and other facilities. It was comforting how beautiful the local ecosystem felt, the lush trees, the bright sunrays, and even the local wildlife that seemed to chirp and cheer whenever someone walks past, it was beautiful, scarily beautiful even.
He knew very little of the Archon from Mondstadt, but he knew that the god had given the nation 'freedom' of authority. That sort of detail intrigued him the most. At his creation, he was cast aside for being too weak and unworthy of the vessel that was the Raiden Shogun, and yet this nation was also cast aside in the name of self autonomy? Did mother intend for me to be like this? It was a nonsensical thought.
"At least this god had the decency to blow off the snow covering Mondstadt, Mother outright abandoned me in a domain as if I were cargo!"
"What?"
"I was just reading some prose."
He dawdled past the gates, to which the security checks were non-existant to his amusement, and took in the sights of the so-called "City of Wind and Song". For a moment, he was enamoured by the lush greenery that covered the homes, the warm colours that complimented each house, and the smell of freshly baked or grilled meats, which for once, was a better fragrance then the stench of wine. It didn't take long for Kunikuzushi to take notice of a local bard sitting atop the roofs, singing a tune with a beautiful harmony.
He had never been one for singing, in fact, the past times he had sung to others, they almost accused him of being a demonic spirit due to his tone-deaf nature. Perhaps it was best that he didn't decide to join the humming. At the very least, he had this small respite to consider some accommodation among other needs, his fingers grasp onto the thin breeze, and his ears tingle at the collective harmony of consistent foot traffic and the tunes of the locals.
The bard drops down, a bit clumsily, but reaches the balcony of his home, he spots the glance of Kunikuzushi and descends down the building to greet him. "Inazuma, right? I have always wanted to visit.", he spoke, there was a strong smile radiating off of him, but the puppet could barely notice the scratches that were plastered up his sleeves as he raised for a handshake. "It's not that picture-esque, you're better off going elsewhere.", he didn't reciprocate the handshake, but merely stared back, as if scrutinising the young singer.
Despite how clear the bard's skin was, he could barely make out the outline of a nasty eyebag, and the soft consistent breathes he took, no amount of makeup and theatrics could cover some sores. Kunikuzushi could do nothing but wave him off and leave abruptly, all that was given in return was a coin left in the bard's hand, as a show of respect.
An alluring smell, the soft fluttering of the banners, and the fragrance of summer, those sorts of pleasing symphonies spoke nothing but sweetness to Kunikuzushi, however often he would ration on Inazuman war scraps or the occasional bug or two, it was a well-deserved rest for the vagrant. Eyes closed, and breath slowed, he felt the sturdy weight of the wood, and his arms lie upon the softness of the counter, he focuses on the meaningless dribble of the people around.
"It seems you may need some food, less you wish to rest so anxiously.", they spoke, and Kunikuzushi awakens to the soft steam of baked goods, alongside smoked meats. The awkward tug into his pockets did not go unnoticed by the waiter, although for his fortune, soft words and a smile weren't the only complimentary gift.
"What did you want in return?"
"A well-fed customer."
Kunikuzushi was not often a dreamer, but when he dreams, it was always that home. However different the outside may be, whether it was burnt to ash on a bad day, or merely dilapidated on a fair evening, what would remain is the spirit of the one he cherished the most. Endless hours would be wasted in mindless talk, it ranged from the most basic of icebreakers to odd epiphanies and rants, despite the dreamscape, it rubbed on his personality a little too harshly.
The recollections of many who detested his headstrong and blunt words, and the frowns and cries of those who had tried to wrong him, it was always his presence that would take the persona of a poison in such sociality.
"Idiot."
The City of Freedom was truly free, and that even included price tags on foods, in fact, Kunikuzushi was almost close to being apprehended for just trying to belittle the chef for not accepting payment. In his eyes, it seemed that the people of Mondstadt were really against pessimism, which isn't surprising as the only thing stopping a Mondstadt man from attaining contentment was just the inability of infinite tolerance when it came to hard-alcohol drinks. Kunikuzushi learnt this first hand from merely witnessing a "casual" drinking competition, although 'witness' was a light statement as he was unable to watch the competition due to the 50 or so glasses of alcohol blocking most of his vision.
Despite how depraved it became, it sparked a small warmth in his heart, and he reminsces of his days with his first family. Katsuragi, the second sinner, but the first one to take him into his care, how we wished to drink once more with him.
"Katsuragi, how do you feel about yourself?"
"Not that highly, but to me and you personally? I think I'm fine."
"I'm not sure how to feel about myself."
"Then just copy what I say, hm?"
Isolation was his only solution, he knew that given time, everyone would abandon him. It was this predictable cycle of connection and betrayal, and it irritated him to no end due to the amount of false smiles and faux affirmations that he was given. He lowers the curtains of his eyes, and he watches the plays of so many tragedies. The promises of friendship? Led to death and separation. The promise of care? It would become parasitic. The promise of forever? Lost to time.
At the very least, all he could guarantee was his own thoughts and processes, and the constant chatter and drunken confessions that orchestrate this gnarly place of yelps and cries give no aid in his turmoil. It was logical, after all, everyone else was unravelling themselves to this poison, whilst his non-mortal body couldn't even comprehend humanity's toxin, how could he expect to assimilate?
A long drown of liquor, and the noise dies down, and then what lefts to float is the nonsensical accusations and tales of the local citizens. A bard made of demonic souls, a song that was destined to kill, and the look of a devil who swallows the bodies of unknowing victims, it was utterly ridiculous.
Yet, it terrified Kunikuzushi, it scared him to no ends, not because of what was said but because of the unity of the bar that all collectively in their drunken stupor had decided to villainise and dehumanise a mere bard because his singing aptitude was... subpar? Kunikuzushi was a terrible vocalist, and he never knew what was good or bad in his eyes, as long as it was bearable, it was good.
That night, Kunikuzushi dreamt of something different, for the first time in many years, if not since his capabilities of the dreamscape, he immersed himself in a nightmare that was not familiar in any form, and far ahead was some sort of 'thing'.
Its slimy flesh lacks human essence, an unfathomably disgusting abomination of organs and mouths stares at him. Viscous drool falls out of its mouth, revealing hideous teeth that could pierce tough steel. Bright shimmers caress his shoulders, he turns back, seeing the thick mucous of the beast flow through the reflective floor.
It was a dreamscape with no truth, no reality, but merely a mirror of some being, and yet, in the faintest of frequencies, he swore that he could hear the faintest tune of a harp, but the demonic hum of a beast.
The amalgamation stares at him, and he stares back, a monster as hideous as it would not frighten him, Kunikuzushi had hated himself since the start, and he knew the darkest of hearts, or perhaps, the lack of one, was within himself. Whatever nightmarish life awaits shall trembles in his presence, as Kunikuzushi knew that the worst composite was his own life.
He thinks of him.
"People have been hurt because of me, so, please keep yourself safe."
"Best friend, I am safe when I am by your side!"
He killed him.
It was a quiet decay, but it was very noticeable, it didn't take a month, it didn't take a few weeks, no, it only took three days for the bard to become a crippled existence. No longer did he sing, not in those early hours where the birds would twirl and whirl in that summer sky, no longer did he sing when the misses and husbands cheered for the sun, and no longer did he sing as a comfort for his own heart.
Kunikuzushi was disturbed, and almost stupefied, someone with a half-decent voice as such bard would never falter to the most meaningless of accusations and yet, he could only watch as the eyebags of the man darken, and his body becomes more frail and less lively.
Every morning, Kunikuzushi would watch as the frantic man quickly opened his window and closed it shut as if scouting for any of the drunkards that had perverted his name and reputation, in the night, he would watch as a awkwardly clothed hooded man would walk around Mondstadt and stalking the local taverns, listening, ever so intently.
"That bard hasn't been screaming since the last week, it's finally gone quiet, I can finally complete my assignments from the academia."
"Thank the archons, I hated that voice, can you believe that they call it music? In Fontaine, it would be a crime."
"It has no power nor emphasis, it is a weak imitation of Liyue's operas."
Foreign eyes, and foreign lips, it's only natural that some cultures don't mesh well with each other. They say that the hymns of Mondstadt always ensure the pronunciation of all sounds and lyric, it feels constrictive but proper. Although, that doesn't stop them from making softer and more "fairylike" songs that focus on specific lyric utilisation and deep meaning between words, they say the bards of Mondstadt act as the morals for children to look upon when it came to growing up in the world. Kunikuzushi had spent some time familiarising himself with the different songs and popular figures within the walls and had built a small appreciation but disdain for the culture.
The use of instrumentals and tempo in Inazuma, the vocal range of operas in Liyue, the collective harmonisation of those in Snezhnaya, he understood the minor lack of respect when it came to the jarringly simple music style that Mondstadt had produced.
To those that cannot dream within lyric, they couldn't begin to appreciate nor to understand the process of song and tale in Mondstadt, and it was nothing but humourous to Kunikuzushi. It was an unknowing gatekeeping process that isolated itself from those who did not have the open-mindedness to apporach it with careful arms.
As the world opens up, it's hard for the collective to come together from such different ranges, he saw as merchants from Liyue, students from Sumeru's various academia, and the lawyers of Fontaine assemble themselves in the heart of Mondstadt's tavern culture. Kunikuzushi would watch as the gathering of man would drown themselves in the depths of degeneracy.
Just to break a soul.
To diminish one's own life is to commit a cardinal sin, or is what was often spoken by the samurai and soldiers of Inazuma. If one where to die, it must be through combat or through the natural cycle of age, the gift of life was not seen as a gift but rather the chance to be an honourable and respected individual. To honour your clan and your kin, to bring peace and glory to those you hold close.
His memory is scarce, but he could always remember the words of the many soldiers he has met whilst travelling the islands of Inazuma, and one thing was always true. To live is to serve, and you must serve to your greatest potential, and yet, in front of his eyes, he is watching a man slowly die inside as the poison of his own society rots him to nothing but tears and bones.
When asked about himself, Kunikuzushi always thought of himself as lesser, but to others, he would always tell them Katsuragi's personal quotation, he is fine. Though, if he were to ever disrupt the unravelling of the bard in front of his eyes, he would be met with self-belittlement that could rival his worst trauma. It was never a competition of suffering, but, Kunikuzushi was a curious soul, and he was never human to begin, so why should he help him?
He'd rather watch and interpret the scenes in front of him, and witness the pain of humanity to even test a tinge of empathy that could potentially remain. The alleyway between the bar was rarely checked, in fact, you would see dead rats stored in the crevices from the amount of strays storing their prey. It was a spot where no tavern worker would ever find a drunk, yet, tortured man.
"Barbatos... Why am I the one to take the fall for everything?"
"Barbatos... I just want to sing to the skies!"
He swore that a flash of green had fluttered in the corner of his eye, but all that he could care about is the constant yelling and cries that came from the man in front of him. Suddenly, the back of his head twists, and the puppet barely hides behind the thin crumbled walls, he is unable to watch, but he can hear the puke that came from his mouth, and the whistling that came from his vocal chords, as if his voice was strained and begging for air.
Isn't that whistling familiar to you?
That night, Kunikuzushi didn't dream, he couldn't rest. It was not out of fear, but those rare moments of vulnerability and fogginess, and so, he went on a stroll. They say Starsnatch Cliff was the homeground for wishes and apparitions to become reality, if a couple wished to become happy forever, they would kiss and say their vows at the dead of night in the eyes of the stars.
Despite those romantic rumours, Kunikuzushi would witness its antithesis, a sight that would frighten even the most courageous, a pale and sickened bard that is attempting to halt his time with a broken and sharpened lyre, the same one that he once held with such warm embrace.
The puppet did not show hesistance, nor any movement to stop this, in fact, this curious puppet merely watched as the bard would begin to convulse and shudder as if he had a stroke, one could only assume that he was battling with his desire to live and his want for escapism. One final yell, an emotional forgiveness to Barbatos, the god he once cherished and hoped for.
Then, the blood poured, it pictured like a Fontaine painting, the contrast of the surrounding cliffs behind, and the illumination of the moon upon his bloodied skin, and then, it collapsed, with a pool of blood that accompanied it. Down the cliff's peak, and almost into the water's beneath, reaching out as if to savour and treasure the fallen soul.
The stars watched in silence, and the breeze cried to none, and a flash of an emerald cape in the air, and the disappearance of the body that fell. Kunikuzushi had felt that presence before, and now, he could feel the gusts of the land push near his feet. A silent tune, and the smell of dandelion wine, a bard appears behind him once more, but, his composure speaks nothing of drunkard stories, but the regret and solemn of something more.
"For a god, you make a mockery of yourself, you let a man die."
"The winds only respond to those who have faith, and at the very last moment, he left it all behind."
"How humorous."
The body in the bard's arm began to spin and thrash in a constant loop. It resembled a worm almost, the constant flicking of the legs and the convulsion of the chest, you can tell that the cut on his neck had forced his body into overdrive. His arms wrapping around his neck almost as if to pathetically keep together the blood vessels and keep his throat from choking from his own blood.
Kunikuzushi was laughing inside, does he not realise he is just choking himself still? The bard from across tried his best to close the bleeding, but at the end, both of the men could feel the pulse of the man slowing before its crescendo as a final gasp of life, and then it ended.
"Tell me, Bard, what is the point of humans?"
"They live on a time limit."
"It's pointless."
"It's beautiful."
The bard knew that he was talking to someone of non-mortal circumstances like himself, and at the same time, he knew deep down that his words were not all too unfamiliar. For a puppet made by a god, and a wind spirit that become one, they both knew that the lives of others would be meaningless if given enough time and distance.
Kunikuzushi had no remorse for the gods, they were ultimately selfish and only worked to serve their own survival and power, and this act of ignorence by the god was nothing but a hilarious affirmation for him. The soft discolouring in the bard's eye, as if to signify his remorse, and the energy that left his body, which left his arms to slag and almost drop the poor body.
Kunikuzushi looked deep in his heart, he was aware of the freedom given by Barbatos, and yet, he wondered if this lack of care was due to a hard philosophy, or the true nature of sloth by a deity.
"Why give them freedom? They have no experience, nor the intelligence to survive."
"It's the same reason why you walk these lands."
Now, he was enraged, he had a small delusion in the back of his mind that perhaps his mother, the almighty Raiden Shogun had given him this so-called "freedom". The fact that the God of Anemo was able to understand his existance in a mere glance angered him to no ends, decades of his life spent to self-actualisation just for it to be stifled by a mere singer's words.
All he could muster was a smirk, it was insulting to a degree, but he was here to be judged by humanity and to judge it back, perhaps in some future, he will bring himself to sympathise.
"Only I determine that worth."
Mondstadt had taught Kunikuzushi many things, the plight of man, which he still finds ridiculous and amusing, alongside the power of storytelling and alcohol, the true driver of the first sin and truth: gossip and mindless accusations.
It didn't matter if it were an angel, or the symbol of peace and love, as long as there is an opposition, someone will always wish and bring about its perversion and destruction. It was a sight to watch in his own twisted enjoyment, but, it did no efforts to show him the worth of humanity.
His steps are nimble, and he travels through the surrounding cliffs and arcs that border Liyue and Mondstadt. The taverns talk about the economical power of Liyue and the culture of bartering and selling.
They say that as long as you have a mouth "that could spew Mora" and the contracts to enable it, you could sell even the feces of a dog if you tried hard enough.
The score is at zero to one, a man dies and the world moves on.
Notes:
4k words in a chapter! what a surprise, i want to make the arcs longer though, i'll try my best :)