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Life is like the wind. May it be the most destructive tempest or the quiet breeze of an early summer, at the end it will stop blowing.
So is Lohen.
He has been granted the grace to see Adorno off and give his last breath. Theodore cried his lungs out while Lohen stood there, his mentor’s cooling hand in his. Adorno, the Benevolent Knight, who never tried to suppress how ‘life’ pushed Lohen on a path made of madness and reckless actions. Adorno, who always saw through his façade, and yet never stopped believing in him. That great figure now lay still in his bed, with a fading smile on his face.
And soon, Lohen will join him.
He hasn't told anyone, yet. His parents will be devastated, will live forever with the guilt of failing him, of not doing enough for him. His fellow knights from the 5th Company… he's not sure. They will be sad, too, he guesses. For now all he has seen are fleeing glances and hasted steps when they walk past the door of his isolation room. As for Theodore, he figured it out a while ago. They both knew the stakes of their insane project after all. To his surprise though, Theodore didn't cry, maybe because he had nothing left after Adorno’s passing. And then…
There’s Varka.
Lohen’s chest makes a pinch at the thought. To be honest, he’s not sure where the Grandmaster stands in all that. They're not quite friends, not quite mentor and disciple either. He’s his boss, sure, and he loves teasing the old man with tricks and ambushes at every single occasion. Varka never punished him for real, though Lohen remembers a fair number of humiliations, being tossed by the skin of his back into a solitary confinement room, as easily as a sack of potatoes. Or sometimes having to peel the whole pile of potatoes for the garrison.
Varka always showed that kind of soft spot, letting Lohen speak his mind with no restraint nor judgement, but still effortlessly putting him back in place when needed. And yet…
Reminiscing all these moments makes his heart hurt; more than the actual throb stabbing at it. He would take the slow agony of his organs dysfunctionning one after another over the lingering pain pulling at it whenever he let his thoughts wander about Varka.
He stares at the scar in the middle of his palm, the skin still a pristine pink. He never cared about the shape of them; never cared about counting them in the first place, but this one, suddenly, disgusts him. An ugly thing that has hurt more than he ever intended to do.
Why did Adorno ever recommend him to Varka? Why did Adorno keep trusting him, when he knew how twisted Lohen had become? He doesn't get it, even to this day. Hope, maybe, that they would be able to fix him at some point. Hah. Foolish. Theodore would've been a far better candidate; by today, he would've become a Captain, and perhaps even inherited the Benevolent Knight title.
•••
A knock at the door pulls him out of the spiral. Kind of stupid, when he's locked in isolation for the subsequent weeks; anyone is free to walk in as they please. Yet, the visitor on the other side remains silent, waiting.
“Come in,” Lohen eventually says.
The door opens, revealing Varka’s silhouette in the crack. Lohen’s heart makes a leap.
“Hey.”
“Mornin’.”
Silent sits between them, awkward. They haven't seen each other since the trial after all and even there, considering his role in the whole affair, Varka watched from afar standing in a dark corner.
“Can I walk in?” Varka asks after a moment. “I won't be long.”
Lohen scoffs. “This isn't my room, y’know, and you’re the Grandmaster.”
“Being ‘Grandmaster’ doesn't necessarily mean I can trespass anyone’s privacy. But, I get your point. And my question still stands.”
“...Fine. Be my guest then.”
He shifts and goes to sit up at the head of the bed while Varka swiftly makes his way in and closes the door to lean against it.
“How are you doing?”
“Fine enough.”
“I heard you were given permission to see Adorno one last time. That's good.”
Surprised, Lohen turns around. “What? You haven't… like, played a part? Pulled some strings?”
Now, Varka looks offended. “Is that how you see me? Every single choice I made, mind you, was not out of partiality, but because I believed you had potential and deserved your chance, like anyone else.”
His hands grip on the sheets beneath. ‘You're not special’. In a sense, it both hurts and reassures him. To know he’s been there because of his strength alone, not through poor tricks or cheating brings a new layer of peace in his mind, albeit a thin one.
“I let Jean review your case and give her judgement. She’s the one with the best hindsight in this matter, as she never lets personal feelings get in the way.”
“I see.” He swallows. “Thank her on my behalf then.”
“Hah.” Varka snorts. That brief return to their usual banter, Varka’s rough laugh, brought a tiny spark of joy within Lohen's chest. “You will tell her once you’re out of here, alright? And then I'll treat you to a drink!”
The spark snuffs out as soon as it has appeared.
Then it hits.
A violent fit of coughing seizes his ribcage. His breaths come out in a rattle, bile and something else rising up and clogging his throat, until he painfully manages to spit it out in his hand.
“Lohen!”
Varka’s broad hand lands softly on his back and starts rubbing between the base of his neck. He coughs up more, shoulders shaking violently as he tries to find a proper breathing but only manages to spit out new stuff,
Oh, oh he doesn't like that look. “Would you care to explain?” Varka asks.
Lohen wipes the thin trail dripping from the corner of his lips, eyes carefully averted. There's no reason to hide anything at this point. “It started some time after we got out of the facility. I first put it as a withdrawal effect of Ursa’s medication, but… it didn't feel right. First time I'm coughing up blood, though…”
He can't finish his phrase, as Varka suddenly wraps his arms around him for a suffocating embrace. The little strength he can muster barely manages to pat the Grandmaster's shoulder and shake it.
“Can't… breathe…”
Varka releases his hold and pulls away at once. And then, Lohen wishes he would have not. The intense blue eyes are streaked with a watery glint, glaring at him as if he just said the greatest offense against Barbatos.
“Why haven't you said anything sooner?” he asks. His hands brace on Lohen’s shoulders, shaken with a violent tremble. “We could have done something, anything—”
“But there’s nothing to do,” Lohen retorts.
He must sound too calm, too composed, because it only fan the flames of Varka's distress, “How can you tell? How can you be so sure without giving it a try? You, better than anyone else.”
“My body has been deteriorating ever since I purged that thing out of me.” He rubs the palm of his scarred hand. “I tried a few healing potions, none of them worked, when they always did before. Heh. Take it as a penance for all my wrongs.”
“Don’t say such rubbish,” Varka growls, before standing up and already turning around to leave. “I can seek help on my side. There’s no way that I'm—that we’re—going to give up.”
“Genuinely, Varka, let it go.”
Oh. He hates the face he’s seeing now. A battered, kicked puppy. It sours his stomach, bile rises in his throat and prickles it again, threatening to trigger another fit.
“I’ve made peace with myself, alright?” he continues. “I had fun playing the adventurer, my days as a knight were good. I’ve got to jump into so many battles and missions. Can't ask for anything else. Hey, but that’s good. With that, all Eroch’s legacy will finally disappear. Wouldn't you call that a wi—”
“You better not finish that sentence,” Varka mutters in a tone that Lohen has never heard before. "I told you—" he takes a deep breath in, his throat working to swallow, "not to die. That order still stands, you hear me?"
Never in his life Lohen has seen Varka showing that much emotions. It's not anger, it’s past beyond that. His voice trembles, flooded with an anguish that definitely doesn't suit the Grandmaster. Doesn't suit Varka. Varka is strong, as unshakeable as a mountain. He can endure countless battles and endless nights before he shows any sign of fatigue. Varka never gives up… and that's the whole damn problem. He never gave up his hopes for him to make the right choice, never cast him out of the Ordo when anyone else would never have admitted him in the first place, and never abandoned him on his own.
So what? Should he take a hint from all that? He's not special, just your next Vice-Captain and it must be a pain in the ass to survey all the candidates for the job when he kicks the bucket.
It must be that. Or else he wouldn't be able to contain what he’s been able to control for the past few weeks. His sanity is hanging by a thread, and now ready to snap.
“I'm better off alone, if you don't mind,” he manages to mutter, but splendidly fails at meeting Varka’s eyes and meeting his usual quip.
Varka’s towering height suddenly plunges over him, caging him between his arms and pinning him with a piercing stare.
“Are you certain about that?” Varka demands in a low voice. “If I leave right now, can you tell me, right in the eyes, that you will keep that façade of yours?”
Badump
His heartbeat picks up, pounding against his ribcage. Again, he can't compete with him. That happy-go-lucky behavior is just an act, a farce to trick anyone into thinking Mondstadt’s Grandmaster is a menace, even his own subordinates. No one can keep a secret from him, may it be a harmless lie to ditch a round at the training grounds, or a betrayal.
Badump
“Don't make me say it,” Lohen says, barely holding on the last string of restraint he has. “I beg of you, don’t.”
“As I told you before: I will not pry words out of you.”
“Weird way to show it,” Lohen scoffs. His voice fails to cover its dangerous tremble.
“Heh, let’s say I’m just doing a little ‘push’ into the right direction? Because of the two of us, you're the one who’s been dancing around the edge for a while. That's unlike you, Lohen.”
Badumbadumpbadump—
“T-this your damn problem, old man!” Lohen ultimately blurts. “Stop reading through me like a fucking book! Aren't you s’posed to hate that stuff!?”
The dam has broken. Tears pour from his eyes as he slams his fists on that robust chest. There’s no strength left in him though, they don't even make Varka budge.
What a joke. He lifts his eyes, expecting to see some smirk, or disappointment, or anything, that could prove him wrong.
“...”
There’s no rejection, in those eyes. Just a silent acceptance, resignation too, maybe, and immense sadness.
From that moment, he barely remembers anything. He cried a lot, felt a heavy but tender embrace around his body, and warm and wet lips against his own. There were words murmured in the shell of his ear, but he can't make out what they were. All he knows is that the weight on his chest has lifted, his heart feels warmer, and everyday from then on Varka visits him, bringing snacks, alcohol-free drinks, or graces him just by his presence and stays for hours.
•••
His state keeps worsening. His senses are fading, his movements get more sluggish. At least it’s not painful; it seems like ‘fate’ is giving him a favor on that part… or maybe it’s just another form of cruelty, to let people around witness him slowly withering away. Naturally, he can't hide his condition anymore; Jean is first alerted and quickly calls for Barbara’s aid, as well as other experienced healers. Someone from Liyue even made it all the way to Mondstadt, to no avail. As what he catches from the talks, there are theories about how using this experiment product likely tied his lifeforce to Ursa’s essence. Purging it and slaying the root also meant taking him along, or something.
One day, he wakes up with a sight so blurry he can't make out if it’s day or night; he has lost the concept of time for a while, slept most of the day and would wake up at any time. In the meantime his legs have given up and can't leave his bed anymore, a nurse having to come daily to wash his body and other stuff.
Varka doesn't leave his bedside. Sometimes he can feel the large bulk of the man beside him, the touch of a hand carding through his hair. On other days or nights, it’s the distant sound of a lullaby, or a bedtime story. Once in a while, he believes he hears a sob beside him, but he says nothing; he's never been good at comforting. And maybe he's just dreaming, or having hallucinations.
Yeah, he prefers it to be one of these.
“Say, do you believe in reincarnation?”
Lohen can't reply to that. His thoughts are too blurry, too confused to utter anything remotely intelligible. But it looks like the person beside him doesn't expect one anyway, as they bring him to a closer embrace. Something wet falls on his face, and one of his hands is held tight in another.
He’s cold, he realizes. So very cold. And yet, very faintly, there's something warmer, close, as if it's trying to imbue life back into him.
The last thing he can perceive before everything fades beyond any possibility of recognition, is the press of a kiss at his temple and that single promise, slid into his ear for only him:
We will meet again. Wait for me.