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You. Always You.

Also posted on AO3!

Ship: Xiao/Aether Tags: Royalty AU, Prince! Xiao, Knight! Aether, Strangers to Enemies (Kinda) to Lovers, No Smut, 4+1 Warning: Major Character Death, Violence Summary: Aether swore to protect the Prince. He never expected it to cost him his life. Or: 4 times Aether risked his life for Xiao and 1 time he lost it.

Aether bowed his head low, kneeling before the towering cor lapis throne, The air was heavy with incense and judgment. Above him sat the Emperor of Liyue himself, gaze sharp as obsidian, horns curling like sculpted stone — a god carved into the shape of a man.

To his right, a step behind the throne yet no less commanding, stood the crown prince.

Xiao.

Arms folded. Face unreadable. Carved from the same unyielding bloodline.

Aether had become a knight for one reason: to care for his sister.

Lumine — older by five minutes, but forever the one he swore to protect. After their parents’ deaths in their early teens, survival had become a battle. Knighthood offered food, money, shelter. Stability. Enough of a future to pass along to her — so she could live a gentler life.

Being named the prince’s personal protector was meant to be an honor. A privilege.

It should have filled him with pride.

But as the Emperor’s voice echoed through the marble chamber — deep, commanding, final — entrusting the heir’s life into Aether’s hands, a quiet dread unfurled beneath the polished weight of his armor.

He felt it lodge beneath his ribs. Heavy. Inevitable.

And yet—

His voice did not shake.

“I will protect the prince’s life with my own, Your Highness.”

-1-

That night, the palace glittered in gold and wine.

The banquet celebrating the prince filled the grand ballroom with light and noise. Nobles from neighboring nations laughed too loud and drank too freely beneath jeweled chandeliers. Music soared through the air, curling like incense.

Aether stood at the prince’s side in silence, armor polished to a mirror’s shine. His posture was tight. Controlled. His attention split between every entry point, every twitch of movement near the velvet curtains, every glint of metal too sharp to belong.

Occasionally, his gaze flicked to the prince.

But Xiao never looked back.

He moved with indifferent elegance, gaze focused forward, the hem of his silk hanfu brushing across marble like a whisper. Aether might as well have been a statue.

The crowd began to settle as Xiao lifted a silver spoon to his crystal glass and tapped it lightly. The chime echoed through the ballroom, drawing the nobles’ attention.

Then—movement.

Aether caught it instantly: a gleam outside the far window. Subtle. Swift. Too deliberate to be anything but deadly.

The prince stood directly in its path as he began to speak.

Aether moved.

His blade was drawn before the crash of shattered glass echoed through the hall. In one breathless moment, he was between Xiao and the source of the threat.

An arrow sliced through the air.

Steel met steel.

Aether caught it with the flat of his blade, the impact sending a violent jolt up his arm. Pain flared as the arrowhead scraped across the web between his thumb and forefinger, carving a hot, flaring line that immediately began to bleed.

He didn’t have time to assess the wound.

A sharp nudge came at his side.

He turned—only to meet the prince’s narrowed eyes.

No concern. No gratitude. Just annoyance.

Xiao said nothing, but the glare he gave was unmistakable: Move.

Aether hesitated, glancing at his hand. Blood ran down his fingers, pattering quietly onto the marble floor. He opened his mouth—to warn, to report, to ask for a moment—but the prince's expression remained unreadable, his focus already shifting back to the crowd.

Without a word, Aether stepped back into formation.

He stood silently as Xiao resumed his speech—unshaken, indifferent, untouched.

Blood continued to drip onto the floor beneath him.

Aether gritted his teeth. A storm of curses spun in his head, all of them aimed at one person. He had just saved the prince’s life, and yet—not a single word of thanks. Not even a glance or breath of gratitude. The prince carried on as if Aether was no more than a fan at his side, ornamental and easily replaced.

He swallowed back the urge to roll his eyes, reminded that every movement—every expression—was being scrutinized by a room full of noble sycophants and scheming courtiers. One misplaced grimace could be twisted into treason.

Still, the longer the speech dragged on, the lighter his head began to feel. The cut on his hand pulsed angrily, blood still dripping down his fingers and staining the hilt of his sword. He tried again to shift closer, just enough to draw the prince’s attention, to signal his need to retreat and dress the wound.

But the prince’s eyes flicked to him only once. Cold. Flat. Dismissive.

“Don’t bleed on me,” he hissed under his breath.

Aether’s mouth went dry. He didn’t reply.

He wobbled slightly where he stood, knees threatening to buckle. Hand wounds didn’t usually bleed this much; the arrow must have sliced deep. He focused on his breath, on grounding himself, on not passing out in front of the guests while anger pooled through his veins.

He held formation until the final word was spoken and applause broke out.

Only then did he allow his body to ease, shoulders tight as iron as he followed the prince out of the banquet hall, blood drying on his hand like war paint.

The palace corridors were dimmer, quieter. Their footsteps echoed too sharply off stone walls.

The silence that followed them through the palace corridors was painfully thick and suffocating, Aether’s hand had gotten unsettlingly numb, and while a scab had thankfully begun to form along the cut, it did little to dull the sharp, residual throb crawling up his arm.

But he stayed silent.

Because duty demanded silence.

Even when anger boiled in his chest like lava.

The prince’s behavior was unbelievably inconsiderate, his father was known to be kind and righteous, just where did those traits go in the prince?

The door to Prince Xiao’s chambers came into view. Aether held his breath, praying that no conversation would pass between them. He wasn’t confident he could hold his tongue.

“So,” came the prince’s voice, sudden and sharp. “What was that?”

Aether froze mid-step. Of course. He had jinxed it.

He turned his head slowly, only to meet a stare laced with disdain. There was no concern in the prince’s eyes—only annoyance, “Your Highness?”

“I’m talking to you, knight.” He continued, scoffing, “You see anyone else around here?”

Aether clenched his jaw. His fists were already curled tight at his sides, blood still drying on his fingers. “What do you mean, Your Highness?”

“I mean, what was that idiocy just now?” the prince snapped, voice rising. “How dare you embarrass me in front of the entire party?!”

Aether blinked. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Embarrass you?” he repeated, incredulous. “I saved you!”

“You raised your sword in the middle of my speech. You spilled blood at my feet. Do you have any idea how that looked?”

“I was protecting you,” Aether said, voice low, trying to keep the edge out. “Someone tried to kill you.”

“Watch your tone,” Prince Xiao hissed. “You don’t get to talk back to me.”

The urge to shout, to shake the prince,—it burned in Aether’s throat. But then came the final blow.

“You’ll be cleaning the stables tomorrow morning. Before sunrise.”

Aether’s vision darkened for a moment. Rage welled up, hot and bitter.

But duty was a collar that fit too tightly to slip.

He bowed stiffly. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Xiao gave a dismissive noise and turned into his chambers.

Aether rolled his eyes at the Prince’s back.

Only when the latch clicked shut did Aether allow himself to move. He turned sharply on his heel and hurried through the winding halls to the lower floors of the palace, to the room assigned to him since his appointment. It was modest, tucked away in the barracks and the training yard. A single bed sat in the corner, a desk piled with blank pieces of paper, and a lone oil lamp casting shadows across the floor. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was his.

He didn’t waste time. Shedding his armor piece by piece, he changed into sleepwear and moved to the adjoining washroom. Under flickering lamplight, he cleaned and dressed the wound, silently grateful it didn’t require stitches. The scab had set in deep, dark and crusted around the edges. It would scar.

Fine. Let it.

He extinguished the lamp and lowered himself into bed, limbs aching. The room fell into darkness, and Aether closed his eyes.

He hoped the next days would be better.

—

The stables reeked of manure and rot.

Aether rolled up his sleeves and picked up the shovel, jaw tight as he worked through the filth. His wounded hand throbbed under the bandages with every movement, but he didn’t let himself slow. The stench clung to his skin, invading his senses, the straw scratched at his wrists, and the early morning chill sent shivers down his spine.

He didn’t hate the labor. But the insult of it—after the banquet, after the blood—left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He swallowed it. Like everything else. He needed the job, everything else was secondary.

And in the weeks that followed, nothing changed. He resumed his post at the prince’s side, but Xiao offered no word, no glance, no sign that Aether’s presence registered at all. Always the same: cold, unmoved, eyes fixed forward. Not even the barest flicker of acknowledgment.

Aether sometimes wondered if he’d gone invisible.

Sometimes, he fantasized about punching the prince right in his perfect, expressionless face.

He never did.

But Archons, he wanted to.

-2-

The morning rooster hadn’t yet crowed when the sharp pounding on Aether’s door jolted him from sleep.

Half-dreaming, half-ready for battle, he threw the door open with his dagger drawn from underneath his pillow, squinting his eyes into the darkness in an attempt to see who would wake him up at this ungodly hour.

Prince Xiao stood in front of him, calm, as if the current time was a normal time to wake up. His eyes, sharp as frost, locked onto Aether’s.

“Hurry. Get ready.” He tossed something at Aether’s face.

Aether caught it by reflex. A rough brown cloak—civilian garb, thick and plainly cut, the kind worn in colder months. He stared at it, confused for a heartbeat too long.

“You’re… down here?” he muttered, barely processing. The barracks were not a place for royalty—especially the crown prince. Xiao never came this deep into the knights’ quarters, not unless he was observing training from a distance. And speaking of which, Aether couldn’t remember the last time he’d drawn his sword for anything other than protection.

He rolled his eyes, “Just get ready.” Tapping his foot like Aether was already running late.

Resentment flickered to life beneath his ribs.

“Where are we going, sir?” he asked, tone sharper than it should have been.

“Downtown,” the prince replied, flat and unconcerned.

Aether arched a brow, annoyed at his vagueness, “For what, your highness?”

Prince Xiao exhaled slowly, his patience thinning. “Is this an interrogation?”

When Aether didn’t answer, the prince added, “It’s for my father. The holidays are nearing.”

Aether lifted the cloak in his hands, expression wordless but questioning.

The prince rolled his eyes. “We’re going in disguise. If we get caught in the holiday swarm, we won’t make it back before noon.”

Disguises. That meant no armor. No obvious weaponry.

His only small weapon was the dagger in his hand, a gift from Lumine. Its hilt was encrusted with a single Rose Quartz gem, light pink, smooth. His fingers brushed the familiar grip with a quiet sense of grounding.

He gave the prince a curt nod, saluting without a word before retreating into his quarters to prepare.

—

The wooden carriage that arrived to pick them up was plain but sturdy. Its iron wheels groaned over the cobblestone road, rocking gently as it passed through Liyue’s plains. Aether sat across from the prince, draped in the rough civilian cloak, his hand never resting far from the dagger hidden at his waist. Without armor, he felt bare. His back remained straight, muscles coiled with anticipation.

The silence stretched long between them.

Aether sighed and rested his chin on his hand. He cast the occasional glance toward the prince, because regardless of how insufferable the man was, Aether could admit it: He was good looking. Golden eyes, sharp with avian pupils, rimmed with faint red that made them seem to burn even in the low morning light. There was a reason that royalty and nobility lined up at his doorsteps seeking his hand in marriage.

Xiao stared out the window, with his expression unreadable as ever. Then, without turning his head, he spoke.

“Don’t call me ‘Your Highness’ or anything of the sort while we’re outside the palace.”

Aether blinked. “Then what should I call you?”

“Xiao,” he said simply, “Few people beyond the inner court know my name. Let’s use that to our advantage.”

The name felt strange on Aether’s tongue. “Alright. Xiao, then.”

It sounded too human. Too soft for someone so cold and untouchable.

He didn’t let the thought linger. He shifted his gaze to the window again, fingers idly tugging at a fray on his cloak. The city had long disappeared behind them. They were moving through a dense bamboo forest now, and the dim light of early morning was smothered beneath swaying stalks and mist.

Aether leaned closer to the window, instincts twitching. Something felt off. The woods were too still.

No wind. No birdsong. No crunch of distant wheels or hooves. Just the muted creak of wood and the soft exhale of breath.

The carriage lurched.

Aether pitched forward, nearly tumbling into the prince. He caught himself on the wall, heart already thundering.

“Bandits!” the driver cried.

Before the word had even fully registered, Aether was already moving. He unsheathed the dagger at his side in a clean motion, the familiar weight grounding him as the horses screamed in panic.

The carriage slammed to a stop. Outside, steel flashed in the moonlight — shadows weaving in and out of the trees, flickers of movement where no one should have been.

He turned to Xiao, already issuing orders. “Stay inside. Don’t come out until I say it’s safe.”

He didn’t wait for acknowledgement. He kicked the carriage door open and leapt into the fray.

Wind tore at his cloak. Cold bit down to the bone.

A blur of movement — Aether twisted, raising his dagger just in time to parry a blade aimed for his ribs. Sparks flew. His arm jolted back from the impact, the weapon flying from his hand with a sharp clang as it skidded across the dirt.

The attacker lunged again, emboldened.

Aether dodged, using the attacker's momentum to slam his shoulder into the man’s chest, knocking him back into the grass with a heavy grunt.

No time to breathe. Two more figures were closing in fast.

He cast a glance towards the carriage, hoping that the two bandits in front of him were the last of them.

He moved first.

Darting low, sweeping one bandit’s legs out from under him with a harsh twist of his boot. The other came in, sword raised, swinging with wild, erratic force.

Aether narrowly pulled back. The blade nicked the air inches from his face. He cursed under his breath.

He didn’t recover fast enough.

A fist slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back. Pain flared white-hot behind his eyes.

Another first dead center in his face. Blood spilled from his nose, hot and coppery.

The bandit he’d knocked down was already up again, snarling.

Aether staggered but held his footing. He wiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve, teeth grit.

They came at him together.

He didn’t have a weapon. Just his fists. Just his body.

He blocked what he could, but blow after blow landed — a kick to his ribs, an elbow to his shoulder. He could feel bruises blossoming beneath his clothes, sharp and angry.

His breath came ragged. His muscles ached.

And then—his boot struck something hard.

Aether glanced down in the chaos. A glint of pink. His dagger.

He dove.

His hand closed around the hilt just as one of the bandits brought their sword down. Steel rang against steel. He parried, twisted, and drove his dagger forward in one fluid motion.

The bandit cried out, dropping his weapon as he collapsed.

Aether pivoted — ducked a punch — and slammed his elbow into the second man’s temple. The body crumpled like paper.

The last went down with a solid kick to the chest, landing hard and staying there.

Silence fell. Just the wind again. Just his heartbeat in his ears.

He stood still for a moment, panting, head lowered, body throbbing. Then he turned back toward the carriage.

The driver was shaken, pale, but uninjured. Aether gave a single nod before limping toward the door.

He pulled it open and stepped inside.

Inside, Xiao was exactly where he’d left him, untouched.

“They’re taken care of, Your Highness,” Aether said, voice hoarse as he stepped inside, dipping his head slightly. “Are you alright?”

Pain lanced through his neck, sharp and sudden. He winced and reached up instinctively.

Xiao didn’t answer right away.

“I told you not to call me that out here,” he said, but his voice was quiet. Not sharp. Not annoyed. It was surprising.

“Right. Sorry. Xiao.” The name still irked him, sounding foreign on his tongue

But the prince didn’t look away.

He was staring — not at the dirt smeared across Aether’s armor — but at his face.

And not with judgment.

With something else. Something unreadable.

Aether shifted under the scrutiny. Despite the fact he’d just fought off three men nearly twice his size, he suddenly felt… awkward. Small, even.

He cleared his throat. “Is something wrong?”

A pause. Then Xiao’s voice, softer than he’d ever heard it.

“…Your nose.”

Aether blinked, raised a hand to his face, and felt the sticky warmth of blood. He’d forgotten entirely.

“Oh. That. It’s fine. Just a scratch.” A white lie as his nose began to pulse again.

Xiao didn’t look convinced.

Without a word, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a handkerchief. Pristine. White. Silk. Probably worth more than Aether’s weekly pay. Ridiculous.

He held it out.

Aether hesitated, making eye contact with the prince, “Are you sure?”

“Take it,” Xiao said, rolling his eyes, but the gesture was anything but dismissive. His hand didn’t waver.

Aether took it gently, pressing the cloth to his nose. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled.

Xiao still didn’t look away.

His gaze tracked lower — over Aether’s ribs, where his hand had gone briefly. Over his shoulder, where his cloak had torn.

“Any other injuries?”

That voice. That tone. It was almost…concerened

Aether looked up, surprised by the question. That tone. That flicker of concern. It was so at odds with the distant, cold prince he’d guarded these past weeks.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Xiao cared.

“Just bruises,” he said quietly. “Nothing serious.”

Xiao’s brows drew together, just slightly.

“Do you need to return to the palace?”

Aether blinked. That question hit him harder than any of the blows earlier.

The prince, Xiao, was willing to abandon the errand, go back empty-handed… not for the safety of the crown, but for the sake of a bruised knight.

It was so absurdly kind, so impossible, that Aether almost laughed. But his throat was too tight.

“I’m fine to continue,” he said after a moment, more gently this time. “Thank you, Xiao.”

Xiao studied him a beat longer. Then, with a slight nod, he turned toward the window and tapped once on the carriage wall to alert the driver.

The wheels began to turn again.

The carriage rumbled forward into the morning sun.

But the silence that followed was not the same as before.

—

The tone during the trip was…different.

Aether was no stranger to silence. Most of their travels were quiet, punctuated only by the clatter of wheels or the occasional instruction. Xiao didn’t waste words — and Aether had long since stopped expecting them.

But something had shifted after the ambush.

Xiao was still composed. Still sharp-tongued and cool. But now… he spoke.

Not just in orders or clipped reprimands — but in actual conversation.

He dangled intricate jewelry in front of him with casual grace. He lifted vials of perfume for him to smell and asked if they would suit the emperor, his brow arched in inquiry.

Aether gave answers, clumsy at first. Xiao actually listened.

Sometimes he nodded. Sometimes he scoffed. But he listened. And Aether… couldn’t stop noticing.

It wasn’t just that Xiao talked. It was the way he did it — offhand, casual, like it had always been this way. As though he hadn't built walls of silence between them for weeks.

Aether had never done this with him before — never sat beside him as anything but a shadow while the prince made his rounds. He’d never been part of the conversation, only the protection.

But now?

Now Xiao looked at him when he spoke. Asked questions. Listened for real.

Maybe he was warming up to him.

Aether didn’t know why, or what had changed, but he found himself hoping — really hoping — that the prince wouldn’t retreat back into his cold shell once they returned to the palace.

He didn’t.

The change wasn’t loud. Xiao didn’t smile more. He didn’t laugh. But the space between them felt… lived in now. Looser around the edges. Aether wasn’t sure what it meant, but he clung to it all the same.

Sometimes, when Xiao wasn’t looking, Aether would glance at his hands.

Smooth and pale. The kind of soft that came from wealth, not fragility. He had scars too — faint ones, superficial, layered with old memory.

Aether’s hands were nothing like that. Calloused. Practical.

But sometimes — only sometimes — he imagined what it would feel like to lace his fingers between Xiao’s.

Just to see if they'd fit.

-3-

Aether hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Xiao was popular with the ladies.

And the occasional nobleman.

This had to be the hundredth time he’d witnessed someone grovel for the prince’s hand in marriage since his status as Crown Prince had been officially announced. Aether was half-impressed, half-appalled that Xiao hadn’t nodded off mid-proposal out of sheer boredom. He nearly had.

It was always the same: simpering smiles, empty flattery, calculated compliments so sweet they made Aether want to gag. All of it aimed at wooing the prince. None of it sincere.

Unable to endure it any longer, Aether leaned closer, his breath brushing against Xiao’s ear.

“Permission to step out, Xiao?”

Since the attack in the forest, he’d stopped using titles. Surprisingly, Xiao hadn’t corrected him.

And if the casual drop of his name made something flutter in Aether’s chest, well—no one had to know.

The prince gave a small nod, eyes still fixed on the noblewoman mid-monologue.

Aether bowed slightly and left the tea parlor, grateful to breathe in something that wasn’t thick perfume and desperate pleading. The corridor was beautifully decorated, tasteful in a way that spoke of wealth without being tacky. He passed a set of open kitchen doors, where the warm aroma of roasted meats and baked breads wafted out. Waiters lined up beside the wall, silver trays in hand, ready to deliver lunch.

He rounded the corner, then paused.

Voices. Low and hushed. Just ahead.

“...poison the wine?”

His blood froze.

“Yes, sneak it in before you serve it to him.”

“Got it.”

“What happens if it doesn’t work?”

The answer was too muffled for Aether to catch.

A shadow flickered across the wall — a man, tall and ginger, dressed like the other servers. He passed by, unaware of the knight pressed into the shadowed alcove behind him.

Aether held his breath. Waited.

Once the man had disappeared around the bend, Aether moved.

He couldn’t go back the same way. If he spooked the would-be assassin too soon, the plan might change — or worse, succeed. He looped through the outer corridor, boots silent on the marble, cutting across the length of the hall until he slipped back inside the parlor just as the noblewoman was nearing the end of her pitch.

Xiao’s gaze found him immediately. A flicker of inquiry.

Aether gave the prince a small shake of the head, not here, not now, and resumed his post behind him. But his thoughts were already racing.

The wine.

They were going to poison the wine.

His eyes darted to the far doors just as the servant entered with a silver tray and two gleaming goblets which were placed before Xiao and the visiting noblewoman.

The moment the tray was angled toward the light, Aether saw it.

The wine shimmered too much. Not the rich gleam of vintage spirits, but something else—synthetic, magical, wrong. And etched along the rim of the goblet was a string of symbols. He couldn’t read it, but he recognized the script: Snezhnayan.

Of course. The diplomat, a noblewoman from the Snezhnayan delegation, had been unusually persistent, unusually smooth. Snezhnaya had always maintained a tense relationship with Liyue, their peace talks delicate at best. This was no proposal. This was a ploy.

Aether couldn’t let Xiao consume the wine. He hoped that other guards would be able to capture the culprits in time.

Aether moved forward before he could second-guess himself.

“Allow me, Xiao,” he said quietly. “It’s tradition for the personal guard to drink first.”

A flicker of something passed in Xiao’s golden eyes—concern, confusion, something unreadable. But he nodded, allowing Aether to take the goblet.

“You dare let your servant drink wine meant for you?” the noblewoman said sharply. Her voice was tinged with outrage, but something faltered at the edges—panic.

“He is not my servant,” Xiao snapped. “He is my guard. What I permit him to do is none of your concern.”

She recoiled, trying to recover her composure. With a dismissive wave, she lifted her own goblet and sipped, her eyes carefully avoiding Aether.

Aether met the server’s gaze—briefly. Just long enough for the man’s forced smile to falter.

He lifted the goblet, hesitated only for a breath, and drank.

The liquid hit his tongue like fire.

Not the warm burn of wine. Something colder. Cruel.

It slid down his throat like acid, burning everything it touched. His stomach turned violently. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. The edges of his vision fuzzed, colors dimming, sound warping. He placed the cup back on the table with a quiet clink.

Aether looked up, the waiter and noblewoman were pale, looking like they just saw a ghost. He gave them a polite smile, nodding at Xiao.

“I need a moment,” he murmured. “It’s… stuffy in here.”

Xiao’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve just returned,” he said slowly, suspicion tightening in his voice.

Aether didn’t reply, turning on his heel and leaving the room, keeping his steps even, and masking the tremble in his fingers. Each step was harder than the last.

He made it just past the door.

Then his knees gave out.

His back hit the wall, and he slid to the ground, hand clutching his chest as his heart pounded like a war drum. Heat surged through his body, then a chill. He clenched his teeth, trying to keep from crying out, but a low groan escaped him as his vision narrowed.

Inside, chairs scraped. Someone shouted. Footsteps.

The doors burst open.

“Aether?!”

Xiao’s voice cut through the haze like a blade. A moment later, hands were at his shoulders, pulling him upright.

Aether’s head lolled sideways. Something warm trailed from the corner of his mouth.

Archons, he hoped it wasn’t drool.

A soft thumb brushed his lip.

Xiao went still.

It was blood.

“Oh,” Aether breathed. Then he coughed—once, twice—before a fresh spill of red dripped onto his tunic and across the silk of Xiao’s hanfu..

“You idiot,” Xiao whispered, but his voice cracked around the word.

Aether’s body jerked again—convulsing this time, fingers spasming as darkness curled in at the edges. His fingers fumbled for Xiao’s sleeve and clung weakly.

“Stay with me,” Xiao hissed, arms tightening around him. “I said stay—!”

There were more footsteps now. Yells for guards. For doctors. Xiao’s palm cupped the back of Aether’s head, fingers threading gently through his sweat-damp hair, grounding him, trying to hold him here.

But Aether's grip was slipping.

“Just hold on,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare go.”

Aether’s eyes fluttered. The world tilted sideways.

The last thing he heard was Xiao’s voice, ragged and furious and scared, calling his name into the silence.

—

It was dark.

Not the suffocating kind, but something softer. A quiet kind of black, like drifting beneath a calm sea, the current rocking him gently as if the world were holding its breath. He felt weightless. Detached.

But not alone.

Something warm was cradling his hand—solid, steady, smooth fingers laced between his own. A thumb brushed softly across his knuckles, over and over in slow, distracted circles. Familiar. Grounding.

The cot beneath him dipped slightly with a shift in weight. Then, a second touch—cooler—swept gently across his brow, smoothing back strands of hair damp with sweat.

“You fool,” a voice whispered.

Sharp, trembling. Cracked not with anger, but something far more fragile.

“What were you thinking?”

Aether wanted to answer, to reach out, to smile and say I’d do it again, but his body wouldn't move. His mouth stayed closed. Heavy. Helpless.

“You’re not allowed to die.” A pause followed. A shaky breath. Then softer, almost broken:

“Not like that. Not for me.”

Silence settled in the room, but the hand never left his. Its grip tightened just slightly, as if afraid he might slip away.

And Aether, in the depths of his still-sleeping mind, tried to hold on.

-4-

Aether's nose crinkled at the sudden stench curling through the air — acrid and heavy. He dismissed it at first, chalking it up to something smoldering in the communal kitchen, perhaps. But the smell thickened, clinging to his throat like oil.

He stood, fastening the clasps of his armor with deliberate speed, though dawn had not yet kissed the sky.

The castle halls beyond his door were still dark. Quiet.

Something was wrong.

A glance out the window halted his movements. He had expected to see the usual ink-black sky.

Instead, he saw red.

Smoke.

His breath hitched. The horizon glowed not with morning light, but with the violent flicker of flames licking up the castle walls.

Without another thought, he seized the last of his armor and grabbed his helmet, bolting into the hallway. Heat hit him first. Then came the shouts — panicked, disjointed — and the ever-growing roar of the fire.

The sky was glowing — not with the coming sun, but with the yellows and oranges of flames spreading violently across the east wing. Flames curled over stone, devouring the castle’s edges like paper.

Outside, the training grounds had become a staging ground for chaos. Servants milled about in frightened clusters, some shouting names, others frozen in disbelief. Aether’s eyes swept the scene, landing briefly on the emperor, flanked by a woman with red horns —Ganyu, the royal secretary.

The fire hadn’t been contained. In fact, it was growing — the whisper of flames matched only by the rising volume of voices.

“...Crown Prince?”

“Did you see them?”

“Rex Lapis, please could they have escaped through the west wing?”

Panic lanced through Aether. That’s who was missing.

Xiao.

He wasn’t in the yard. He hadn’t made it out.

Aether’s heart thudded violently in his chest as he broke into a run. Unlike his own quarters, Xiao’s chambers were near the top of the eastern spire — dangerously close to the origin of the fire.

He tore through the crowd, ignoring the startled voices that rose in his wake.

The castle groaned around him — timber snapping, stone cracking. His armor clanged with each step, the sound swallowed by the hungry growl of the inferno. He shoved his helmet into place, securing it as smoke curled inside the visor. His lungs burned, his eyes stung.

He kept going.

He climbed, floor by floor, the smoke thickening with every step. The heat was stifling, and though his helmet shielded his lungs from the worst of it, it did little to stop the sweat that poured down his neck. His hair clung to his face in sticky, matted strands. It felt like he’d been dropped into a Natlan sauna — only this wasn’t steam. This was fire.

His skin prickled beneath the armor, each piece of metal like a furnace pressed against his body. Breathing was becoming harder. Shallow. Ragged.

The walls groaned, the structure itself crying out. Somewhere above, something cracked. Below him, the stairwell hissed with flame. Still, he climbed.

Finally, he reached Xiao’s floor.

He ran blindly through the corridor, eyes focused on the door at the end — and nearly missed the figure staggering along the opposite wall.

“Xiao!”

The prince turned sharply, eyes wild. His nightclothes were soaked through with sweat, hair stuck to his forehead in limp strands. He was upright — barely — and moving not toward the exit, but deeper into the hallway.

Xiao opened his mouth to speak, but a coughing fit overtook him. His shoulders shook violently with each breath.

Aether sprinted to his side, slipping under his arm to keep him upright. “Xiao—what are you doing?! The stairs are the other way!”

“Qiqi…” Xiao choked out, voice hoarse. He doubled over with a fit of coughing. “She’s still… she didn’t… I have to—”

Aether caught him before he could fall.

“Hey—no. No, listen to me,” Aether said, grabbing his shoulders. “You’re not going back in there. Here’s the plan.”

He took a deep breath, then pulled off his helmet. The moment he did, the smoke hit full force — it clawed down his throat and scorched his lungs. His eyes burned, watering instantly. It was like being plunged into ash.

He shoved the helmet into Xiao’s hands. “Put this on and go downstairs. Find the others. I’ll get the princess.”

“But—”

A splintering crash interrupted him — a flaming beam dropped from the ceiling just a few feet away, spraying sparks across the hall.

“Now, Xiao!” Aether barked, tapping the helmet urgently. “Go!”

Xiao hesitated, staring at him with wide, conflicted eyes. Then he gave a sharp nod, shoved the helmet on, and stumbled toward the stairs, barely looking back.

Aether swallowed, his throat raw. He watched until Xiao was gone, then turned toward the deeper corridor.

The hall had started to collapse in places, stone scorched and floorboards sagging underfoot. The smoke was suffocating. Without the helmet, every breath was agony. Sweat drenched his back, and his hair stuck to his face. He felt like he was being cooked alive.

His breathing grew ragged. He coughed violently, slapping a hand to his mouth.

When he pulled it away, his glove was slick with something black. Not soot — thicker. Sticky.

Phlegm, dark and thick as tar.

He stared at it for a heartbeat too long.

Then he kept moving.

He knew the way. He had escorted Xiao and Qiqi to their playdates countless times. She was a sweet kid — forgetful, often called him the wrong name — but kind. Bright. Aether had no doubt she would grow up to do great things.

He reached Qiqi’s door.

Or what was left of it. The upper half had splintered, the frame blackened. The handle was warped from heat. He shoved against it with his shoulder once, then twice, until it groaned open on brittle hinges.

The room inside was thick with smoke, but the fire hadn’t touched everything yet. The flames licked along the far corner, devouring curtains and creeping across the edge of a bookshelf.

“Qiqi!”

Silence.

Then, soft, rasping breath. He turned, eyes adjusting through the haze.

She lay curled under the blankets, clutching a ragged doll. Barely conscious. Her skin as pale as porcelain.

Aether rushed to her side, pulling the sheets back.

“Qiqi,” Aether breathed, kneeling beside her. His lungs burned, and his voice came out hoarse. “Princess—we have to go.”

She didn’t stir.

He reached for her shoulders gently, giving her a light shake. “Qiqi. It’s me, Aether. We need to leave, now.”

She twitched faintly. Her head turned. “...Too loud.”

Aether glanced back at the door. The fire was catching faster now—the heat pressing in from all sides. He had no time to coax her.

“I know,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice soft. “I’m sorry. I’ll carry you, okay? Just hold on to me.”

He slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her carefully. She was lighter than he expected—fragile, almost cold to the touch despite the heat that threatened to suffocate them both.

She didn’t resist. She tucked herself against his chest like a doll, one tiny hand curling unconsciously in the fabric at his collar.

Aether stood, readjusting his grip. The air was thicker now, nearly opaque, and he had to squint to make out the hallway. His throat ached. His body screamed for rest. But he ran.

The ceiling groaned overhead, and embers rained down as he passed under the broken door frame. Smoke bit at his eyes, blurring the path forward. He held Qiqi tighter, shielding her with his body as he retraced his steps.

One flight of stairs, then another.

His lungs burned.

The staircase blurred beneath his feet — stone, smoke, heat, all melting into the same pulsing haze. Aether kept his arms tight around Qiqi, her small frame tucked against his chest, her face hidden beneath his chin.

He couldn’t feel his legs anymore. Could barely hear his own foodsteps over the blood rushing in his ears.

The air grew cooler as he descended, but it didn’t feel like relief, it felt like collapse.

He saw light.

Real light. Morning light, diffused through the smoke and fog and shouting voices. And people. So many people. A lot more people than what there was before he went inside the castle.

Aether stumbled through the half-collapsed archway that led out to the grounds. As soon as he stepped into the open air, the noise of the world crashed back in: gasps, cries, orders being barked.

Someone screamed, “It’s him! The knight! He has the Princess!”

But Aether didn’t hear them. He only heard the sound of his own breath — ragged and shallow, catching in his chest like he was still drowning in smoke.

And then—

“Aether—!”

Xiao’s voice cut through everything.

Aether turned his head, vision swimming. Xiao was running toward him — helmet tucked under his arm, eyes wide. His face was streaked with ash and tears he probably didn’t even realize were there.

He reached Aether just as his knees buckled.

“Hey—” Xiao caught him by the arms, steadying him as he sank to the ground. Aether went with it, not fighting anymore. His body had nothing left to give.

He knelt in the dirt, cradling Qiqi in his lap with trembling arms. He couldn’t speak. He just breathed — or tried to. His chest rattled with every inhale. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Xiao dropped to his knees beside them. His eyes darted between Aether and the little girl in his arms, too overwhelmed to say anything. He reached forward with hesitant hands, brushing Qiqi’s hair out of her face.

She was okay. Her lips were pale, but she was breathing. Her hand was still curled in Aether’s tunic.

“I…” Aether’s voice cracked. “I got her out.”

“I see that,” Xiao whispered. “I see.”

His voice broke at the end.

He looked at Aether like he didn’t know whether to scold him or hold him. And Aether couldn’t meet his gaze — not yet. His eyes stung too much. From smoke. From something else.

A stretcher was being wheeled towards them. Qiqi was carefully picked up from his arms before another set was lifting Aether too, placing him on the soft mattress.

Xiao held his arm lightly. “You’re—burned,” he said, as if just realizing it. “Your hair—your skin, it’s—”

“I’m fine,” Aether rasped.

“You’re not.” Xiao’s brows knit together. ““Why did you do that?” Xiao asked. His voice came out quieter than he meant it to. Raw around the edges.

Aether blinked slowly, like the question didn’t make sense. “She was still inside.”

“No. I mean before that.” Xiao looked at him fully now, and his voice sharpened. “You didn’t know she was there when you ran in.”

Aether didn’t answer right away. He just watched the ground — the ash-softened dirt, the soot coating his boots, the faint prints left where he had stumbled out.

“I saw the crowd,” he murmured. “The servants. The soldiers. The emperor.”

He swallowed hard.

“But not you.”

“I looked for you, and you weren’t there.” Aether turned his head, meeting his eyes at last. His face was streaked with sweat and soot and something achingly honest. “I didn’t even think. I just ran.”

Xiao opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Aether turned his gaze downward again, voice quieter. “If I hadn’t seen you—” He exhaled sharply. “I wouldn’t have stopped. I would’ve gone all the way to the top.”

Xiao’s throat tightened. “You could have died.”

“I know.”

“You almost did.”

“I know that too.”

His hands were empty now. He didn’t know what to do with them.

Xiao stared at Qiqi as she was being examined by the physicians and then looked up again. “You’re… such a fool.”

“Probably.”

“You weren’t even heading for the stairs,” Aether murmured. “You were going after her. You couldn’t even stand, and still…”

“She’s my sister,” Xiao said.

“I know,” Aether murmured. “And you… you’re you.”

“You went back for her,” Xiao said, softer now. “Even after you found me.”

“I couldn’t let you lose her,” Aether answered. “Not after seeing your face.”

Xiao’s breath hitched. He turned his head, as if looking away could keep the tears from forming — but it didn’t.

Aether leaned forward slightly, swaying with the effort, and Xiao instinctively reached out to steady him. Their hands met — Xiao’s fingers warm, Aether’s skin like fevered iron beneath the armor.

The fire still crackled in the distance. The sky above them was grey with smoke, the first light of morning barely pushing through. Somewhere nearby, soldiers called for order. Water was being hauled, plans shouted, injuries counted.

Aether closed his eyes, exhausted.

And felt lips press to his forehead.

-+1-

Snezhnaya declared war on Liyue not long after their failed assassination attempt on Xiao, demanding the return of the 8th and 11th Fatui Harbingers without reparations. The Emperor denied the request outright — not just on principle, but with venom. He wanted the Tsaritsa herself to stand trial. He had already arranged with the Regina to hold the proceedings on Fontaine’s neutral soil.

Instead, a declaration of war arrived by letter.

Xiao demanded to fight.

He was a prince, yes. But before that, a Yaksha — a warrior born in war, sharpened by it, haunted by it. The palace could dress him in silk and jade, but it couldn’t strip the fire from his blood. His weapon was not just a symbol. It was survival. The generals protested. The Emperor hesitated.

Aether begged.

Because to Aether, Xiao wasn’t just the crown. He was him.

But he went anyway.

He found Xiao gearing up in the cold light of dawn, hands steady as he strapped on his armor. His spear leaned against the wall, its tip shining even in the dimness.

Aether had no say in the matter. Not truly. And yet he had tried, that last morning.

“Xiao,” he said, as the prince secured the plates of his armor. “Please. Just this once. Stay behind.”

Xiao didn’t meet his eyes. “You know what I was before I was called Crown Prince, right?”

Aether hesitated. He’d heard rumors. Whispers of a war god. A shadow. A monster.

But he shook his head anyway.

Xiao finally turned to face him, jaw tight. “I was a Yaksha,” he said. “I can handle myself.”

“But what if something happens to you?”

Xiao's eyes flickered. A beat of silence passed.

“It won’t.”

He turned, finally meeting Aether’s eyes. There was no softness in his voice — only command.

“As your prince, I order you to drop this conversation. I’m going.”

Aether had bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

It felt like losing something.

—

The battle was chaos.

What had begun as an organized formation had devolved into a bloodbath. Steel clashed on ice. Bodies fell. Arrows sliced through frozen air like shrieking birds.

But the battlefield was silent now. What remained was snow, red, and steel.

Aether limped across the frost, his ankle throbbing where a skirmisher had clipped him. The cold made it worse — every step like moving through tar, his joints stiff, armor biting into his skin.

Snezhnayan winters were no joke.

He hated to admit it, but part of him wished the battle had taken place on Liyuean soil. At least there, he wouldn’t feel like a doll with faulty articulation.

Most soldiers — Liyuean and Snezhnayan alike — had already fled or fallen. The silence was eerie. A battlefield with too few survivors always was.

And Xiao...

Aether hadn’t seen him in minutes. Minutes that stretched into eons.

He spun in place, searching the field — eyes sweeping blood, bodies, broken blades.

Then he saw him.

Xiao was crouched low beside a pile of debris, spear still in hand, chest heaving. His face was streaked with ash and gore. He looked exhausted. There was no visible injury — and that alone was enough to make Aether’s pulse settle, just for a breath.

Despite everything — the snow, the blood, the ruin — Xiao was beautiful.

Aether started toward him, relief blooming like warmth in his chest.

He almost called out—

Then he saw it.

One of the corpses twitched.

Corpses don’t move.

A Snezhnayan soldier rose with a grunt — leg nearly gone, face pale, arm wobbly as he lifted a bloodstained claymore and moved toward Xiao’s unguarded back.

Aether didn’t think.

He ran.

The sword came down.

And Aether threw himself between them.

They hit the ground in a tangled blur of armor and snow. Xiao gasped. Aether grunted, shoulder slamming into the frozen dirt.

“Xiao,” Aether panted, breath hitching. “Are you okay?”

Xiao stared at him, wide-eyed. Not in relief.

In horror.

He didn’t answer.

His gaze dropped.

Then lifted again, slow and disbelieving.

“Aether…” he breathed.

“What?” Aether asked, glancing behind him. “Let me finish him first—”

“No,” Xiao whispered. “Let me.”

The Snezhnayan attacker lay still now — truly dead this time, what remained of his leg a mess of frozen blood and torn flesh. The effort had taken the rest of his energy.

His sword was gone.

But Xiao was still holding Aether.

And his hands were shaking.

Aether started to push himself up — only for Xiao to push him gently back down.

Aether frowned. “What’s—”

“Aether… don’t move,” Xiao said. His voice was shaking. “Please. Just—don’t.”

Aether stilled. “Why?”

Xiao’s jaw clenched. He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his eyes lowered to Aether’s torso.

The snow was red.

Aether followed his gaze and saw it.

The sword. Protruding clean through his body. The tip glinted with blood just beneath his ribs. The hilt jutted from his back like a mockery.

He hadn’t even felt it at first.

Just pressure.

Now—

Now he felt everything.

Aether’s breath caught. His vision blurred. The scream tore from his throat unbidden, sharp and ragged. Pain bloomed like fire through his chest, white-hot and unbearable.

He curled inward instinctively.

“Hey,” Xiao said quickly, his hand flying to Aether’s cheek. “Don’t move. Just breathe. I’m here.”

“I can’t,” Aether whispered, eyes scrunching shut. “Xiao, it hurts—archons, it hurts so much.”

“I know.” Xiao was already pulling off his cloak, pressing it to the wound. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

Blood soaked through the cloak in seconds.

He lowered Aether onto his lap. Cradled him like something precious. Aether could feel the panic in him — in his touch, in his silence. His hands were slick with blood. The snow around them had gone crimson.

“You’re okay,” Xiao whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

Aether knew that was a lie.

He tried to breathe, but it came in shallow gasps. The cold was gone now. Everything was warm. Too warm. He blinked slowly, lashes wet, eyes clouding.

He had to say it.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he mumbled.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Xiao said. His voice broke. “You shouldn’t have—”

“But I did.”

“You always—why do you always do this?”

Aether looked up at him. “Because I never wanted to protect the crown. Okay well, maybe at first”

Xiao’s let out a small chuckle before his breath hitched.

“I wanted to protect you.”

That shattered something in him.

“You did,” Xiao whispered. “You always do. Every damn time.”

Silence fell. The kind that ached. The kind that was already mourning.

Snowflakes drifted down, catching in Aether’s hair, melting against his skin.

“Don’t,” Xiao said. “Don’t go. Don’t you dare.”

Aether was still now. Too still. He could barely see now.

“I think…” His voice barely audible. “I’m tired.”

“No. No, not yet. Stay with me.”

Xiao clutched his hand. Fingers trembling.

“Aether,” he breathed. “Look at me.”

Aether did.

Barely.

Then Xiao leaned down.

And kissed him.

It was soft. Shaking. Tasting of tears and iron. But it held every word Xiao had never said. Every regret. Every prayer.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he whispered against Aether’s lips. “I should’ve… archons, I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to.”

“I do,” Xiao breathed. “I love you. I love you. Thank you for protecting me.”

Aether’s lips curled faintly.

Then the light left his eyes.

Xiao held him long after the snow stopped falling.

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