An uncomfortable, stifling weight had encased the hearts of Teyvat’s Watchers for months, pressing down on their chests, stifling their breath. And yet, the people of Teyvat had not called on them.
Life still lived, someone lived to call upon them, and yet nothing opened the gate between them and their sibling world. So, as agreed upon millenniums ago, they would not interfere. As long as the people believed they could handle it, the twins would watch on.
But why did it affect them so?
When Teyvat finally, finally called, the twins rushed to its side.
Within the temple, an audience awaited; humans, adepti, yokai, Archons, and… humans, adepti, yokai, Archons, and Divinity—and Mother. Their first thought, before the lights faded, was that the foolish mortals had thought to make preparations before completing their end of the Watcher’s Vow, calling upon them when the Divine One returned, the discomfort they felt trying to inform them that they had failed their half.
And when the light faded, revealing a temple unable to be maintained by mortal hand, agony wrenched apart their hearts.
The thousandth star dies and the next draws first breath, Their first fragment shall return to favored lands when deception meets its death.
And yet, there Mother’s broken form lain limp across the stone floors they’d crafted themself, while deception grinned down at them with a sadistic smirk.
Mother hurts, their hearts cry, Mother hurts.
Mother hurts and the children rage.
Cyres hits the ground by them first, dusting the chains, dusting their pain, dusting everything and anything that comes too close, too close, too close to the dearest existence he knows. Mother isn’t supposed to hurt, he thinks, hugging your healing form closer as you go limp. Mother is supposed to smile at us and laugh when Cryas is being an idiot and scold us when we take things to far and read us stories from civilizations before us when we’re upset even though we all say we’re too old for it. Mother is supposed to be happy.
He can feel Cryas’ powers at work, restoring Mother once Cyres had cleaned the rot. Cryas, who was dumb and brash and had too much fun with things; Cyres trusted no one more to make these heathens suffer.
“You.” Destruction seethed, intent on getting his part in. “You foolish mortals—” Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. Cyres forged the Watcher’s Vow for a reason. “Have you forgotten our deal?”
For every single second since Mother’s passing, the brothers had watched and waited, ever heeding of Teyvat’s call. They’d let multiverses rot and crumble for the preservation of a single planet. They’d allow destruction to collapse in on itself, creation to run rampant, if it meant their Mother’s chosen place would be able to call when the time came.
One thing, they’d asked for one thing in return.
The oldest of the ‘gods’, a snivelling child to the two, found his voice first. “Their first fragment will return to favored lands when deception meets its end,” he recited. “We bring you the deceiver.”
“You bring us Mother in chains!” Cryas bellowed, the earth trembling under his rage. “You cater to the every whim of deception and dare to recite the words we taught you?!”
Mother hurts, Cryas’ very soul screams, Mother suffers.
Whenever Cryas threw a fit in the past, he remembers being lightly scolded and brought to calm down. He remembers each and every technique and lesson Mother taught him to control his rage, he remembers their voice reminding him to be kind.
But Mother wasn’t awake right now, and these heathens would be punished.
“You have the nerve, the audacity, to stand there and claim yourself faithful?” He spat. “I’ll tear you limb from limb—no, I’ll make you wish I’d been so kind!”
He’d tear their very souls to shreds, he’d skin them alive and salt their flesh, he’d never let them die from shock or loss, he’d never let their nerves fail them, he’d—
“You must be mistaken!” Some wind sprite tries to insist. “We—”
“Mistaken?” Cryas echoes. “MISTAKEN?”
“Who here wrote those prophecies? Who here was woven together by Mother’s very own hand? Who here is tied to Them in ways you’ll never understand?” Cryas spat, snarling at the group. He stalked forward, spitting profanities in languages so obscure and ancient even Mother would have trouble recalling them. Wake up, a part of him whimpered, wake up and scold me like you always would. “We founded the Vow. We have spent millenia watching over this good for nothing world for Mother’s return, we are Mother’s Faithful. And we gave you one job.”
He stopped a mere meter away from the mortals, who tried so hard to hide their fear. “Call upon us the moment of Mother’s arrival. Even if you thought this—” he grimaced at the sight. “—this thing could ever be Mother, you should have called us.” His eyes shifted to the dragonling and wind sprite. “Welcoming Mother is our right. Destroying the deception is our right.”
His lips curled up in a sadistic grin, a crazed glint flashing through his eyes.
In a single swift movement, Cryas took the imposter by the throat, nails digging into their skin, tearing it like paper, and raised them into the air. “Speaking of…” Oh, he’d always thought it’d be so difficult to destroy something with Mother’s visage, but his bloodlust had never been so intoxicating. “We were going to let you off with death, perhaps a painful one if you were… uncooperative.”
The fools surrounding him tried to attack, tried to retrieve their false icon, as though they could harm Creation itself. No, all they succeeded in doing was bloodying the fighting body in his hands.
“But to torture Mother so… to call upon us to harm them…” Cryas laughed, a crazed, unhinged thing. “Oh, how I’ve been wanting a plaything. I’ll be sure to listen to you begging for death whenever I get too bored.” The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. “I’m sure Mother will be glad I’ve found somewhere to redirect my frustrations, they were always telling me to find a hobby I enjoy.”
Only once the struggles ceased, did Cryas throw their body to the floor.
Only the inhabitants of the cursed world remained. Cryas was a filial son, he’d wait for Mother to decided Teyvat’s fate, but for now…
He cracked his knuckles, grinning at all his new prey. “Do make this interesting for me, won’t you?” He didn’t bother even calling upon a weapon, instead slamming the wind sprite into the ground by his hair. “Scream a lot and try to run away, that always makes it more fun.”
“Oh, and, don’t bother trying to die.”
