A wrecked ship jerkily descends into the Xianzhou Luofu's dock. From its splintered doors emerges a lone borisin, bleeding and begging for asylum. While the Seat of Divine Foresight hesitates to follow his pleas, it is not within their nature to kill surrendered enemies. Will you hear Yaruf out, change his bandages, and maybe change people's minds? Or will you do what the Cloud Knights won't? Oh, we know what you're capable of. But we won't judge. Ultimately, the choice is yours.
Dainsleif, despite the colder man he has become over his long and many years of hardship, far removed from the young knight full of hope that he had once been, still feels an odd stirring in his heart when it came to circumstances like these. Pity, and a deep sorrow, fills those ocean blue eyes as he stares down at the man before him, the darkened stars within those eyes long since having been plunged into the depths of despair. Though his expression is surely one of pity, the man’s eyes hold nothing but empty promises and a long saga of suffering that hadn’t yet found its conclusion.
As always, the former knight captain cannot help but to think of his own men, and their own terrible circumstances that kept them trapped in suffering until the end of all days. Transformed by their curse, they knew little more than instinct now, knew only to follow the last orders that he had managed to give before he had never been able to behold any of their faces again.
He knows naught of Yaruf’s circumstances, but when he thinks of the past, and of the men he had left behind as he was the only one able to retain his sanity and memories, never quite sure of what had happened to them after Khaenri’ah’s fall…
If it had been one of his own men, stumbling their way into one of the nations of the Seven and pleading for help from the depths of their desperate heart… he never would have blamed them. He would understand that in that moment, survival had been the main priority, irregardless of anyone’s thoughts on the Seven and their citizens. He couldn’t hold any blame towards them for that.
He cannot help but to feel a deep pity for the man, an old and nearly forgotten knightly sense of duty starting to stir once more in his chest. The whispers he had heard as he had made his way here also stir, starting to bother him deeply… did it truly matter if this man had been an enemy to them once? Hurt and with no other options to turn to, whether one was an enemy or an ally could be all but disregarded.
Though… Dainsleif can’t help but wonder… why does Yaruf shrink away from him as if he is so terrified of him? It wasn’t as if Dainsleif was from beyond the stars of Teyvat, no reason to be afraid of him because of that. (Though, speaking of this vast universe, a small bit of anger awakens inside of the Khaenri’ahn, wondering if he would ever run into an old friend turned enemy if he kept finding himself places like this. Wondering if their swords would clash were they ever to meet again.)
Sure, he did cut quite the imposing figure: tall, dressed in dark clothing, expression always seeming to be set in a frown with eyes that had long since been devoid of light. But the once noble and cheerful Knight Captain of the Black Serpents still lingers in there somewhere, deep down below all the anger and pain as he walks through each day all too aware of his torment.
He attempts to channel some of his former self now, gently offering his left hand out - not his right, never his right - and tries to smile politely as he clears his throat, “You don’t have to be afraid, I don’t intend to hurt you at all. In fact, I would much rather wish to help your situation than to harm it further.”
Yaruf is barely able to sputter out in return, “You may not hurt me… but he definitely will!”
And now the knight can only wonder: who in the world is this “he” he’s so scared of?
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