Chapter Text
A tiny sparrow springs to life from the dust collected in Albedo's hands. It hops across his palm and pecks at his fingers. He can feel the tremble of its body as it fluffs itself up, feathers shivering.
This is the first time he's managed to summon a living creature from the earth itself. Plants are a lot different, less complex. They don't breathe quite so vividly.
Tiny claws dig into his skin as the sparrow leans forward, and pushes itself off into the air, spreading its wings of first flight. Albedo's eyes sparkle in wonder as he observes it carefully. One flap, two flaps—
It doesn't get more than two feet away from him before it falls apart, melting into flesh and bone, crumbling back into dust that falls at his feet.
Albedo can do nothing but stare blankly. He's never failed an assignment before.
"Master, I—"
"Good," Rhinedottir tells him. "The results are exactly as I expected. The sediment in this domain isn't rich enough to sustain such a lifeform for too long."
Then, she tosses to him an empty satchel that he fumbles to catch. They'll be venturing deeper into the domain today. Pack up, she says. But as Albedo spurs into action, his limbs feel heavy in a way he doesn't understand.
This is the way Albedo has been living out his existence for as long as he can remember. He's never been without an assignment to work on, and he's never been without his master, his maker. The life she has gifted him with is simple, and he never has to look further than the task in front of him.
So Albedo pays the incident no mind until much later, when his understanding of the world has grown by leaps. It is much later, when Rhinedottir finds the Heart, and begins her preparations. Change is in the air.
She bestows upon him his final assignment: to find the truth and the meaning of this world.
Clutching his master's note to his chest, Albedo opens his mouth to speak. There are a million things he could say to her, that he wants to say to her, all weighing down on him. Nothing has ever been heavy in this way before. It is in this precise moment that he recalls the newly-sprung bird that fell apart before him, all that time ago.
"Master... what was the purpose of the sparrow, if it was doomed from the beginning?"
The smile that Rhinedottir gives him is one that reveals nothing.
"My Chalk Prince," she says, opening her mouth to speak another one of her wisdoms. Albedo looks up at her expectantly, but she seems to change her mind. She shakes her head. "No… it's nothing."
Instead, she holds out her cupped hands in front of her, a pose that Albedo is intensely familiar with. He leans closer in anticipation.
A beautiful Cecilia flower, with pristine white petals, blooms into life from her open palms.
"The things of this world don't last forever. I guess you can start with that," she says. And perhaps, in order for him to learn it once and a thousand times more—so he would know it by heart—she leaves him, with not even a single goodbye.
The Cecilia flower tucked into his hair dies within a day.
—✧—
I hope I'm not overthinking things. When parents tell their children of 'the meaning of this world...' They must mean living a happy life, right?
—✧—
He has made many a discovery in the wake of his master's departure—like how sweet a bite of sunsettia can taste on a hot day, how long and awful rainy nights can be on a continuous journey. How big the world seems when you're completely alone in it.
It's not as if it's his first time walking among the general populace of Teyvat. He and Rhinedottir spent most of their time diving into various ruins and domains around the land, yes, but every now and then they would resurface to consolidate data, stock up on supplies, have a meal or two.
He has travelled this open road under this same bright sun many times with his master who guided him, who was always by his side. Albedo knows the route to Mondstadt well. And yet, the sun seems so much harsher than he remembers, the road so much longer.
For things that were once familiar to now feel strange, the change of variable must lie within the observer himself. The world is bigger, everything is so much more, and in comparison, Albedo is nothing but his sketchbook, his small bag of things, and the clothes on his back.
On one of those long and rainy nights that he waits out at an inn, a man rushes into the reception, shivering and dripping all over the floor, wetter than the small white cat cradled in his arms, protected from the rain by the man's tall stature.
The man curls himself around his cat, muttering words of relief. It swats a lazy paw at his nose, and he giggles breathlessly. The sound of it is quiet but clear, even among the pounding of the rain and the acoustics of the inn.
Something about the scene shines. Golden, Albedo thinks, as if the sun might peek out at any moment.
The receptionist at the counter quietly smiles to herself and looks away, to let the man keep his instance of joy to himself. Albedo offers no such courtesy. He pulls out his sketchbook.
It's a habit of his, when confronted with something unfamiliar, to reproduce its image in pencil and paper. The act of careful observation that such a task requires of him is what brings forth the clarity he seeks in his research tasks.
Here, however, there is nothing unfamiliar, nothing to carefully analyze and break apart into components. A man's quiet laugh is not an unusual sight, but there is still something about it that urges Albedo's hands into movement. Something bright and fleeting, something to be treasured.
He must catch it, before it gets washed away with the drear of the rain.
So Albedo infuses it all onto the piece of paper in front of him. A moment of joy, preserved.
When the movement of his pencil finally stops, Albedo tears off the sketch from its binding and hands it out freely to the subject of his art. The man blinks rapidly, wide-eyed at Albedo's approach.
"Oh," Albedo pauses, a sudden hesitation in his step. Manners would probably help in this situation. "I hope you don't mind that I drew you without asking. This is for you. Treat it as a gift."
The man looks down at the image of himself and rewards Albedo with another smile. Strange, he thinks, how a person can emit such warmth with just a simple expression.
"Thank you," says the man with the warm and kind smile, "I'll be sure to keep this lovely piece with me."
Albedo watches as he takes great care rolling the sketch up and sliding it into his pouch. To think that something he drew with his own hands could be valued with such sentiment. This is, perhaps, what you would call a work of art.
As soon as he returns to his seat, Albedo is hit with the sudden awareness of time lost. The thought of sketching human faces had never occurred to him before. Not when he saw the face of his master every day. Not when he could simply call out her name to have her turn his way.
Albedo doesn't have a name for it yet, but the pinch of tightness he feels in his chest is what he would soon come to know as regret.
Even as he flips to a fresh page and lays down the first stroke of his pencil, he already knows that he would never be able to capture her likeness in a way that would satisfy him. Still, he spends hours with his head bent over at the table.
At the end of the day, Albedo climbs into his bed, exhausted. He never thought that living and breathing would feel this complicated.
Albedo reaches over to the dresser to turn the light off. Charcoal-smudged hands close the sketchbook on the faint, incomplete outline of a faceless woman.
—✧—
Albedo meets Klee on his first assigned task in Mondstadt: surprise babysitting duty.
"Treat her like your real little sister from now on," Alice says, foisting her daughter off onto him, not caring that he's never even held a child in his arms before. Then she leaves with a cheerful wave, off to bother the Knights about building him a space for his laboratory.
The little girl is unbothered as Albedo shifts her weight from side to side to find a more secure grip. He gives up and simply places her on the ground. She opens her hands to reveal a small collection of brightly wrapped candy. Sweetflower mints.
"Mama said I should share my things if I want to make friends," Klee says.
Albedo pops one into his mouth, a burst of flavour across his taste buds. "I've never made a friend before," he tells her.
Klee thinks for a moment and nods vigorously, the feather on her hat bouncing with each movement. "Me too! The other kids here don't really like to play together with me. They say I'm too rough."
"That's okay," Albedo says. "I have time now. I'll play together with you."
So she takes him by the hand, and gives him a personal tour around all her favourite places and hidey-holes in Mondstadt. They go to the water by the front gate and Albedo watches as Klee tosses explosives into the lake. The older folks around the city coo warmly at them as they pass by.
Klee is a cheerful girl, an endless source of energy. She hands out her smiles freely, each one as bright as the previous, the kinds of smiles that light up her entire face.
She calls her bigger explosives 'Jumpty Dumpties', and it's obvious that they were crafted with great care. They bear the symbol of the clover, painted with bright reds and topped with the shape of a cute animal. Albedo can see the time and effort that has gone into each and every bomb that she throws so recklessly into the water.
"Try it," Klee says, and pushes one into his hands. "It's my last one, so be sure to explode it good, okay?"
Ah, so she really doesn't have an infinite number of bombs in her backpack.
Albedo looks down at the Jumpty Dumpty in his hands. This one has flowers drawn onto its cheeks. "Are you sure?" he asks, and Klee nods eagerly.
The Jumpty Dumpty skids on the water for a few beats before bursting open in a shower of sparks and vibrant light. All the ducks in the lake flap away frantically, and Klee laughs in pure delight.
"Boom! That was the best one!" she exclaims.
Watching the sparks flicker on the water's surface, Albedo thinks about the way Cecilia flowers bloom and die within a day. Maybe this is just how it is. The Cecilia is the sparrow is the Jumpty Dumpty that was meant to be destroyed, and life is a series of momentary bursts—all the more precious for having lived in earnest.
Master, was this what you had meant to teach me, back then?
"You know, that was my test run for a secret project I'm working on for Ludi Harpastum," Klee tells him. "Mama said it's your first time in here, but that's okay because I can show you around! I know all the best things to do around here."
Albedo's lips curve up into a small smile. "Okay, I would like that."
When night falls, they head back, and Klee sticks out her tongue playfully at little Timmie on the bridge who sends death glares at them. Alice welcomes them home with a grin and applauds Klee for managing to empty out the contents of her backpack. (It means that they'll get to make even more explosives tomorrow.)
The both of them wish him a good night. Albedo settles in his new room with his sketchbook, his small bag of things, the clothes on his back, and a handful of candy wrapped in bright packaging.