After a night spent beneath the stars atop Wangshu Inn, Orion finally relented to the call of warmth and softness. The rooftop had given him clarity. The bed would give him peace.
He descended the wooden stairs in silence, the inn long gone to sleep, and slipped into his room like a memory returning home.
The sheets welcomed him.
And for once, the war within his chest settled into something calm. Something… shared.
---
Morning
Orion awoke slowly, like a glacier remembering the sun.
His eyes opened to the soft gold of morning filtering through paper-thin windows. The air was warm, his limbs rested, his heartbeat untroubled.
"Mmmfgh… finally," Frieda muttered within him, her voice crackling to life like a yawn stretched across two minds. "You sleep like a stone slab in a snowstorm, you know that?"
He groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Good morning to you too."
"It's not morning. It's nearly midday." She sounded irritated. But not really. More like… deliriously tired.
"…Did you not sleep?" he asked, blinking at the ceiling.
"I tried to," she said with a mental sigh. "But someone's face was reflecting in every shiny surface in this room. Windowpane, blade, doorknob… I mean, come on. You practically glow when you're unconscious. I was trying to sleep and ended up admiring you for hours. This is your fault."
Orion flushed and rolled onto his side with a groan. "Frieda. That's weird. You're me. You're in me."
"Yes, and it's the best real estate I've ever lived in." A beat. "Except maybe when I stretched my awareness into your left bicep. That place is a temple."
He dragged a pillow over his face and groaned louder. "You're going to drive me insane."
"Already there, sweetheart."
Her tone softened then, more genuine. "But… it was nice. Peaceful. Just us. No screaming Sovereigns. No darkness. Just breathing. Sharing."
He peeked out from under the pillow, hair a silver mess. His lips quirked into something between amusement and warmth.
"…I'm glad you're here."
"I know." A faint yawn echoed inside his mind again—his mind, their mind. "I just wish I could turn off like you. But my part of this brain's a disco party, apparently."
"…Do you want me to meditate later and see if it helps?" he offered, stretching out slowly beneath the covers.
"Only if you promise not to fall asleep mid-meditation like last time. I had to mentally nudge your ribs for six minutes."
"Noted," he said, grinning.
A pause. Then:
"…Hey, Orion?"
"Hm?"
"Can we… not rush today?"
Her voice was small. Tired. Sincere.
"Just a little more quiet before we go back to the fire and frost and blood and thrones."
He nodded softly.
"Yeah. Let's rest a little longer."
And so they did. One body. Two minds. And—for the first time in what felt like lifetimes—no war at their door.
Just the steady rhythm of shared breaths and a bond neither heaven nor hell could break.
Orion stretched once more before finally swinging his legs off the bed, the floorboards cool beneath his bare feet. The stillness in his limbs told him how deeply he'd slept.
"Ready to face the world again?" Frieda asked, her tone somewhere between a stretch and a smirk.
"As long as the world brings breakfast."
The scent of polished cedar and incense still lingered in the air—Wangshu Inn was newly built, its wood fresh and unstained by time. Downstairs, few travelers sat at the sparse tables, mostly merchants and riverfolk who had come to test the comfort of this strange new vertical resting place in the heart of Dihua Marsh.
Orion and Frieda walked quietly down the creaking steps, the new floorboards groaning softly beneath each step. Lanterns swayed in the early breeze.
They settled near the balcony, where morning mist still clung to the wetlands like a protective veil.
A young inn attendant approached with a nervous smile—barely more than a teen—and took their order.
"Grilled lotus fish, steamed rice… and jasmine tea," Orion said, his voice calm but clipped, like a blade sheathed but not forgotten.
When the meal arrived, he barely took a bite before suddenly going still, chopsticks frozen midair.
"…Oh no," he whispered.
"What?" Frieda asked, curious.
He groaned and leaned back in his chair, head tilted skyward in defeat. "I just remembered—I left my brooch in Mondstadt."
Your what?" Frieda asked, concerned. "Which brooch?"
"The one Father gave me. The gold and silver piece. Three starlight gems," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "I left it at the tavern that night—after Venti ran out on the bill."
Orion's voice dropped lower, as if confessing to a murder in progress.
"I'd never even heard of 'Mora' before that day. I couldn't pay in coin, so I gave the bartender the brooch as collateral. Said I'd return once I understood their currency."
"Wait, wait, wait— you gave away your heirloom because the Anemo Archon couldn't cough up pocket change?" Frieda practically shrieked in his skull.
"I didn't exactly give it to him," Orion grumbled. "He vanished. I did what I had to."
He stood up, letting the wind tug at the hem of his cloak. The air around him shifted—still, but charged.
He turned to face the breeze drifting westward, closed his eyes, and whispered with dark, melodic intent:
"Venti... if I return to Mondstadt, and my brooch is not secured… you will face the consequences."
In Mondstad
The tavern was dim and creaky, half-built and half-chaotic. The barkeep had already given up on trying to enforce rules, retreating to the cellar with the weariness of a man who knew better.
Venti lounged behind the counter with a self-satisfied grin, legs propped up, a stolen bottle of dandelion wine in one hand and a half-eaten grape in the other.
"Ah, the sweet taste of unpaid artistry," he sighed, kicking back.
A sudden gust blew in through the window.
Chill. Sharp. Personal.
He blinked.
Then sat up.
"…Why did that feel targeted?"
A pause.
Then, flatly:
"…Damn. I forgot about the brooch."
He winced and took another swig. "I should probably… nah. It'll be fine. He's probably forgotten."
Another gust hit the window with a sharp thwack.
"…He hasn't forgotten."
With the last grains of rice gone and the teapot emptied, Orion reached into his cloak and withdrew a small coin pouch. He set down several gleaming gold pieces—ancient, weighty, stamped with markings no longer in circulation. The young innkeeper hesitated only for a moment before bowing with gratitude.
Gold, after all, had no era. It simply was.
Orion exhaled as he stood, letting the morning air wrap around him like a second cloak.
"Well… what should we do now?"
"Oh! Oh! I know!" Frieda's voice rang out from within, effervescent as always. "Let's go find Felix!"
He blinked, brow arching. "Didn't he say we could just call for him?"
"Yes," she replied, not even trying to hide her grin, "but where's the adventure in that? What if we sneak up on him? See what he's doing when he thinks no one's watching? Could be sunbathing, rolling in moss, stealing fish—he's basically a scaled forest cryptid."
"Frieda," Orion said flatly, "he's the size of a cart."
"Exactly. Big target. Easier hunt. Fun guaranteed."
Orion rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You realize he could be flying around anywhere."
"Then we track him. Like proper dragon researchers. Or glorified babysitters. Either way, I win."
He sighed… then smiled faintly.
"Well. When you put it that way."
---
As Orion stepped through the lower level of Wangshu Inn, patrons and staff alike began to glance his way.
Not because of his appearance—though his silver hair and elegant cloak already earned him enough attention—but because he was… talking. Actively. Expressively. To absolutely no one.
"Maybe he's nesting by the river . He told me he loves that spot."
"No, wait… what if he's hiding in the bamboo grove again like he was doing in the Banquet before we left Arian? That smug tail of his always sticks out."
"If he pounces on me this time I swear I'm going to—okay, no I won't, but I'll look mad."
A table of Liyue scholars exchanged wary glances.
"Is he… rehearsing something?" one asked.
"Possibly." Another leaned in. "He's answering himself. It's… unsettling."
One older man slurped his soup loudly and muttered, "He's talking to the air. Definitely haunted."
A nearby waitress whispered to her companion, "He's too good-looking to be sane. I bet he's either an exorcist or possessed by his dead soulmate."
Orion, unfazed by the murmurs, reached the outer steps of the inn.
"Frieda, if he tries to jump-scare me again, I'm throwing tea at him."
"You wouldn't dare. He's too cute."
"I'd hesitate."
"That's what I thought."