Ty Pookies For Voting I Will Be Working On That Kinich Theme Soon

ty pookies for voting i will be working on that kinich theme soon 🤞🤞

chat do we fw a kinich theme 🥰🥰🥰 (i know i said i won't change my theme again but im making an exception)

im inlove with your theme (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)₊˚⊹ ᰔ

thank you my dear im glad my theme addiction has been serving me well (๑>◡<๑) but i will be changing this theme soon um yeah!! i hope you've had a great day/night ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ

chat do we fw a kinich theme 🥰🥰🥰 (i know i said i won't change my theme again but im making an exception)

— a proper knight.

pairing: dainsleif x gn!reader

premise: fading memories of bygone pasts are no stranger to dainsleif, but if there were two things he still remembered it's his journey with an outlander, and his beloved mentor who loved flowers.

— warnings: slight angst if you squint

— author's note: khaenri'ahn people will always hold a special place in my heart. this has been in the drafts for so long and it's finally going to see the light of day!!! thank you ray ( @mikashisus ) for proofreading this <3. art credits to @.birdsofpasssage on twt. | 2.1k words.

a knight has seven virtues: courage, justice, mercy, generosity, nobility, hope, and faith. dainsleif often wondered why faith was a virtue he must have to become a knight, it seemed silly to have in a nation that believed in no god, but he was proven wrong when he first saw you.

“the nation’s finest knight,” “khaenri’ah’s greatest talent,” and “the light bringer.” these were all the titles given to you in your many years of serving this nation. just like how his father told him, khaenri’ah’s finest knight was fearless, just, and merciful. you embodied the hope this nation craved—a guiding light. he often wondered what exactly you saw in him to take him as your apprentice. but when he asked the question, you gave no reply and asked, “what’s your favorite flower?”

dainsleif was confused—was this flower loving knight really khaenri’ah’s greatest talent, the same harsh instructor everyone feared? dainsleif let out a heavy breath when he realized he might have signed up for the wrong job. but like the first time he saw you swing the sword, all his initial doubts were quenched. you simply loved flowers because they contrasted your brutal animosity on the battlefield—a reminder of the fragile and beautiful home you grew up in and the weight of khaenri’ah’s fragile hope of the world.

yes, you were harsh, and yes, you criticized every swing of his sword, but you cared. deeply so that you would drop to one knee in front of a crying knight who profusely apologized for retiring—the burden of being a hero was too great. you would take the burden of others out of their hands and carry them yourself, even if it meant burning out the light the people gave you. 

that day, dainsleif found a new purpose for being a knight: to ease your burdens and see you rest under beds of the flowers you loved the most, free from all worries. so he trained, long and hard until all his bones began to quake and beg for rest, and even then he never stopped. he trained until he adopted your way of fighting in the bloodshed—even when bloodied and on the brink of death, turn to your comrades and give them hope; a reason to fight until the end. he learned to bask in your silent company, weaving inteyvat like second nature, as if these delicate flowers could bind both of your souls together in a silent promise. 

you were quiet in your affections and bitterly cold in your duties, but even when dainsleif hangs his head low as you appoint him his title, he feels the gentle grip on your sword. he hears the crowd cheer and applauds, he takes this as a sign to raise his head, and he’s grateful for the neutral expression you’ve instilled in him since his trainee days. one soft look in your eyes that’s directed at him and he’d go down on his knees and kiss the ground beneath your feet—offer you the stars that hang in the sky and demand a seat reserved just for you in celestia’s abode.

the both of you sneak away from the festivities and dainsleif takes this chance to ask, “why the title of twilight sword?”

he believed you wouldn’t answer—you never did—and to no one’s surprise, you simply placed an inteyvat behind his ear. gloved hand brushing his hair back and securing the fragile flower in place with khemia. 

“you’re still young, my stubborn apprentice,” you start, voice carrying years of wisdom unknown to him. “you’ll understand when you’re a proper knight.”

dainsleif furrowed his brow in contemplation. wasn’t he already a proper knight? the title given to him should prove it, so what did your words mean? dainsleif should’ve stayed in the garden until dusk arrived. cherished the already scarce moments he had with you, but you can’t blame him for the hurt you had caused because how dare you view him as a little boy. 

he’ll never have the chance to yell at you or even get mad because, by the next few days, his home will be bathed in a crimson catastrophe. dainsleif couldn’t even process anything properly as you jumped into action—carrying the sword in your hand, cape flying with the wind as you barked orders. “protect the people! you are all knights, experienced or not, your duty is to protect your home.” your voice reverberated in the chaos before diving into the battlefield head first.

you were nowhere in sight and dainsleif had never felt so helpless in battle. all the confidence he's built over the years comes crumbling down as he forces his band of knights to retreat—their defeat was already set in stone. but he couldn’t give up yet so he stayed in the fray, swinging his sword, searching for survivors, and hoping to catch up to you. he knows he’ll die if he doesn’t retreat but he can’t bring himself to be sheltered when you’re still out there, fighting for your life.

the sky burned a deeper crimson as the fury of the god’s raged on. amid the battle, you stood there, all on your own, a figure of unwavering resolve and devotion. dainsleif watched in silent agony as you took down monster after monster, racing against the time you don’t have. he knew, dainsleif knew deep down you would not come with him, and that thought makes him falter. how can you, the person who taught him to fight for all he’s cared about, suddenly teach him how to leave everything behind?

“[name!]” he shouts, voice being lost amid battle, as he runs in your direction. dainsleif feels a bile rise to his throat as he tears his gaze away from the bodies littered at your feet. the flowers you dearly loved were now revolting. “we need to retreat.”

“i cannot,” you cut down his hope like a knife. you turn to face him, all the hope he once admired in you now gone as you walk farther away from him. “leave, dainsleif. let me handle the rest.”

“i won’t leave you here to die in vain.” he catches your wrist and tugs at you in the direction of safety. “we’ve lost, light bringer. please, retreat with me.”

you break his hold on your wrist, your gloved hands stained with blood cradle his face before shoving him harshly and desperate. “my duty lies here in khaenri’ah and i will die upholding it. but you are different my stubborn apprentice, allow yourself to be more than just the twilight sword.”

“what am i supposed to protect if you aren’t there to encourage me?” he questions, unsure of his purpose if you weren’t there to help him.

but you only smile—kind and reassuring. “you will make a fine knight one day, dainsleif. do not let this one defeat sway your resolve. i did not train you to give up easily. now go,” you push him further and further as the monsters roared and the gods rained their fury.

the weight of your decision was palpable—dainsleif couldn’t bring himself to breathe as you jumped into battle once again. he wanted to be your sword, the one to aid you in battle even when he’s no more than a rusty piece of scrap metal. he wanted to scream at you, how could you abandon him so easily when he’s spent all these years staying by your side? but you still turned back, eyes no longer as hopeful as before but they still flickered faintly. 

“carry on, dainsleif,” you whisper to him from a distance, amidst all the screams and crimson sky, dainsleif still hears you. it was not a command—it was a promise.

dainsleif’s last memory of you was the beds of inteyvats beneath your feet and the tears that stained your cheek. that was over 500 years ago, and the memory of that cataclysm was still a fresh wound in his mind. in those 500 years, dainsleif traversed through teyvat, following every and any trail of the abyss order to put an end to this madness. all the while, he found himself picking flowers from each nation, pondering which would be your favorite.

he’s always imagined your second meeting to be bittersweet; a harsh cut to the heart with you laughing at someone while dainsleif stood on the sidelines. but that wasn’t you at all, because when you do meet for the second time, it’s by a bed of sumeru roses and wild flora as you indulge in the aranara’s amusement. 

dainsleif has always thought you were meant to be like this, not a valiant knight covered in scars and blood, but an angel bathed in moonlight as you sang the kids a lullaby and wished them a good night. you were meant for flowers and crowns, not a sword or shield. 

he takes one step, then two, and then he fully stops. dainsleif wanted to approach—the yearning to catch up with the mentor he grew to love—but he was scared. who was he to disturb your fragile happiness? you had survived a great catastrophe and are now living a happy life, he no longer had a part to play in your story. this guilt for failure was his and his alone to carry. who was he to disturb your quiet sanctuary when he left you behind for 500 years?

“not going to say hello to your old mentor?”

dainsleif feels an arm drape across his shoulders, bringing him down to face your height as your other hand comes to pat down his blonde hair. “i taught you to be chivalrous and courteous. don’t tell me you’ve forgotten in a measly five-hundred years?”

500 years wasn’t a number to scoff at, yet here you were, the same hair that was swept away from your eyes and the same confident stance. you let him go and the two of you fall into a silent walk. to where? dainsleif’s not quite sure. he didn’t want to drag you into his scuffle with the abyss, he’d much rather have you stay somewhere in sumeru where you’d be safe. but he knew, deep down dainsleif knew, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to know what truly happened that day.

“you’ve been blessed with a new life,” he mentions and motions to the cryo vision on your hip. “you can leave khaenri’ah behind now.”

you only shook your head. “teyvat has treated me well these past five hundred years, but i’d much rather come back home.”

dainsleif presses his lips into a thin line and says nothing. what could he say, after all, throughout the years he’s been with you, not once has he ever convinced you to retreat. he was snapped out of his daze when your hand came to pat the back of his head. you no longer wore gloves, and dainsleif swore he could feel every callous and gentle press of your palm.

“you’re so grown up now,” you say in jest, eyes twinkling with uncontained amusement. “don’t take my last statement about you to heart, dainsleif. you have always been a proper knight, i just didn’t want to see you go so soon.”

he stays silent and allows you to pat his head like a child. when the two of you start walking again you tell him your reason for his title.

“twilight is when light and darkness merge,” dainsleif’s eyes never once left yours as you talked. you just smile and continue. “it’s a period where the world becomes uncertain, just like you. that’s why dusk is the one to give birth to dawn.”

dainsleif lets out a small sound between a scoff and laugh. “i still don’t understand why you carry the title of dusk. why not let someone else carry the burden?”

you chuckle and look over to the horizon. “i simply do not wish for someone to suffer as i have.”

“you’re foolish,” he mutters and you hum in reply. he tears his gaze from you and instead looks over to the rising sun in the distance. “why did you choose me that day?”

“you were the only knight who would willingly cross hell before he arrived in heaven.” 

dainsleif furrows his brow in confusion. even after 500 years, you still spoke in riddles he couldn’t decipher without any hints. “i have no desire to go to heaven if you’re not there. my duty will always be bound to the abyss.” 

“like a mentor, like a mentee, still so stubborn to uphold a duty that’s long passed. but even then, you’ve become a fine knight, dainsleif.” you compliment.

“i had a stubborn teacher, but they were the best of the best. the greatest knight in khaenri’ah.” there was a joking air to his response and you let out a chuckle. your hand comes to rest at the back of his head and gently pat it as you both look away from the rising sun.

“well, shall we go back home now?”

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

— a proper knight.

pairing: dainsleif x gn!reader

premise: fading memories of bygone pasts are no stranger to dainsleif, but if there were two things he still remembered it's his journey with an outlander, and his beloved mentor who loved flowers.

— warnings: slight angst if you squint

— author's note: khaenri'ahn people will always hold a special place in my heart. this has been in the drafts for so long and it's finally going to see the light of day!!! thank you ray ( @mikashisus ) for proofreading this <3. art credits to @.birdsofpasssage on twt. | 2.1k words.

a knight has seven virtues: courage, justice, mercy, generosity, nobility, hope, and faith. dainsleif often wondered why faith was a virtue he must have to become a knight, it seemed silly to have in a nation that believed in no god, but he was proven wrong when he first saw you.

“the nation’s finest knight,” “khaenri’ah’s greatest talent,” and “the light bringer.” these were all the titles given to you in your many years of serving this nation. just like how his father told him, khaenri’ah’s finest knight was fearless, just, and merciful. you embodied the hope this nation craved—a guiding light. he often wondered what exactly you saw in him to take him as your apprentice. but when he asked the question, you gave no reply and asked, “what’s your favorite flower?”

dainsleif was confused—was this flower loving knight really khaenri’ah’s greatest talent, the same harsh instructor everyone feared? dainsleif let out a heavy breath when he realized he might have signed up for the wrong job. but like the first time he saw you swing the sword, all his initial doubts were quenched. you simply loved flowers because they contrasted your brutal animosity on the battlefield—a reminder of the fragile and beautiful home you grew up in and the weight of khaenri’ah’s fragile hope of the world.

yes, you were harsh, and yes, you criticized every swing of his sword, but you cared. deeply so that you would drop to one knee in front of a crying knight who profusely apologized for retiring—the burden of being a hero was too great. you would take the burden of others out of their hands and carry them yourself, even if it meant burning out the light the people gave you. 

that day, dainsleif found a new purpose for being a knight: to ease your burdens and see you rest under beds of the flowers you loved the most, free from all worries. so he trained, long and hard until all his bones began to quake and beg for rest, and even then he never stopped. he trained until he adopted your way of fighting in the bloodshed—even when bloodied and on the brink of death, turn to your comrades and give them hope; a reason to fight until the end. he learned to bask in your silent company, weaving inteyvat like second nature, as if these delicate flowers could bind both of your souls together in a silent promise. 

you were quiet in your affections and bitterly cold in your duties, but even when dainsleif hangs his head low as you appoint him his title, he feels the gentle grip on your sword. he hears the crowd cheer and applauds, he takes this as a sign to raise his head, and he’s grateful for the neutral expression you’ve instilled in him since his trainee days. one soft look in your eyes that’s directed at him and he’d go down on his knees and kiss the ground beneath your feet—offer you the stars that hang in the sky and demand a seat reserved just for you in celestia’s abode.

the both of you sneak away from the festivities and dainsleif takes this chance to ask, “why the title of twilight sword?”

he believed you wouldn’t answer—you never did—and to no one’s surprise, you simply placed an inteyvat behind his ear. gloved hand brushing his hair back and securing the fragile flower in place with khemia. 

“you’re still young, my stubborn apprentice,” you start, voice carrying years of wisdom unknown to him. “you’ll understand when you’re a proper knight.”

dainsleif furrowed his brow in contemplation. wasn’t he already a proper knight? the title given to him should prove it, so what did your words mean? dainsleif should’ve stayed in the garden until dusk arrived. cherished the already scarce moments he had with you, but you can’t blame him for the hurt you had caused because how dare you view him as a little boy. 

he’ll never have the chance to yell at you or even get mad because, by the next few days, his home will be bathed in a crimson catastrophe. dainsleif couldn’t even process anything properly as you jumped into action—carrying the sword in your hand, cape flying with the wind as you barked orders. “protect the people! you are all knights, experienced or not, your duty is to protect your home.” your voice reverberated in the chaos before diving into the battlefield head first.

you were nowhere in sight and dainsleif had never felt so helpless in battle. all the confidence he's built over the years comes crumbling down as he forces his band of knights to retreat—their defeat was already set in stone. but he couldn’t give up yet so he stayed in the fray, swinging his sword, searching for survivors, and hoping to catch up to you. he knows he’ll die if he doesn’t retreat but he can’t bring himself to be sheltered when you’re still out there, fighting for your life.

the sky burned a deeper crimson as the fury of the god’s raged on. amid the battle, you stood there, all on your own, a figure of unwavering resolve and devotion. dainsleif watched in silent agony as you took down monster after monster, racing against the time you don’t have. he knew, dainsleif knew deep down you would not come with him, and that thought makes him falter. how can you, the person who taught him to fight for all he’s cared about, suddenly teach him how to leave everything behind?

“[name!]” he shouts, voice being lost amid battle, as he runs in your direction. dainsleif feels a bile rise to his throat as he tears his gaze away from the bodies littered at your feet. the flowers you dearly loved were now revolting. “we need to retreat.”

“i cannot,” you cut down his hope like a knife. you turn to face him, all the hope he once admired in you now gone as you walk farther away from him. “leave, dainsleif. let me handle the rest.”

“i won’t leave you here to die in vain.” he catches your wrist and tugs at you in the direction of safety. “we’ve lost, light bringer. please, retreat with me.”

you break his hold on your wrist, your gloved hands stained with blood cradle his face before shoving him harshly and desperate. “my duty lies here in khaenri’ah and i will die upholding it. but you are different my stubborn apprentice, allow yourself to be more than just the twilight sword.”

“what am i supposed to protect if you aren’t there to encourage me?” he questions, unsure of his purpose if you weren’t there to help him.

but you only smile—kind and reassuring. “you will make a fine knight one day, dainsleif. do not let this one defeat sway your resolve. i did not train you to give up easily. now go,” you push him further and further as the monsters roared and the gods rained their fury.

the weight of your decision was palpable—dainsleif couldn’t bring himself to breathe as you jumped into battle once again. he wanted to be your sword, the one to aid you in battle even when he’s no more than a rusty piece of scrap metal. he wanted to scream at you, how could you abandon him so easily when he’s spent all these years staying by your side? but you still turned back, eyes no longer as hopeful as before but they still flickered faintly. 

“carry on, dainsleif,” you whisper to him from a distance, amidst all the screams and crimson sky, dainsleif still hears you. it was not a command—it was a promise.

dainsleif’s last memory of you was the beds of inteyvats beneath your feet and the tears that stained your cheek. that was over 500 years ago, and the memory of that cataclysm was still a fresh wound in his mind. in those 500 years, dainsleif traversed through teyvat, following every and any trail of the abyss order to put an end to this madness. all the while, he found himself picking flowers from each nation, pondering which would be your favorite.

he’s always imagined your second meeting to be bittersweet; a harsh cut to the heart with you laughing at someone while dainsleif stood on the sidelines. but that wasn’t you at all, because when you do meet for the second time, it’s by a bed of sumeru roses and wild flora as you indulge in the aranara’s amusement. 

dainsleif has always thought you were meant to be like this, not a valiant knight covered in scars and blood, but an angel bathed in moonlight as you sang the kids a lullaby and wished them a good night. you were meant for flowers and crowns, not a sword or shield. 

he takes one step, then two, and then he fully stops. dainsleif wanted to approach—the yearning to catch up with the mentor he grew to love—but he was scared. who was he to disturb your fragile happiness? you had survived a great catastrophe and are now living a happy life, he no longer had a part to play in your story. this guilt for failure was his and his alone to carry. who was he to disturb your quiet sanctuary when he left you behind for 500 years?

“not going to say hello to your old mentor?”

dainsleif feels an arm drape across his shoulders, bringing him down to face your height as your other hand comes to pat down his blonde hair. “i taught you to be chivalrous and courteous. don’t tell me you’ve forgotten in a measly five-hundred years?”

500 years wasn’t a number to scoff at, yet here you were, the same hair that was swept away from your eyes and the same confident stance. you let him go and the two of you fall into a silent walk. to where? dainsleif’s not quite sure. he didn’t want to drag you into his scuffle with the abyss, he’d much rather have you stay somewhere in sumeru where you’d be safe. but he knew, deep down dainsleif knew, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to know what truly happened that day.

“you’ve been blessed with a new life,” he mentions and motions to the cryo vision on your hip. “you can leave khaenri’ah behind now.”

you only shook your head. “teyvat has treated me well these past five hundred years, but i’d much rather come back home.”

dainsleif presses his lips into a thin line and says nothing. what could he say, after all, throughout the years he’s been with you, not once has he ever convinced you to retreat. he was snapped out of his daze when your hand came to pat the back of his head. you no longer wore gloves, and dainsleif swore he could feel every callous and gentle press of your palm.

“you’re so grown up now,” you say in jest, eyes twinkling with uncontained amusement. “don’t take my last statement about you to heart, dainsleif. you have always been a proper knight, i just didn’t want to see you go so soon.”

he stays silent and allows you to pat his head like a child. when the two of you start walking again you tell him your reason for his title.

“twilight is when light and darkness merge,” dainsleif’s eyes never once left yours as you talked. you just smile and continue. “it’s a period where the world becomes uncertain, just like you. that’s why dusk is the one to give birth to dawn.”

dainsleif lets out a small sound between a scoff and laugh. “i still don’t understand why you carry the title of dusk. why not let someone else carry the burden?”

you chuckle and look over to the horizon. “i simply do not wish for someone to suffer as i have.”

“you’re foolish,” he mutters and you hum in reply. he tears his gaze from you and instead looks over to the rising sun in the distance. “why did you choose me that day?”

“you were the only knight who would willingly cross hell before he arrived in heaven.” 

dainsleif furrows his brow in confusion. even after 500 years, you still spoke in riddles he couldn’t decipher without any hints. “i have no desire to go to heaven if you’re not there. my duty will always be bound to the abyss.” 

“like a mentor, like a mentee, still so stubborn to uphold a duty that’s long passed. but even then, you’ve become a fine knight, dainsleif.” you compliment.

“i had a stubborn teacher, but they were the best of the best. the greatest knight in khaenri’ah.” there was a joking air to his response and you let out a chuckle. your hand comes to rest at the back of his head and gently pat it as you both look away from the rising sun.

“well, shall we go back home now?”

© vxnuslogy 2024. do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works without my knowledge or consent in other platforms or websites.

— a proper knight.

pairing: dainsleif x gn!reader

premise: fading memories of bygone pasts are no stranger to dainsleif, but if there were two things he still remembered it's his journey with an outlander, and his beloved mentor who loved flowers.

— warnings: slight angst if you squint

— author's note: khaenri'ahn people will always hold a special place in my heart. this has been in the drafts for so long and it's finally going to see the light of day!!! thank you ray ( @mikashisus ) for proofreading this <3. art credits to @.birdsofpasssage on twt. | 2.1k words.

a knight has seven virtues: courage, justice, mercy, generosity, nobility, hope, and faith. dainsleif often wondered why faith was a virtue he must have to become a knight, it seemed silly to have in a nation that believed in no god, but he was proven wrong when he first saw you.

“the nation’s finest knight,” “khaenri’ah’s greatest talent,” and “the light bringer.” these were all the titles given to you in your many years of serving this nation. just like how his father told him, khaenri’ah’s finest knight was fearless, just, and merciful. you embodied the hope this nation craved—a guiding light. he often wondered what exactly you saw in him to take him as your apprentice. but when he asked the question, you gave no reply and asked, “what’s your favorite flower?”

dainsleif was confused—was this flower loving knight really khaenri’ah’s greatest talent, the same harsh instructor everyone feared? dainsleif let out a heavy breath when he realized he might have signed up for the wrong job. but like the first time he saw you swing the sword, all his initial doubts were quenched. you simply loved flowers because they contrasted your brutal animosity on the battlefield—a reminder of the fragile and beautiful home you grew up in and the weight of khaenri’ah’s fragile hope of the world.

yes, you were harsh, and yes, you criticized every swing of his sword, but you cared. deeply so that you would drop to one knee in front of a crying knight who profusely apologized for retiring—the burden of being a hero was too great. you would take the burden of others out of their hands and carry them yourself, even if it meant burning out the light the people gave you. 

that day, dainsleif found a new purpose for being a knight: to ease your burdens and see you rest under beds of the flowers you loved the most, free from all worries. so he trained, long and hard until all his bones began to quake and beg for rest, and even then he never stopped. he trained until he adopted your way of fighting in the bloodshed—even when bloodied and on the brink of death, turn to your comrades and give them hope; a reason to fight until the end. he learned to bask in your silent company, weaving inteyvat like second nature, as if these delicate flowers could bind both of your souls together in a silent promise. 

you were quiet in your affections and bitterly cold in your duties, but even when dainsleif hangs his head low as you appoint him his title, he feels the gentle grip on your sword. he hears the crowd cheer and applauds, he takes this as a sign to raise his head, and he’s grateful for the neutral expression you’ve instilled in him since his trainee days. one soft look in your eyes that’s directed at him and he’d go down on his knees and kiss the ground beneath your feet—offer you the stars that hang in the sky and demand a seat reserved just for you in celestia’s abode.

the both of you sneak away from the festivities and dainsleif takes this chance to ask, “why the title of twilight sword?”

he believed you wouldn’t answer—you never did—and to no one’s surprise, you simply placed an inteyvat behind his ear. gloved hand brushing his hair back and securing the fragile flower in place with khemia. 

“you’re still young, my stubborn apprentice,” you start, voice carrying years of wisdom unknown to him. “you’ll understand when you’re a proper knight.”

dainsleif furrowed his brow in contemplation. wasn’t he already a proper knight? the title given to him should prove it, so what did your words mean? dainsleif should’ve stayed in the garden until dusk arrived. cherished the already scarce moments he had with you, but you can’t blame him for the hurt you had caused because how dare you view him as a little boy. 

he’ll never have the chance to yell at you or even get mad because, by the next few days, his home will be bathed in a crimson catastrophe. dainsleif couldn’t even process anything properly as you jumped into action—carrying the sword in your hand, cape flying with the wind as you barked orders. “protect the people! you are all knights, experienced or not, your duty is to protect your home.” your voice reverberated in the chaos before diving into the battlefield head first.

you were nowhere in sight and dainsleif had never felt so helpless in battle. all the confidence he's built over the years comes crumbling down as he forces his band of knights to retreat—their defeat was already set in stone. but he couldn’t give up yet so he stayed in the fray, swinging his sword, searching for survivors, and hoping to catch up to you. he knows he’ll die if he doesn’t retreat but he can’t bring himself to be sheltered when you’re still out there, fighting for your life.

the sky burned a deeper crimson as the fury of the god’s raged on. amid the battle, you stood there, all on your own, a figure of unwavering resolve and devotion. dainsleif watched in silent agony as you took down monster after monster, racing against the time you don’t have. he knew, dainsleif knew deep down you would not come with him, and that thought makes him falter. how can you, the person who taught him to fight for all he’s cared about, suddenly teach him how to leave everything behind?

“[name!]” he shouts, voice being lost amid battle, as he runs in your direction. dainsleif feels a bile rise to his throat as he tears his gaze away from the bodies littered at your feet. the flowers you dearly loved were now revolting. “we need to retreat.”

“i cannot,” you cut down his hope like a knife. you turn to face him, all the hope he once admired in you now gone as you walk farther away from him. “leave, dainsleif. let me handle the rest.”

“i won’t leave you here to die in vain.” he catches your wrist and tugs at you in the direction of safety. “we’ve lost, light bringer. please, retreat with me.”

you break his hold on your wrist, your gloved hands stained with blood cradle his face before shoving him harshly and desperate. “my duty lies here in khaenri’ah and i will die upholding it. but you are different my stubborn apprentice, allow yourself to be more than just the twilight sword.”

“what am i supposed to protect if you aren’t there to encourage me?” he questions, unsure of his purpose if you weren’t there to help him.

but you only smile—kind and reassuring. “you will make a fine knight one day, dainsleif. do not let this one defeat sway your resolve. i did not train you to give up easily. now go,” you push him further and further as the monsters roared and the gods rained their fury.

the weight of your decision was palpable—dainsleif couldn’t bring himself to breathe as you jumped into battle once again. he wanted to be your sword, the one to aid you in battle even when he’s no more than a rusty piece of scrap metal. he wanted to scream at you, how could you abandon him so easily when he’s spent all these years staying by your side? but you still turned back, eyes no longer as hopeful as before but they still flickered faintly. 

“carry on, dainsleif,” you whisper to him from a distance, amidst all the screams and crimson sky, dainsleif still hears you. it was not a command—it was a promise.

dainsleif’s last memory of you was the beds of inteyvats beneath your feet and the tears that stained your cheek. that was over 500 years ago, and the memory of that cataclysm was still a fresh wound in his mind. in those 500 years, dainsleif traversed through teyvat, following every and any trail of the abyss order to put an end to this madness. all the while, he found himself picking flowers from each nation, pondering which would be your favorite.

he’s always imagined your second meeting to be bittersweet; a harsh cut to the heart with you laughing at someone while dainsleif stood on the sidelines. but that wasn’t you at all, because when you do meet for the second time, it’s by a bed of sumeru roses and wild flora as you indulge in the aranara’s amusement. 

dainsleif has always thought you were meant to be like this, not a valiant knight covered in scars and blood, but an angel bathed in moonlight as you sang the kids a lullaby and wished them a good night. you were meant for flowers and crowns, not a sword or shield. 

he takes one step, then two, and then he fully stops. dainsleif wanted to approach—the yearning to catch up with the mentor he grew to love—but he was scared. who was he to disturb your fragile happiness? you had survived a great catastrophe and are now living a happy life, he no longer had a part to play in your story. this guilt for failure was his and his alone to carry. who was he to disturb your quiet sanctuary when he left you behind for 500 years?

“not going to say hello to your old mentor?”

dainsleif feels an arm drape across his shoulders, bringing him down to face your height as your other hand comes to pat down his blonde hair. “i taught you to be chivalrous and courteous. don’t tell me you’ve forgotten in a measly five-hundred years?”

500 years wasn’t a number to scoff at, yet here you were, the same hair that was swept away from your eyes and the same confident stance. you let him go and the two of you fall into a silent walk. to where? dainsleif’s not quite sure. he didn’t want to drag you into his scuffle with the abyss, he’d much rather have you stay somewhere in sumeru where you’d be safe. but he knew, deep down dainsleif knew, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to know what truly happened that day.

“you’ve been blessed with a new life,” he mentions and motions to the cryo vision on your hip. “you can leave khaenri’ah behind now.”

you only shook your head. “teyvat has treated me well these past five hundred years, but i’d much rather come back home.”

dainsleif presses his lips into a thin line and says nothing. what could he say, after all, throughout the years he’s been with you, not once has he ever convinced you to retreat. he was snapped out of his daze when your hand came to pat the back of his head. you no longer wore gloves, and dainsleif swore he could feel every callous and gentle press of your palm.

“you’re so grown up now,” you say in jest, eyes twinkling with uncontained amusement. “don’t take my last statement about you to heart, dainsleif. you have always been a proper knight, i just didn’t want to see you go so soon.”

he stays silent and allows you to pat his head like a child. when the two of you start walking again you tell him your reason for his title.

“twilight is when light and darkness merge,” dainsleif’s eyes never once left yours as you talked. you just smile and continue. “it’s a period where the world becomes uncertain, just like you. that’s why dusk is the one to give birth to dawn.”

dainsleif lets out a small sound between a scoff and laugh. “i still don’t understand why you carry the title of dusk. why not let someone else carry the burden?”

you chuckle and look over to the horizon. “i simply do not wish for someone to suffer as i have.”

“you’re foolish,” he mutters and you hum in reply. he tears his gaze from you and instead looks over to the rising sun in the distance. “why did you choose me that day?”

“you were the only knight who would willingly cross hell before he arrived in heaven.” 

dainsleif furrows his brow in confusion. even after 500 years, you still spoke in riddles he couldn’t decipher without any hints. “i have no desire to go to heaven if you’re not there. my duty will always be bound to the abyss.” 

“like a mentor, like a mentee, still so stubborn to uphold a duty that’s long passed. but even then, you’ve become a fine knight, dainsleif.” you compliment.

“i had a stubborn teacher, but they were the best of the best. the greatest knight in khaenri’ah.” there was a joking air to his response and you let out a chuckle. your hand comes to rest at the back of his head and gently pat it as you both look away from the rising sun.

“well, shall we go back home now?”

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