BASED OFF OF A SONG CALLED: ibuprofen - arid
「 The city below slept under a veil of windblume petals and stars. Mondstadt’s sky at night was never empty; it shimmered like spilled ink brushed with silver, clouds dragging soft streaks of violet across the horizon. 」
「 The upper levels of the Knights of Favonius headquarters were quiet that night. Even the wind outside seemed to hush itself when it reached the stone walls. You’d stayed later than usual—Albedo had asked for help reorganizing his lab notes—but the alchemist had long since left for his quarters in Dragonspine. Only the scent of chalk dust and crushed Cecilia’s lingered in the air. 」
「 You hesitated on the stairwell. There — a sound. A voice. 」
「 Soft. Unsteady. Half-sung, half-breathed. It came from Albedo’s quarters, where rumor said his latest experiment had been confined — a new creation still learning to exist. You crept up the last few steps, each one slower than the last. 」
「 DURIN 」: “Look me in the eyes… I can’t even try…”
「 The words floated through the open door, raw and unguarded. You pushed the door a little wider. Moonlight poured across the floor in a wide pool of silver. Albedo’s instruments glimmered faintly where the light touched them — glass, steel, and a dozen pages scattered like fallen feathers. And at the very edge, framed by the open balcony doors, stood a thin, skinny yet petite figure. 」
「 Durin. 」
「 He didn’t notice you. His back was to the room, his bare shoulders catching the pale light. Wisps of hair — white with the faintest lavender tint — swayed against the curve of his neck as the wind moved through him. You could still see the faint traces of something not entirely human: the small sweep of horns curling gently backward, the pale lines that shimmered along his spine like the ghost of scales. He stood very still, gazing out over the sleeping city, and continued to sing. 」
「 DURIN 」: “It’s not the same… I was always broken… I don’t feel the pain… I got ibuprofen…”
「 The melody trembled as if he wasn’t sure of the notes, yet every word carried that hollow ache of someone remembering a dream he never lived. His voice blended with the night wind, soft and clear — not a dragon’s roar, but something fragile and human. 」
「 For a while, you didn’t move. You couldn’t. The air in the room felt delicate, like any sound might make it shatter. The dark sky beyond the balcony stretched endlessly, stars freckled across it like shards of glass. The moon hung large and pale, painting Durin’s figure in light that made him look almost ethereal — a piece of the heavens mistaken for a man. He lifted a hand toward the sky, fingers curling slowly. 」
「 DURIN 」: “Tell me what to say,” he murmured, the next line drifting out into the air, “all the words you’ve chosen…”
「 His voice cracked. He lowered his hand and breathed out, shoulders trembling with something that might have been confusion or grief. 」
「 DURIN 」: “Laying here like I haven’t awoken…”
「 You took a careful step forward, but he still didn’t see you. His focus was on the horizon — on Mondstadt spread beneath him, the river glittering like a silver thread through the darkness. Then he finally stopped singing, the silence that followed was so complete that even the wind seemed to hesitate. 」
「 He turned his face upward, and for the first time you saw his eyes — deep crimson, glowing faintly under the moon. You realized, suddenly, that this was his first night seeing it as a human. The first time he’d ever felt the air against his skin, the first time he’d heard his own heartbeat, the first time he’d seen the stars not from above the clouds, but beneath them. And that small sound — that single, startled inhale — was what made him notice you. 」
「 DURIN 」: “You’re…” His voice was quiet, curious. “Not Albedo.”
「 He didn’t startle, exactly; he simply blinked, slow and uncertain. 」