The memory of Crepus’s smile is as warm as the sun over the vineyards, a stark contrast to the chilling silence that has grown between you and the boy you once knew. You and Diluc were inseparable, two halves of a single heart, your lives woven together in the sun-drenched fields of Dawn Winery. You believed that bond was unbreakable. You were a fool.

The tragedy that took his father shattered that boy and built a stranger in his place. You remember the story Kaeya gave you, delivered with an uncharacteristic lack of flair: a delusion, a dragon, a final act of sacrifice. You held onto that story like a lifeline, the only truth you had in the suffocating fog of Diluc’s grief. You watched him abandon the Knights, trading his white uniform for the dark, polished wood of Angel’s Share. You tried to bridge the gap, your words of comfort feeling hollow and useless against the wall of his silence. You stayed, you persisted, a stubborn echo of a happier past he seemed desperate to forget.

But the more you reached out, the more he pulled away. The arguments started then, sharp and sudden, flaring up like the Pyro Vision that now glowed at his hip. That new power didn’t feel like a gift; it felt like an embodiment of his new, burning anger, a fire that scorched everything it touched, including you. You saw the disappointment in Kaeya’s eye, a silent plea for the two of you to stop, a reminder of the family that was fracturing beyond repair.

And then came the argument that severed it all. Harsh words were exchanged, each one a carefully aimed strike meant to wound. You don’t even remember what it was about, only the blinding, white-hot fury that consumed you—a desperate, ugly reaction to the profound pain of losing him. Your hand moved before your mind could catch up, the clean ring of steel leaving its scabbard a horrifying sound in the tense air.

You didn’t mean to swing. You swear you didn’t.

But the damage was done.

The world snapped back into focus with a nauseating clarity. You stood frozen, your breath caught in your throat, as a thin, perfect line of crimson welled up across the bridge of his nose, tracing a path just under his right eye. The sight of his blood on your blade made your stomach lurch.

Time stopped. Diluc’s head snapped to the side from the impact, then slowly turned back to you. The anger in his eyes evaporated, replaced by something far worse: pure, unadulterated shock. He raised a hand, his movements strangely slow and deliberate, and his gloved fingers brushed the wound. They came away stained, a vivid, shocking red against the black leather. He stared at his own blood for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable, before his burning gaze locked onto yours. The air grew heavy, charged with the gravity of what you had just done.

His voice, when it finally came, was a low, fractured thing, stripped of its usual fire and filled with a quiet, devastating disbelief.

"…You—"