c h a p t e r  o n e

—ILLUSIONS. BEAUTIFUL, AREN'T THEY? They're but the reflection of what could've been, or, they could be the inner desire of someone. At their core although, they're nothing but a form of trickery. When one's desire becomes too fervent, they either receive the recognition of the devine ; or they delude themselves in a reality that does not actually exist—such was the unspoken Law of Teyvat.

Humans have always desired. For things that are superficially within reach, and for things that are not. An emotion so humane, so mighty, that it outshines all other criteria for recognition, for gain. You simply had to desire—in a more romantic way, believe. But the ‘what if’ has always been far more appealing. When something does not go our way, when our hunger is not satisfied, we think of what could've been and become obsessed with it.

Thus, the human starts to see phantasms and, fantasizes about them. That is the beauty of the unreal. What is beauty if it does not enticit desire? Illusions are beautiful ; because they are in our favor, one way or another.

But not all illusion incipient from humans, in fact, most illusions are by our eye-sight. They are everywhere, but they only morph into something real when one actually looks.

You paint those very illusions on pristine papyrus every week. Painting is really how one interprets a happening and who says those interpretations always need to be an exact replica of the real incident? With this understanding, you alter the already existing illusion of a tranquil world so gracefully, it bewitches even the Shogun.

You were not her excellency's official painter, no. But she had become an infrequent patron after you painted her sanctuary, Inazuma in a way she quotes, “Most fake.” (1)

Unbeknownst to her, that had not been your intention at all. You simply coloured what you saw, what you observed. Her actions, though, had betrayed her exclamation at that moment for the reward for that painting still remains unfinished (you wonder how many more paper, ink and brushes could proclaim it).

You, however, were unbothered by the lack of an official, lofty title. You were but a humble painter from a family that'd decayed over the passage of time. Despite your rather.. ambiguous morals, every beholder would agree on one thing: you made painting more than just an art-form.

Some passing poets in search of inspiration had stayed for a while longer, contemplated and studied them. They'd then shower the color strokes with refined words, trying to decipher the undertones like it were some sort of mystery.

Sometimes, you'd be amused, sometimes, you'd be disappointed. And other times, you just wouldn't care.

In this particular moment, you felt neither of the three emotions. You were used to musings, mutters of wonder—they'd serve as harmonious background tunes but a drunk, loud poet's scampered exclamations were anything but symphony ; and you'd run out of fingers counting the amount of times you'd found yourself in this exact same scenario.

“Ohhhh! I know, let me guess, let me guess, that's a grasshopper!”

Your left eye twitched at the comment, you would've been amused if you hadn't heard similar unasked commentaries for the whole time you were painting this particular piece.

“That's a leaf, Suikou, for the Shogun's sake.” any witty rebuttal had left you ages ago, now only dry replies left you to which he'd just respond with an ‘ehe’.

You watched as the poet sways in a careless manner, a tokkuri clutched in one hand while the other does a dramatic gesture, “My dear dove—what power you hold, for you made a virtueos poet like I, a fool!” he exclaims in all his slurred, stuttering grace ; his current demeanor definitely did not scream of that of a Kasen. He really had to be extremely drunk to loose his prided ability to rhyme.

You deadpanned.

“Shouldn't a ‘virtueos poet’ like you have better things to do? For instance, composing poems for the Shogun's next perusal?” you raised an eyebrow and he laughed like he had just hit checkmate.

“Fear not, I am doing just that, ehe!”

Giving up on trying to shake the drunk and witless (at the moment) boy off, you set your attention to the surroundings. Under the shade of a sakura tree and covered by lush greenery adjacent to a cliffside—you'd found yourself in this place more often than you'd expected. The reason you found yourself returning was perhaps the quietude that'd keep you company for hours on end, but why the green caped poet would sought out your company so often was something you're yet to find a reason to.

“Why are you even lingering around this place? Do you have no fear for your reputation?” you ask the question that'd occupied your mind for quite a while now.

You had no affiliation with the First Splendor for most of your life, it had stayed that way until on one afternoon, a tipsy boy around your age came tumbling beside you and practically demanded company. And it didn't take you too long to figure out his identity by his vivid green attire. (2)

Suikou, the first of the five poetry immortals of Inazuma.

Was he just lonely or was it because he had run into a problem too perilous? You never asked because, it wasn't your business. You'd kept him company that day, lended an ear to all his little rants and even allowed him to witness you paint first hand.

(A thought came all too suddenly at that instance, not at all a serendipity but not one you found distaste in either. It was only then did you recall that: what you were painting today was the same as what you were that day, the very day you met him.)

It was but a simple ink painting, the outlining of flowers clinging to a lone branch accompanied with falling leaves. It was completely different from what the Shogun had purchased, or the ones done in folding screens. It had no distinctive meaning, just an illusory of flora.

So then why was the first of the Five Kasen so fixated on it?

You'd imposed your inquiry a little more than half a minute ago, yet, he had not rushed to a reply still. You observed his visage; fair skin and two emerald orbs glossed so otherworldly, shining with an emotion you couldn't quite detect. The two braids that framed his face dangled slowly with the ongoing breeze.

The area you two were in was a little far from the bustling Inazuma city, so not many people came here. That had been one of the reasons why you sought this place out for a solitary painting session often. Despite the relative lack of footsteps of humans, it still was not proper. To have a young lady be seen with another young man albeit with more reputation would no doubt stir unwanted rumors and it pricked your inner conscience, too.

(Being raised in the Narukami Shrine had its affects.)

You shifted your attention back to Suikou yet again but before you even had the chance to properly see his expression, he answered your inquiry with one of his own and it's definitely not what you expected to hear.

“Do you not enjoy my company...?”

A cold breeze passed by.

Although, your emotions of surprise remain concealed with your next statement, “That.. was not what I meant,”

You're not used to the poet's seriousness and definitely not one that's so out of nowhere. You're far more accustomed to his jests and songs—as annoying as they can be sometimes. But the person that sat before you now, felt so... off-putting. A part of you wonders if this his inner persona, one that's suppressed and banned from seeing the light of the waking world. The light in Suikou's eyes are still there—just, they glimmered differently. If this is his inner (and perhaps true) personality, then you decide you don't like this Suikou.

“—Got you! Didn't I? Ehehe.” like the snap of ones fingers his previous serious facade fades like it'd never existed in the first place. Like an illusion meant to deceive and this time, you can't hide your shock.

Suikou merely chuckled at your bewildered expression, appearing satisfied. He sets his tokkuri down and captures a lock of your hair twirling it eagerly, which ultimately shatters your bewilderment.

He was drunk after all.

Your brows furrow, “You scared me Suikou, what was that?” but you're left deadpanning at the smug response that left his lips, “Prank number 72: success!”

“ ‘Prank number 72’? There were more?? ” your exclamation was only responded with more laughter.

“Ohh! The painting's finished, won't you sign it?” the green-clad poet inquired eagerly, (and effectively changed the subject) you come to the realization just then, too.

“But.. this is just a leisure painting. Does it really require my signature?” you ask absentmindedly to which Suikou dramatically gasps, the lock of your hair falling from his gentle grip.

“What do you mean ‘require’?! Of course it does! What if someone stole this painting and claimed it as their own and her excellency took a fancy to it and brought it for a great amount and made the plagiarizer her—”

“Okay, okay, I'll do it, I'll do it.”

A self-satisfied smile bloomed on the poet's face, thinking he'd succeeded in persuading you when in reality, you were quick to agree because you could not handle another one of his prolonged, passionate ramblings.

Suikou's teal eyes followed the movement of your hand, drinking in every turn and curve. How your hand moved so gracefully in both painting and calligraphy was beyond him. There were no single smudge or stutters in your wake as you finished your signature. Then, you took out a red seal and carefully stamped it after the signature—each curving of the stamp clear on the papyrus leaving the poet mesmerized.

The ghost of a smile made apparent on your delicate features was captured in his emerald orbs. Suikou sighed blissfully before leaning on one arm.

An illusion too beautiful to be true—Suikou wonders if you're actually real. Surely, he's not that lucky? To be by the presence of something so ethereal he thinks he doesn't even need sake to get drunk.

Lazily, he brings the tokkuri to his clasp and swirls the beverage within. Oh, how beautiful you looked in that almost mortified state—so full of life! Getting a reaction out of you was always a task with varying degrees of difficulty, but if the end result was this sweet, he'd go to any length to taste that sweetness again.

Suikou, the first of the five poetry immortals of Inazuma, in everyone's eyes he's but a carefree poet radiating positivity in all sorts of ways.

The green-clad poet closed his eyes to feel the wind and as expected, they brought the premonition of a pandemonium. He let out a giggle that made you jolt. The crack on your usually demure personality after that stunt he pulled doesn't go unnoticed by his eyes. The realization brings a smile to his face—one that's stranger and more cryptic, you note but can't quite justify why.

His eyes dart from your confused visage to the painting (which he drinks in longer, perhaps recalling something) and lastly, to your signature.

A signature and stamp marks something as a belonging of the one who applied them, no?

Suikou's eyes glimmered with the previous glow again, he concluded something like a lost piece of a puzzle he had been searching.

He hid this shine and accomplishment behind the nonchalant sip of his saké. The cold refined liquid washed his dry throat and sent a static through his brain.

He knew what his next poem would be about now.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

(1) the Inure timeline is set in ancient Inazuma, some time later after the Archon War

(2) inspired by the Irodori festival, our favourite modern day characters represent the Five Kasen in this story:)

⚝ Inure will be quite a journey, so buckle up and enjoy before someone di—jkjk. I, Harmony, wish you a happy read<3