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He wakes to the sound of rain.
Pitter, patter. It's soft, almost soothing.
There is something sticky between his legs, a gush of fluids makes him grimace in discomfort. The sun hasn't risen, and Jueyun Karst is covered in mist as always.
To his right, there lies an infant.
The child stares at him with its wide, golden eyes. a shade paler than that of his husband's, an owlish blink as if it's watching him. Speculation, of some sorts.
Barbatos turns away. He does not want to see the child, no. Not now, when his body is stiff and aching.
In the silence of the mornings after that all blend into a blur, the god blankly gazes at his own hands. He feels light, moreso than usual, and yet so heavy. With what, he cannot tell. He doesn't feel completely in control of his vessel, every nerve ending sparking in foreign pain with each breath he takes.
The experience of childbirth is a mortal thing. Or at least, it's something that an elemental being like himself should realistically never experience. But he did it for the sake of love; he carried another life inside himself for what seemed like decades, and spread his body open, paving the way for his son to be welcomed into the world.
His son. The word rolls alien in his mind, something he never expected to even conceive. That notion of giving life instead of taking it seems almost laughable to him, one who guides souls to their final resting place. That poor child — to be born from death itself.
The quiet breaks with a huff, a sound of innocence as the wide-eyed infant coughs out his cries. Small, insignificant noises at first, that grows and grows into a shriek, a distorted greeting.
Barbatos does not look. He's tired, almost pregnant again with the weight of his own body. There's hurried shuffling, and the thin silk veil of their bedroom parts as his husband rushes in, takes their child into his arms.
"Shh, it's okay," the great Morax rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to soothe his wailing son, "I'm here, baobei."
Almost devastatingly, he does not give Barbatos himself a second look, too occupied with running his fingers through wispy tuffs of juniper hair, wiping away beading sweat. It's not until the baby whimpers and nuzzles into his chest that Morax finally regards his wife.
"You must feed him, Barbatos," he says in a stern voice usually reserved for scolding his servants, sitting down on the edge of the bed they share like he's trying to keep his distance, "It's been many hours."
The wind god closes his eyes. Slow and sluggish, like he can't stand to look any longer.
"Barbatos." Morax grits out. He's no longer smiling, his eyebrows knitted together like he's trying to parse out a mystery, trying to solve a problem. "Don't you love Xiao? Don't you love our son?"
Ah, Barbatos thinks. That was the wrong question to ask.
But he keeps quiet, too tired to start yet another argument. They've fought enough. Slowly, he rolls the embroidered nightgown off his shoulder — a wedding gift he'd cherished for centuries, and reaches out for the child.
Morax looks at him as if he doesn't recognize his own wife, hurt and confusion and frustration etched deep in the lines between his knitted eyebrows. But Xiao doesn't care about any of that. He's ecstatic for his mother's touch, close enough to smell the scent of milk. Hunger and excitement takes over and he roots for a pink nipple, latches onto it and starts sucking like he hasn't been fed in days.
...Has it been days?
Barbatos can't tell. Time crawls by in a bubble. Sometimes the adepti would come for him, bathe him and change the dressings between his legs, asking him pointless questions in voices too gentle to be real. There'd been complications with Xiao's birth, they'd mutter among themselves, looking at him with pity.
He'd known the risks of carrying a dragon's child. Yes, he had known, and had given in to the subtle pleading of those amber eyes, so full of hope and a fragile vulnerability Morax had never shown anyone else. Barbatos thought he could do it with enough love. But his kind is simply not meant to conceive. Using the shape of his dead friend had been the only way that his body would be fruitful enough to take seed, a sacrifice he'd feared won't be worth it. But he'd done it now, he'd gone and ruined what was left of his precious friend.
Without the memories, who would he even be? What is he now, just someone's mother, someone's wife?
There's a sharp pain against his chest, and Barbatos hisses. Teethless gums dig into his nipple as his gluttonous son demands more, and he sighs, gently switching the infant to the other.
Morax watches him, something tender and heartbreaking in that gaze. They have argued and yelled and cried over Barbatos' indifference to his own son, but it always ends with the God of Freedom's silence, a defeated sigh. Like he doesn't know what to do with himself. There must be something they can do, some way they can fix this. They are walking on eggshells now, but it will get worse as Xiao grows. Morax cannot let his only son believe that his mother never loved him.
Because barbatos does. He loves Xiao, and Morax is willing to bet his own life on the ineffable truth of that statement. He'd seen the briefest flash of light in those teal eyes when his wife held Xiao for the very first time, still covered in blood, before it faded out and Barbatos lost consciousness.
That dissonance had been the cause of this, Cloud Retainer told him. She was the wind god's midwife, being the only adeptus with enough experience raising children. He must find a way for them to connect again if he ever hopes to stitch his little family back together.
Morax had been optimistic at first. After all, if anyone would find it in themselves to love a child it would be his benevolent songbird, the angelic symbol of everything that is gentle in this world. He was so sure that as soon as Barbatos is well enough to nurse Xiao they would click. But his wife only stared blankly at the squirming infant in his arms, before looking up at Morax as if he's confused about what he's being asked to do.
But of course, morax thought. A wind wisp wouldn't understand that a baby requires nourishment. Barbatos only drinks for fun.
Maybe he's been too selfish about this. Too greedy and infatuated with the idea of making a family with the man he loves, even though part of him always knew that as much as Barbatos loves him he cannot give Morax what he desired.
A wife. A child. A family to fight for, to love, to protect.
But the God of Freedom had yielded — so unlike him — with a soft smile, and let himself be taken. Be kissed, be held, be so tenderly bred. It was a testament to the sheer weight of his devotion to Morax, enough that he would willingly tether his own existence to the dragon with the birth of their son.
And now...what?
Morax sighs. He's been neglecting his duties for far too long, wrapped up in the insanity of trying to keep his family from falling apart.
"Barbatos, my love," he calls, soft as he can muster, "I have to go."
Those teal eyes lift up to look at him.
He waits, trying not to let hope flicker, and for good reason. His wife does not speak.
A soft breath. The Geo Archon isn't one to beg, but he would always kneel before Barbatos in reverence. "Please," he whispers, dryly swallowing grief down like fire in the back of his throat, "If you love me — if you love him, then please."
They both know what he means. The only one blissfully unaware is their son, finally full and heavy with sleep, nuzzling into the valley of his mother's breasts and pawing at soft skin.
The wind god looks down at Xiao. This tiny, warm thing, a life so fragile and yet so precious.
This — is his child. Smiling up at him, no teeth.
His lips move before he has the chance to second guess himself.
"Okay," he says, and it rushes out in a single exhale. His arms unknowingly clutches the infant tighter, like it's some sort of instincts kicking in at last. "Okay."
He sees gold in those tiny eyes, glittering like the light of a thousand stars. The color of new sugar syrup that had only just melt, that hasn't thickened enough to become caramel yet. It reminds him of the children on the streets of his city, giggling innocently around a candy vendor. He sees the forest in those wispy locks, barely enough hair to cover that funny bald head. Bamboo leaves falling around them on his old dates with Morax, back when their love was still new, drinking tea and talking about their vision for the world they now reign over.
Startling, he realizes that the child has a mark in the middle of his forehead. A purple diamond...has that always been there?
Gently, Barbatos traces a single finger over the shape, feeling like he's finally seeing his own son for the first time. "Is...is he hurt?"
There's a soft choking noise by his side, and he tears his eyes away from Xiao to the sight of his husband with tears running down his face.
"Morax!" he exclaims, still blinking away vestiges of the haze he's been under. "Why are you —"
And just like that, the earth god breaks apart before him. He's crying now, blubbering even more than their confused son had been, finally held securely to his wife's chest. Relief floods his being and he inches forward to wrap his family in his arms, ever so mindful of his brutish strength.
Barbatos mutters into the crook of his neck. "You're suffocating me. And him, too."
"You love him," Morax says, like it's a divine revelation he's been waiting a lifetime for, and he's merely lucky enough to finally witness it. "You love him."
There's still a hint of hesitation in his beloved's eyes, but then — "I do."
Shakily, he inches closer and raises the wind god's chin, silently asking for permission. Barbatos flushes pink, but he nods, and Morax presses a kiss against those lips for the first time since their son had been born. It's soft, achingly so. Like they're breathing each other in all over again.
There's a giggle, ticklish breaths on his mouth as they part. "I miss you," his wife says with a faint smile, "And also, did you really name our son 'small', blockhead?"
Morax sputters out a laugh. "In my defense, he is small."
Between them, Xiao babbles, as if in protest. "See? even he thinks his name is dumb."
"Well, my apologies, Lord Barbatos," snarky, just like their usual banter, and it feels like they've awakened from some long dream, "You are the poetic one between us after all. Might you enlighten him with a name befitting of his status?"
The sky-blue bard snorts, an ugly sound of genuine joy, and it makes Morax warm again. He patiently waits as Xiao takes hold of him — a full hand of tiny fingers gripping almost ferociously onto a single one of his own — and Barbatos hums some old tune of his lands, deep in thought.
"Alatus," he finally declares, and their son stops his one-sided fight against his father's finger to blink up at his mother, all interest, "Alatus. 'Winged', because I'm sure one day he will take flight."
"...Alatus," Morax breathes out, incredulous. "It's perfect."
Barbatos laughs, reaching down to cup the baby's pudgy cheek, and couldn't resist pinching it a little. "Do you like it, Alatus?"
Xiao — Alatus nuzzles into the touch, and the parents take it as approval, dissolving into quiet admiration of their son's cuteness.
And when Ganyu parts the veil of their bedroom hours later to call for her lord and regretfully remind him of his duty, all she finds is a dragon curling around his wife, who wraps their son in the soft embrace of feathery wings, a smile on all of their faces as they sleep.
She swallows back a cry of joy and relief, silently leaving her gods to their hard earned bliss. Liyue can live another day without Rex Lapis, but Rex Lapis cannot live without his family.
The road to recovery for Lord Barbatos will be hard, but they will certainly walk through it. Together.