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The crater is twice as wide as it is deep, a gaping maw blasted into the surface of the earth.
At its centre, a single, bright light gutters to a glow.
The puppet watches it all from the crater's edge. Even twenty minutes after the initial collision, the walls are still smoking, the smells of rock and charred vegetation heavy in the air. A normal human might have found it suffocating. As for the puppet, he hasn't breathed in for the last mile.
He waits a few more minutes, makes sure that his surroundings are as empty as they seem, before heading down into the crater. The ground is steeper than it looks from the top. At one point, he slips on the scree and slices his palms open on the rocks. By the time he's found his footing again, the wounds have almost completely closed up.
She's only just glowing as the puppet approaches, allowing him to take in the sight of her. Long tresses of golden hair spread out around a small, lovely face. A white dress clings to her body, accenting her bare shoulders and soft, pale thighs. She is undeniably a thing of beauty, a creature so beautiful she could only have been pulled from the heavens themselves.
And yet it is her chest that the puppet is drawn to. Slowly, he raises his hand and presses his palm to the crevice between her breasts, pushes down until he can feel it beating softly against his skin, as clearly as if it's his own.
A pulse.
The woman's eyes fly open.
For a moment, they simply stare at one another in shocked silence. Then the woman bats his hand away and shuffles back. Her glow has all but disappeared by now. The only place it remained was in her eyes, which shine a luminous blue as she narrows them at him.
“Who are you?” she snaps. Her voice is unexpectedly harsh for her appearance.
The puppet leans back onto his haunches and places his hands on his thighs – a position he's often found comes across as the least threatening when talking to those wary of him. “I'm not here to hurt you.”
“That doesn't answer my question,” the woman hisses.
Instead of replying straight away, the puppet's eyes fall to her chest. The woman follows his gaze to the bright scarlet streak staining the front of her dress. When she lifts her face again, a hint of alarm has mixed into her expression. “You're hurt.”
Up until now, the puppet has forgotten the blood that clings to his hands from his fall. He mutters that it's nothing and quickly wipes them clean on his dark shorts. Thankfully, the woman doesn't press him further. She tilts her head up to the sky and gazes up at the stars.
“Is that where you fell from?” the puppet asks.
A wistful look comes across the woman's face. Then her expression hardens into a scowl, and she glares at him again. “Why are you so interested?”
The puppet offers her an innocent smile. “That doesn't answer my question.”
The light in the woman's eyes flashes, leading the puppet to wonder if she's about to unleash some cosmic attack on him. But she doesn't. She pushes herself to her feet and puts her hand on her hip, looking all at once like some kind of petulant child.
“Of course I fell from the sky. And, quite frankly, I'd like to return there as soon as possible. Now, since I've answered your question, you have a duty to answer mine.”
The puppet's smile widens. “I'm just a simple wanderer.”
“I meant your name.”
“I don't have one.”
“That's impossible. Your mother must have given you some kind of name. What do your friends call you?”
When the puppet just stares at her blankly, the woman sighs. “This is ridiculous. I'm going back to where I belong. Don't even think about following me.”
She turns and starts to march towards the crater walls, only to stop in her tracks. The puppet has rushed forward in a heartbeat and caught her wrist. He holds it tight now, staring at her curiously as he does so. Beneath his fingers, that hypnotising pulse continues to beat its frantic rhythm. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
“How do you get back to the sky?” he asks.
The woman opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. It's as the puppet suspected. She doesn't know.
“I can help you.”
“I don't need it,” she snaps.
“Of course you do. The wilds are dangerous. There are bandits and animals that would tear you limb from limb on sight. Not to mention...” He stops himself before he can continue and looks her directly in the eye, hoping to come across as earnest as possible. “You need a guide.”
At that, the woman snorts and tears her hand from his at last. “A guide. As if. Do you know how many years I've spent looking down on this land from the sky?”
Still, there's a waver in her voice that neither of them miss. After all, looking down on the land from a distance is very different from traversing it in person. As she is, the woman barely looks strong enough to climb the crater walls, let alone run away from danger or fight off potential attackers.
“You need somewhere high up, don't you? A spot as close to the sky as possible.” The puppet scans the horizon before his gaze falls on a jagged point in the distance. He points to it. “That peak is called Mont Esus. It's the tallest in all of Fontaine.”
The woman looks over at the mountain, then back at the puppet. “How long would it take to get there?”
“On the right path, a week.”
A look of resignation flits across the woman's face. Even though she doesn't speak, the puppet can tell she's made her mind up.
They're about to start walking when she turns to the puppet again and looks him over from head to toe, as if taking him in properly for the first time. She tilts her head to the side. “Do you really not have a name?”
The puppet shakes his head.
“Everyone has a name, wanderer.”
A smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “In that case, I believe I just found mine.”
*
The star's name, he soon learns, is Lumine, and she's a thousand, seven hundred and forty years old. Apparently, that's still very young in star terms, though.
“One of the stars in my neighbouring constellation is coming up for his hundred thousandth birthday,” she says as she saunters along the path at Wanderer's side. “But he's a little dull, so I try not to talk to him too much.”
“I had no idea stars could even converse with one another,” says Wanderer. He keeps a watchful eye on his surroundings, the fields that stretch into hills in the distance, dotted with copses. Normally, he wouldn't bother with such vigilance – he's always been good at avoiding conflict on the road, and even if he does run into trouble, he simply picks himself up again afterwards and carries on. This time, though, he has something precious with him. Something he would throw his life on the line to protect.
(If only such a thing were possible.)
“Of course we talk to each other,” says Lumine as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “How else would we pass the time? Well, that, and watching humans go about their lives down here, of course.” She sighs and pulls the robe Wanderer insisted she wear more tightly around her shoulders. “You all live such short lives, but manage to fill them with so many complications. Joy, love, heartbreak. So much heartbreak...”
Is it Wanderer's imagination, or does he sense a hint of longing in her tone? He tries, but ultimately can't keep from snorting. “There's nothing special about heartbreak.”
“You can say that again. The amount of times I've had humans wish upon me to change the heart of a spurned lover or bring a loved one back from the dead.” She shakes her head, then glances at Wanderer. “Has anyone ever broken your heart?”
Instead of answering, Wanderer stops in his tracks and points to the path up ahead. They're travelling east, and the sky in front of them is just starting to lighten with the warm glow that comes before dawn.
“On the other side of that hill is an inn. I suggest we stop there and get some food. You can rest, too, if you'd like.”
Lumine looks like she's going to protest at first, but she ends up nodding. They've only been travelling for a couple of hours, but already she looks exhausted, and Wanderer has heard her stomach rumble more than a few times along the journey. And that's before he even considers her clothing. Black smudges from her climb up the side of the crater mar her white dress and legs, and when the robe around her shoulders falls away, he can see the streak on her chest his blood left behind.
By the time they reach the inn, the sun has finally crested the horizon, dyeing the sky shades of fire. Wanderer leads Lumine inside and heads for the front desk. The décor is simple but charming, all wooden floors and low-hanging beams. The smell of charred wood lingers in the air. Wanderer imagines there's a hearth burning away nearby.
Ringing the bell on the desk summons an old woman from the back room. Despite the bags under her eyes, she manages to greet the pair of them with a pleasant smile.
To Wanderer's surprise, Lumine lets him do the talking. He arranges a room for them both with two separate beds, some food, and a bath for Lumine to soak in. When he asks about a change of clothes, the woman tells him she has some old ones that used to belong to her granddaughter that she'd be happy to sell for a low price.
“I'm sure I can find some for you, too,” she says, eyeing Wanderer's dark undershirt and long, pleated shorts.
“I'll be fine.” His clothes may be a little weathered from the elements, but he sees no point in changing them for the sake of a little dirt.
Once Lumine has headed upstairs to their room, the woman says to him, “A traveller, are you?” Her eyes linger on the wide-brimmed bamboo hat slung across his back.
“Indeed,” he says.
“Probably saw that star falling from the sky earlier, then. I don't suppose you saw where it landed?”
While her tone remains conversational, a hint of something unpleasant stirs deep within Wanderer's gut. Is this a test? Does she actually know that the woman running herself a bath upstairs is the star she speaks of and is simply taunting him, waiting for the right moment to pounce and snatch her away? Wanderer's fingers twitch by his side. He could snap her neck and be out of the door with Lumine before she's even had time to consider putting her plan into motion.
These thoughts rise in an instant, like the surge of seawater in an ocean storm. Wanderer hides them behind a saccharine smile. “Why, do you seek the heart of a star?”
The woman waves her hand dismissively. “At my age? Psh. My bones ache enough every day as it is. What good would someone like me do with immortality?”
And just like that, the storm in Wanderer's head quells, the roiling waves calm once again. Perhaps this is a safe place to stay, after all. He nods at the woman. “How right you are.”
Upstairs, the door to their shared room is locked. Wanderer thinks about knocking, but decides against it when he hears the sloshing of bathwater on the other side, so he waits patiently for Lumine to finish. She looks surprised when she opens the door and sees him standing there. She's pushed her wet golden hair back off her face and wrapped a towel around her body, once again giving Wanderer a glimpse of those slim, pale shoulders.
“How long have you been standing there?” There's a hint of wariness in her voice.
“I didn't want to disturb you.”
“Oh. Well, I'm finished now.”
She stares at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to take some unseen cue and leave. Wanderer glances at the pair of beds behind her.
“Look,” she says, dropping her voice to a mumble. “It's unspeakably kind for you to pay for this room, but you understand why I can't share it with you at the moment, don't you? It's not that I don't trust you—”
“You don't trust me?” says Wanderer, injecting a mockery of hurt into his voice.
Lumine's eyes narrow, and just for a moment, Wanderer senses a flash of that brilliant light pass across them. It's the first time he's seen it since back in the crater.
“I'll be a few hours,” she says stiffly. “You can have the room after that.”
The door slams shut in Wanderer's face. Perhaps he pushed his teasing a little too far. It's not like he needs to sleep, just as he doesn't need to eat the steaming bowls of porridge the innkeeper appears at the top of the stairs with at that moment.
“Oh dear. Did I walk in at a bad time?” she asks in a tone that suggests she heard the slam of the door and has been waiting until this exact second to make her appearance.
“Not at all,” says Wanderer, gesturing towards the room with his thumb. “She's in there.”
He finds a window that slides open, giving him a space through which to climb onto the roof. It's the sloping kind, but Wanderer easily finds his footing and plants himself behind a chimney stack – the perfect space from which to watch the sun continue its slow ascent from the horizon.
He's always liked sunrises and sunsets. The transition from night to day and back again is a constant reminder that the world is still moving around him, even if he remains trapped and stagnant in its midst.
But of course, all that is to change soon.
Some will chase a falling star for the immortality it grants. Others will chase it for the power of holding a piece of the universe in their hand. Alas, there is only one thing Wanderer wants from Lumine. It is the only thing he has ever wanted.
He places a hand over his chest and presses down. The hollow space on the other side feels like a void. He remembers the steady beat of Lumine's heart and imagines it filling his own chest, the warmth of it, the constancy . With a heart, he will finally be able to feel the emotions he has longed for during the centuries of his shallow, detached existence. With a heart, he will finally be able to start living .
A part of him wants to return from the room and cut it from her while she's sleeping and unsuspecting. But he knows he must be patient. The heart of a star is best plucked away when it is swollen with lovely emotions. The Lumine downstairs may have lowered her defences a trace, but she is still scared, trapped in an unknown world with a stranger for a guide. Wanderer needs to earn her trust if he's going to be in with a chance of stealing her heart.
Thankfully, if there's one thing he's learnt about himself over the years, it's that he's an excellent liar.
*
They leave the inn just after midday. Even after a few hours' rest, Lumine looks far better than she did before. The new dress the innkeeper gave her, a light grey garment with long sleeves and a corseted leather waist, suits her impeccably, and her skin is practically glowing after her bath. When she asks Wanderer why he doesn't want to use the room now that she's finished with it, he insists that he fell asleep on one of the large chairs in front of the hearth in the common area downstairs.
For the first couple of days, their journey takes them through hedged fields and short stretches of forest. The land is mostly flat here aside from the occasional gentle hill. Wanderer knows it'll become steeper as they approach the foothills of Mont Esus, though.
They pass a fair amount of travellers on the route – more than Wanderer expected, given that he's elected to stick to the smaller paths than the main roads. Most of them greet him with a stiff “Good day”, to which Wanderer responds with a tilt of his travelling hat. A few of their eyes linger on Lumine, but quickly turn away when they notice Wanderer glaring at them.
Only once do they pass someone, a regal-looking man on horseback, who asks them whether they've seen a fallen star. Wanderer forces his lips into a smile and tells him no.
At night, they take cover in forest thickets. The air is still thick with late summer heat, but Lumine insists they light fires, and while Wanderer rarely bothers when he's travelling alone, he does admit that there's something comforting about sitting around the flames with Lumine, chatting while roasting the wild mushrooms they've harvested during the day alongside the leftover food they bought from the inn. Lumine tells him about her life as a star, all her friends and family who are eagerly awaiting her return to the sky. Wanderer tells her about the village where he used to live and the lover who broke his heart and inspired him to roam these lands.
If Lumine suspects for an instance that he's lying, she doesn't show it.
“So, you do have a name,” she says. The light of the fire dances across her pale skin, making her look like she's ablaze.
Wanderer smiles bitterly. “Not anymore. I gave it up when I left the village and never looked back.”
It's the only part of his story that isn't a lie. He did have a name once, given to him by the mother who abandoned him. But he will not think of her, won't let her memory drag him back down into that painful black hole he's so familiar with. Not when he's so close to being free of her hold on him at last.
That night, when Lumine falls asleep on her back with her face turned to the stars, Wanderer watches her. He runs his eyes across the shape of her legs beneath the folds of her dress; her slender, pale neck; her lips, pink and parted slightly as she breathes. Always, though, his gaze returns to her chest, like a part of him believes that if he concentrates hard enough, he'll see beneath her skin and muscle to the heart that beats there.
Patience.
Maybe it's the fact they've spent a few days together, or maybe it's the fact she believes he's opened up to her, but something shifts in Lumine after that. It's subtle but unmistakeable: a hand that brushes the back of Wanderer's as they're walking, a smile or laugh that lingers for just a second longer than necessary. One morning, he spots a patch of pale pink dog roses growing among the hedgerow they're following and picks one for Lumine. The flush that creeps up her cheeks as he slips it into her hair doesn't escape him.
How fascinating it is, Wanderer thinks, that a being as mystical as a star could be wooed as easily as a human with just a few calculated gestures.
The shadow of Mont Esus quickly falls upon them, and the next evening, the pair of them arrive at its foothills. It's their final stop before they scale the first peak tomorrow, Wanderer says. If they keep pressing on through the day, they'll reach the summet by nightfall.
“It doesn't feel like a week,” Lumine muses as she settles at the side of the fire they've just finished building.
Wanderer takes his usual place on the other side. The light of the flames throw out long shadows behind them that dance against the nearby tree trunks.
“Technically, it's only been six days,” says Wanderer. “Tomorrow makes a week exactly.”
Lumine laughs softly under her breath. “Looks like you were spot on.”
“I usually am.”
A light breeze sweeps between the trees, agitating the flames and sending a plume of embers into the air. The temperature has dropped a little today. Wanderer notices Lumine shiver.
“I know you've travelled a lot before, but I do really do appreciate the time you've taken to guide me here,” she says after a spell of silence.
“There's no need to thank me,” Wanderer replies, picking up a handful of small sticks from the pile beside him and throwing them onto the fire. The flames swallow them up.
When another gust of wind stirs the air around them, Lumine isn't able to hide her discomfort. Wanderer starts to untie his robe. “Here, have this.” It's the first time he's offered it to her since that first night.
Lumine frowns, and for a moment, Wanderer thinks she's going to insist he keep it. Then her face softens. “Actually, I was wondering... if you'd let me sit with you.”
It's not the request itself that shocks Wanderer so much as the fragility of her voice. To think that this is the same woman who slammed a door in his face just a few days ago. If he said no, would she purse her lips and insist that she was only joking, or would something break behind those lovely eyes?
But of course, he cannot refuse, and so Wanderer opens his legs, providing a space for her to settle in. He drapes his robe over her shoulders and pulls her back into his chest, wraps his arms loosely around her and pushes his head forward until her hair is tickling his nose. Though faint at first, Wanderer can feel her pulse where his forearm meets her chest. He lets the sound of it swell until it's filled every inch of his body. Consuming. Intoxicating. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
It's faster than usual.
He thinks of the dagger stowed away in the side of his boot.
“There's something I must ask you.”
Lumine's voice cuts through the haze in Wanderer's head. He makes a low noise. “Mm.”
“Why are you doing it?” Lumine turns her head enough that she can stare at him from the corner of her eye. “I'm not ignorant. I know what value a fallen star holds to a mortal. Most people would capture me on the spot if they knew what I was, but you haven't so much as laid a hand upon me.”
Wanderer pulls her closer. “Is it so unusual for a traveller to help a person in need?”
He imagines that's the end of the conversation, but Lumine's brow creases in a way that suggests she knows there's more to it. Wanderer tries to smile, but it comes out closer to a grimace. When he speaks, his voice is a mumble. “I know what it's like to be left alone in the world with nobody to turn to.”
“By the lover who broke your heart before you left the village?”
Wanderer nods. It's easier than admitting the truth – that the one who abandoned him was the one who gave him life. How odd that Lumine has managed to remind him of her existence twice in one week. Odder, still, is the pain that spreads through his chest at that moment, like the sting of nettles on the inside of his skin. It's not the first time he's experienced such a sensation when thinking of his mother, but it's the most intense by far.
As always, he dismisses it, because he's a puppet without a heart, and how can one without a heart possibly be capable of feeling?
Lumine twists in his arms again, this time with her whole body. Wanderer allows her to turn until her legs are draped across his thigh and her shoulders are resting against his upper arm. She pulls his robe back across her front from where it's slipped away and brushes her hair from her eyes. He watched a woman do this to her lover once through the window of their cottage. Sure enough, Lumine turns back to the fire, a hint of that blush that coloured her cheeks when he gave her the rose returning to her face.
“It's funny,” she says slowly. “All this time, I've been looking down at the world from above, thinking I know what it would be like to walk among the people here. But it's different when you're actually in the midst of it. Scary, in many ways, but also... freeing. Like just for a short while, I can live without being tethered to the skies.”
Tethered to the skies. Such a concept would surely boggle the minds of most mortals. And yet Wanderer strangely understands what she means. He has travelled to every corner of Teyvat, scaled mountains and crossed deserts, met people from every walk of life. Still, he's never managed to shake the sense of detachment he's felt from the world. As if he, too, is merely observing the land from a distance instead of truly living in it.
The feeling of something on his face makes him look down. Lumine has reached up and is running her thumb along his cheekbone, tracing the line up to his ear and back again. Wanderer catches her wrist and delights in the slither of apprehension that flashes across her eyes.
“Yet you insist upon rushing back to your place in the sky,” he says. “Why not stay down here a little longer?”
“I have to get back. The human realm is no place for a star, and I have a duty.” Her voice wavers on the last word.
Wanderer releases her wrist to trail his fingertips down her forearm, then cups her face. “I suppose that makes your remaining time here all the more meaningful.”
Lumine's voice is barely above a whisper. “I suppose it does.”
He lowers his face an inch and stares into Lumine's eyes, seeking permission. She grants it with a tentative nod, and just like that, his lips are moving against hers, and she tastes like ash and stardust rolled into one. He groans into the embrace, tilts her head up to better slip his tongue into the cavern of her mouth before dragging his lips lower, over her chin to the soft, sensitive skin underneath.
He starts to suck at the top of her neck, then stops himself, reluctant to mar something so perfect. Lumine wraps her hand in his hair and pulls him back into her, breathless and wanton, all but forcing him to latch onto that pale skin and mark it for himself over and over again.
Wanderer doesn't suppose it matters. Her body will soon be his in more ways than one, after all.
The process of undressing begins slowly, though it's only seconds before they're fisting at the material of one another's clothes, as if racing to see who can strip the other bare first. Wanderer slips Lumine's dress up and over her head, and then he's pinning her to the forest floor, running his palms up her thighs and digging his nails into her hips. Though heartless, he has never denied himself acts of physical pleasure. Every touch leaves Lumine gasping into his shoulder. Every press of her lips has a bolt of heat rushing to his thighs.
When he finally enters her, it is as if the rest of the world has fallen away around Wanderer. He forgets the crackle of the fire beside him and the wind biting at his back; all that matters is the life trapped between his arms. And how beautiful she is for him. The shimmer of her hair feels at odds with the sweat that sticks it to her neck, her expression caught somewhere between bliss and pain as Wanderer rolls his hips relentlessly into hers. Before he knows it, her skin is radiating that same light it she did the night he found her in that crater. It grows brighter and brighter until it's blinding and Wanderer has to bury his face in her shoulder just to shield his eyes from it. The press of Lumine's nails into his shoulder blades becomes a bite, her thighs tighten their grip around his waist, and then—
And then she's fading in his arms, panting and shuddering and human once more.
At the end of it all, Wanderer holds her against his chest. The fire has burnt down to embers, and the dying light flickers across Lumine's side. Wanderer slips his hand up the length of her back before resting it between her shoulders.
She shifts against him and presses a kiss to his chest, gentle fingers settling in the divots of his collarbone. “How are you feeling?”
Wanderer lets out a sigh. Beneath his fingertips, her pulse beats softly. “Wonderful.”
*
A grey morning light filters through the treetops as Wanderer opens his eyes. He's allowed himself to fall asleep – a rarity nowadays unless he specifically wills it. In this case, he must have let the warmth of the fire and Lumine's body lull him to sleep sometime in the night.
Come to think of, where is Lumine?
He pushes himself to a seated position and looks around. The clearing is empty. Not even her clothes are lying there next to his. A flash of cold shoots up the back of Wanderer's neck. Has she left him to make the final journey towards Mont Esus on her own? Did she discover the dagger and is running away from him for her life at this very moment? Wanderer finds his boots nearby and sees the blade still stowed away where he left it, but the discovery brings him little comfort.
After slipping his clothes on, Wanderer turns and surveys his surroundings in detail. There, by the edge of the clearing, he notices a patch of undergrowth that's been recently disturbed. Walking through it takes him to a little trail between the trees, one that ends in a sweeping plain. It's through the middle of this plain that a creek runs and a small, pale figure dwells.
She's so busy washing herself in the water, she doesn't notice Wanderer at first. Only when he's started his creep towards her through the grass does she finally turn and smile at him. Though dull, the light from the overcast sky still glances off her pale skin.
She waves at him. Wanderer waves back.
Beneath his waistband, he feels the press of the dagger.
He makes his way forward with slow, deliberate steps. A part of him wants to rush in and take what is his at once, but another part wants to savour these last moments. After all, this is the final stretch, the reaping of what he has spent days to cultivate: a heart that is swollen with love and trust for him; a heart that will soon be his to possess.
If he had a pulse right now, it would surely be thundering.
“Sorry to walk off alone,” says Lumine as Wanderer reaches the bank. “I thought about waking you, but you looked so peaceful in your sleep, and it's not like we're in such a rush that we have to leave at the break of dawn, is it?”
She motions towards a natural ledge in the bank where she'd presumably slipped down to the water. Her clothes are spready out neatly nearby.
“Besides, this is such a lovely spot for bathing. The water isn't too cold when you get used to it, either.”
She turns away to splash a little water over her face, displaying the side of her neck and the bruises that darken it. Wanderer knows this is his chance. He creeps the final distance down the bank and slips down. The water reaches his mid-thighs, soaking his boots and the bottoms of his shorts, but he pays it little mind.
“Oh, Wanderer. Your clothes—”
His hand comes to rest on Lumine's hip before she can turn around, silencing her mid-sentence. “It's okay.” He drags his fingers up to her waist, taking in the feeling of her wet skin, slightly goosebumped by the cold water, while his other hand reaches for the dagger.
Lumine sighs as his hand brushes the base of her ribcage. When his thumb meets the underside of her breast, her own hand flies up to grab at his wrist. “Wait. There might be people watching.”
“There aren't,” Wanderer mumbles. He's already checked. No-one is around to see them. No-one is here to witness what he's about to do.
As his hand slips upwards to knead Lumine's breast, he slowly lifts the dagger behind her. One clean cut, that's all he needs. She's distracted now, leaning back into him as he squeezes her pebbled nipple between finger and thumb. He takes in a deep breath, then aims the tip of the blade towards her body, ready to swing it around into her chest.
But then Lumine twists against him and freezes. Her eyes find the dagger, poised to enter her, and at once, all the joy fades from her face. She stares at the blade in disbelief before turning those huge, fear-filled eyes to Wanderer.
He doesn't let them reach him.
The dagger enters her chest just below the ribcage. Wanderer pushes it in as deeply as it'll go, then wrenches it sideways, spattering the water between them with bright, scarlet blood. Lumine's mouth opens and closes as if she's trying to say something, but all that comes out are weak, shallow breaths. Still, Wanderer cannot look into her eyes. He will not.
The blood continues to flow as Wanderer pulls out the knife and tosses it into the water. There's more blood than he anticipated. Some of it has splashed across his front from the force of the initial stab. The rest of it drips down Lumine's pale stomach and mixes with the water below. Part of him expected it to glow or at least have a golden tint to it, but it's as mundane as the blood of any other creature he has brought an end to, human or animal.
With one hand on Lumine's waist to keep her upright, Wanderer places his fingertips against the incision and pushes. The warm, wet flesh parts around his hand, and he grunts softly as he cleaves his way through it, deeper and deeper until—
Oh.
There it is.
That beautiful heart, quivering in his hand. Like a dying bird throwing itself against the bars of its cage. Wanderer closes his fingers around it and pulls. It resists him at first, as if latching itself onto the flesh around it in one final attempt to stay with its host, but then Wanderer feels a muted snap deep inside Lumine, and her heart slides out.
For a moment, it is all Wanderer can do to stare at it in wonder. It's about the same size as his hand, warm and red and leaking fluid down his wrist with every guttering beat. Unlike the blood, the muscle has a glossy, golden shine to it that can only be the result of some celestial force. Even the sight of it is enough to fill Wanderer's chest with warmth.
Truly, this is the heart of a star.
He pulls Lumine close and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you,” he whispers against her skin.
Then he drops her, like an afterthought, to the bank.
Wanderer cups the heart in his hands and lifts it to his mouth. The glow is noticeably weaker now, the pulse slowing. He sticks out his tongue and runs it up the muscle, and just that single taste is enough to make him shudder with pleasure. He could lick it again and again, lapping up the blood in a promise of what's to come, if only he had the time.
Because the heart of a star must be consumed while it is still beating, or else it will drag one down into death with it.
Opening his jaw as wide as he can, Wanderer slips the heart inside. It's a stretch to fit, but Wanderer has never needed to breathe, and so he succeeds in squeezing the thing into his mouth until he's able to swallow. The warmth slips down his throat, down to his chest, and all at once, it's as though time has ground to a halt around Wanderer. The world lights up with colour. His skin starts to glow. Deep inside his chest, something unfolds like a spring bud blossoming, and at last, he feels that beat fill him, as clear and mesmerising as it was inside Lumine.
So, this is what it feels like to have a heart.
It's the last thought that goes through his head before his chest explodes in agony.
Wanderer doesn't even have time to cry out. He recoils into himself, squeezing at his chest with clawed fingers. Was he too late? Did the heart die before it managed to root itself inside him?
But that's impossible, he thinks, because he can still feel it beating away. Except every beat is a knife to his insides. Every second, it feels like the heart within him is about to tear itself in two.
He thinks of Lumine, lying against his chest by the light of the dying fire last night.
He thinks of the fear in her eyes as she turned and saw the blade in his hand.
Lumine.
Spinning in the water, Wanderer sees her draped there against the bank. Her grey, sallow face is pointed to the sky, those eyes that once looked at him with such adoration now glassy and lifeless. There's blood on her lips, her front. It stains the water around her like rot.
The sight makes him feel like he's being ripped apart all over again.
Wanderer barely makes it to the bank before the pain has him doubling over again. His arms form a cage around Lumine. He doesn't want this anymore. He would trade all the emptiness in the world for just a second's relief from this pain that feels like it's swallowing him up more with every moment. With a cry, he reaches for his chest again and tries to tear at the skin, to wrench the thing from him, but it's no use. It's as much a part of him now as his hair or lungs.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I'm sorry I did this to you.”
And he is. For the first time in his life, Wanderer truly knows what it's like to feel guilt. And it eats at him from the inside out, more and more until he can do nothing but collapse there by Lumine's side, feeling more hollow than he ever did when he was heartless.
His vision blurs and stings. If he had the will, he'd lift his hand to his cheek and realise that it's wet.
For the first time in his life, Wanderer is crying.
And the world, the wind, even the skies themselves, turn a blind eye.