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genshinnrambles · 8 months

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[4.0]: A Theory On Rhinedottir, Alchemy, and the Meaning of Sin

“One thought may end all calamity, and there will always be thoughts that may transcend time.” -The Meaning of Aeons “Separate the dust in the flames with joy, and extract the exquisite from the crude. For all in the universe comes from a single source, and all things may be derived from a single thought.” -Cinnabar Spindle

I’ve been wanting to do some Rhinedottir speculations for a while. With the new Ancient Colors world quest in Fontaine, I think now is a good time to propose a theory about this mysterious member of the Hexenzirkel, her approach to alchemy, and the reason she is a “sinner,” especially within the context of one of the Archon Quest’s central questions: what does it mean to be “born with sin”?

SPOILERS: Up to Act II of the Fontaine AQ (just Primordial Sea stuff), and Ancient Colors.

Although Rhinedottir is never mentioned by name in Ancient Colors, all of the signs of her are there: Mamere’s identity as an artist, Elynas’ otherworldliness and similarities to Durin, and the differences between the Melusine’s perception of the world and our perception of it (or their aesthetics, which we will touch on later). Ancient Colors is trying to remind us of Dragonspine and, if you were playing during this time, Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, and I believe it is doing so because it is key to the secret of the Primordial Sea and the prophecy of Fontaine.

We’ve heard Rhinedottir’s perspective only twice so far, and that was in the Windblume festival from this last year and in Cinnabar Spindle’s lore. Though we still don’t know much about her, she does identify herself as a “mother” of many children, and that she is raising the only son she has left. This, of course, is Albedo.

We also know that she is considered a "sinner" at the center of the Cataclysm who unleashed "an army of shadowy monsters" onto Teyvat, but we have very little grasp of what exactly is meant by "sinner," and what if any consequences this label has had on her since then. Although every Hexenzirkel witch will undoubtedly be very important to uncovering the truth of Teyvat, Rhinedottir presents a particularly interesting case as the only one whose activities may have caused cataclysmic destruction, as opposed to Alice's general mischief and strange sense of humor.

It’s almost nothing to go off of, but I hope to demonstrate in this speculative theory that it’s more than enough to arrive at some answers.

Psychoanalysis 101, Round 2

To better explain what Durin, Elynas, and Rhinedottir’s other children are, we need to use an analogy rooted in Freud’s psychoanalytic theory of dream interpretation. This is a super TL;DR version of it and way oversimplified, but if you’re interested I wrote a more detailed theory about the significance of dreams in Genshin that has a full explanation of it there. (Also, it should be said that these were just Freud’s theories, please do not take any of the following as an accurate description of the human psyche and how it works. We are just having some fun for the sake of media analysis.)

Freud thought that dreams are the mind’s means of expressing unfulfilled wishes, and that the psychological purpose of dreaming is to “fulfill” those wishes. In A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis, he gives an example of this through a little girl’s dream where she was sailing on a lake: this dream was born out of an unfulfilled wish in her waking life, where she had to stop sailing on the lake despite wishing to continue. Hence, “I wish to sail on the lake” becomes “I am sailing on the lake” through the dream.

Further, Freud thought these unfulfilled wishes are “forgotten” in our unconscious mind when we are awake, censored by the ego to protect our conscious mind, but that at night this censorship is weakened. This is what allows a dream to occur while we sleep.

These unfulfilled wishes are often more complicated than a childish wish to keep sailing on a lake. Think about it this way: a wish is, at its core, a thought in our head, or a desire. What do we do with the thoughts we don’t like, the ones that are unbecoming of us or are unacceptable to fulfill?

We deny them.

Specifically, we repress them into the unconscious, where they are forgotten. Thing is, even if we temporarily forget these thoughts, they won’t just disappear from existence - they fester in the unconscious, waiting to be expressed. The dream, therefore, is the unfulfilled wish/repressed thought’s attempt to cross the boundary from the unconscious mind into the conscious mind - to be acknowledged, or indeed remembered.

“Unfulfilled Wishes”

Making sense so far? If so, try to think of Teyvat like this: everything that is visible, everything above ground that the light touches and that can be perceived is like the ego and conscious mind. All of these things are what you’re aware of, things that you “know” and can make sense of, things that you understand, things that fit into rules and laws and order.

Now, think of everything in Genshin that is “unseen” and “unknown”: the Abyss, the spaces underground, forbidden knowledge, things that are “not from this world,” from beyond the firmament…these are like things from the unconscious mind, the repressed thoughts that we deny in ourselves because they may reveal a truth we are unwilling to face. These things are comparatively chaotic in nature, things we’d rather avoid, or things that we wish to forget.

We know that Elynas’ and Durin’s bodies are composed of matter that’s foreign to Teyvat, and that this is a major reason why they are incompatible with Teyvat and cause its destruction. This would make them more similar to a repressed thought, something that we don’t understand or know, and attempting to understand it destabilizes our sense of self, our “truth.” It follows that their home, the Abyss, is most similar to our unconscious mind, and Teyvat is most similar to our conscious mind.

Elynas: Before I was born, I floated in the cosmic darkness. It was cold there, and lonely. I was so sad, then, and I would often cry.

So, as their mother, who or what is Rhinedottir in this analogy? Well, we can be a lot more specific than calling her a “sinner.” In fact, she’s a dreamer, and alchemy is the medium through which she “dreams”:

This was a story from long ago... Unborn life, unfulfilled wishes, Tragic dreams at the edge of the universal darkness that could never come true, Indwell my body, and descend unto this world. Then, my lovely children, Like rainwater flowing into creeks, and plants growing towards the sun, Go unto a lovely place, and display your own beauty there with pride. This is a memory, a memory that a child named Durin had of his mother… "Thank you, Mother, thank you." "You gave me wings to soar and a mighty form." "Mother, I wish to go to a land of lovely songs," "I will tell them about you, Mother, and about everyone else." "I shall tell them that the place where I was born is beautiful." -Festering Desire

Rhinedottir’s children, then, are like thoughts or ideas that she is bringing to life, or “making conscious,” by moving them from the Abyss to Teyvat. It may even be the reason why the sword from The Chalk Prince and the Dragon is called Festering Desire in the first place - it’s a reference to the idea of repressed thoughts, wishes, and desires festering in the unconscious.

Should the analogy hold true, it provides some insight into what her intentions may have been in creating her Abyssal dragons. But before that, we need to take a little detour into Enkanomiya and brush up on some lore.

Denouement of Sin

Eboshi: However, the heavenly order seemed to not wish for those who remembered all this to remain on the earth. We searched and searched for a road of return, but there was none to be found.

Remember these hologram-looking dudes? They are the Shades of Tokoyo, also known as Sinshades. They are described as afterimages of the former citizens of Byakuyakoku preserved by Istaroth’s favor, specifically those citizens’ most powerful emotions, and they are only visible during Evernight:

Eboshi: Due to the phenomenon known as Sinshades, the “past,” “history,” and “truth” of Enkanomiya would endure even if left to their own devices. Eboshi: As such, great effort was expended, not that we might remember, but that we might “forget.” Lady Sangonomiya was of this view.

Like a dream, Sinshades only appear at night, and they are a kind of embodiment of history or “truth” that Watatsumi Island has chosen to forget, representing the thoughts and emotions of those who once lived in Enkanomiya. Using Freud’s theory of dream interpretation as a framework, Enkanomiya then functions as Watatsumi Island’s unconscious mind.

Put another way, if all Sinshades are the result of strong emotions preserved in time through Istaroth’s favor, then those emotions are like thoughts, and that would make the Sinshade a “physical” form or expression of those thoughts. So, when we call the afterimages the “Sins of Tokoyo,” we are in effect calling them the “Dreams of Tokoyo,” because they are the thoughts and emotions of Enkanomiya given form, and that’s what dreams do: they convey thoughts and feelings through a series of images.

Through the Sinshades, we see an implicit association with the concepts of dreaming and sinning in Genshin’s worldbuilding, and through them we understand that they are not so different from one another.

A Brief Note on Aesthetics

Jakob: Look at your feet. Blood, flowing like a river, fertilizing the very dust of the earth with their filthy fat.

It may have struck you how various Melusine perceive reality in a way that greatly differs from the things we see, as if at times their perception was “flipped,” if not somewhat strange. By the end of Ancient Colors, it’s clear that this is due to the Melusine being born of Elynas, who is not from this world. A similar phenomenon can be seen in both Durin and Elynas, the former imagining itself dancing with the people of Mondstadt before it “woke up” from this dream to Dvalin’s fangs in its neck, and the latter realizing that the things that it finds fun are destructive and harmful to the people of this world.

This is a part of the commentary present in several world quests and commissions in Fontaine that deal with “aesthetics,” or one’s own sense of beauty. Aesthetics are principles that differ on both large and small social scales, varying between groups of people and between individuals (see Salsa’s and Ubu’s aesthetic disagreement), and they can change throughout time as values change. In other words, they are informed by perspectives.

For example, think of what we know so far about the Primordial Sea. Neuvillette wonders how the Primordial Sea could be capable of giving life and then “suddenly reversing itself” so that it instead “devours life,” but this is just his judgment of what the sea does, and ultimately his perspective. Many others view the properties of the Primordial Sea differently from him: to them, the prophecy is comforting because it signals a “return,” or a “homecoming.” To take it a step further, Neuvillette may be making an assumption by stating that the sea has reversed itself. Perhaps this is just how the sea is, perhaps this is its “truth.”

Verenata: The "truth" will not be limited or constrained by the eyes and perspectives of the viewer, and won't be distorted by what is in their heart. It objectively exists, and it just is...like the white sand, like the bones of seastars, like the waves that crash and pound...those are "truth."

Now, imagine that you are staring at a 3D object from a 90 degree angle. If I ask you to describe the object from where you're standing, you'll be able to accurately tell me about what roughly half of the object looks like, but you won't be able to accurately describe the other half of it without help from someone standing on the other side of the object.

But how can you be sure there even is another side of the object, or that it's any different from the one you see now? From your perspective, what is already visible to you may seem sufficient to describe the object in its entirety. In other words, your perspective becomes your "truth."

It is only through considering additional perspectives that we broaden our own understanding of reality and expand on our "truth." However, broadening our perspective is usually not a comfortable experience, as is typical when we engage with ideas that differ from our own. Part of expanding our "truth" requires us to shatter our current understanding, pick up the pieces, and reassemble them into a shape that makes space for these other ideas and their "truth."

For example, when we confront Jakob at Elynas' heart, he describes the rushing currents beneath our feet as Elynas' blood. To the player, who has been swimming around in that for a couple of hours by that point, this idea is macabre and horrifying. However, when we consider Jakob’s perspective, his “truth,” it also expands our understanding of Elynas as a being that is somewhere between dead and alive, sleeping if you will, and that he is more than capable of waking up from his slumber with the appropriate stimulus. Another example is Canotila, who saw the wasteland in Rene's Book of Esoteric Revelations as a peaceful forest. When we consider Canotila's "truth," her aesthetic sense doesn't change the way we see the wasteland, but it does show us something equally important: the way that we experience the wasteland is not the only way it can be experienced.

If we return to the other ever-present metaphor of alchemy as a form of painting, we can see that Rhinedottir’s aesthetic sense greatly differs from what is acceptable and compatible with Teyvat. But, just like Mamere, she paints regardless of whether her paintings are understood by a greater audience. In time, Teyvat's "aesthetics" may change again, and perhaps her "art" will be received differently when that time comes.

Concluding Thoughts

(A pool full of Water from the Primordial Sea. Countless sins were born of it…)

So, that is why I think Rhinedottir was deemed a sinner. She sinned by “dreaming” up these chaotic life forms that were not from this world, bringing them into being through the Art of Khemia, and telling those chaotic life forms that they were beautiful, too, that the ordered and lawful world of Teyvat just needed to realize how beautiful they were. Maybe Rhinedottir was dreaming of a new world, one where her children’s wishes could be fulfilled, where they could exist with everyone, and maybe creating that world required the destruction of this one. You could also think of her as someone who has introduced “external variables” into Teyvat, which, hmmm..:

“...No matter how many times I derive it, the result remains the same, though this result is not expected... Unlike the world depicted in these ancient texts, there will be no more new civilizations born... Unless we consider introducing "variables" from outside the system... If it was that sort of power, there might be a chance…” -Enigmatic Page I, Book of Esoteric Revelations

In this way, her “children” (thoughts) were all “born with sin,” or are born from sin (dreams). If Rhinedottir is a dreamer, then alchemy is the way that she dreams: it allows her to give forms to these thoughts. And if you buy that, then there are some serious implications to consider from this whole notion of Fontainians being “born with sin,” and just what exactly the Primordial Sea might be. Definitely something to think about while we wait for 4.1.

One last point that is more of an aside than anything else: Rhinedottir’s only remaining child is Albedo, but through this lens we see that he is not just the culmination of the Primordial Human Project, the creation of a human through the power of alchemy, but also the only known example of Rhinedottir’s “ideas” that coexists with Teyvat as it is now. As for her known extant grandchildren, they have integrated with Fontainian society and don’t seem to cause them any trouble. I wonder if she knew something like that could happen?

But…that’s just my take on it so far. What do you think?

(also, fun fact: there is a parallel storyline to this one unfolding in Honkai Star Rail right now as it relates to being deemed a “sinner” for creating life, and another parallel storyline in Honkai Impact 3rd about creation and rebirth and “returning home to the sea” and I just love when Hoyoverse connects their games like that)

EDIT (9/8/2023): Touched this up a bit and made some grammatical corrections. Thesis is the same, some added support and re-phrasing was done to better convey it.

Sources

A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis by Sigmund Freud

#genshin impact #genshin lore #genshin impact lore #genshin theory #genshin meta #genshin impact meta #fontaine lore #rhinedottir #theory #elynas #durin #melusine #long post

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m1d-45 · 10 months

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the rule of threes

summary: “subject two” was created in the image of a god he could never fulfill. how does that turn out for him? (spoilers, not well.)

word count: 3.4k

-> warnings: major spoilers for albedo lore, rhine is Not A Good Person, uh ig allusions to gore but nothing bad, incoherency in General

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

“have you ever tried to create life from nothing?”

for a woman of science, rhinedottir was acting rather scatterbrained, frantically pulling bottles from shelves. each of them was twisted, and eventually returned to their place, the small plate above them marked with red.

“to sprout a seed with no water, to make a flower bloom within your hand?” it was a wonder she was still talking to him, crazed eyes always searching for his. did she think he’d run off? it wasn’t as if he could, with the doors bolted shut. “impossible. impossible. the slightest of changes in the ley lines ruins everything- have not one of these survived?”

that was new. he’d thought the lab was low enough no elements flowed, or at the very least the rest of the city blocked it. that’s what he’d always believed, as it was the only solution for his failure.

or was it him that was the problem? he didn’t know. he may have been her first success, but he was also her first failure.

bottles stopped returning to shelves, glass shattering on the floor and sending thick sludge all over the floor. fragile bones cracked on impact, half formed bodies crumpling with splats that made him cringe.

it wasn’t rare to see her so angry, but it was rare for her to take it out on her work. still, he did his best to ignore her, bringing his legs onto his chair and twiddling a pen between his fingers. it didn’t make it easier to block out the sound, but he did feel better when he could focus on tracing a square over and over, trying to keep the lines as thin as possible.

“stupid, stupid stupid stupid! i told them this would be revolutionary, but all they think about is their god-“ their what? “-and they don’t even try to listen to me! of course they didn’t, because what do i know? i’m only the-… the…”

he did look up, then, seeing her staring at a bright bottle. at least a hundred shattered bottles lay at her feet, yet she didn’t seem to notice, transfixed by the single flask in her hand.

“the greatest alchemist in the world,” she whispered.

all at once, she turned to him, boots crunching over flesh and bone as if it were nothing. he winced back slightly when the squish of her boot made some of the sludge splash up, landing halfway up the leg of his chair.

“look.” he didn’t want to. her eyes were wide and crazed and he was terrified. the bottle itself was harmless, the organism inside curled underneath and far from consciousness, but she.. “he lived.”

he gripped his pen tightly, forcing a nod.

“he’ll be perfect.” that’s unrealistic. “i just know it. look at him.” you’re being irrational. “he needs a name.” you don’t even know if he’ll survive.

she walked away and began to pace, seemingly not noticing the tens of half-formed corpses beneath her feet. “a name, a name…”

what a sight. for someone so set on creating life, she disrespected so many.

he looked back down to his paper, continuing his exercises. around the square, then the other way, then the hexagon. the lines grew thicker as the amount of sides increased, his pen slipping on the page. still, he kept his hand as steady as possible, breathing slowly. he could just ignore her. it’s not like she’d ask for his input, so he can just focus on the shapes, keeping each angle as sharp-

“hey!” his pen slipped as his shoulders jumped, dark ink soaking through the page. he turned, and found her frowning at him, bottle clutched in her hand. “pay attention. this could be groundbreaking; whatever you’re doing doesn’t matter in the face of perfect alchemy.”

he was doing as he was told. practicing his lines, slowly taming the tremors in his hands, stopping every half hour to train with the ball she’d given him for that exact purpose. ten squeezes with one hand, ten with the other, ten between the palms, and a quick massage of the muscles. as he was asked.

“i’ve decided on a name, if you care.” she turned back to the bottle, all traces of anger dissipating. she smiled at the bottle, carefully twisting it in her hands. “he will be nigredo.. the first stage of my magnum opus.”

his eyes flicked to the bottle, a small ember of resentment burning in his chest.

“as you wish, master.”

‘nigredo’ didn’t last long. within a month or so, his bottle blackened, eventually cracking altogether. he was there when she came back, finding the bottle leaking on her desk. she’d panicked, frightened, her concern eventually bubbling into anger.

the bottle had hit the wall just beside his head. something soft trickled down his cheek, landing on his paper. he lifted his hand, feeling dust fall from a small slit in his skin. he looked over to rhinedottir in shock, but she wasn’t looking. she was pacing angrily, glaring at the paperwork on the desks around her like it would be the next thing thrown. he didn’t want to bother her, he didn’t, but whatever sand was pouring through his skin was making him panic.

a breath in, a breath out. she didn’t seem any less upset than the last time he looked.

“..master?”

his hands flinched tighter when she whipped to look at him, his pen skidding across the page again.

“what?”

“my.. my cheek.” he took his hand away from it, but the dust continued to fall. “the bottle hit me.”

she stared, confused. “what bottle?”

“nigredo’s.” his chest burned, bitter, but he pushed aside his feelings. “i.. don’t believe this is normal, is it?”

another stretch of silence, her eyes flicking between his and the wound on his cheek.

“why would i do that?”

“i’m not suggesting you’d hit me on purpose-“

“why would i throw him? no, i.. i was going to fix him. i wouldn’t do that.”

it was his turn to stare, shocked. “but… you did.”

the dust hitting his page was the only sound in the room, neither of them moving.

“don’t be ridiculous,” she eventually said. “i wouldn’t hurt him like that. i have no reason. why would i waste so much of my time like that? all my effort into imitating the div-….”

“…you were angry. people say and do uninthings when they’re-“

“and what would you know about people?”

that was cruel.

his synthetic heart beat in his ribs like it wanted to flee, the dust continuing to pour from his skin in a stark reminder of his inhumanity.

“…master-“

“i’m leaving. i expect this place to be clean when i come back.”

he didn’t even flinch when she slammed the door. such things were regular occurrences.

“…what’s this, master?”

“he has a name. durin.”

another one with a name. when would he earn his?

“i see. my apologies.”

“whatever. go say hello.”

“pardon?”

“you heard me.”

sand was still trickling from his cheek, a brief wave coming quicker when he frowned. “master, i don’t think-“

“he doesn’t bite, it’s fine.”

and to her credit, he hadn’t.

(“rhinedottir! what have you done?”)

(“i’ve done many things. could you clarify?”)

(“w-what’s this?” his body was dead, but he still felt the way durin grumbled and hissed. “what have you made? we’re willing to look past a lot of your experiments, but this-!”

(“watch your tone. he’s perfect.”)

(“rhine-“)

(“why can’t you all just trust me? you act like i’m touting myself around like a god-“)

(“you are. your hubris will get you killed-“)

(“by who? what? who’ll dare to touch me? …nobody. exactly. nobody, not even that thing in the sky that calls itself the creator.”)

(“rhine-!”)

(“no. get out. you’re disrupting my work.”)

(“you know how celestia is, they’ve already started approaching the gates-“)

(“then let them come. you’ve seen my work. we’ll survive the battle.”)

(“what of the innocents? what of the kids and the elderly, those that did nothing wrong? do they deserve to die for you?”)

(“…if i deserve to die, then nobody deserves to live.”)

in his opinion, there’s only one thing worse than dying: figuring out you hadn’t.

the constant beat of a dragon’s heart had finally dulled, and with it his uncertain stasis ended. he was brought back to life, surrounded by bones that weren’t his, unsure which way was up.

the bones were tough to break, but a small sliver off the end made it easier to cut through flesh. he didn’t know why he was alive, or how, all he knew was the red blood oozing around his hands and a drive in his chest that told him to survive. his skin was hot, his clothes clinging to him and adding to the feeling of being trapped, the sludge around him unrelenting in its quest to keep him there, inside, stuck in the chest of this beast-

the air was cold. his heart was colder. the ground was hard where he fell, humming with energy from the core he just escaped. he looked up at the heart, his own beating frantically, and watched the space that he had carved for himself seal up, as if he was never there to begin with. the blood and flesh left on his clothes—he was still wearing the same thing from that day, torn and flimsy—soaked into the ground, making the earth burn a vibrant red.

durin had died too, just as nigredo had. he was the only one left. the only one left of rhinedottir’s creations, accused of killing the first and nearly dying to the second.

or…

well, he certainly wouldn’t be surprised if she’d kept her other projects quiet. he was hardly allowed to leave the lab, let alone the palace, so who knew what she was up to? it could be any number of things, knowing her.

he pushed himself up on shaky limbs, uncharacteristic anger fueling his thoughts. he never hated rhinedottir before, but now that he was betrayed, what point did he have to try and care for her? she never gave him her love, so why did she deserve his?

with a hand on the wall—flesh melded into stone, he didn’t think about how long durin had been sitting here lest he be paralyzed by time—he began to stumble toward the exit of the cave, his legs stiff. he felt like when he was first created, shaking and confused, except now he knew that he was weak due to muscle atrophy and not his nerves struggling to fire.

(“there you are,” she had smiled. “let me help you down, i’m sure it’ll be hard on your own.”)

(it was. he clung to her as his lifeline, hands shaking and knees wobbling. the room was bright, loud, his mind pinging from object to object as he reached for anything he recognized. how strange, to be formed fully conscious and yet without any knowledge of the world around you. no words to describe the softness of the cot she sat him on, no name for her eyes as she gently picked up his hand, tracing the tremors.)

(“are you scared?” he didn’t know what that was. the lab was confusing, emotions he didn’t know how to handle bubbling and overflowing. “i’ll take care of you, it’s okay.” a hand to her chest, a soft call of her name, the first word he ever knew one that belonged to her.)

(he’d done his best to learn to say it, but he was imperfect. his hands quaked, his tongue was stiff, and by the time he’d managed to say it in full she had corrected him to ‘master.’ he only learned the concept of time when he was told he was using too much of hers, sequestered to a corner of the room where she didn’t have to look at him.)

(maybe that was why he wasn’t given a name. why would he have one when he couldn’t even recite it?)

with a shake of his head the memory was cleared, mind once again centered on the cave. perhaps he should sit, try to clear the fog over his head… the air was getting colder the further he went from the heart, white dust flickering in the air. ash? no, too bright…

he lowered himself to the ground carefully, leaning against stone. already he was tired, and he’d barely made it halfway out. how long was he… not asleep, perhaps unconscious? he didn’t know.

something was—howling? calling? what was the word? was all that time spent with a dictionary was for naught?—loud, crying out and filling the whole cave. maybe whatever was moving the white… what was it? it looked soft where it piled on the ground, yet to survive in the cold air… all of it melted before it reached him, but he wanted to know what it was.

(curiosity.)

the ground was rocky, but he had plenty of practice in pulling himself where his legs could not take him. across the lab, into a chair, to the shelf when his master was too busy to get it herself. he guided himself around a sharp stone, stopping a few inches away from the substance. already some of it was beginning to land on his clothes, settling into the creases as he pulled his legs up to his side to sit more comfortably. he lifted his hand, watching as a few of the particles landed in his palm. they were small, details too fine for him to fully pick out. they melted slowly in his hand, fading away, but many more soon took their place. they were cold, but he hardly felt the chill anymore, transfixed by the sight. they had to have a name, right? something soft, to adequately describe the gentle fall when they weren’t whipped around by whatever force lay outside the cave, had to…

“have you never seen snow before?”

snow. snow. ah, that was a nice word for it.

“i haven’t.”

he looks up, finally, and sees another man standing there. he has light hair and a blue shirt, a white lab coat overtop. an odd orange crystal sits at his collar, just below a diamond shaped mark on his skin in the same color.

“who are you?”

they both ask the question at the same time, and he’s surprised by how hollow he feels when asked. he doesn’t have a name, not even a designation or title. anger began to spark in him again, but was cut short by the other man putting a hand to his chest.

“i am the chief alchemist of the knights of favonius, here to determine any changes resulting from the uncharacteristic ley line activity recently.” an alchemist… his master was an alchemist, wasn’t she? was she still alive? maybe she knew this man- could he see her again? would she remember? maybe him being eaten by durin was a fluke, maybe she’d say sorry and maybe his survival was enough proof of his worth that he’d get what he’d longed for for so long.

“my name is albedo. what is yours?”

the world stopped turning. the snow stopped falling. everything froze, his world sharpening to a pin, his breath pausing as he looked into the eyes of the man with a name.

the creation with a name. albedo.

“…her magnum opus.”

albedo blinked, but didn’t seem all that surprised. “so you are another of master’s students.”

‘student.’ he was lucky she afforded him a spare pen, but he was taught?

(what did he know? he wanted to know too. what did his master do? what else was there to learn? how many books of knowledge existed beyond the four walls he’d grown to hate? could he finally put the sights to the names? what was the sun and how did it rise, what was a day and how did it end, what was the world and how did it work?)

(curiosity.)

“how interesting. she told me of a few trials before me, but i didn’t expect you to be-“

“were you created too?”

say no. say no and tell him he wasn’t the only one. say no and say it wasn’t his fault. say no and say he wasn’t a failure.

“…yes. i was.”

anger was bubbling and beginning to rise, irrational and yet uncontrollable. he shouldn’t be angry at albedo, he’d done nothing wrong, but his heart refused to obey.

“did she speak of me?”

“i don’t know. she spoke about durin, sometimes, and mentioned one of my predecessors. are you nigredo?”

nigredo died. nigredo died, and yet he was worth more of her time.

how?

what made him so imperfect? what was wrong with him being a first attempt? that didn’t mean failed. first didn’t mean failed, it meant first.

he was the first. had she not completed what she set out to do? synthetic life, an abiotic creation, proof of her knowledge and ability, proof it could be done at all. what part of him made him so inherently worthless? why did she want perfection? why couldn’t he be perfection?

albedo walked closer, more details coming into focus. the buckles on his coat—not a lab coat, then, or perhaps an altered one?—and the lines on his boots clear enough he could see them. when he crouched in front of him, he could see the gem on his collar sway slightly, the spikes on its inlay now visible. he leaned away, one hand tightening into a fist where he’d set it in the snow, the cold sinking into his palm. it rushed up his arm and into his chest, settling right next to the burn of his anger.

“when did you get your name?”

“when i was first able to ask for it.” albedo took his hand despite how he tried to pull it away, easily overpowering him. “interesting. you don’t appear to have any body heat of your own, and yet are shivering.”

(anger.)

“are you scared?”

(rage.)

“has she sent you? is that why you’re here?”

“not at all.” he let his hand fall, idly swiping a bit of snow from his shirt. his hand was warm. “i came here to inspect durin’s heart. did you come from there?”

(righteous fury.)

the snow in his hand packed together, the swirl of flaming anger and frigid resentment making his chest heaven as he took in air he didn’t need.

“i was eaten by him.”

“you survived being eaten by a dragon? a commendable feat. did you dig your way out?”

with hands that shook and eyes that couldn’t cry, supported on weakened legs and with bones barely able to keep me up. were you fed as often as i was? you look much less wiry.

“is that why your hands are shaky? perhaps i should take you to my lab…”

yes, the lab, take me there and fix everything that’s wrong with me, give me writing exercises and assure me it’ll pass, that i’m something broken, that you know better, that i was never and would never be what you wanted or strived for. tell me often enough and i’ll believe it, i’ll believe you when you say i’m wrong, believe you when you say it won’t hurt, believe you when you promised it would be okay, for you were the master and i were the slave-

a string that wasn’t his snapped, another’s anger channeled through him. all he could see was red, a chalk heart in his ears demanding he hit before it was returned. who, he didn’t know, nor why, a torrent of thoughts released through him, years of anger melting the ice around them.

albedo didn’t deserve his anger, not really. but his master did, and he was the closest thing.

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