Chapter Text
Despite awaiting death, Kaeya’s mind was focused on his kitchen.
He wasn’t a slob, he always made sure things got done. They simply were done when they were done, was all. Unfortunately, the dishes were not done.
He had made a rushed dinner the night before. It was a Tuesday, which meant that he took a late patrol shift that ended around seven or eight in the evening. Then, he always met Rosa at the tavern, and talked about nothing. Maybe a piece of gossip or two, but mostly the other’s company. However, his shift had gone extra late into the evening, and he had a meagre half hour to eat dinner, get changed and meet Rosa at their usual time. Even without doing the dinner dishes, he had still been fifteen minutes late.
Wednesday was supposed to be his day off. He took shifts on Sundays, while everyone else preferred to go to church, so Jean had decided to give him that day off to compensate and avoid burnout. She was one to talk.
He had woken up at a leisurely pace, sleeping his slight hangover off as best he could before meandering into his kitchen (still full of unwashed pots and pans) to nibble on a piece of bread and brew some tea before settling down on his couch with a new book.
His mug was just starting to cool down, and he had just read the physical description of the protagonist, when the city’s alarm bells went off. Five sharp clangs, over and over again.
If anything, he had been annoyed. It was his day off, and he felt like doing nothing before two in the afternoon. Now he was forced to scurry around, put on his jacket, and fight whatever horde of hilichurls had decided to enter the city square and beat assorted citizens with clubs. It happened every couple of years, led to several injuries, and an abundance of new trainings and protocols for the knights to ensure it would never happen again. It always happened again.
It hadn’t been the hilichurls. And now, Kaeya was at the front of a line, hands bound, pondering the mould that would certainly grow on his nice pots.
He had fried pork in them. It was going to smell absolutely rancid when things started to go bad. Not to mention all the vegetables in his cupboard that would get slimy and musty within the week.
It was perhaps an odd concern to have at this point in time, but he indulged himself.
He rubbed his hands together, trying to get his fingers warm. It was a crisp fall evening, and he had been stripped of most of his gear, leaving him shivering slightly in the cool breeze. The cryo vision at his side wasn’t particularly helpful either.
He lifted his hands up to his mouth, trying to breath hot air onto them to make the chill more bearable. He was three breaths in before they were pushed down by the long, frigid barrel of a rifle.
“No,” the soldier commanded. His rich Snezhnayan accent rounded the syllable into something soft, despite the sharpness of his tone.
Kaeya took a deep sigh to show his displeasure, but held his tongue. His regular quips wouldn’t exactly help him here. He went back to rubbing his fingers together, the moisture from his breath making them feel even more chilled.
The soldier moved on, pacing the line of people hidden in the street beside the main square. He closed his eyes and listened to the clamour of noises around him. He could hear the clicking of boots, soldiers pacing the long line of people behind him. He hadn’t heard any gunshots for a while now, which was a relief in a way. He could also hear people being shuffled into the square, some of them fighting, some of them begging, others apparently silent. He could smell a hint of honey from Good Hunter’s pantry inside the building in front of him.
A whisper, behind him.
“Captain Kaeya?”
He turned, ever so slightly. He didn’t want the motion to be noticed.
“What do you think is happening?”
Bennett, the poor kid, really did look like just a kid at that moment. Gangly limbs and acne and unkempt hair and eyes as wide as saucers staring up at him. Asking a question they both knew the answer to in the hopes that Kaeya would have a kinder reply.
“I think we’ll find out shortly,” he offered. His voice was smooth, unwavering.
“I-” the kid’s voice broke, just slightly. “I think they got one of my dads.”
Kaeya turned a little more, so the two were facing. “Oh.”
In another situation, the words would roll off his tongue. It’s going to be okay, you’ll be alright, I’ll be there. Here, they felt empty. Kaeya simply held the boy’s gaze, nodding slightly.
A gunshot went off in the distance, making both of them flinch. Kaeya gritted his teeth, but the kid was clearly shaken. He sank to the ground, shivering and staring off into the distance.
Kaeya was suddenly hit with the memory of Crepus kneeling by him after he had fallen off his horse and broken his wrist, all those years ago. He had been a little younger than Bennett was today, but not much.
He knelt down with the kid. “Talk to me.”
Bennett shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just-”
“Hey!” A soldier shouted from the distance. He raced toward them at a fast walking pace, clearly angry.
Kaeya latched onto his forearm, hoisting him up as the soldier approached. His body was still limp and quivering, making it nearly impossible for Kaeya to hold him up with his hands bound so tightly together.
“What are you doing?” the soldier demanded.
Kaeya held the man’s gaze so Bennett didn’t have to. “Nothing, someone’s just a bit nervous is all.”
The soldier brandished his rifle, not pointing it at anyone, but making it seen. “Keep it that way.”
Bennett slowly found his footing as the soldier walked away, but was clearly still listening.
“Sorry, I-”
“We have to be quiet right now,” Kaeya whispered quickly, letting go of his arm.
“Does it even matter?”
“I’d certainly like to think so.”
Kaeya scanned the crowd for familiar faces. He had been at the front of the line of prisoners, hands overtop his head, so he hadn’t had the chance to take stock of who was with him. He could see Jean at the other end of the line, close to her sister. He imagined Jean had probably gone to protect the Cathedral, and they would have been taken at the same time.
Sure enough, Rosaria was beside them, murder in her eyes. The glower wasn’t new, but its intensity certainly was.
If nothing had happened today, he and Rosaria would have been smoking outside the tavern now, or maybe on their second beer. A banal part of him wondered if she managed to keep a pack of cigarettes on her, though she was noticeably stripped of any personal items other than her vision. He knew she would have at least one tucked away in an unimaginable spot, and hoped that he could convince her to give it to him when this whole ordeal was over.
Their bartender was thankfully absent. Or perhaps tragically. Kaeya hoped the man was safe outside the city limits, or that it had been quick.
A new soldier walked over to the prisoners' corner of the city, creating a lump in Kaeya’s throat. He was decorated with extra shiny garb, indicating a higher rank. He was there to give orders, orchestrate something.
Surely enough, he muttered something to the group of soldiers guarding them. They glanced at each other, then back at the group.
The officer stepped forward. “I’ll make this simple to understand.” His voice was crisp and polished, but his eyes were dark and beady behind his mask. “You’re going to follow me in a single-file line, and no one will make any trouble. You cooperate, and this is easy. You don’t, and we’ll make things very difficult for you.”
His eyes landed on Kaeya. “You. Follow me first.”
Kaeya gritted his teeth and stepped forward. He could feel his pulse echoing in his head.
Bad way to go.
The words twisted themselves in his mind, boring into whatever holes were inside his brain.
Bad way to go.
He was going to keep his head held high. It was the dignified thing to do, and that mattered to him.
Bad way to go.
He hoped it wouldn’t be so terrible. They needed this done quickly, after all. Or maybe not, he was clearly set aside to be an example.
Bad way to go.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart rate as he looked at the town square. The whole city had been crammed into the area, facing a hastily built wooden stage overtop of the now-destroyed central fountain. The edges of the crowd were surrounded by Snezhnayan soldiers, all holding guns. On top of the stage he could see what looked like a young general, covered in special military badges and bearing a feral smile, and a gristly old man who looked familiar. His cheeks were sagging with age, and yet his wrinkled brow remained haughty.
A Lawrence. He had seen this man on a file, somewhere, sometime. The Knights had known for some time now that the Lawrences were in cahoots with Snezhnaya, but they hadn’t chalked it up to be much of a threat. Clearly, they had missed something.
As he approached the stage, he realised he was first in line. Or rather, he realised the implications of that. Maybe it was a good thing, he wouldn’t have much time to get scared. Maybe it would be easier that way. He doubted it would be very easy, regardless.
Bad way to go.
The general ran a hand through his shockingly bright hair.
“Man, what a crowd today!” he exclaimed, as if he were a dancer at a festival rather than a soldier with notable bloodstains on his pants. “Glad you could all make it.”
The crowd stared silently up at the platform, blinking, trying to figure out the implications behind that man’s oddly cheery tone. Kaeya could feel some of their eyes anxiously trained on him, wondering what was about to happen. He couldn’t see any blades, so it would probably be a gun. Not the worst way, but-
Bad way to go.
“So, we were recently informed that your country has an illegitimate government.”
The crowd stayed silent. The speech was hard to react to, both an aggressive assertion of military control and an awkward presentation by a young man who had evidently received far too much praise in his life, or had been given chronically underexperienced speechwriters.
“I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that must have been for all of you, to be under this, this military junta, instead of the historic leaders of this land.”
So that was what all this was about. The Lawrences partnered up with the Snezhnayans to become a puppet government. Get control back over the country in exchange for being sellouts. It wasn’t beneath them, not much was.
“Our gracious Tsaritsa decided to lend you her forces to make sure this all goes smoothly, and I’m sure everyone will be very cooperative.” He said it with a smile that felt more like bared teeth on a wild dog. The threat was more than obvious. “Once everything is settled, you can all go back to living the safe, normal lives you should have been promised for generations.”
Not much of a promise. In any other circumstance, it would have earned an eye roll out of him.
“I’ll keep it short, but everything will be alright as long as you can get along with my folks over here.” He gestured at a clump of soldiers on the other side of the stage.
“Unfortunately-” his hand swept across the stage to gesture directly at Kaeya. He couldn’t stop himself from flinching, shoulders tightening and hackles raised in alarm.
Bad way to go.
“The old guard has to go.”
The crowd murmured anxiously, more eyes flickering towards the long line of prisoners.
Kaeya could feel tremors begin to unravel through his flesh. He was going to vomit. He was going to scream. Something. Anything. He wished this had just happened earlier in the day when he wouldn’t have seen it coming, the suspense made this so much worse.
Bad way to go.
“The only godly power this city needs is the benevolence and love of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa. Only when order is restored to your lands, can other powers be excused within her mercy.”
The line sounded formal, rehearsed. This was all a grand pageant for this general to celebrate death.
Bad way to go.
The general’s fiendish gaze pierced Kaeya’s single eye.
“Come here.” His voice was gentle, somehow.
Kaeya took a step back, instinctively. If his hands weren’t tied together, he would have raised them, ready to fight.
Not a second later, Kaeya felt himself be scooped up by strong arms, smelled the gunpowder on the thick wool uniforms beside him. The soldiers flanked him, pressing him tightly between their broad shoulders and dragging him towards the platform.
He dropped his weight, letting his body go limp and causing the pair to stumble. As their grips began to slide away, he launched himself backwards, landing painfully on his already bruised back.
He could hear himself breathing. Everybody could, probably. He sounded like a wild animal.
One of the two soldiers raced towards him, bending down as he ran to try and pick Kaeya up again. He raised his right foot, nailing the man square-on in the pelvis while using his other leg to push himself away. He saw the man drop to the ground, hands desperately clutching his crotch. In the distance, he heard a hesitant cheer from someone in the crowd.
Then, as if out of nowhere, a third pair of hands descended on his head and pulled. He felt his whole upper body lifted into the air, just through the base of his now-dishevelled ponytail. His bound arms whirled around, trying to get at the hands gripping him, but they were too far up for him to get any traction.
The second soldier from before approached him, this time from the side of his body where it would be harder to kick him. Kaeya still tried, legs flailing in the air, but failed. The soldier raised the butt of his rifle and drove it straight into Kaeya’s sternum.
He felt all the air leave his body, and with it a guttural yell. His arms and legs folded inwards, looking for some sort of comfort where there was none. Once again, hands gripped his underarms, and others his knees. He felt himself be hoisted up into the air for a few metres, and then promptly thrown onto the rough wooden flooring of the stage. A splinter found its way into his jaw, and another into his forearm.
He lay there for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, legs spread at odd angles, panting.
No gunshot came.
He felt the stage creak. Someone was moving around.
“Do you think I’m here to kill you?” The general murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear.
Hands grasped his shoulders, softer this time, but strong enough to peel him off the ground into a kneeling position. The general was still standing, but bent downwards far enough to reach Kaeya’s body.
He untied Kaeya’s hands, while holding an intense and unnerving eye contact with him. His eyes were piercingly blue, yet utterly soulless, trained on Kaeya’s face the way a rabid dog would fixate on a rabbit.
Kaeya briefly remembered being a child, in a wagon rolling through a countryside road.
“I bet- I bet I can spit farther than you!”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yuh-huh!”
“Neither of you are going to be doing anything of the-”
Kaeya spat right onto the general’s bloodstained boots. It wasn’t far enough to be a challenge, exactly.
The general paid it no mind, letting Kaeya’s bonds fall at his feet. He was eerily still, the opposite of Kaeya’s ragged breaths. He extended his hand, palm upwards.
“Give me your vision.”
Oh.
The statement gave him the same relief if the general had told him he was going to cut off his foot. It was better than death, but still a terrifying concept.
It certainly answered Kaeya’s questions, though. Why the soldiers had allowed him to keep it on him while they bound his hands and stripped away his armour. Why a child like Bennett was peering up onto the stage, next in line for whatever gory show this was supposed to be.
His hand reached down to the vision at his size, giving the cold stone a squeeze. It made him uneasy to imagine someone else groping it with their bare hands, feeling their greasy, sweaty fingertips against its smooth edges.
He clutched it tighter, but unlatched it from the little chain he kept it on by his side. In the corner of his eye, he could see smug grins starting to appear on nearby soldiers and the toadish, wrinkled face of the old Lawrence.
Kaeya swung his hand backward, then launched his vision into the middle of the crowd. People gasped and muttered, swinging their heads this way and that way as they looked for where the stone had gone.
He looked back into the eyes of the general, which were much less amused than before.
“Fetch.”
The general’s brow was furrowed now, and mouth slightly agape. Offended. Calculating.
Something hard and angry slammed into Kaeya’s back, knocking him back down onto the floor of the stage. A rifle butt, again.
“Find that vision!” yelled the old Lawrence, clearly in an angered panic.
The rifle butt slammed into his shoulder. Then a second one onto his elbow. Hearing the commotion around him, Kaeya allowed himself to let out a small groan.
“It’s over here!”
Slam. His shoulder.
Slam. The back of his knee. There were two of them now, at least.
“Don’t let him get it!”
Slam.
Slam.
Slam. They were speeding up now.
A gunshot, followed by a scream from the crowd.
“Drop it!”
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Kaeya’s body already hurt like hell, but something nauseating and disgusting and wrong began to course through his veins. Someone was holding it.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
Slam.
“Get him out of here,” somebody muttered.
Then, finally, the rifle was driven right into the base of his skull.
Bad way to go.