Work Text:
Zhongli wanted to care. Zhongli wanted to feel sorry, wanted to feel sad for the young man. He wanted to miss him.
But he couldn't. He saw the ginger's body bleed out his last drops of life in front of him and he couldn't cry. His thousands of years, of living losses didn't allow him to.
And Zhongli discovered, wanting so desperately to feel something, was worse than actually feeling it.
The unmoving, cold body of the harbinger sat in front of him, rested against the shining walls of the golden house. Ocean blue eyes stared lifelessly at the blood stained floor.
The silence in the room was too loud. Too loud for the archon's calm mind. Zhongli couldn't blame anyone, even if he wanted to.
The 11th Harbinger of the Fatui was dead, and was never coming back.
