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Havria used to drown in countless mortal, fleeting pleasures. Out of all the gods, she was probably the most self-indulgent yet self-sacrificing being; and she always urged the others to do the same.
“Morax!” Havria had grinned. “Come take a look at this!”
One of her people had carved the insides of a bamboo stick to produce different sounds, high and low. After such a discovery, it was soon used to play music, and it’s popularity spread across her land pretty quickly.
Of course Havria had tried it, too.
Morax merely raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“Anyone can do that.” He had said, with a slight scoff.
Havria frowned, tears already starting to well in her eyes, but persisted.
Morax had gotten pretty tired of this thing mortals call a flute.
Millennia later after Havria’s death, Childe sees Zhongli’s eyes linger on a stall selling instruments, and buys a flute on a whim.
“Do you want to try and play?” Childe asks, fingers gentle grazing his own.
Zhongli chuckles. “Maybe you’d want to try?”
Childe’s eyes brighten, and he reaches for the flute in his hands.
Childe plays, his fingers pressing on the different parts of the flute, and plays a tune.
Zhongli closes his eyes.
He sees the vast mountains casted over bright skies. He sees cranes’ wings’ shadows towering over Qixing flowers on Minlin peaks.
He feels… a surge of nostalgia, and a surge of firm power coursing through his veins.
It is duller than the adrenaline from the Archon War, but no less enticing.
His ears strain for more, and he thinks; ah, so this is music.
Childe continues to play, his confident demeanor standing proud. His heart pounds and it burns. A pleasant feeling that dangles in front of his face, and all he needs to do is reach out.
And he does, caressing Childe’s cheek, and Childe laughs.
And then he thinks; ah, so this is love.