Under The Oak Tree || Scaramouche

Chapter two

   THE MELODY OF BIRDSONG awakened Scaramouche, his eyes fluttering open to the rays of sunlight peeking from the branches of the oak tree. The morning air was cool with a lingering scent of earthy dew. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he gradually gained control of his limbs. Once he propelled his upper body off the grass, he rested his elbows on his knees and raked his fingers through his hair. For some unknown reason, he felt different. Rejuvenated, almost. Like a new powerful energy was pumping through his bloodstream, and he was on a high.

Brushing off that strange sensation, he released a heavy sigh and shifted his gaze to the sun rising from the horizon. Though as he did, his eyes caught onto the figure lying a considerable distance from him. He shot up from his position, his senses now shot on high alert. It was a girl. She was curled into a ball, her hair sprawled across the grass, and her eyes peacefully shut as her chest rose and fell.

The sight of her caused memories to rise to the surface of his mind, and his hands instinctively shot to his abdomen. He had been injured from his impulsive search to hunt down Dottore-which he now vividly remembered ended quite badly. His kimono was stained with a deep scarlet, but as his fingers touched the place his wound should have been, he only felt smooth and unscathed skin.

It was impossible. He remembered the agonising pain that felt like a thousand searing pin needles were slicing into his skin. At first, he thought the pain would eventually fade away, but then he felt his life slipping between his fingers without so much as a forewarning. He was convinced he would finally encounter the infamous deity of death.

And then, you appeared out of nowhere. You looked so confused as you observed your surroundings, as if you were a frantic little rabbit that hadn't a clue of where you were. But then when he had spoken to you, a flicker of recognition had passed through your features. You had stared at him in such awestruck and surprised, he had been caught off guard. No one in Teyvat knew of the name Scaramouche, nor of the sixth Harbinger whose existence had been erased from earth.

However, when his consciousness had been fading in and out, he had heard his name fall from your lips. Your face was blurry in his memories, but he recollected the worry etched across your features. It was strange-you had truly appeared as if you cared about his life. He had seen humans mourn for their loved ones, and distress over them going through painful circumstances in their lives, but never once had such expression been directed toward him.

He shook off the foolish theories that clawed its way into his mind. No-he had never met you before. Perhaps your intentions behind saving his life were an act? There was a possibility you could be a spy, but then again, no one in Teyvat remembered him.

Did you care about a mere life so much that you'd wear such a distressed expression? If so, he assumed you to be a human with fragile emotions. Who truly cared for a stranger's life to that extent? His gaze lowered to the blanket now abandoned on the grass as questions and theories racked his brain.

"Um, hello."

Your voice yanked him out of his whirlwind of thoughts. His eyes shot to yours. Your hair fell over your shoulder blades as you tilted it to the side, and he watched as your gaze lowered to his stomach. The warmth of the sunlight gleamed against your skin, and he noticed the dark rings under your eyes.

"Does your wound feel better?" You asked, your voice hoarse and scratchy. Your body had taken a toll after your magical core had practically been drained, and your head felt far too light as you struggled to stand steady.

"Yes, I don't feel a thing," Scaramouche replied, watching you carefully. "How did you do it? I was near death, and the wound was far too severe for an average healer to make it disappear completely."