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Crevaise's conversation with Krone had long since ended, and hunger had drawn him to the Zapolarnay kitchen like a moth to a warm flame. There he settled into a barstool, drew the fruit bowl closer to his person and rolled a grape between his thumb and forefinger.
The tip of a scar protruded from the end of their glove, coiling around a vein like a snake amidst grass. The kitchen was empty, but Crevaise pulled their garment down anyway. It was not a good time to dampen the mood with remnants of a bygone life.
The thought of a 'bygone life', however, lingered in the forefront of Crevaise's mind. He couldn't really call it that, could he? The Khaenrian in him didnt just leave. It was still there, ever-present, in both physical and mental ways. The scars, the nightmares, the way Snezhnayan civilians looked at them...all of it was a reminder of who he was, and what he couldn't escape from.
Obviously, Krone and Atrosisa had that issue too, though the former hid it with such pinpoint efficiency that it was hard to tell that they originated from Khaenriah in the first place. Kheas was not plagued with frequent nightmares (though if she was, Crevaise suspected that he would be the last to know), and the scars they donned were specks of dust in the wind - insignificant, unnoticed, irrelevant.
Atrosisa was another issue, thought Crevaise. The chances of her suffering from nightmares were few and far between, since their mental age far exceeded Crevaise's, but Atrosisa had been among some of the highest generals in Khaenriah, and that honor had carried over to the Abyss. The physical stress that aroused after defending Khaenriah from the Cataclysm could not just go away. And even now, though Atrosisa's hand commanded hilichurls and mages alike, they were not far from harm. Before she had come to them and Krone, bearing tales of the Fatui's plans, Atrosisa would often return from missions battered and bruised, hiding fear under bloodied bandages and a snappy attitude.
And then Krone had suggested joining forces with the Fatui, one of the strongest forces this side of Teyvat, and everything changed. Krone no longer returned home carrying birds with their feet tied together, their person messy as if they'd fought for the food. Atrosisa was no longer without bandages for their injuries. Crevaise had a bed, a real, warm bed, and safety in their slumber.
And with that security came hope. Revenge. If Teyvat could fall beneath their feet, could they consider that an equal? An eye for an eye? To watch Celestia crumble into dust and nothingness as Khaenriah once did...that would make them very happy.
Crevaise stood. He tucked an apple into his cardigan's pocket, pushed the fruit bowl back to its original position, and left the room.
He aimlessly wandered the halls of Zapolarnay Palace, hands in pockets, mind adrift. Da Xia and Chloe were scheduled to leave for Mondstadt in the evening, and the Zapolarnay Palace was alive and buzzing, mercenaries rushing back and forth. The other Harbingers steeled themselves for the onslaught of chaotic news that would ensue their arrival. Crevaise did not care for such, though he had saved the finances for purchasing the first Snezhnayan newspaper he came across.
