The Genesis [Honkai: Star Rail Fanfiction]

Chapter 6: Initialization Of The Plan

Acheron found herself amidst the desolation of the once-grand chamber, its walls now scorched and crumbling from the ferocity of their battle.

With his head resting gently in her lap, she couldn't help but feel a pang of anguish each time her gaze fell upon the still figure before her. The wound on his chest seemed to radiate with a palpable agony, each glance splintering her heart into a million shattered fragments. Yet, amidst the wreckage of her emotions, answers remained elusive, hidden behind veils of unfathomable depths.

"Why does my heart convulse so at the sight of his wound?" she pondered, her thoughts echoing in the cavernous chamber. "What force propelled me to unleash such fury upon him? No, it goes beyond mere answers; there's a resonance...." Her movements had seemed to flow of their own accord during the battle, guided by an unseen force, as if settling a debt owed to him—a debt ancient and profound. But why, then, did his current state inflict such searing torment upon her soul?

Only moments earlier, he had been a stranger in the tapestry of her existence, a face glimpsed but a voice unheard. Yet, their connection had ignited with an intensity that defied logic, leaving her vulnerable in ways she had never dared to imagine. As their eyes met across the battlefield, it felt as though eons had passed in that fleeting instant, her entire being yearning for the cold, longing gaze of his platinum irises.

Running her fingers through his unruly curls, a sense of calm washed over her troubled mind, tempering the tempest of emotions raging within her. Amidst the chaos, a semblance of tranquility emerged, casting aside the veil of confusion that had clouded her thoughts. In this ephemeral respite, her heart finally acquiesced, her hands coming to rest gently upon his bandaged chest, though sorrow and regret still cast shadows in her eyes.

For centuries, Acheron had borne witness to the boundless depths of humanity's darkness, yet only now did she find herself enraptured by the fleeting beauty that lingered amidst the chaos. Unbeknownst to her, a wistful smile graced her lips as she beheld his features—the pale pallor of his skin, the absence of youthful vitality, the haunting symmetry of his lips—each detail captivating her soul in an inexplicable manner.

Soon her once transfixed eyes gazed upon his blade. The resemblance to her own blade made her conflicted as to how he got his hands on it. Her own blade, Naught was the product of years of breathless fighting and savagery. The once 12 divine sentinels created by Izumo to protect her now forgotten and destroyed world, her blade was the last grim reminder of that fate, the accumulation of her 'Origin' and her world's 'End'.   

Yet, amidst the wreckage of their shared destinies, a sense of peace washed over her—a knowing that she had found another soul who had traversed the bloodied paths she had walked. Acheron knew all to well of the masterful artisan that was 'Izumo' he had created thousands of blades, all too powerful for a sane person to wield. But, a fact that was known to all was that Izumo never created a blade outside his planet nor for other species.

Curiosity gnawed at her, a relentless whisper urging her to delve deeper into the enigma that surrounded him. How had he come to possess the blade? What sacrifices had he made to attain it? Was his journey akin to hers—a tapestry woven with bloodshed and forgotten memories—or was it a narrative altogether different, yet intertwined with hers in ways she could scarcely comprehend?

Lost in contemplation, she found herself drawn once more to the enigmatic figure before her. Why had he chosen to withhold the full extent of his power until the final throes of their confrontation? If he had unleashed the might of his blade sooner, surely he could have spared himself the grievous wounds he now bore. And yet, he had hesitated, relenting in the face of certain victory.

The mere thought of him—of Zephyr—sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the myriad mysteries that shrouded his existence. He moved through the world with a grace and fluidity that bordered on the ethereal, leaving in his wake a trail of questions that threatened to unravel the very fabric of reality itself.