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For Bennett, silence is a luxury on his adventure team. Madame Furina is always talking about her grand adventures in Fontaine, her time on the stage, and her time swimming through the water. He could sit and listen for hours, but the man with the hat is never too pleased.
“Just call me The Wanderer,” he informed them when the Traveler introduced them.
From then on, Wanderer would complain a lot. Madame Furina is much too loud for him, he would explain while he was patching up the boy’s knee. While her stories are grand, he’s got better ones. Bennett really wants to hear them…
The two argue day in and day out. Wanderer tells Madame Furina to shut up constantly, then she bites back, and then it just turns to chaos. Bennett doesn’t much mind, though; he’s quite pleased to finally have such a powerful group of people on his adventure team.
A droplet of hope came the day that Mr. Kazuha joined them. He’s a wandering samurai from Inazuma, and Bennett is just fascinated by him. He wonders how the Traveler knows so many incredible people. Mr. Kazuha usually tries to play mediator. When Wanderer and Madame Furina fight, things get loud, and Mr. Kazuha’s voice is soft when he tells them that these things are not worth fighting for. Bennett thinks it’s for his own sake, but he doesn’t want to be self-absorbed; his dads say that it’s the worst trait to have. Mr. Kazuha is very gentle with him. He washes Bennett’s hair after a tough adventure, combs it out while wet, then does it again when dry. He talks about the sword he wields and why it is so special to him.
Bennett would want nothing more in life than to lay back and listen to everyone’s stories. He wants to lay his head on Mr. Kazuha’s belly and just forget about life for a while. Sure, it’s loud around him, but that loudness feels like home:
Madame Furina’s stories of grandeur,
The Wanderer’s loud begging for her to be quiet,
Mr. Kazuha’s soft mediation, a request to keep peace between them.
For Bennett, silence is a luxury on his adventure team.
Now, he wants nothing more than for there to be noise again.
He stands face-to-face with a ruin guard, breathing raggedly. His knees are torn to shreds, and the clothes he received in Natlan are ripped. Blood trickles down his temple from where he hit his head on a large rock. His right eye is swollen shut by that same liquid trapped beneath his skin. He wants it out as much as he wants the one on his temple in. Bennett is all alone. There’s a silence, a deafening, uncomfortable silence.
Madame Furina is asleep, he tells himself. Her beautiful, blue dress clothes are stained with a dark crimson; her white, puffy blouse is ruined by the ruby-red life oozing from an unknown wound. Madame Furina is just sleeping off her injuries.
Mr. Kazuha is asleep too. He’s cradling his arm because Bennett isn’t there for him to hold. It’s not broken; he just needs something to hold. Mr. Kazuha’s nose is black and blue, and there’s blood coming out of both sides. Usually, his dads tell him, blood from both nostrils means injury; not irritation. His nose bleeds commonly with the changes in weather during the season shifts, but both nostrils is not a good sign.
The Wanderer is awake! He’s awake enough to give Bennett instructions on what to do. Nevermind the fact that he’s… sandwiched between a ruin gate and a large stone thrown by the ruin guard. He’s still awake, even though his airway sounds blocked, and there’s hair covering his eyes. His hat is thrown off to the side somewhere, and his purple hair is messy with sticky blood.
Bennett wants to run. He wants to grab his teammates and flee.
“Fight…” a croaked voice orders him. “Fight… un–til yo–our arms’re b–roken–”
He has to fight. If only Fischl were here; her bow would make scrap metal of this thing within a second. Instead, it’s just Bennett. Despite the sound of mechanical warbling, despite the sound of wet coughs and raspy breaths, despite the sound of his own body fighting for air, there’s silence.
Gods… Bennett hates the silence. His chest is tight with fear as the ochre shine of the ruin guard’s light stares at him. His body no longer allows him to move, and he stands frozen in place, staring right back at the threat. He can’t breathe… He can’t breathe, damn it!
“Light ‘em… up… k–kid–”
Right– right! Okay. Focus! The Wanderer is still awake; he can still give instructions.
Bennett’s fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword. He takes a deep breath, hissing out smoke from between his teeth. His vision roars to life on his hip, and with a fiery swing of his sword, he strikes the legs of the guard. It doesn’t even stumble when it’s hit, and he’s got no idea how much damage he’s actually done to it. He pants heavily, looking up at the threatening enemy.
He wants to go home. He wants to have hot chocolate with Mr. Diluc in the winery; it’s always so warm and cozy in there. He wants everyone on his adventure team to go, actually.
He can’t see out of his right eye; breathing is getting more challenging, and he feels himself choking up.
“Lance y-your eye!” hisses The Wanderer.
Bennett’s momentarily taken out of his trance. “H-Huh?!”
“Lance it!”
“What does th–”
“Take– y’sword… Sl–ice it!” Slice his eye?! “It’ll.. g-get rid of… tra–apped blood.”
Archons… is he really considering it? There’s no time to decide; The Wanderer is trapped, and the ruin guard is getting closer to him. With trembling breaths, he holds the blade of his sword up to his eye. His hands are shaking. How is he supposed to do this? His stomach is heaving in and out, and tears burn in his eyes.
“Kid… You ca–an do i-it.”
“I’m scared,” he croaks, those tears pattering onto his arms. “What if it hurts?”
“S’gonna hurt.” Ouch. Brutal honesty. “Like… hell, b–but, you’ll– yo–our eye will… you’ll… you’ll be able t’ see.”
But what if it hurts? What if it gets infected? He could get bacteria in his blood, go into septic shock, and leave everyone behind! What’s he supposed to do? He’s just a kid!
“Bennett!” Teary, green eyes meet pale, blue ones. “Yo–ou’re our… l-last hope, kid…Do it!”
With a cry of fear and anticipatory pain, Bennett slices a thin line across his puffy eyelid. Blood spurts out of it onto the grass below, but The Wanderer was right; now he can see out of both eyes. He reaches up to wipe his brow, and he’s not surprised to see red when he pulls his hand back, but it’s still enough to make his stomach churn over how injured he is.
He still wants to run; to flee; to grab his downed teammates and figure out how to get everyone to the cathedral. They were so far from the city… They were, however, close to Starfell Lake.
“Hey, you big, tin can! Over here!” the boy taunts, hoping to lead the ruin guard toward the water. Dragging his own body toward the lake, he pants weakly. The beautiful, blue water stains a dastardly red as the blood drips off of his body. He’s cold; freezing, even. The wounds on his body are searing in pain. He wants to quit; to flee; to be home with his dads.
‘Keep fighting… Whenever you’re in a situation when lives are on the line, you fight,’ he recalls The Wanderer telling him. ‘Until your arms are so sore that you can’t move them, you fight. Until you pass out from pain or blood loss, you fight. Until the enemy is defeated, you fight. You fight on, kid, understand?’
He has to fight… Despite the pain, despite the shivering, despite the intense pain exploding across his body, he has to fight. He hisses out smoke from between his teeth once again, and he wipes the sweat and blood off of his brow, flicking the liquids into the water below him. The ruin guard follows him into the lake, and he wastes no time slashing it with a fiery blow. The water vaporizes off of the metal into hot steam, filling every crevice in its body with heat. Bennett whimpers at the feeling of that heat against his own skin, but he continues to slash his sword with his vision glowing with supporting fire.
His body screams for him to stop: another swing.
His body shakes like a frozen leaf: another swing.
His eye is bleeding heavily and inhibiting his vision again: another swing.
His arms are so sore they could fall off: another swing.
His wounds are red-hot, and the pain is unbearable: another swing.
Swing after swing after swing after swing after swing
Until…
The ruin guard falls backwards; then it disappears into dusty smoke. The boy stands in the water, gasping for breath. His one working eye looks at the world around him: hilichurls and slimes stand idly; fish swim beneath his trembling legs. The next thing he knows, he’s underwater. His body is fully submerged beneath the chilly water, and he’s just too tired and hurting to swim out. His lungs hurt: another injury to add to the pile. Miss Barbara is going to be so cross with him.
“...d!”
Huh?
“Kid!”
Who’s–
“BENNETT!”
Is that…?
“SWIM!”
He can’t. He’s too tired. Can’t they understand that…? The water is so soothing on his body; he can’t even feel the cold anymore. He’s floating. The sun is staring down at him like a warm blanket. He’s at peace, don’t you know?
He’s underwater. He’s underwater? Archons, he can’t breathe! Swim, Bennett! Swim! Up and up and up he travels until his head breaks the surface. He takes in a huge gulp of air as his legs tread the water surrounding his body. He hears his name called, and his head snaps toward the stones nearby. Right!
He swims through the chilly water–a chill his body no longer feels. Scary… Mr. Albedo says that this is a sign of shock. How odd–and makes his way to where The Wanderer is trapped. “I– I d-did it.”
“You’re… f-freezing, ki–id,” The Wanderer observes, his body still pressed between the stones.
“M’ok-kay.” Bennett, dripping wet from head to toe, freshly bleeding, and dog-tired, lets smoke hiss from between his teeth for the last time at this moment. His vision shines on his hip, and he closes his eyes. “S’gonna g-get ho-ot. G-Get ready,” he informs through chattering teeth.
With a nod from the trapped man, the boy raises his sword and slices through the stone with a fiery swipe. His body travels with his heavy sword that feels like the weight of a million. He hears a deep gasp, then many small ones as he falls back down to the ground. He coughs rather harshly, hurting his lungs again before he gets to his feet. “Stay–!” He croaks to The Wanderer.
Have sword; will travel, Bennett always thinks. He’d go to the ends of Teyvat to save his friends. And as he fights with his own body to stay upright, that’s exactly what he does. He pulls himself along the grass, now sullied with his blood, and he finds Madame Furina still sleeping. He whispers an apology to her before hoisting her up by her underarms into a sitting position. He squats, gathers her onto his back, and stands.
He’s never supposed to comment on a lady’s weight, let alone a lady so special to him, but Madame Furina’s lifeless body feels like tons upon tons of steel have been laid atop of his back. He walks on, his knees screaming for him to stop, but he doesn’t.
He finds his way to Mr. Kazuha, and he sits the man up the same way he did previously. This time, he drags Mr. Kazuha across the grass by his underarms. He trudges along the grassy path, sticky with a mix of three peoples’ precious blood. He wants to go home; to rest; to have hot chocolate with Mr. Diluc.
He spares a glance to The Wanderer, who still seems to be catching his breath. Shaking his head, he travels on. The Wanderer is awake; Madame Furina and Mr. Kazuha are not. With a deep breath, he steps back into the water of Starfell Lake, dragging the two with him.
He barely makes it to the statue there before he collapses into a breathless heap in front of it, eyes wet with stinging tears alongside the freezing water. “Please,” he rasps. “Barbatos, hear me.” He coughs heavy coughs, and the edges of his vision start to haze.
Not yet.
Not now.
Fight on.
‘Fight until you pass out from pain or blood loss.’
“Barbatos, hear my prayer. Please, please, help them,” he chokes.” Hear my prayer. Hear me. Hear me!” He begs into the wind for what seems like ages until he starts to feel a gentle breeze kissing his cheek. “Hear me! Please, please! Hear me! Barbatos, I beg, help these people! I know they aren’t from our home, but they need help!” He’s babbling at this point; even he isn’t sure what’s coming out of his mouth. His vision is blurring worse; his body is shaking; he’s almost certain he’s bleeding out.
The air around him envelopes him in a warm hug just as he teeters on the edge of consciousness. He feels light… He feels a weight of comfort on his back.
“You did good, kid.” Perhaps it isn’t the wind… “You fought hard.”
His body falls back toward the voice, and he feels the touch of Sumeruan silk against his skin. He’s going to pass out. He knows the signs: blurring vision, drooping eyelids, a low hum, a high-pitched ring, boneless limbs. “M’gonna…”
“No you won’t,” the voice soothes. “You made it. Your god will do the rest.”
As if his words were a signal, Bennett hears another voice in his head.
"Bennett, my dear child… you have fought so gallantly. By your actions will your prayer be answered.”
He’s never felt anything like it in his life… The blood oozing out of his body ceases its flow; the pain in his limbs dissipates. His body is still heavy with fatigue, and blood still clings sticky to his skin, but he’s okay… He picks up his head, eyes bleary, and he blinks away residual fogginess. “Wanderer…” he croaks, his eyes filling with tears again.
“Hey, kid.” His hand pats the boy’s back, and he scowls upon feeling just how bad he’s shaking. “It’s me.”
Bennett’s eyes meet The Wanderer’s. The two stare at one another before Bennett’s face pinches into one of total despair, and he starts to choke up. He clings to the silky, blue fabric beneath his body, and he sniffles softly. He barely registers muffled voices before he feels himself being moved.
He smells a familiar smell: seawater and sakura blooms.
“Mr. Kazuha…” He presses his face into the man’s soft haori, and he sobs. He wails loudly, coughing and hiccuping as his body starts to come down from the adrenaline. Someone else kneels next to them. He feels the soft touch of a lithe, dainty hand rubbing along his back. The pattern it follows is distinctive, a figure-eight: Madame Furina.
“It’s okay, my darling,” she soothes him. “You saved us.”
“Indeed… We owe you such a great deal of gratitude. Your sacrifices will never be forgotten.”
“Poor baby. He’s shaking like a leaf, Kazuha.”
“I’m aware. It’s quite worrisome.”
“He needs to get out of these wet clothes!”
“We must make haste to the cathedral–”
“What he needs,” The Wanderer interrupts, digging in the boy’s adventure bag. He pulls out a small vial of blue liquid, and a metal thermos. “Is to warm up.”
“Way to state the obvious–!” Furina hisses. Her features fall back into curiosity as she sees how gently he handles Bennett.
He gently lifts the boy’s head away from Kazuha’s chest, and he pulls the cork on the vial with his teeth. “Frostshield potion. Albedo made some of these for you, remember?” Still sobbing, Bennett nods. “Can you drink?” Another nod allows him to carefully cradle the boy’s chin and hold the vial up to his lips. “Deep breath in… and take a sip.”
He coughs up the first sip, much to his dismay, but he manages to get the other two in his body.
Afterward, a wonderful smell fills his nostrils: a smell of playing in the snow with Klee and Master Jean; a smell of exploring Dragonspine with Razor and Mr. Albedo; a smell of Mr. Diluc’s welcoming smile after a tiresome day of adventuring.
The smell of goulash fills his nose.
He lets out a pleased hum when his hands grab onto the sides of the thermos being offered to him.
“Got it?” The Wanderer asks in a quiet tone. He’s met with a nod from Bennett, and the boy takes a sip of the stew. As it travels into his belly, he sighs in relief.
Warmth…
He sips and sips, chewing potatoes, carrots, and bits of pork. Each swallow fills his body with more bliss. While he eats, he still shivers, as Mr. Kazuha and Madame Furina waste no time in using the water of the lake to wipe the blood off of everyone’s skin. He’s content. He’s loved. He can’t help but cry again.
When the meal is finished, he presses himself back against Kazuha’s chest, allowing his body the chance to get the rest of his tears out. He hears more murmuring, but he doesn’t care to listen again.
Again, he gets passed–not before a feather-light kiss from Madame Furina is placed on his forehead–and his skin feels the familiar softness of Sumeruan silk.
“Let’s get you home,” The Wanderer offers gently. His body leaves the ground–actually, two bodies leave the ground. The wind wisps around him as he’s flown through the air. It’s a pleasant cold; not one of bone-chilling torment.
“Thank you…” He settles against The Wanderer’s chest, sighing softly. He then blinks in confusion, picking his head up. “I can’t… hear your heart beating.”
“My heart beats a bit differently,” he explains as the boy begins to nod off. “My heart belongs to the people I hold dear, so there’s no necessity for me to have a physical one. You can think of my vision as my heart; every time it shines, it beats.”
“Cool…” Bennett whispers as he shuts his eyes. “You always tell the best stories.”
“I like to think that I’ve experienced the most of this world over those other two fools.”
“Hey… don’ call th’m that… they’re nice…” Bennett hears a soft, fond exhale.
“Sleep, kid.”
And sleep, he does.