Brahe's Notes

The Brahe's Notes are a series of interactables found at Reed Miller's Great Treasure, Dreadshade Mire, Voidsea Outlook, Nod-Krai. They were written by Brahe, the third "Reed Miller."

Locations

Available after finishing The Raven's Legacy

• Brahe's Notes (I)

  

  Brahe's Notes (I) location

  

  Brahe's Notes (I) location context

• Brahe's Notes (II)

  

  Brahe's Notes (II) location

  

  Brahe's Notes (II) location context

• Brahe's Notes (III)

  

  Brahe's Notes (III) location

  

  Brahe's Notes (III) location context

• Brahe's Notes (IV)

  

  Brahe's Notes (IV) location

  

  Brahe's Notes (IV) location context

Interactables

Brahe's Notes (I)

...

The arrangement of the treasure vault is pretty much complete. Without the help of these little weasel friends, I'd have no idea how to transport so many Iron Coins here without anyone noticing.

So, to commemorate their service (and hard work), I'll call these little critters "Weasel Thieves," and grant them the title of "Official Treasure Hoarders" from now on!

...Just kidding. If Miss Alia knew, in the afterlife, that I was giving wild weasels such absurd names, she'd probably jump right out of the Pillar of Embla and beat me up. There's no way I can call them that... Unless, of course, I were to write poetry in the future and fail to come up with any other name, or if no other name would make the rhythm and meter work.

I have to say, Father had a real eye for hiding secret funds. This place is so well-concealed that not only would it be unlikely for anyone to stumble upon it, even wild weasels would have a hard time squeezing in here without guidance. It's such a pity that his foresight has only ever extended so far. Even when Rotwang used him up to the hilt, he never harbored the slightest suspicion.

Ultimately, the secret funds he hid here back then were only stolen because those two old geezers, Avrelian and Silvestr, came snooping around and coaxed the words out of me. By Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa! I was only five years old! Two young men playing good cop and bad cop, using both carrot and stick to get a five-year-old to talk. What normal human could come up with that? Actually, forget humans, what normal fae, jinn, seelie, specter, lochfolk, phantasm, or whatever creature would even think of this? Sacred heirs of the Frostmoon Scions indeed, what rotten, immoral behavior! Father chewed me out for three days afterwards, and even the Petrichor vacation I'd been promised got washed out. That said, that place got washed out later, too.

What's more infuriating is that when I brought this up to Silvestr a while ago, he actually claimed he couldn't recall how he'd deceived me back then, just that Avrelian claimed to want the children to lead better lives. I completely understand their thoughts and actions: return all the wealth Father had plundered to those poor children. It was the right thing to do... But, really, did they have to do it through ME? Was I really the sole avenue through which a breakthrough could've been made, gentlemen?

Besides — and Silvestr probably doesn't know this — the secret funds they stole, pretending to be chivalrous outlaws who robbed the rich to help the poor, were back in Father's coffers in less than three days — several times the original amount, extorted from other sources. Those self-important profiteers can always rake in wealth without lifting a finger, while the venal sycophants who surround them twist it into proof of their masters' innate diligence and wisdom. No one could become that rich otherwise, surely!

The game of robbing the rich to feed the poor only adds weight to the shackles of the impoverished. As Miss Alia's terrifyingly gloomy sister once told me: no matter how pure the water of goodwill, if it falls on soil poisoned with malice, seeds of evil are the only things that will grow. Avrelian probably realized this eventually, but his Elysium — no matter how firmly he believed it existed on Earth — remained much too far from those truly suffering in poverty. After all, how can someone who has never known a moment of kindness, someone constantly insulted and harmed, be expected to believe they should love their neighbor... or even their enemies?

Neither Avrelian nor Miss Alia had ever answered that question. They were both kind people who imagined people to be better than they really were, believing that virtues and ideals could overcome the evil bred by circumstance. Unfortunately, I am just a selfish nobleman, and I lack their kindness. (I suspect Avrelian felt the same. After all, in his eyes, there has probably only ever been one truly kind noble in this world.) The things I've witnessed leave me unable to hold such idealistic confidence in human nature.

It's barely been a decade since Miss Alia's sacrifice, and those bandits who scattered like frightened birds and beasts have already begun brazenly misusing Avrelian's words to justify their atrocities against the innocent. Whether it's wandering merchants barely scraping by, or overworked laborers starving for their next meal, anyone could be branded a "lackey of princes" or a "traitor who betrays his brothers and neighbors," and therefore "ripe for their noble robbery."

Those who came before overcame evil with noble ideals. Now, the bandits who claim to be their successors wave the same banner, declaring that anyone who opposes them is an enemy of those noble ideals, thus embodying the very evil that was once defeated.

I can send the bandits who committed atrocities in the name of Reed Miller and oppressed the laboring poor to the Eye of Kratti, where they'll sleep with the fishes for good. In fact, I have already done so. But what about after I die? Who can guarantee that those once-noble ideals won't be twisted into crimes even I can't imagine?

Al-Ahmar could not guarantee it, Erinnyes could not guarantee it, Xbalanque could not guarantee it, the noble lords of Mondstadt aristocracy failed to guarantee it, nor can the Frostmoon Scions guarantee it. And some so-called "Master Thief Reed Miller" will surely fail to guarantee it. Evil comes from humanity as naturally as honey from a hive.

I'm neither Avrelian, nor Silvestr, nor Miss Alia, who enchants me so. I cannot place all my hope in human nature the way they did. I don't want the name of Master Thief Reed Miller to fade into history, forgotten by all. What's more, I don't want that name, and the ideals it once stood for, to be twisted by future villains and reviled by the public.

Hence, there's only one solution I can think of — let these so-called ideals be buried by history. Let us smother them beneath countless contradictory, absurd, laughable yet irresistible stories, until every trace of meaning is worn away and only a sweeping legend remains. This way, anyone who commits evil in our name will never be mistaken for a serious idealist. Rather, they shall be dismissed as childish dreamers, drunk on romantic tales.

Greed always outlasts ideals. At least, that's what I believe. As long as the tale of the Great Treasure continues to be told, there will always be gamblers dreaming of making a fortune overnight, repeating the name of the "Master Thief Reed Miller" endlessly.

Better a harmless name — one that lets the poor laugh from the heart, one that gives them just a little more courage to face tomorrow — than a banner that villains would seek to claim.

If the rebels of some future age truly need a new banner, they will find a hero who belongs to their own time. And whatever that hero's name may be, it should never be "Master Thief Reed Miller."

...

Brahe's Notes (II)

...

I never imagined that someone would find the treasure vault just three weeks after I'd set it up.

What surprised me even more was that I actually recognized the person. I never thought I'd run into him here.

Dmitri Dubrovich Sukhotin, trusted aide of the Grand Duke Filipov, third-class military officer, Chief Instructor of the Snezhnayan Royal Military Academy. If I remember correctly, he was promoted to this position the year Avrelian enrolled, occupying said cushy, lucrative position until the Khaenri'ahn disaster. He would even host foreign dignitaries occasionally, such as the Commander-in-Chief of Fontaine's Great White Armada, the Grand Master of Mondstadt's Knights of Favonius... In short, he was a real show-off.

According to official records, he had long since died alongside His Majesty the Tsar, sacrificing himself for the nation. Not that this is anything new, even Avrelian once appeared as 'deceased' in the records. One can always rely on the unreliability of Snezhnaya's civil system. What surprised me was that the old man before me seemed almost entirely different from the spirited, haughty, and overbearing officer I once remembered. I don't know what he endured, but he looked far more gaunt and aged than his years.

The moment he saw me, his first instinct was to draw his sword and strike. Luckily, I reacted in time, parrying his blade with Avrelian's gauntlet and shouting his name. He froze for a moment, muttering incoherently for a while. It was as if he hadn't used human speech in ages. Finally, he forced out his first phrase, asking who I was.

...

I spent a long time talking with the old man. He said he no longer remembered me, but he remembered my father's name, of course. He'd abandoned his own noble title and name long ago, choosing instead to spend the rest of his life protecting the children at the borderlands — those homeless children wandering through wastelands. At first, I thought he built a shelter. I didn't realize the children had never even seen him. He slew the wicked villains who sought to harm them, out of their sight. As for why he did it, what truly happened in Khaenri'ah, and how he ended up in Nod-Krai, he refused to say. Naturally, I didn't press further.

The old man had absolutely no interest in treasure, and hadn't even heard of the rumors I spread about the "Great Treasure." He simply felt that something was off about this place, suspected it was a slaver's camp, and, following his instincts, stormed in with the intention of taking me out on the spot.

After I finished explaining the thought process behind the treasure vault, the old man fell silent for a moment. He said that if a student had proposed such a ridiculous scheme back when he was Chief Instructor, he would've thrown it straight back and ordered them to start over. As for now...

He didn't finish speaking, simply leaving in silence.

The old man's right. If someone else were to stumble in here the same way, guided by nothing but sharp instincts, then this entire plan would be pointless.

I need a way to make this place nearly impossible to find, yet draw people towards more attainable goals...

...

I've got an idea. But first, I need to talk to Aila and see if she's willing to help me. She probably would. After all, turning the story of Master Thief Reed Miller into the "Proof of the Cognoscenti" (at least, that's what I'll call it for now) would also serve as a tribute to Miss Alia.

Brahe's Notes (III)

...

Rumors about "Proof of the Cognoscenti" have been spread.

Once people know that a key exists, they won't go out of their way to find alternative means of entry. All I have to do now is fabricate a few tales of treasure hunters who tried to take shortcuts but came up empty-handed, then spread them under the names of "Brahe the Bard" and "Grand Duke Trubetskoy." That should be more than enough to convince future generations of the necessity of seeking the Proof of the Cognoscenti.

"Like his greedy father, the new Grand Duke Trubetskoy heard rumors of the treasure and schemed to seize even the gifts the Master Thief had left for the poor..."

"And what magnificent treasure it was! More splendid than the gold of Hiisi, more dazzling than the silver of Kitezhgrad... Even the flesh and blood of the Lord of Geo could scarcely measure its worth..."

"Such was the vast hoard of Iron Coins that the Master Thief left behind, wealth enough to shake the very economy of the northern lands..."

Wait, that's not right. If I were to list the treasure's contents outright, some people would lose interest.

"Such was the treasure that the Master Thief left behind, wealth enough to shake the very economy of the northern lands; even a bard with such nimble lips and silver tongue as I could scarcely recount it in full..."

Alright, that'll do! And lastly, I'll spin something about how the new Grand Duke Trubetskoy was effortlessly bested by the Master Thief's companion, a beauty known as "Wagtail." As long as it's written in a sufficiently dashing manner, I'm sure Miss Alia wouldn't mind.

...

Brahe's Notes (IV)

...

Silvestr's departed in the end.

This should be the last time I return here to pen notes. I was planning to burn everything I'd written before, but after burning half of it, I thought about it and gave up on the endeavor.

Better to leave something behind. Because apart from this, there's really nothing else.

In accordance with his own wishes, his funeral was remarkably quiet. The handful of Lightkeepers he trained personally shed no tears for him, which is understandable. If I could live to his age, free from illness and disaster, returning peacefully to the earth, I wouldn't want others to weep for me either. Besides, Lightkeepers are well accustomed to parting with the dead.

Aila didn't come to his funeral. I assumed she had no idea, so I made a special trip to Hiisi Island.

The place had been nearly demolished, with only the central grand temple and the tower to the north remaining. Her maid, whose name I cannot recall, though I remember Aila saying that she was an adopted orphan from foreign lands, spoke to me timidly, saying that the Lady Moonchanter had long known of my coming and was aware of the Lightkeeper's affairs. She had no intention of seeing me and asked me to leave.

If she doesn't want to see me, so be it. Not that there'd be much to say if we did meet, anyway.

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