Chapter Text
The life of the child named Ajax ended on a snowy night in Snezhnaya – burning down in a sea of flames.
Four siblings huddled under a creaky bed, three of which were too young to understand the events that would unfold that fateful night. But the eldest, pitiful enough to recall a blissful and happy home, was also old enough to witness his parents’ murder.
From that moment on, that man’s face had become firmly etched into his memory, a grudge engraved into the remains of a foolish heart, and a fractured mind left to be filled to the brim with death and destruction.
Pure white snow mixed with red. Snezhnayan cold smothered dying embers, a home reduced to cooling ashes, and blood pooling into a cold and empty abyss. The night was black, dark enough to drown a young boy in the depths of despair and dye its still living corpse in the red of slaughter – all before it froze over, like all things eventually do in the cold wastes of Snezhnaya.
The fire was red, but the metallic taste of blood was stronger. So the night stayed cold, as Snezhnayan nights are, without a hearth to warm them.
For a member of such an infamous organisation as the Liyue Triad, Childe’s days started relatively mundane. Mornings started early in his uptown apartment, before getting dressed in his rather lax uniform, then he meandered his way down to the Northland Bank to pick up his commissions for the day.
As an everyday citizen of Liyue, he was known as a debt collector for the Northland bank. But for everyone else in the know – the darker side of Liyue society, he was something else: street rat, thug, gangster, enforcer, assassin, you name it, he’s done it, all in the name of organised crime. Yet still, he was free to roam the streets of Liyue during daylight, in all its hot and muggy glory.
And despite the foreboding names and honestly, paper-thin cover, his day job actually was pretty mundane (mostly). His few debt-collecting ventures of that morning required exactly zero violence, and hardly any intimidation was necessary as most citizens of Liyue knew better than to get on the bad side of the Archon’s enforcer. To his annoyance, Liyue citizens, barring a few welcome exceptions, were remarkably rigorous in adhering to their contracts and debts. Whether it was a cultural phenomenon he was too foreign to grasp, or that the Triad’s chokehold on the traditional society for proverbial forever, instilled those values deep into its people, Childe didn’t know. He only wished some were more willing to break and bend the rules like a foreigner such as himself did – if only to make his morning more exciting.
Truly a cruel and unusual punishment for a man such as he. If only he could’ve at least pulled a dagger, and maybe some blood. Blood and daggers. That would be nice – His preferred pastime over guns which ended the game all too easily.
And not to mention... an unpleasant memory.
He wandered the streets of Liyue shaking the overbearing heat out the bottom of his unbuttoned uniform and fantasized about a violent encounter to spice up the morning’s errands.
Unfortunately for Childe (and fortunately for the unsuspecting citizens of Liyue), his morning ended without any such encounters. But that was fine, he still had a chance at some excitement.
“Xiansheng!”
Childe sauntered up with a wave in greeting to the figure sitting peacefully among the lunchtime crowd at Wanmin Restaurant. The man cut an impressive figure in the humble establishment. Back impeccably straight, highlighting the broad shoulders and elegant cut of his brown and gold coat, hands delicately nursing a cup of tea. The crowd seemed to part around the well-dressed man, just like a river parted around a rock, the flow gently splitting around the unassuming power contained in the sturdy figure.
The refined gentleman nodded politely in greeting as Childe pulled out a chair to take a seat at the small table. An invitation was unnecessary to join his usual lunch partner.
“Slow day at work, Mr Zhongli?”
Childe smiled at the respectable Mr Zhongli of Wangsheng funeral parlour. A refined consultant of the inauspicious establishment, but a respected member of Liyuan society nonetheless, for both his infallible poise and wealth of knowledge of anything Liyue.
“You ask this every time we meet, yet the answer remains the same, Childe,” the funeral consultant noted, but is much too elegant to say “I wonder why?”
But who ever thought there was such a thing as an implied eyebrow raise?
“Well, yeah. But it’s only polite to ask, right? You’re always going on about manners, and I’m simply humouring you,” Childe grinned back cheekily.
“In my line of business, it is more polite not to enquire about the matters of Wangsheng,” Zhongli pointed out over the rim of his teacup, “But from your cheerful attitude, I assume you too had an uneventful day’s venture.”
Why this – Childe felt an eye twitch. “Yeah,” he muttered grumpily, helping himself to a cup of fragrant tea. He didn't need to be reminded of his painfully boring morning.
“I would think that the lack of conflict with the customers of Northland Bank would be a thing for celebration, no?” Zhongli said, ever so politely.
“You know what I mean, Mr Zhongli, don’t tease me,” Childe grumbled into his cup, taking way too much restraint not to blow sad little bubbles into the liquid, which would no doubt bring the ire of his companion.
A small smile teased at the edges of elegant lips. “I'm aware I picked up a rather aggressive Snezhnayan fox that night, but I would’ve thought it would be tamer by now,” Mr Zhongli’s eyes drifted wistfully, “But would you begrudge me for looking out for my people?”
Putting down his cup, Childe smiled easily, “Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr Zhongli.”
Satisfied with the exchange, Zhongli went back to appreciating his tea. Just a funeral consultant and a debt collector taking a break from their stressful day to appreciate good tea and peaceful company.
Childe smiled wider, eyes squinting to convey happiness as he observed his company over their tasty tea. His people, huh? Is he counted in that number?
Respectable Mr Zhongli was an even more remarkable sight observed up close. His refined countenance reflected his tastes in tea and food, and his delicate sampling of which, enhanced the Liyuen cuisine’s innate elegance. But there was in fact far more to the man than meets the eye, wrapped up in those elegant layers.
No matter the situation, or cloying Liyue heat beating down on his layered suit, the respectable Mr Zhongli always remained composed and immovable as stone.
But what would it take to break it? His mind wondered. Did the man even bleed? Or would the stone-cold visage crumble as he drove a knife through his heart? What kind of face would he make? His toothy grin widened, hidden behind interlaced fingers, eyes tracing the oh-so familiar panes of that serene face. Just like that night.
He couldn’t wait to find out what kind of flesh lay underneath that perfect skin and an always impeccable suit.
Oh, but he would wait – he’d wait as long as necessary to exact his bloody revenge, but the phantom taste of the Archon’s blood on his tongue never failed to excite. He felt equal parts blessed and insatiable hunger every day he eyed his prey.
“Hungry?” Mr Zhongli inclined his head, noticing his companion's stare.
“Starving.” Childe licked his lips in anticipation as their Liyuan lunch is placed at thetable.
Liyue’s greatest power, a merchant of death, and his parent’s murderer, masquerading as a Funeral Consultant? How laughable. But as the ever-esteemed Mr Zhongli liked to say, patience may be bitter, but its fruit is sweet.
After escaping the ashes of his childhood home with three young siblings, cold and alone, the too young Ajax and his charges wandered around for a while, the eldest brawling and scrapping on the streets of Morepesok for a meagre existence and the frayed remains of his sibling’s innocence, all the while at the end of his own rope.
Until one day, face in a bloody snarl and rusty knife in hand, he was approached by a short and sharply dressed man introducing himself as Pulcinella. The white-haired elder had appeared before Ajax on the streets out of seemingly nowhere, all the while claiming to be his uncle.
To a grown adult, the man’s claims of familial relation would be highly suspect, let alone Pulcinella being old enough to pass as Ajax’s grandfather. Not that anyone would say that to his face. But the young boy did not have that luxury. Enticed by the allure of famiglia, safety for his siblings, a warm meal and a bed, he grasped those gloved hands and was dragged out of the cold abyss on the streets to emerge unto the dark underbelly of Snezhnayan organised crime.
Later, when asked why he’d picked up the scrappy ginger, Pulcinella would just smile knowingly.
He couldn’t have known at the time, but Pulcinella, code name Rooster, was the Fifth of the Fatui Harbingers. An infamous underboss of the Fatui Famiglia. So, in a sense, they were to be family – but if not related by blood, they would, like all in the Fatui, be bonded by blood spilt in their Archon, The Tsaritsa’s name.
When had wooden toys been exchanged for knives and daggers, and childhood games turned into street brawls? To the boy covered in ashes, who sprayed blood like precious gems on the snow, it felt like the latter was all he’d ever known. He could never escape the cold since that night. Naïve children could stay children, but that boy was dead and gone, leaving a ghost behind to haunt the remains of his family and protect them from the bloodshed he covered himself in.
A nameless boy scrapping on the streets suddenly became the nameless ward of the Fifth Harbinger, a boy with a violent reputation and a penchant for spreading chaos. And then eventually, covered in blood underneath expensive suits, he would crawl his way up to becoming the Eleventh Harbinger himself, earning himself the name Tartaglia. He had long since discarded the name Ajax in his heart, abandoned where that boy lay dead next to his parents in the burnt remains of Morepesok. But the day he became Harbinger Tartaglia, was the day he was truly reborn into a man of status and power, with only two things on his mind. All those years of suffering, the cold – for this new family.
And bloody revenge.
He first thought he’d need the power and authority of a Fatui Harbinger to locate that man, amongst the endless faces of the crowd. But in the end, it wasn’t even power he’d need to locate the man. It was laughably easy to identify his parent’s murderer once in on the right crowd – but power. Oh – more than a little power would be needed to take down an Archon, the head of Liyue’s Adepti Triad.
That’s right. Upon climbing the ranks of the Fatui, it didn’t take long for Tartaglia to realise the object of his revenge, the man of both his dreams and nightmare was none other than the great Rex Lapis, the most powerful underworld figure in Teyvat.
How exciting.
Tartaglia sat sprawled across Pulcinella’s couch in his upmarket mansion in the capitol, which also happened to be the mayor’s official residence. With how much power the Fatui wielded in Snezhnaya, the Harbingers could come and go as they pleased, they might as well be the law, and their Tsaritsa a god. With the opulence of Pulcinella’s humble abode and their Archon’s veritable palace, he was no stranger to luxury anymore, but by the way he indolently spread himself across his uncle’s undoubtedly expensive furniture, he might as well have been in any a seedy bar.
“My dear Tart, must you really go to Liyue?” Pulcinella sipped his hot tea across from Tartaglia, seated upon two pillows to match his height.
“You know I’d never refuse Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa, anything, gramps – Long may she reign,” he lazily rolled his head to face the mayor of Snezhnaya City.
“It was merely a suggestion, an idle thought of hers, Tart. Not even close to an order. Her Majesty hardly expressed her interest in expanding her plans to Liyue – Long may she reign. No need to be so hasty~ Besides, there’s still plenty for you to do here, my dear. Plenty more unfortunates to beat up. You know, I’ve heard whispers of some uppity rascals making noise in the capital. I bet you could have some fun –”
The slumped figure on the couch sighed, “I'm not a child anymore, gramps, and I don’t need more things to kill," he said petulantly, "I’ve already made up my mind.” Tartaglia shot his long-time guardian another droll look in favour of gazing at the ornate roof.
Pulcinella released a sigh of his own, knowing how his Tart gets when he’s like this – young men only have one thing on their mind these days, “And what about Tonia? Anthon, Teucer? How will they fair with you gone? Young Teucer will be devastated without his Ajax, and Tonia left without her prince,” Pulcinella knew it was a low blow, but he truly didn't want to see his ward leave this way.
Tartaglia gave him a knowing look, but the harsh expression was lost with his many sighs at this man, “I know, I know. But… how can I ever feel that they’re safe while their parent’s murderer still lives?” Ajax clenched his hands in his lap, “No matter how many of Her Majesty’s enemies I kill, it will never be enough.” Nothing could fill the void gripping his chest since being plunged into the cold abyss of despair, baptised by fire. Fated to be left wanting until his heart’s cry for blood was sated. Destruction was branded into his soul, death into his eyes, and a restless monster was created from a clawing struggle to survive. “This world has no justice while that man still lives. This Her Majesty knows, that is why I must go.” With the grand delusion of power granted by Her Majesty, now he would never be satisfied until he could kill the unkillable and take his revenge on that god among men then bury him at the Tsaritsa’s feet. Such was the monster baying for blood. A proof of existence measured in battle until the pinnacle was met, or the world went down in flames around him.
“ … And don’t call me that, gramps. I go by Tartaglia now.”
Pulcinella took a rather impolitely loud sip of his tea, “Then don’t call me gramps, dear. And technically, I’m your uncle, little Tart.”
Tartaglia huffed, looking away again, “Tch – whatever. Old man.”
Done with his drink, the Fifth Harbinger put down his cup with a delicate click, “But really, Tartaglia, the words may be wasted on you, but there is more to this life than just revenge. There’s still much for you here, your family is here for one. Both of them. And eventually, with time, that man will also fall to Her Majesty’s might. Just what was it you told me your father said about ice fishing? Something about patience, if I recall?”
“He used to that both ‘Patience and decisiveness are the key’, uncle. But hat means the time is now – before I waste away. I have to use every weapon available, and youth is simply another at my disposal,” Tartaglia smiled, but the abyss swirling in his eyes reflected no mirth, only delusion.
“Oh – how they grow up so fast,” unbothered, Pulcinella wiped away a questionable tear with his handkerchief, “But what’s the difference between this decisiveness you claim and foolishness? Don’t tell me you expect to storm into Liyue harbour to assassinate one of the most protected men in Teyvat and then get away scot-free?”
“Hardly. You don’t really think that do you? And plans aside, it sounds awfully like you're doubting my abilities-? Want a demonstration?” Tartaglia’s empty smile turned into a toothy grin.
Pulcinella gave the dryest look of disapproval, “-Most certainly not, young man. These old bones are not made for whatever it is you call all that business”- he gestured vaguely at all of Tartaglia down his nose- “It's not just your strength nor relative inexperience I’m worried about…”
Tartaglia sat up in his seat, suddenly impatient with what felt like an ambushed heart-to-heart, “You know what? This is going nowhere ‘Nella. I already have Her Majesty’s approval. You're wasting your breath. There’s no point in continuing this pointless conversation when there’s nothing you can say to convince me. I have a boat to catch.”
“Won’t you at least stay for tea?” Pulcinella wistfully eyed Tartaglia’s untouched cup.
“…I don’t want tea. I want to find my parent's murderer. And then I want to kill him.”
“Unfortunately,” Pulcinella said pointedly, “It seems that the whole world is out for bitter revenge at the moment, so sometimes, we must settle for tea or nothing, Tart.”
He stared into his ward’s dull blue eyes, neither imploring nor forceful. Simply wishing to impart wisdom in the hopes of penetrating that frozen heart.
But Tartaglia couldn't bear to look at the earnest face of his guardian, mentor and friend. Such care aimed to a blood-soaked creature like himself made him almost delude that he could be happy, that every happiness wouldn't turn to ash in his mouth at the thought of a life that could’ve been.
In a blood-soaked world, revenge was the sweetest poison he could ever hope to taste.
He looked away, “And yet... I hear Liyue has plenty of tea. Am I not Tartaglia, always playing the fool? I'm rather fond of Tragedies after all…" Tartaglia bubbled with self-deprecating mirth, "As a Harbinger, we accept that death could come at any time – I’ll do anything it takes to keep myself alive, you know this.
Just as he thought the boy would leave, maybe parting ways for a final time, an uncharacteristically quiet sound came from the man stood in the door.
"’Nella-?”
Pulcinella let out a soft sigh at his young ward... family, “If you must go, go. I will look after them here, you don’t have to worry. Do what you must, and then come back to us. And never hesitate to ask for help if you need it. Don’t think I won’t send someone after you!”
Tartaglia grimaced at the thought of just who Pulcinella could send. He would never admitt it, but a spark of the only warmth left in his chest ebbed for the old man. A soft “…Thank you,” is left barely audiable before he turned away, the door closing softly behind him.
Pulcinella could only shake his head at the departing back. “Kids... these days. Revenge is not a children’s game, and yet... Perhaps if we are all delusional; a life of blood and family all in Her Majesty’s name might not be that bad a fate… Long may she reign.”