Chapter Text
“Father! Father!” a boy grins, eyes as clear and blue as the depths of the ocean shining brilliantly in the morning light as he holds up his latest catch anchored on a harpoon.
“I caught a big one!” He cheers as the biting cold winds of Snezhnaya ruffle his auburn hair pulled back by a tied piece of twine.
“Nice job Ajax,” his father states fondly between coughs as he ruffles the boy’s hair. “It appears that I have nothing left to teach you on the basics of ice fishing.”
“But dad,” Ajax pouts. “You still won’t tell me about the other creatures that reside in the sea.”
“You’ve already memorized the library’s books on…well… everything , Ajax,” Polonius hums as Ajax flushes before averting his gaze.
“But it’s different hearing about your adventures dad!” Ajax exclaims. “Books are so repetitive and boring—they aren’t alive!”
“I suppose,” the older man sighs heavily as he grunts. Standing, the man packs away the bait and gear as Ajax eagerly strings up his catches with twine in preparation to haul them back to Morespok.
A small pair of pale hands takes the heavy bag of fishing gear from Polonius’ hands as he looks upon his son with a pained smile.
“No worries dad! I’ll carry it back home,” Ajax declares, worry shining in his eyes. “You need to rest more. Your cough is getting worse, isn’t it?”
The responding silence on the trek back through the thick snow was all the answer the boy needed—the chilly air biting them harshly even despite the layers of clothes.
—
“Ajax dear,” his mother, a stern woman with features as beautiful as they were sharp, and onyx eyes as kind as her expression was cold, calls as the young boy eagerly runs over—eyes glistening in anticipation.
“Polonius cannot go out to the village today to run errands—as the second eldest in this house as of now—will you go in his stead?”
“Wait what?!” a voice exclaims as the auburn haired boy is run into from behind. Wide blue eyes staring at her mom as mousy brown hair cascades down her back.
“Hi ‘Tonia,” Ajax grins. “No worries, I’ll be back.”
“Promise?” she sniffs as she stretches out her pinky in an unspoken demand.
“Promise,” he grins as he curls his pinky around hers.
—
You make a pinkie promise, you keep it all your life.
You break a pinkie promise, I throw you on the ice.
The cold will kill the pinkie that once betrayed your friend,
The frost will freeze your tongue off so you never lie again.
—
“I’m off!” Ajax calls with a shortsword slung across his back for the journey. The wooden door of the humble two-story house softly closes as the crystal chimes made of ice ring in the bitter eternal winter.
He follows the path from the house into town, the winds picking up around him as Ajax hears an unearthly howl in the distance.
A shiver shoots down his spine.
“ O̶h̵,̴ ̷I̸ ̴f̴o̷u̵n̸d̶ ̴y̶o̴u̴.̴ ̵̶P̵l̴e̵a̴s̵e̷ ̸c̵h̵i̸l̷d̷.̶.̵.̵ ,” a voice whispers in the wind as Ajax sees the haunting violet glow of the largest skeletal wolf he’s seen in his life cross the curve of the hill before him as Ajax turned to the forest behind him.
“ RUN! ”
Ajax runs as fast as his legs could carry him, thighs, calves, and his lungs burning with exhaustion as he flees from the wolves.
Just as one swipes at him, emerging from a swirling vortex of blackened violet—Ajax loses his footing and falls.
He curls into his side to mitigate the possible damage, but he was still falling as his back burned .
Ajax screamed and screamed himself shrill and horse as the wind swept wildly around him.
A vast expanse of stars filled his vision as he glimpsed the sight of a massive whale.
His vision was spotting and blacking out the moment he hit the ground rolling.
He felt his ribs crack as something painful ripped into him, mending the pierced and bleeding organs as Ajax wailed at the pain of his body being torn apart and pierced back together again and again until finally—his ribs healed correctly.
“Where…?” Ajax wonders aloud as he hacks up blood—a frightening growl lingering at the edge of his senses as he turned to be face to face with what appeared to be a boar in the barest of terms.
Bile surged in his throat as he took in the boar’s mutilated appearance, fleshy tendrils attempting to regenerate but failing as tusks cracked and intertwined with pulsing veins of deep, glowing violet pointed at him.
“‘Tonia,” Ajax thinks as the boar charges. Ajax draws his sword and gulps—his eyes hardening even as his grip shook.
A grin forces its way onto his lips. “There’s no way a boar of all things will stop me.”
In a flash of white the boar is taken down, a figure garbed in a flowing black trenchcoat accented with silver stands above the boar—a lone claymore three times the size of Ajax sticking out of its skull.
Messily cut white hair seemed to shine in the dim glow of the hell the boy found himself in.
The figure turned to face him—starry pupils of blue glowing violet, both consumed in a never-ending darkness.
One eye was white—having lost its sight. They both stared at each other for a heartbeat as something sparked in those dead, dead eyes.
“A boy?” a voice cracks horsley from disuse. But was still undeniably sharp and beautiful with its cold demand.
“I’m Ajax.”
The woman gazes at him thoughtfully as Ajax noted an odd streak of silver in the woman’s otherwise eerily pure snow white hair.
“Do you know where you are boy?” the woman demands.
Ajax slowly shakes his head.
“Foolish,” she scoffs. “The first human to have fallen here in…how long has it been again?” She mutters to herself before shaking her head.
“Nevermind—the Abyss doesn’t call anything here without purpose. Unless you were cast here by Celestia,” she scoffs. “Which you most certainly weren’t.”
“This is the Void—the Abyss Beyond and Beneath Teyvat,” she states flippantly. “Your new home for the rest of eternity.”
“No,” Ajax snarls. “I need to get back to them. I promised .”
“Oh?” the woman stares blankly at Ajax with her one good eye. “So you haven’t lost your reason yet? The Kheanri’ans lost their minds after a few minutes—and their humanity after a mere fragment of a cycle.”
The woman pauses for a heartbeat before grinning something feral.
“I’ve decided, boy,” the woman says as she jumps down the corpse of the massive boar, pulling the massive claymore out effortlessly with one hand.
“I’ll see what that will of yours amounts to against the corruption,” she states as she reaches her hand out towards the boy. “The Will of the Abyss isn’t drawn to just anyone.”
So the boy takes the offered hand of the devil—staring into the Abyss as it stared into him and put something in him .
The beginnings of an accursed Foul Legacy.
“Call me Master from now on, boy,” the woman says as she hauls him off of the ground and pushes him off a cliff.
“First lesson—don’t trust just anyone to have your back or best interests in mind, boy!” she barks out as she throws his sword behind him, surfing down the steep cavern walls with ease.
—
“Master,” the boy asks once as she corrects his form in fighting with twin swords and giving him advice on how to fight with a bow—a mimicked form of it constructed from the toxic sludge that was Abyssal water, in the boy’s hand as the woman corrected his stance.
“What’s your name?”
She pauses only for a moment before answering in a soft whisper so delicate that even a butterfly’s wings could’ve torn it asunder. “Those once closest to me have called me Skirk.”
“Though I suppose Glasya has its own charm I suppose…” she hums as her eyes flash star silver.
“Death is older than everything—barr Oblivion and Master …”
“You had a Master!?”
“Is that surprising?” she chuckles. “Well I suppose an immortal has a terrible sense of time in a way—Master was older than existence itself, so he seemed infallible.”
“Much like you see me, boy.” Skirk says, ruffling his hair in an unusual show of softness.
“Now how far have you perfected your control over your inner monster?” she asks as Ajax groans in exasperation.
Skirk laughs. “You best be careful boy—lest the monster born of your twisted darkness devour you whole.”
“Partial transformations are the most difficult to master for that reason, boy,” Skirk says as she gestures a hand towards his bow manifested from Hydro.
“Similar to how difficult manipulating liquids in a different vessel is,” she smirks as the bow collapses into a puddle akin to the color of putrid violet.
“I won’t teach you that until you master Hydro manipulation first.”
—
“Ajax!” a voice screams as blue, blue eyes that he has missed so much that it hurts, looks at him in worry. “Mom!” Tonia screams as tears flow down her face—red covering her hands.
“D-don’t cry, ‘Tonia,” Ajax coughs out weakly as his entire body aches—the monster howling in his mind as he feels his wounds—what wounds?—healing.
“I kept my promise,” he whispers as his eyes close—a mockery of a smile craving his lips that didn’t reach his darkened eyes that reflected nothing but a yearning Abyss.
A faint glow of violet vanished on his forehead—sealing with it forbidden knowledge and a power best forgotten.
A lone Hydro Vision caked in blood and snow sat atop his chest—he swore he heard Skirk screaming.
Ajax’s once bright blue eyes were hollow, empty of nothing but darkness.
But not dead—yet.
Not yet.
—
“Three days?” Ajax states blankly as ‘Tonia clings to him tightly. “I was gone for only three days.” He repeats, something inside of him breaking.
—
“I fell into the Abyss,” Ajax states one day at dinner—the sounds of metal scraping against cheap metal plates halting as his blank gaze rests against his father’s own hardened blue.
“Ajax died in there—or at least the one you knew,” he says with a tilt to his head. His face was impassive.
“You were gone for three days—the Abyss is a children’s tale. A tale meant to scare off revolutionaries and heretics,” Polonius snarls as he sends Ajax to his room.
The boy complies without a word—even as a knife lands an inch from his head. His inner monster, wrestling for control of his body—to make him drown in his—the Abyss’s twisted—anger.
—
Two days later—an attack by hillichurls happens.
Ajax was at the forefront, a blur of motion and a storm of blood and death.
His inner beast sang in joy—bloodlust satiated with the promise of battle.
Ajax spent a long while battling against that bloodlust and noticed it immediately when it abated. His monster sang with joy as Ajax laughed as he cut through his enemies.
Blood dripped from his body as he cut through the waves of hillichurls like a butcher. Each hewn by a harpoon or arrowhead almost lazily—the corpses left discarded on the ground in a mangled mess of viscera, entrails, and gore.
Ajax let out everything he had kept bottled up inside him—rage, sorrow, greif.
The casual brutality he displays on the battlefield, a brutal serenade of screams and broken, bitter laughter of a boy that was no longer human to Ajax —the boy who died before he could even dream.
The spray of gore only provided him more weapons to work with as he turned the hillichurl’s blood into spears that rained down hell on the battlefield.
The blood on his body condensing into a wicked, crimson, double-ended harpoon-like spear—his Hydro Vision glimmering innocently on his hip.
Hyro—an element meant to heal, to be caring, faithful, and kind above all else.
An element that most—except for the people of Fontaine—forget can be a tsunami, or a storm that causes calamity.
“Have you heard of the Monster of Morespeok?”
“They say he wears the face of a child as he bathes in blood and revels in slaughter.”
“They say he was tainted by something dark—the boy himself speaking of the Abyss.”
“Isn’t that just a tall tale for ambitious individuals? Don’t dream too big or the Abyss will swallow you up?”
“He’s already a monster—one pretending to be human.”
—
Ajax was surprised when his father took him to a major city—the outskirts. They went alone, and Ajax thought nothing of it—too trusting.
He still promised Antonia and Anton that he’d return though.
And too distracted fighting back and wrangling the siren song of the Abyss—of violence and the promises of death—echoing in his bones, tearing him apart gently and shoving him back together.
All the broken shards of a soul once lovingly called Ajax.
Ajax trusted his father. He trusted his older siblings.
They were his family—they may have looked at him different when he emerged from the Abyss—but they would never betray him.
Or so he believed.
—
“Father, what—?” Ajax asks with wide eyes as Polonius pushes him forwards towards the Fatui recruitment officer—cheque already in hand.
“This is for your own good Ajax,” he states as he turns away—something crumbles inside Ajax at the man’s cold, cold gaze.
Ocean blue becomes just a little bit darker.
—
First week—Ajax was the bottom of the food chain.
A child in a training camp meant to turn eighteen year old conscripts and volunteers into cut-throat soldiers.
Bed selections—decided by brawls and “seniority”.
Daily rations—decided by brawls and also “seniority”.
Ajax didn’t feel it necessary to participate so he settled for the bare minimum he needed.
One by one, a hierarchy was established between the veteran trainees and the newcomers.
There were those who demanded to leave by the end of the week.
—
Second week—those who demanded to leave were executed publicly by the commanding officer.
“ The only way to leave the Fatui is to either renounce and become a предатель to Snezhnaya and the Tsaritsa, or death .”
The commander’s words were taken to heart.
Weaklings were beaten up daily—either they died as a result of their injuries or were sent to a certain “doctor” as test subjects.
Ajax learned in that week that his hope of a normal, quiet life possibly adventuring like his father had done was ripped from him forever.
His childhood dreams—shattered and discarded like ashes to the wind.
His eyes dimmed further.
—
Third month—Ajax was allowed to receive letters now that he had made it up the ladder with his alien proficiency in combat.
He memorized positions, stances, strategies, maps, and various beginner to intermediate combat styles demonstrated to them near instantly.
He received Tonia’s letter informing him about the birth of Teucer, his now youngest sibling.
Something inside of him hardened—and his eyes brightened ever so faintly. The once-bright ocean blue settling on a dark shade of sapphire.
—
Sixth month—Ajax was a whirlwind, absorbing information the camp provided faster than the watchers in the shadows could control it.
Days later he was approached by a Mirror Maiden and offered a place in their training rotation.
The training rotations of the Fatui’s elite soldiers—not the glorified paperwork pushers and spies. The actual fighters.
Mirror Maidens, Agents, and Cicin Mages. Ajax joined their training in that sixth month.
From there, he had given up on turning back.
The darkness was always with him—and he was so, so tired of trying to crawl out of it.
Instead—he drowned.
—
“I’m back ‘Tonia.”
Darkened blue bordering on black, lightens to a brighter hue.
—
One year—Ajax was still in training rotations with different elite soldiers including the elemental gunners.
More than one suspicious Fatui operative came to him—offering ‘improvements to his strength’. One look at them offering a similar deal to another woman he trained with—
She came back as a Cicin Mage—with a full on addiction to Mist Grass and cybernetic enhancements—which made him turn down that offer real fast.
Ajax—now Childe—courtesy of a particularly irate officer—galavanting through the brutal training as if it was a playground.
Talking with fellow trainees in spars—earning favors, enemies, and information with his talent for slaughter and war.
But of course, despite his innate curiosity and talent—Ajax despised being bookish. He’d much rather confront his problems in the flesh, precisely because of his passion for the thrill that comes with living to the fullest.
His ears perked up at the name of someone familiar—a Hydro user that broke his nose, and then healed it.
The same woman who got him an apprenticeship under the Mirror Maiden division.
A shrewd, yet noble woman with a passion for money, and money alone.
—
“Ekaterina, right?” Childe asks a woman who was formerly a Mirror Maiden who allegedly worked under Pantalone.
“If I needed you to balance my accounts—how much would you need?” he asks bluntly.
The masked woman looks Ajax up and down, humming thoughtfully. “Well, I’d say six hundred thousand mora per hour.”
“Deal,” Childe says without hesitation—blinking as the woman freezes. “What?”
“Nothing,” she snorts. “But does a kid like you really have that kind of money?”
Childe’s smile was all teeth.
—
“Boss,” Enkaterina states as she glances up from one of the ledgers detailing Ajax’s transactions. “You have siblings?”
She holds up a photograph of Anton, Antonia, and Teucer all smiling.
“Give it back,” he states with a growl.
“How about a raise first?”
“Fine.”
“You see, this is why I like working with you. You’re a much better boss than Pantalone .”
“His loss,” Childe snickers as Ekaterina laughs alongside him. It was anything but pleasant.
“You know,” Enkaterina drawls. “What’s your code name anyways?”
“...Childe,” Childe deadpans. The composed woman bursts out laughing as Childe scowls.
—
It wasn’t exactly friendship—but it was a sense of trusting the other to not immediately backstab you should it become beneficial to do so.
While Childe trusted her—Ajax did not. Rather, Ajax ceased to trust anyone at all.
They helped each other. Childe paid her and in turn Enkaterina became Childe’s right hand and unofficial babysitter.
Actually it was way more than what her pay covered—but, details.
—
Second year—Ajax was in deep, deep shit .
How else would you describe becoming one of Il Dottore’s…minions?
At least he didn’t get any cybernetic implants or strange addictions.
Nah, the “good” Doctor only used Childe as a cleaner.
He preferred that those memories remained forgotten. The mere glimpse of a scalpel caused him to black out into a mindless slaughter.
Childe decided he liked Scaramouche over Dottore.
Scaramouche still won annual polls for most disliked Harbinger—the little shit.
But if anyone knew what Dottore really was like…the madman would win the polls by a landslide.
—
Second year and six months—Ajax gets picked up by Puchinella when he razes a small city to ash. Or a watery grave is more accurate.
He’s shoved into strategy meetings, politics, etiquette lessons, espionage.
Lessons that go far beyond what is required of even the vanguard’s elite soldiers.
—
Third year—Ajax—or rather Childe—becomes Tartaglia, the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.
And he was still below the minimum conscription age for Vision holders which is sixteen.
He was still a child—and he became one of his country’s most bloodied warriors.
He was well and truly aware now, what monsters wearing human skin looked like.
And he was never one of them—not really. Even despite what they all believed.
—
“It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?” Ajax grins as he turns to face the figure behind him who crept up on him without a sound.
“Columbina.”
The pale, ebony haired woman with a lithe build—one of her birds perched on her head as she stares down at Childe—her eyes closed, yet all-seeing. A smile permanently plastered on her face.
“The Tsaritsa has given you a mission for your debut as a Harbinger,” she giggles melodically.
“Pierro originally insisted on something…a little smaller in scale and more…quiet,” she laughs as Ajax looks as if he had drunk a cocktail of distilled white vinegar and firewater.
“No worries,” she laughs as she ruffles the shorter boy’s hair. “I got you a different assignment,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“You’re headed to Natlan,” she states. “Our diplomats have been facing a little…problem in which the compromise we made with the reigning Pyro Archon is that we’d prove our strength through a trial.”
“However…the trail was a little more…difficult than anticipated for our dear elite soldiers who aren’t experts in direct combat.”
“No one in the Fatui is a sole expert in straight-up combat,” Childe deadpans.
Columbina hums as she nods in agreement. “Yes, discretion is one trait most Fatui operatives value above all else…which is why I decided to volunteer you instead!” she chirps brightly.
“I also found this dear on my way to inform you about your new mission,” Columbina says as she lets the small owl sit in her palm—a small scar clawed over one of its eyes. Some of its feathers dyed black.
“Would you like to name her?”
Ajax pauses with wide eyes as he sees the similarities between the owl and his beloved Master.
Naming the owl Skirk would be far too personal—only a select few knew Skirk by her preferred name—it left a bad taste in Ajax’s mouth.
He held his hand out as he small owl recklessly flew from Columbina’s hand to land on his head, nesting in his mess of auburn hair. A small smile settles on his face as his eyes brighten ever-so slightly.
“Glasya,” Ajax states as he pets the owl who chirps at him happily as she burrows further into his messy hair.
“I’ll name her Glasya.”
“Do you want to take her with you?” Columbina asks as Ajax’s eyes widen.
His smile dims as he shakes his head. “Owls aren’t meant for the weather in Natlan.”
“I…trust that you’ll look after Glasya well, Columbina,” Ajax states quietly. He reaches to displace the owl from his head—but it only encourages the obstinate owl to bury herself further into his messy hair—talons lightly scratching his scalp as she digs in, intent to stay.
“Come on, Glasya,” he pleads with the owl. “Go with Columbina, please?”
He pouts as melodic laughter echoes in the halls of Zapolyarny Palace.
“Just let her go with you,” Columina states with a wave of her hand. “It seems that she’s adopted you.”
Childe sighs before thanking the older Harbinger who hugs him tightly—the fire burning beneath her skin making her unnaturally warm given Scnezhnya’s eternal winter.
—
“Lord Tartaglia,” Enkaterina states stoically to the side as she salutes. “Lady Columbina.”
“At ease,” the fairy-like woman smiles as she turns to leave.
“Good luck with your debut, Tartaglia—the Eleventh.”
“So what’s the mission Boss?” Enkaterina asks the moment they’re out of the range of Zapolyarny Palace’s elemental range.
“We are to set out to Natlan—apparently there’s a challenge that was posed to the envoy for them to pass,” Childe states. “My job is to pass it.”
“Then I presume it’s combat-oriented?” she hums. “Will you still be doing that ridiculous challenge of yours alongside it?”
“Of course,” Childe grins. “How else will I manage to grow in combat if I limit myself to only one way of fighting?”
“I presume you’ll want the notebooks and dice back then,” she sighs. “I need a raise.”
“Sure,” Childe grins.
Ekaterina laughs. “This is exactly why I’d rather work for you than those arrogant, two-faced pieces of shit.”
Childe snorts. “To that degree, Katya. My blunt personality is exactly what earned me so many enemies. Honor has no place among thieves or sinners. And yet, here I am,” he laughs with his arms spread wide as his expression darkens.
“Here I am indeed.”
—
“Boss, the food’s poisoned—better brush up on that poison resistance technique of yours.”
“Boss. Someone sabotaged the boat—it’s sinking.”
“Boss. Someone disposed of all the filtered water.”
“Boss. There’s approximately twenty-seven known assassins on board.”
—
“Known affiliations?”
“The Fair Lady, Scaramouche, the miser, and Dottore.”
“Of course, as to be expected.”
—
Dear Childe,
While I am pleased to hear of your departure to your first mission. Please keep in mind to be tactful.
Who knows what will happen to your family—especially dear Antonia, Anton, and Teucer without you around to protect them.
On another note, apparently the doctor has gained an interest in examining your blood for Abyssal traces.
If I may offer some advice—if you cooperate in one of his experiments, Dottore won’t push to other alternatives.
May the Tsaritsa’s reign prosper,
Pulcinella
—
“Ha!” Childe laughs as he reads his former sponsor’s letter.
His expression was bitter. “Fine. I’ll play the fool,” he growls as he pens his reply.
“Katya!” he calls as Enkaterina opens the door. “Do you have a vial that I can send to the Doctor?”
Her eyes hidden beneath her mask shone with an unspoken understanding and empathy. “I believe we do, Lord Tartaglia.”
“You know it’s fine if you call me Childe,” he pouts. “It’s not like we’re trainees anymore.”
“Oh, believe me,” she grins. “I will do so to the best of my abilities. After all, you’ve always hated honorifics.”
“So you are doing that to piss me off,” Childe states with narrowed eyes.
“Yep.”
—
“What’s up with the owl?”
“Oh her?” Childe lets his stare linger on the bird mutilating a rat with her beak—the viscera and entrails decorating her nest of the skeletons of rats—their bones picked clean.
“She’s the pest exterminator,” he says as the owl gives him a dirty look and he bursts out in laughter.
“Seriously though, her name’s Glasya—Damesliette gave her to me…for some reason.”
“Ah,” Enkaterina hums as she stares at the bloodthirsty owl. “So you’re her favorite. Last I heard the Knave was her favorite—at least until they had a falling out.”
“The miser complained all the time about her being the Jester’s favorite when he thought I couldn’t hear.”
“Seriously!?” Childe exclaims.
“For insinuating that I would lie to you—I demand a raise. This is injustice of the highest order,” she deadpans flatly.
“Aw, but Katya—”
—
“I have your order of…blades for…Glasya,” Enkaterina states as she slowly backs away from the bloodthirsty small owl in the corner, staring the woman down menacingly despite her size.
“Thanks Katya, leave it on the desk there, will you?”
—
“Void damn it!” Childe snarls as another document crumples in his hand for the nth time.
“Gimme,” Enkaterina states blandly as she swipes the stack of paperwork from Childe’s desk.
“Go above deck,” she orders. “I’ll be done in an hour, Boss.”
“But—”
“Out. Now.” Childe raises his hands in surrender as he makes a tactical retreat to the main deck where he could smell the familiar scent of salt water.
“Maybe I should go fishing,” he muses aloud as he conjures a coil of fishing line made of Hydro.
—
“Why the Archons is it so hot, Katya?” Childe whines as he melts in the heat—even fighting Pyro Lectors wasn't this bad. And they literally threw around molten lava.
“You have a Hydro Vision and impeccable elemental control, Lord Harbinger,” Enkaterina deadpans as Childe grins sheepishly before abruptly dousing himself in ice cold water.
—
The Natlan envoy’s first impression of the Eleventh Harbinger was this:
They knew he was young. That was it.
So when a child with auburn hair—soaking wet to the bone with an owl nested in his messy hair—arrived with the infamous Ekaterina in tow, they thought he was lost.
Of course because of that assumption, the members of the 153th company earned a personal training session—more akin to a beatdown—against the Eleventh Harbinger himself.
When Childe was done with them—half were sent back, deemed too weak for the mission objective.
—
“The objective is to prove ourselves worthy to enter the nation of war,” Childe says as he speaks to all of the soldiers assembled before him.
“Weakness is a luxury that cannot be afforded. Regardless of age, nationality, loyalties, or station—if you are strong, then you will survive. Anything else will be perceived as weakness and you will be sent back—understood?!”
Childe smiles sharply. “None of you meet my standards, unfortunately. So before we even attempt the Pyro Archon’s challenge—I will need to…elevate your skills.”
“For the indefinite future—we will be having a training camp from hell. Attendance will be mandatory,” Childe grins. “Anyone who misses out—let’s just say that you’ll rather be dead.”