Chapter Text
Morepesok wakes before the rise of the sun, such is routine among the working villagers. The townsfolk of the small seaside village pull on their furs and boots and let the biting cold of the frigid air wash away the last traces of sleep, stepping out into the still-dark morning. On the western side of the village, a young boy skips along excitedly behind his father, following him to the coastline with fishing gear in hand. His thick gloves make holding onto his rod and chisel a much more difficult task, and so the boy pauses for a moment to shove the chisel under his arm and pull off the gloves to stuff them into his coat pocket.
“Ajax.”
The boy freezes, looking up guiltily at his father.
“Put those back on. Your mother will have my head if you come back sniffling.”
Ajax sighs and pulls the gloves back out of his pockets. His father chuckles at him, laying the spear and other supplies from his own hands down on the snow so that he can crouch in front of his son and help slide the soft wool back over his fingers. Afterward he offers Ajax a smile and taps him on the nose with one bare, callused finger. According to his father, the texture of wool and sheepskin makes his hands itch, and so he goes without.
“You know you can’t get anything past me, my son. And any adventurer worth their salt always keeps their gear on them,” he advises, leveraging Ajax’s adoration of adventurers.
Ajax buries his chin into his bright red scarf petulantly, but nods in agreement. As a Sentinel, his father seems to always have a keen sense for Ajax and his siblings’ mischief, bringing such things to a swift halt. He watches his father stoop to pick up their equipment again before asking, curiously, “And when will I become a Sentinel, like you? So I can go on my own adventures?”
Since reaching the age of being able to truly enjoy his father’s anecdotes of his days as a traveler, it has become Ajax’s dream to follow in those footsteps. Eager for the day he will present as a Sentinel himself, Ajax continually tests his senses, seeing if they have spontaneously heightened, or if his physical abilities have improved. Thus far, he has not had any luck, but he believes in time he can be a hero like his father.
His father turns to him, a tightness around his eyes, but with a smile nonetheless. “Ah, you’re much too young for that yet. In a few years, I’m sure.”
He then ushers him forward, toward the daylight beginning to peek over the shoreline. “For now, you have plenty of time to help me fish, and listen to this old man’s tales, no?”
Ajax’s expression brightens, and he excitedly clutches the rod in his hands, nodding vigorously. “Yes!”
Ajax’s father laughs and starts walking again, launching into a rousing recount of his adventuring days; a time before he had met Ajax’s mother and started their family. Ajax listens intently, following along and matching his stride to his father’s much larger footsteps left behind in the snow, auburn hair glinting red in the rising sunlight. What Ajax does not know, is too young to know, is that there is a nigh impossible chance that he or his siblings will ever present as a Sentinel or a Guide. Though their father is a Sentinel, their mother is Non-Gifted, and thus unlikely to produce such a child.
It is not until several years later, when Ajax has turned fourteen and is no longer the youngest by three, that he finally takes his restlessness into his own hands. He feels that his father’s tales have prepared him for the journey, and that even though he has yet to present with the heightened senses of a Sentinel, perhaps an expedition of his own will be catalyst enough. Ajax is ready for his own story to begin; to pursue more than a predictable and monotonous life of seaside fishermen. He will become a hero for his younger siblings, bring pride to his parents, and finally fulfill his childhood dreams.
Ajax waits until his father is out of the village for a few days on a hunting trip with his elder brothers. Aided by the cover of darkness, with ambition burning in his chest and a polished shortsword in his hand, Ajax sneaks out of his childhood home and heads for the forest. He is not a Sentinel, and thus he does not hear, is not prepared for, the immediate dangers that come for him, hungry and snarling with teeth.
Ajax runs blindly through the dark forest, tripping over tree roots hidden by snow and doing his best to dodge the sharp spines of thorns as he tears through the brush. Wolves, bears– he is not sure anymore of what chases him, only that he needs to run –
And then there is a moment, suspended in time, stomach lurching into his chest as he trips on a crack in the earth and he falls.
And he keeps falling.
Down, down, down, dark, dark, dark.
Desperately he reaches out, with his hands, his voice, anything, anything at all to stop the endless freefall. He calls out with everything in him– and suddenly, jarringly, something calls back. Ajax doesn’t hear it so much as he feels the reverberation of the answering call slam into his mind as though he’d run headfirst into a wall. The jarring force of the reply rips through his nerves and synapses like fire through his veins, and Ajax screams, the pressure in his skull and the pain lancing through his entire body causing him to black out. Ajax is not awake when his fall ends.
Instead, he dreams–floating somewhere in a boundless seabed, snaps and flashes of a hulking creature lurking in the depths, still calling to him, stealing the very breath from his lungs. All he can sense is a rage and a restlessness and the urge to devour, devour, devour, but he knows the impulses are not his. It’s too much, too much, and the dream fades instead to black.
Ajax wakes with a gasp. The vestiges of his dream have him expecting to choke up water, but instead his throat is dry and spasms into a cough. A rough hand covers his mouth, muffling the coughs, and Ajax panics, flailing to rip the offending limb away. Instead, another hand catches his arm, and his wide eyes flit up to meet a stern gaze.
“Enough of that,” says the scarred woman who kneels over him. “You will attract attention.”
Sensing that the strange woman doesn’t seem to mean him immediate harm, Ajax attempts to calm himself. His eyes drift from the ringed reds of her irises, to the silver hair cascading over her shoulders, then to the latticework scars that decorate her exposed skin. He then turns to his surroundings, and wonders where he is. It’s dark, like an endless night sky stretched out all around them, glimmers of stars and constellations providing just enough light to see. Ajax tries to see what else he can sense about the area, but immediately feels a sharp pain in his temple. He whimpers into the stranger’s hand, suddenly assaulted by whispers of hunger and fear and malevolence . He starts panting, the whispers becoming louder and more overwhelming, until he feels that they are becoming his own state of mind.
The woman curses, and there’s a shuffle of fabric, but it’s a muffled sound, as though he were floating through water again, swept up in the waves of corruption and hunger that batter against his mind. A cold hand makes contact with his forehead, and after the abrupt interruption to the tides wracking his consciousness, he feels the barrage begin to ebb away slowly. Instead, other sensations begin to push into his awareness. There’s a comforting sense of confidence and calm, a self-assuredness that most certainly isn’t his own, but that settles him nonetheless. Behind that, there’s a flicker of irritation; a vague annoyance he can’t place.
“You need to learn to control that, if you’re going to survive here,” the woman speaks again, lowly, startling Ajax. She pulls her hand away from his face, and all the confidence, calm, inconvenience seems as though it’s ripped away at once. Ajax's eyes follow the retreat of her arm, which is adorned with the same midnight hues of the sky stretching over them.
“Control what? What was that?” Ajax’s brows furrow, gaze rising to hers once more. “Who are you?”
The woman’s face contorts at the questions, and she glances to the side as if considering simply leaving him there without answers. Instead, she looks back at him with a calculating gaze, and tosses a blue gem at him that he scrambles to catch.
“Get up. Take that. Let’s go. We’ve spent too long here.” She turns on her heel and begins to walk.
A sudden spark of ambition alights in Ajax’s chest, stemming from the gem in his hand and catching him off guard as it flows through his limbs and settles into his bones, as though returning to its proper place. After pushing himself up on shaky legs, he flips it around and nearly gasps again at the glowing Hydro symbol on the front. Getting a feeling that the mysterious woman will not wait around for him, Ajax does his best to shelve his questions for the moment and follow her.
They walk in silence through the dark, the eerie lack of noise setting Ajax’s hair on end, but the woman does not seem put off in the slightest. Ajax finds himself casting discreet glances at her every few moments, questions bubbling in his throat.
“I can feel you staring at me. Stop,” she says, without looking at him.
“Are you a Sentinel?” he blurts, before remembering her reticence to questions.
She doesn’t stop moving, but she does glance at him from the corner of her eye.
“No,” she says. “But you are a Guide.”
Ajax blinks, faltering. The woman is not finished.
“You have also been blessed by Celestia. That Vision was next to you when I found you. To come into both blessings while in the Abyss.” She pauses. “You’re either extremely fortunate, or perhaps extremely cursed. It will be up to you to determine which.”
“A Guide?” Ajax’s brow furrows. “No, I must be a Sentinel.”
The woman scoffs, “Not possible. You have been projecting your anxiety like a beacon to anything in the Abyss since I found you. That is why we keep moving, you will attract too much attention this way.”
“But,” Ajax cannot fathom why she would lie about this, but his worldview suddenly feels flipped upside down.
“You are in the Abyss, boy,” the woman says, sternly. “The denizens here feed on corruption and the weak, and with the way you are now, you are blatantly advertising yourself as prey.”
She unsheathes a sword from her back and Ajax jerks as she lowers it towards him, but she only uses it to lightly tap on the shortsword at his own side.
“If you can listen and obey, I will teach you to survive down here. It will not be easy, and I am not a patient teacher.”
Everything in Ajax tells him to accept immediately, and yet he still asks, “Why? Why would you teach me? I don’t even know your name.”
He braces for her to simply tell him to forget it and walk away, leaving him stranded in this strange, shadowy realm. Instead, she considers him for a moment, sheathing her weapon again.
“I felt your fall. Presumably, the fall triggered your latent Guide abilities to manifest, and that is why you emitted such a strong call outwards. This would mean that I was not the only one to sense it. I also felt that your call awakened…” She contemplates her words. “...it. I can sense the traces of it that remain on you. I believe you inadvertently established an empathic connection with it, waking it from its hibernation. It will likely not stop hunting you,” she says.
Ajax feels a chill run down his spine. “I…think I dreamed of it. It was calling back to me.”
She nods, though her expression remains placid, not giving away her feelings on the matter.
“Yes. I can sense its imprint on you.”
Ajax tries not to let that send him into a panic, but he sees the woman’s expression pinch slightly as his heart rate elevates.
“Your emotions are leaking again.”
Distantly, there is a howl. It is a sound unlike any wolf Ajax has ever heard near his hometown, the tone shrieking and piercing, making his eardrums vibrate and making goose flesh rise on his arms. There are answering calls, as if preparing for a hunt, and when Ajax tunes into them, a shock of ravenous hunger and predatory intent pulses through his mind. The woman continues to regard him calmly, though he knows she must sense the abyssal creatures honing in on them.
“Teach me,” he says, clutching at the Vision in his palm. Ambition burns in his veins– he will not falter here; he will master these new gifts and emerge from this Abyss to his family victorious.
She waits only a beat more, and then nods once, sharply.
“Skirk,” she offers.
“Ajax,” he replies.
The gnashing of teeth and rumbling growls of the creatures stalking towards them grow louder. Shadows flicker past the faint light of the stars, giving the predators vague whispers of shapes. Smog coats the air like oil, and Ajax stutters through his next inhale of the smoky substance, feeling it choke his lungs and esophagus. Glowing eyes seem honed in on him, and Ajax clutches his Vision more tightly, eyes darting around the void that surrounds him and his companion.
Skirk still appears unperturbed, though she does unsheathe her sword again. Ajax gasps through his next inhale, beginning to feel lightheaded. Moving towards him, Skirk once more extends a shadowy arm, and lays her frigid palm on his forehead, letting her unshakable calm ebb into his mind, his directionless Empathy desperately reaching for her through their direct contact.
“Abyssal taint,” she explains nonchalantly, keeping one hand on his head while turning with her sword poised in the other. “You will adjust.”
The first of the shadowy abyssal denizens launches towards them in a blur of movement, the glint of outstretched claws only visible by the reflection of far away constellations. Skirk does not move except to bring her sword downwards in a quick and efficient slash in front of them, effectively dispatching the creature. It dissolves into the same thick smoke that surrounds them, though Ajax is feeling less suffocated than he had been.
The rest of the fight, if it could be called that, goes much the same. Skirk effortlessly slaughters the creatures that lunge and swipe at them, dispelling them with simple swings of her sword. She does not pull her bare hand from Ajax’s forehead, still allowing him to feed off her emotions, though by the time all the abyssal monsters have been eradicated, he feels awe rather than any of his previous fear.
Eventually, she retracts her hand, and sheathes her sword behind her.
“Can you teach me to do that?” he asks eagerly, one hand already on the hilt of his shortsword.
Skirk glances at him. “The first thing you need to learn is to shield your mind so that you are not a walking beacon for the both of us, and not so easily overwhelmed by outside influences.”
Ajax pouts, blood thrumming with leftover adrenaline, fingers twitching over the hilt of his sword. “Are you sure you’re not a Sentinel?”
“Luckily for the both of us, I am not. Had I been, your projections would have likely caused a zone.”
Slumping, Ajax relents. “How do I shield, then?”
The answer to that is more convoluted than Ajax expects, as well as more time-consuming. Skirk leads the two of them to one of her camps, an area she has scouted as being relatively safe. She instills in him the importance of meditation, and of learning his own mind. It is as frustrating as it is seemingly impossible, as any time Ajax has to sit quietly for long periods, his mind begins to wander and restlessness grows in his limbs. Skirk is quick to redirect his attention with a smack to the back of his head with the flat of her sword, barking a harsh “Again,” until he can sit without losing focus.
It is difficult to tell how much time passes in the nearly lightless realm, while Ajax learns the ins and outs of his own consciousness. He measures days as best he can with the meals that Skirk provides and their short bursts of travel to avoid drawing awareness when in one place for too long. He sleeps for a handful of hours at a time while Skirk takes watch; he isn’t sure if or when she rests, but she never shows any outward signs of exhaustion. Ajax has taken to holding his Vision in the palm of his hand when he rests, the pulsing elemental energy a comfort. He calls to his Hydro to idly form shapes of animals, manipulating the constructs to dance in uncoordinated movements above his head, drowsily relaxing his mind until he falls into slumber.
One day, he is going through the mental exercises Skirk has assigned him, sitting cross-legged on the ground, when Skirk interrupts, “It’s quiet.”
Startled, he gives her a questioning glance. She peers back down at him from where she stands a few paces away.
“I cannot feel the influence of your emotions. You’ve made a shield.”
Ecstatic, Ajax leans forward and grins. “I have? You can tell?”
Sighing, Skirk pinches the bridge of her nose. “And now you’ve broken it. Try again.”
Settling back into his sitting position, Ajax can’t quite tamp down his glee. He’s improving; one step closer to learning actual combat. Predictably, Skirk cuffs the back of his head.
“Focus.”
He does. With fresh motivation to try, within the next few days, or what he counts as days, Ajax is able to raise and drop his mental wards by will. Skirk does not praise him, but she does allow him to advance in his training.
“Project at me,” Skirk says.
The two of them are standing a couple paces apart, facing one another. Ajax shuffles on his feet and gives her a questioning look. “Master Skirk, aren’t I supposed to be keeping everything walled off?”
“That is a defense measure. This will be your offense. Now, project at me.”
Still hesitating, Ajax asks, “Isn’t Guide Empathy supposed to be soothing? How can this be an offense, if I’m not a Sentinel?”
“You are limiting your capabilities. To survive here, you must make every available asset a weapon,” Skirk says flatly. “As a Guide, that is your Empathy. Instead of soothing, learn to project agitation.”
“Project…agitation?”
“Yes. Now.”
Is that possible, to do intentionally? Everything Ajax has ever heard about Guides suggests they are predominantly used to soothe and calm, and keep to the peace whether with Sentinels or with Non-Gifted people. He has never heard of a Guide inciting pain or chaos with their Empathy.
More importantly, “Wouldn’t that hurt you?” Ajax asks.
The swordswoman clicks her tongue at his line of questioning. “Perhaps, if you were in any way skilled at it. As it stands, I’ve been using mental wards for longer than you have been a Guide. I will be able to sense it, but you will not be capable of hurting me.”
Dubiously, Ajax closes his eyes to focus on his mind. With Skirk’s guidance, he has learned how to navigate and identify his emotions; the feel of them in his consciousness and subconsciousness, how they ebb and flow. He is able to filter his natural feelings and deflect the feedback that attempts to enter his walls from outside influences. With this, he focuses on his own sense of restlessness; the desire he has to move and act, a feeling he has been getting better at controlling through his mental discipline. He allows this sensation to grow and swell in him, until he reaches an agitated state. Then– he pushes outwards.
Ajax can vaguely sense the outer walls of Skirk’s mind, the only thing he’s ever been able to read from her being her confidence and calm. Now, he pushes against those walls with his agitation and restlessness. He is surprised at the challenge this task poses, as he can feel his fingers clenching into fists and sweat start to prickle at his brow, but the walls do not budge.
When his breathing becomes labored from the exertion and his ears start ringing, he almost does not hear Skirk command, “Stop.”
Dropping his effort, Ajax blinks himself back to awareness, panting lightly.
The glint in Skirk’s eyes is approving, and Ajax can’t help the small smirk that cuts across his mouth.
“Keep practicing. Do not overexert yourself. Any negative feeling you can channel– those will be your weapons.”
Allowing himself to rest before his next attempt, Ajax can’t help but wonder, “Master Skirk, how do you know so much about Guides and Sentinels if you aren’t one?”
She tilts her head. “My own Master possesses an…interest in Sentinels and Guides, and the limits of their abilities.”
“Your Master?” Ajax’s tone is surprised.
“You will meet him in time, if you prove capable. As for now, enough idle chatter. Again.”
So Ajax tries again. And again. And again. He spends the next week or so working to push through Skirk’s shields with his projections. Over time, he is able to call forward stronger feelings such as rage and hatred, and more vague sensations such as intimidation and anxiety, without letting his psyche become afflicted by them first. Skirk’s walls remain impenetrable, but she confirms that he is improving his control. At periods of rest, his control over his Vision has improved as well. The sloppily made constructs of before are now more complicated and refined things, and he is able to call on them more rapidly, sweeping them into a choreography only he knows.
It’s not too long until Skirk invites Ajax on her next hunt. She instructs him that his objective is to use his Empathy against their targets without getting overwhelmed or overexerting himself. Ajax is ecstatic with the opportunity to test his growing skills, and while Skirk sharpens her blade in preparation, Ajax focuses his mind. He’s recently grown fond of testing his boundaries by attempting to control his Vision while simultaneously exerting his empathic abilities. He wills a sword of similar shape and design to Skirk’s within his hands, and attempts to maintain its shape and consistency while making sure his mental wards are strong, and pushing outward a projection of bloodlust.
Skirk glances over at him with an irritated scowl. Ajax pretends not to notice, but he can’t help the small grin that etches onto his face. She has recently described his attempts at empathic projections on her shields as “akin to a pest needing to be swatted ”, and while to most that may sound like an insult, from her it is high praise indeed.
“Save your effort for the hunt, rather than pestering me,” she warns, eyeing the edge of her blade. She swings it in a downward arc once, a satisfying swish of displaced air following the motion. Deeming it satisfactory, she sheathes the blade.
“Yes, Master Skirk,” Ajax chirps jovially, dropping his projection and allowing his constructed blade to dissipate.
She beckons to him, signaling that she is ready, and once he skips to her side, they depart. Though Skirk’s awareness of the Abyss is unrivaled, she allows Ajax to scout out their prey by tuning into any surrounding empathic feedback. Even the dullest of creatures has a subconsciousness that produces emotional output, and so it does not take Ajax very long at all to pick up on faint feedback from a distance.
He gestures in the direction of his findings, and quickly erects his mental shields, lest the creatures sense their approach. Skirk nods in assent, and they stealthily pick their way through the darkness and shadows. Within moments, they happen upon a nest of abyssal prey. Skirk has never spoken of any names of the creatures that are endemic to the Void Realm, but the beasts they are observing are hulking, six-legged monsters that stand at about twice Ajax’s height. The nest, which amounts to a shallow depression in the dark soil surrounded by thorny brambles and jagged boulders, currently holds three of the creatures.
Their unseeing eyes glow in the slits of their cranial armor, plated bone that cascades down their spines to the tips of their spaded tails. Like most denizens of the Abyss, the darkness has corroded their vision, and they receive input through the currents of void energy that run through the Abyss similarly to ley lines on the surface of Teyvat. It is only a matter of time until the beasts sense the predators around them, and so Ajax wastes no time in centering his focus and extending his mind.
Skirk remains silent next to him as he pushes out a projection of fear and intimidation. He can feel the moment his projections take hold; as his projected fear becomes their fear, and the intimidation causes a spike in anxiety. His shields prevent their influenced panic from affecting him, and as he intended, the pervasive fear petrifies them. Ajax hears Skirk shift from her position as the creatures freeze in place, using their response as an advantage, and she is able to cut down two of the shocked-still creatures from their underbellies before the third’s fight or flight response kicks in, and it makes a dash from the nest. Being the lumbering creature it is, it does not move quickly, and Ajax has enough time to focus a fresh wave of panic and confusion into the beast that has it careening mindlessly into one of the jagged boulders.
The impact stuns the creature, and Skirk wastes not a second cutting it down. Ajax releases his projections and the tension in his jaw, ignoring the slight throb of an oncoming headache in his temple. He whoops in delight at the successful hunt, and makes to join Skirk in the nest to assist in gutting their spoils, when Skirk’s head whips around and she hisses, “Ajax! ”
Foolishly, reveling in his victory, Ajax had pulled his awareness from the surrounding area, and so he is taken by surprise when he turns to find a fourth member of the nest ambling towards them. The abyssal beast must sense the state of its companions, as it roars, revealing its rows of sharp teeth only a foot from Ajax’s face. The creature gnashes at him, sensing the threat he poses, and Ajax scrambles backwards to avoid being impaled.
Skirk dashes to his side, swiping at the beast but only making contact with the armored plating along its back, and it swipes its tail at her in irritation, making her lurch back to dodge the sharp end. The creature does not stop its track towards Ajax, growling and snapping as it approaches.
For a breath, Ajax freezes. In that moment, he feels he has taken the place of this creature's companions, laying slain in their nest after being frozen by their fear. His hand finds his Vision, stashed away in his pocket, and the ice over his heart thaws as ambition ignites. No; he is not prey. He is not a dim beast brought to slaughter. He is a predator, and he will survive. He will live to emerge heroically from this Abyss and back into his family’s arms, to their praise and adulation for the trials he endured and the abilities he has gained.
Hydro coalesces in his palm as he withdraws his hand from his pocket, and when the creature rears back to snap at Ajax again, he projects. There’s something behind you, he casts the thought out desperately, there’s something behind you, there’s something behind you– the creature snaps its head to the side, searching behind it for the presence that must be there. As soon as the beast’s attention is moved, Ajax strikes forward. From his height, it is not difficult to lodge the blade of his constructed sword into the lower part of its chest. It sinks in between the creature’s ribs, and sticks there, Ajax’s strength not enough to slice through the bone. The beast howls in pain, whipping its attention back on Ajax, but before it can strike at him, Skirk darts in from the side and carves a deep gash into the base of its throat.
Gurgling, the creature wavers and falls to the side, collapsing on the ground with a loud thud. Soon, it lays still, the only audible sound being Ajax’s panting breaths. Skirk watches this for a moment, before glancing at Ajax from her periphery, flicking the black ichor from her weapon.
“Your gifts are not a panacea for carelessness. You were lucky,” she says.
Though the dull throb in his temple has transitioned into a searing stab of pain behind his eyes and the base of his skull, Ajax grins at her. “I’ll say. I even got you to call me by my name!”
Skirk blinks at him, and then scoffs, muttering about foolishness and weak disciples as she turns on her heel and stalks over to her most recent victim.
Ajax laughs, then, and he thinks it is the first time since he fell that he has been able to do so. The adrenaline of near-death and his success flows through his veins and makes him giddy. He feels that this is just the beginning; he will continue to progress, to get stronger, and his hunger for growth fills him with a burning motivation.
“We will need to work on your physical strength,” Skirk says, jolting Ajax from his internal reflection. She is eyeing the puncture he left in the last creature’s chest, the Hydro sword long since liquified.
“Yes, Master Skirk,” Ajax says, elated.
He joins her and they make slow but methodical work of piecing apart the bodies of their prey, collecting what they can eat and use as supplies. Skirk lists off various organs and their uses as they work, whether as a useful ingredient in a salve or potion, as food, or as toxic and better left alone. Ajax listens as best he can with his internal celebration distracting him. Likely, Skirk can tell that he’s only half-listening, though she does not reprimand him. Eventually, they make their way back to their camp with spoils in tow. Once they have cooked and consumed their food, Skirk motions for Ajax to join her a short distance away from the camp, signaling the start of some form of training.
“You will need to build muscle memory, in addition to your strength,” she says, and runs through a list of drills for him to complete. After what Ajax can only assume has been a month in the realm of void, he is no longer as lanky and lean as he was in the overworld. Their constant travel and necessary physical labor has ensured that Ajax has developed a light muscle tone, and so the exercises Skirk assigns him intend to build on that.
She has him call his Hydro blade into his hands, and demonstrates a few combat forms for him to emulate and practice. While he finds the repetition boring at first, he comes to appreciate how moving through the stances helps focus his mind, making his connection to his empathic abilities clearer and stronger. Over the next few days, Ajax delves into his new routines with enthusiasm, pushing his body until his limbs shake and his muscles are trembling, and then going just a step further, delighting in the physical strain burning his nerves.
Skirk allows him to accompany her on her hunts from then on, and incorporates light spars into his training, critiquing his form and reaction time after each session. It is her opinion that life application is the best form of training, and even though the hunts leave him feeling drained and on the verge of a migraine, he has to agree. He can feel his body getting stronger; the weapons he fashions easier to swing and faster to call to his hand. His blades no longer get stuck when striking at an opponent; whether facing off against one of their prey or defending against a Lector, his slashes have become lethal and severing. The stabbing migraines that would leave him out of commission for several hours afterward taper off into slightly annoying tension in his temples. His empathic and physical abilities grow in leaps and bounds with guidance from Skirk and fueled by his Vision, and within several weeks he feels as though he could conquer the whole of the Abyss.
His master is quick to dissuade him of this notion, reminding him that she still has yet to use more than a single hand to bring him to yield in their spars. Despite this, she determines that he is able to meet her own master.
When Ajax is introduced to Surtalogi, “The Foul ”, he is not sure what to expect. With Skirk as a disciple, he can only assume the other being is leagues above him in terms of skill and prowess, and thus carries a predisposed awe into the encounter. Though outwardly, there is nothing of note in Surtalogi’s appearance to imply he possesses great power, Ajax can feel the pressure and influence of Surtalogi’s strength just by extending his mind. The other is coated in miasma, and emanates an aura of abyssal influence. As Skirk predicted, Surtalogi takes an interest in Ajax.
It does not take long for Ajax to have the impression that Surtalogi’s intrigue is more based on Ajax as an experiment, rather than him as his student’s disciple. The Foul eyes him with a keen, glowing gaze, making Ajax feel as though he is under constant evaluation. Surtalogi says little more than a handful of words to Ajax during their first encounter, and Ajax understands even less of it. He only knows for certain that the other has assessed his level of abyssal taint and the elemental energy coursing through his body, as Surtalogi makes light conversation with Skirk about his deductions. The Foul sounds pleased; and Skirk informs Ajax later on that Surtalogi will be assisting with their training.
Ajax is wary of this, until a couple days later, Surtalogi shows him his Legacy transformation.
Leading up to his reveal, Surtalogi had put Ajax’s skills to the test, gauging the strength of his mind as well as his control over his Vision. Ajax’s mental wards are put under an immense kind of pressure he has never defended against before, and he knows instantly that the other being could shatter them if he so wished. Humbled, and more awed than ever, Ajax blurts, “Are you a Sentinel or Guide?” Recognizing his audacity, Ajax adds, sheepishly, “Sir?”
Surtalogi laughs, then, a sound that rumbles down to Ajax’s very core. “I am older than the very concept of Sentinels and Guides, boy.”
It is the most Surtalogi has ever said to Ajax, and he is left reeling at the implications. Surtalogi looks away, then contemplates. His next words are said more to himself than to Ajax. “A Guide with my Legacy…perhaps this will bring me ever closer in my pursuit.” He glances back to Ajax. “Not perfection, though conceivably closer.”
Ajax says nothing to this, unsure of his meaning and uninvited to speak regardless.
“Observe,” Surtalogi says, and succumbs to his miasma.
Devouring plumes of midnight purple smoke envelop Surtalogi, masking him from Ajax’s view. The cloud of abyssal power grows and grows, the pressure of void energy rising around them, nearly vibrating in the air for how tangible it feels. Suddenly, the pressure dissipates, and the whorl of abyssal miasma is siphoned from the atmosphere and into the menacing form in front of Ajax. Even with his mental fortitude, Ajax feels a frisson of fear lance down his spine at the sight of the towering monster. His brain is blaring that this is not a beast he can conquer, and that he should run; but Skirk remains stationary in his peripheral, and so he stays in place.
“My Legacy.” The resounding voice of the creature in front of him thunders in the surrounding space. “The force and power of the Abyss, manifested. Will you take on the mantle, boy?”
“Yes,” Ajax whispers, and though the armored mask of the being in front of him does not allow expression, Surtalogi emits a sense of satisfaction.
With that, Ajax begins his training to manifest his own abyssal taint, and carry on The Foul’s Legacy.
It is nearing the end of Ajax’s eleventh week in the Abyss when he successfully manifests the entirety of his abyssal Legacy transformation. His success has come in stops and starts, learning to harness and channel the flow of abyssal energy in his body. Skirk’s training has primed him for being able to isolate the conflicting sources of power he wields, and strengthened his mental fortitude to be capable of withstanding the seductive whispers of the Abyss while in his transformation. The ravenous urges of his abyssal taint harmlessly slide off the shields of his mind, finding no purchase, no crack in his armor to exploit.
Cradled in the seemingly endless power of the Abyss, Ajax feels indestructible. The rush of energy sears through his nerves, leaving him giddy and emboldened. In this transformation, he holds unfettered access to the void realm’s currents of energy, able to siphon any additional vigor he should need. It also allows him to cast his mind into its flow, to wherever he wishes in the realm. He dares not let his mind wander too far while he acclimates, but imbibing even slightly in the minds of those who resonate with the abyssal ley lines leaves him starving for more. The possibilities seem endless– could he even sway the thoughts and emotions of those he senses through the energy currents? The influence and potential he could have, how invigorating.
Under Skirk’s guidance over the next few days, he is taught how to function in this new, seemingly limitless body. His only frustration lies in his inability to keep the Legacy manifested for extended periods of time. Similarly to his previous training, as though it is also a muscle needing to be strengthened, he comes out of the transformations feeling fatigued and sore, taken out of commission for several hours at a time.
When he makes the comparison to Skirk, she agrees that the transformation may come more easily over time as he strengthens it and himself. However, she cautions him that while he is in the Abyss, the after-effects are diminished greatly. She explains that if he is able to make it back to the surface of Teyvat, the consequences of the transformation will return, much more severe in their impact. Without direct access to the energy of the Abyss, the transformation would siphon strength directly out of Ajax’s own body, using his life force as fuel.
The information startles him, and he realizes at that moment that he had forgotten his initial ambition of escaping the Abyss to rejoin his family above. Somewhere along the way, that ambition had given way to a desire for more , for power and for strength. That realization has him absorbed in his thoughts for the rest of the day. When he and Skirk retire to rest, hosted in Surtalogi’s manor, he lies on his back, turning his Vision over and over in his hands. Since learning to wall off his mind for protection, he hasn’t given much consideration to his emotions beyond their use as a weapon. He gained intricate awareness of his thoughts and feelings through his training, only to shut out the ones he deemed useless, effectively shielding him from himself. Ajax allows himself, then, to sit in his feelings.
He misses his family, he realizes with a pang. It has been weeks since he has seen his parents, or his brothers and sisters, and he feels guilty for allowing himself to become so absorbed in his quest for power that he dismissed them. Ajax grips his Vision tightly. That was the reason he wanted to get stronger in the first place, wasn’t it? To survive, to return to his family. His motivation for harnessing the power of the gifts bestowed upon him.
Ajax thinks of home. He thinks of his mother’s cooking, his father’s booming laughter, of wondrous stories of grand adventures told by the comforting warmth of the hearth. He thinks of his parents dancing in their small living room, their reassurances when he was plagued by a nightmare, of their arms around him. He thinks of his siblings; the teases and lessons of the elders, and the sweetness and innocence of the youngers, of the adoration they hold for him. Ajax yearns to see them again, to be able to tell his own tales of his time in the Abyss. He imagines their awe; their pride in his strength, their relief that he survived. Determination surges in his chest, and his Vision pulses seemingly in response.
From his periphery, there is a soundless flash.
Ajax nearly dismisses it as his exhaustion playing tricks on him, but he then feels a sharp pull in his gut. Rolling onto his side to look, Ajax sucks in a sharp breath of surprise. He pushes up from his bed in stiff, jolting movements, not moving his eyes from the sight in front of him for even a second. He doesn’t even allow himself to blink, lest it disappears.
Creeping forward, Ajax reaches out to brush his hand against the dimensional rift in front of him. It pulses in response, once again prompting the feeling in his gut that he needs to go . Is this how he had come to the Abyss? Is this how he could return home? Skirk has mentioned Abyssal rifts in passing, explaining that they are seemingly random but often influenced by the Abyss’ recognition of ambition. In short, that she could not prompt his return home, and likely that possibility lay solely in Ajax’s hands.
Ajax’s Vision rests in his trembling hand, the glow pulsating alongside the rift. He has to try. He can’t risk taking the time to inform Skirk or Surtalogi of the tear; though he thinks they will probably sense it regardless. And so, Ajax slips on his shoes, and grabs the now-rusted shortsword that hasn’t seen use since he mastered weaponry with his Hydro Vision.
Three months after Ajax falls into the Abyss, he takes his first step home.
There is a sensation like tumbling, like being flipped upside down and then right side up again, disorienting and nauseating. Ajax opens his eyes to white.
His breath comes to him in a stuttered gasp, and he lurches up into a sitting position, making his head spin. He blinks rapidly, wondering why his eyes won’t seem to clear, when he realizes that it is snowing, and his eyesight is obscured by the falling flakes. Snow, thickly layered on the frozen ground around him, blanketing the trees that tower overhead. His eyes burn as he glances upwards, finding the sky not to be black and dotted through with lazy patterns of stars, but a blinding sunlit gray. Ajax laughs then, a short huff at first, that develops into a full-bellied guffaw of dizzying joy. He’s done it; he’s returned to Snezhnaya.
There’s a sound of crunching snow and a twig snapping, and Ajax’s laughter dies, his head whipping around to assess the danger and prepare to lunge onto his feet into a defensive stance. His eyes widen.
“Ajax?” a timid voice calls.
His mother stands between two trunks of trees before the clearing he awoke in, face twisted in desperate hope and disbelief. Behind her, his two sisters peer around the shaking form of their mother. His elder sister gasps, frozen, though Tonia immediately releases her hold on their mother’s skirt and dashes towards him. She stumbles through the feet of snow, uncoordinated and clumsy, eager to get to him. Ajax stiffens when she throws her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Big brother! It’s really you!” she shouts into his ear, making him wince. He settles a little further into awareness of his body as he forces his arms to come up and wrap around her in response. His clothes, tattered from his ordeal, are beginning to soak through and it is like ice against his chilled skin. His hands are nearly numb where they cradle his sister, and he thinks distantly that his father was right, and he should have remembered to wear gloves.
“It’s really me, Princess,” he whispers, voice cracking, unsure if that’s really true. His mother and his elder sister shake off their stunned expressions, and rush over to join Tonia in crowding around Ajax.
They layer dry clothes over him, press warm hands to his frozen cheeks, and pepper kisses over his dirty hair. His mother has tears of joy leaking from the sides of her eyes, tracing over the slight crows feet in the corners. It’s what he dreamed of when he imagined his return from the Abyss; to be held by his family once again, feeling their love. And yet the sensation is so unfamiliar in his Abyss-changed body that he feels like a stranger amongst his own kin. The stifling love and affection and relief make him feel like crawling out of his skin, and he realizes with these waves of emotions that he had forgotten to throw back up his mental wards.
Ajax battles the minefield of his own emotions among the influence of his family’s to try and put back up his walls. He deems the attempt semi-successful when he no longer feels like he is drowning in open air. His mother is murmuring endearments and reassurances while his sisters help usher him into an upright position and guide him in the direction of home, ‘My Yasha, thank the Tsaritsa you are home ’, ‘We have been so distraught for you these past three days ’, ‘Oh, where are your gloves, Yasha? You will be frozen through! ’
Alarm trickles through his body with some of her words. “Three days?”
His mother stops her rambling, offering him a smile, though she looks confused. “Yes, did you think we would not worry the whole while you were gone? Your father has been searching–”
“Mama, did you mean three months?” Ajax interrupts, searching her face.
Her brows furrow, bewildered, “Of course not, why would you suggest such a thing?” She moves the back of one hand over his forehead and clicks her tongue.
“You must be coming down with a fever. Let’s hurry, and get you inside, Yasha. We will talk later about your foolish behavior, alright?”
Ajax falls silent for the rest of their journey back to the house, letting his sisters carry on about the local drama and gossip he has missed in the three days he was missing. Three days. He barely remembers the rest of the walk home. The journey through the front door and to his bed are a blur, and he only vaguely registers his mother helping him out of his frozen clothes and into his warm bed. He falls into a restless slumber to the sounds of his mother scolding his younger siblings to be quiet outside his door.
A terrified shriek pulls Ajax from sleep.
Heart racing in his chest, cerulean eyes fly open to the sight of his ceiling, monochrome shades of gray in the dark. His hands tremble slightly where they clutch his sheets, the vestiges of his dream receding from his mind. Snapshots of his time in the Abyss– sharp teeth, rushing adrenaline, the push of fear and intimidation– they fade slowly as he orients himself to the present. The high pitched cry seems to not be an illusion, as he can hear muffled sobbing and the sound of doors in the hallway creaking open as tired footsteps follow the path to their living room.
Pulling himself from the bed, Ajax slips through the door to his room, walking the short distance to where most of his family seems to be gathered around the fireplace. One of his elder brothers is stoking the smoldering embers, encouraging flames to rise up once more to provide warmth to the shivering bodies surrounding it. The gaze in his eyes is far away, and a look around the circle of his family tells Ajax that none of them are well-rested. He isn’t sure of the time, but the sky outside the windows is still dark.
In the center of the rug in front of the mantle, Tonia stands, shaking and clutching onto their elder sister’s hand. She looks at Ajax with red-rimmed eyes and a trembling lower lip. His heart aches for her, though his attention is pulled quickly to Anthon, who stands in the loose embrace of their father, kneeling on the floor. The toddler is blubbering nearly incoherently, trying to force words out between warbling sobs and his tears.
“And–and they, reallybigteeth, and, and – the monsters,” Anthon nearly hyperventilates, and their father rubs soothing circles on his back. “And I, I was scared,” the toddler continues, “They wanted to– to eat me, and, and it was dark.” A cold chill shocks its way down Ajax’s spine.
Their father encourages Anthon to pause and take some deep breaths when he starts to get worked up again, but the words have faded to a faint buzzing in Ajax’s ears. Distantly, he hears his mother emerge from their parents’ room, hushing and cradling Teucer, whose hiccuping breaths feel like a dagger in Ajax’s heart.
“It was just a nightmare,” Ajax hears his father say, still attempting to comfort Anthon and Tonia. A nightmare. But not just a nightmare– Ajax’s nightmare.
Tingling takes over Ajax’s limbs as his chest fills with horror– His wards, his wards are supposed to prevent this, but how can he monitor them in his sleep? Has he become a danger to his own family? In his panic, Ajax’s gaze meets his father’s weary eyes, the first time he’s made eye contact with the man in three months. His father’s brow furrows for a moment, and then recognition dawns in his eyes.
“Ajax, you–” his father starts, and then hesitates, deliberation clear on his features. “It’s good to see you home, son,” he says, instead of whatever he had been thinking.
Ajax gives him a jerky nod, and then casts one last look at the exhausted and concerned faces of his family, and excuses himself back to bed. He lies awake atop his covers, staring blankly at the ceiling above his head. For a while longer he hears the low murmurs of his parents and siblings, and the soft patter of feet departing to separate rooms as the children are calmed and sent back to bed.
He’s expecting it when the door to his room clicks open, and the heavy shuffling pattern of his father’s footsteps make their way over to his bed. Ajax doesn’t move to look at him, but he feels the mattress sink under his father’s weight as the man sits at the foot of the bed. His father is quiet for a moment, but seems to realize Ajax won’t be the first to speak.
“So, I see you have received two gifts while on your adventure,” he says lightly. When Ajax remains silent, he continues.
“Your mother told me of your Hydro Vision. Imagine my surprise; the first in our family to receive such a blessing, and it’s our little Yasha,” he laughs, and one of his large hands finds Ajax’s knee to give it a pat. He clears his throat, deliberating a little more. “She did not mention that you had presented as a Guide, however.”
Ajax finally meets the man’s gaze at this. His father’s eyes hold no blame or anger; only concern and curiosity. The knot in Ajax’s chest loosens minutely.
“Being a Guide is not shameful, son,” his father says.
“I know that,” Ajax responds, a bit of a bite in his tone.
His father sighs. “Good. I just know that, when you were younger, you wanted to be a Sentinel so badly.” The hand on Ajax’s knee starts tapping a finger absently. “I did not truly consider that any of my children would present.”
Ajax knows this, now. While their lessons in school only lightly touched on the subject of Sentinels and Guides and the genetics behind presentation, during Ajax’s brief time with Surtalogi, he had become well versed in the sage’s research on it. For any of his parents’ children to present while only his father carried the gene for it is a near miracle. And for him to be a Guide, the more recessive of the two, rarer still.
“Do not worry over what happened tonight,” his father says, pulling Ajax from his thoughts. “You will adjust to your new gift in time. Guides are a wonderful treasure, Ajax. You will be able to do so much good; to help many people. Especially with the healing power of Hydro.” His father smiles, likely thinking this will comfort Ajax.
Everything in Ajax rejects his father’s words; resents them. He can’t help the angered twist to his face, but hopes that the cover of dark will help hide his expression. He is a fighter, not a healer. His gifts have been honed as weapons, and he is proud of them, thankful for them. To think of them being reduced to mere nursemaid talents makes Ajax’s blood boil. If he learned anything during his time in the Abyss, it is that he does not need to be a Sentinel to have power.
But; his father does not realize this, cannot realize this. In their society, Guides are understood to assist Sentinels and the general public, and Sentinels are understood to be soldiers and adventurers. That is just the way of things; close-minded and dull.
Either not noticing Ajax’s discomfort, or attributing it to guilt over projecting his nightmare, Ajax’s father chuckles again. “Who knows, perhaps one day you could even assist these Celestia-forsaken headaches of mine,” he jokes.
That…would not be terrible, Ajax thinks. He knows that his father has struggled without a Guide, since he had chosen to marry for love rather than search for a Guide to bond with. Without a Guide, many Sentinels suffer from prolonged periods of zoning, often developing neurological symptoms, and eventually, the dulling of their senses. His father has never resented his place in life, never blamed his mother for the onset of his symptoms, never indicated that he desires anything else. However, Ajax does not know how to Guide in the way his father would expect, would benefit from, and he has no particular desire to learn.
“Maybe,” Ajax says instead. His father gives his knee another encouraging squeeze, and then pushes himself up from the bed, groaning as his joints crack under his weight.
“Get some sleep, son. Tsaritsa knows you need it after the last three days,” he says, and then departs from Ajax’s room, closing the door gently behind him.
Going back to staring at his ceiling, Ajax whispers to himself, “Three days.”
His family thinks he was gone for three days. Not three months. His father believes he will be a Guide destined to soothe people. Not an adventurer.
Ajax can hear the call of the Abyss that still lingers in his soul; can still feel the memory of the rush of adrenaline in his veins during a fight.
Ajax gets no more sleep that night.
In the morning, the children act as though the nightmares have been completely forgotten. The kitchen is lively around their table, a ramshack thing crafted by their father from driftwood in order to fit their increasingly larger family. It is ladened with a variety of hot food to pick from for their breakfast, along with toppings of jam and cream and frozen fruit; a rare delicacy in their village. Ajax himself had come down only once he heard the excited chatter and laughter of his family, stiff and exhausted from the sleepless vigil on his bed. He does not feel particularly hungry until he gets a whiff of his mother’s cooking, and then all three months of being deprived of its heavenly taste catch up with him all at once, and he feels ravenous.
When Ajax steps into the kitchen, a small form barrels into him. There's a brief moment of instinctive panic- a moment where he has to force himself to remember that he is no longer in the Abyss, and ignore the itch of his palms where his Hydro daggers would sit nicely. Ajax swallows, collects himself, and then glances down to see Anthon gripping tightly to his calf with his hands and legs. The toddler is giggling into Ajax’s trousers, and he demands, “Big brother! Big brother! You have to sit next to me!”
Smiling, truly relaxing, Ajax ruffles the auburn hair that matches his own. “Of course, scamp. But I don’t know if I’ll be able to sit down, it seems like I have a sticky octopus attached to my leg,” he teases, moving his calf gently up and down.
Anthon shrieks in delight and laughs harder. “Not an octopus!” he denies, but he stays attached to Ajax’s leg all the way to the table.
Their mother eyes them fondly from the stove, one hand on her hip, the other stirring a boiling pot with a ladle. When Ajax passes by her, she stops him with a hand on his shoulder, and he glances at her quizzically. Her soft smile creases momentarily as her brow furrows, seemingly searching his eyes for something. The hand on Ajax’s shoulder moves to swipe a thumb gently under one of his eyes. Even with Ajax’s shields up, with the physical touch comes a faint whisper of concern, and of fear.
“Mama?” he questions, wondering what has overtaken her.
Anthon, bored now that his ride is no longer in motion and ignorant to the scene happening above him, detaches from Ajax’s leg to scurry over to the table, where his father is dishing out blini to those already seated.
His mother releases her hold on Ajax’s face, taking the echoes of her anxiety with it. She offers him another smile, though it seems fragile this time. “Oh, it is nothing Yasha, I am sorry. I am just happy to have my sweet boy back. Go, sit with your siblings.”
In that moment, Ajax wishes he were a normal Guide, one that could soothe the obvious tension in his mother’s face. But, he is not a normal Guide, and he is unfamiliar with extending gentler emotions, fearful of inflicting negative ones instead if he tried. So, Ajax keeps his walls firmly in place as he nods and goes to join his family, next to Anthon as promised.
Breakfast is mildly overwhelming, in that he has not had to practice keeping his shields up in such close proximity to so many people. In the Abyss, the most he had to worry about were Skirk or Surtalogi and the abyssal creatures they stumbled upon. Skirk and Surtalogi were practiced in maintaining their own mental protections, and therefore Ajax virtually received no mental feedback from them at all. The feedback of abyssal creatures was minor enough not to cause him much strain to ignore. However, a family of nine with no training whatsoever is proving to be a much different feat.
Ajax can feel pressure against his shields, knowing if he lets them down for even a moment, he will likely be overpowered by the weight of their feelings. He tries his best to make conversation with his siblings and parents, and the siblings who were not present to greet him the day prior extend their relief and gratitude for his safety. It takes effort not to show any signs of the migraine that is brewing in his temples, but Ajax takes this as another training opportunity; another field to improve on.
He is still able to enjoy his mother’s cooking, and for that he is grateful, but once his stomach is full and his dishes are cleaned, he excuses himself back to his room with the reason of being tired. After his “three day stint” nobody questions him on it, and it is a relief. His mother only makes him swear to her that he will ‘never pull something so reckless again, or by the gods Ajax, you do not want to know what I will do’ before he is able to leave the kitchen. The use of his given name lets him know that she is very deadly serious.
Back in his room, Ajax is provided with some relief. He lays on his bed once more and closes his eyes. The aching in his head subsides after a short while, and he uses the opportunity to run through some of his mental drills from Skirk. He wonders idly if he will ever be able to find her again; if there will ever come a day that he finds his way back to the Abyss, or face to face with that creature he had dreamt of when he’d initially fallen. He chases his mind away from those thoughts. Getting up once again, Ajax decides to bathe, realizing that he hadn't had the opportunity to do so on his return the previous day.
Stripping off his clothes, Ajax catches his reflection in the mirror. He pauses, and considers that he hasn’t seen his own reflection since falling into the Abyss. Curiously, he notes the definition to his limbs; not overt, but enough to suggest strength and capability. There’s a bit more definition to his jaw, and the fringe of his hair falls over his eyes, where it had previously ended at his browbone. When Ajax meets his own gaze in the mirror, he jolts. He isn’t sure why he feels so unsettled, until he registers that the oceanic depths of his eyes are no longer reflecting the light. He tilts his head, but no matter the angle, no luminescence touches his irises.
Tentatively, he runs one of his index fingers over one of the bags under his eye, where his mother had touched him earlier. There are calluses, now, on the pads of his fingers, and so the touch is rougher and carries less warmth than his mother’s. He wonders what she thought, in that moment, if she had looked so distraught because of the darkness in his eyes. Of all the physical changes brought upon him in the three months of his absence, this could not be hidden under clothes, or blamed on a growth spurt. Unnerved, Ajax stops pondering his reflection and turns back to his original task of bathing. He cannot control how his parents explain his changes to themselves, and he understands now that pushing his tales of the Abyss on them will only cause disbelief and stress, so he will not worry about what he cannot change.
Despite his inner turmoil, the bath leaves Ajax feeling much more relaxed, eking out tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Back in his room and in clean clothes, Ajax’s drowsiness catches up to him. When his back hits the mattress, he vows not to fall asleep, but he ends up losing the war against his creeping subconsciousness.
Ajax wakes with a jolt to the rays of golden afternoon sun casting a warm glow across his room. Anxiety surges in his chest, until he realizes he doesn’t remember dreaming at all. He listens to the sounds of his home; hearing only the occasional voice or movement of furniture. Nothing that seems to indicate that anyone has fallen victim to his night terrors. Ajax has the epiphany that, perhaps, all he will need to do to protect his family is to exhaust himself so thoroughly each day that he cannot possibly dream.
Hopeful and determined, Ajax climbs from the bed and redresses in outdoor clothes. He makes a plan to locate his father and help with any of the housework, and perhaps later he will sneak out to the shed behind the house to run through some of his physical drills to burn any leftover energy in his body.
His father is pleasantly surprised by his offer to help, chopping wood at the side of their house. Ajax takes to the task eagerly, finding it much less physically taxing than he had prior to his fall. When his father returns to where Ajax is chopping the wood with an axe made of Hydro, he simply cocks his head, then dismisses his concern and simply drops off the rest of the logs. Once all the wood has been chopped, his father urges him to take a break inside. Despite the cold temperature, Ajax wipes sweat from his brow, arms and core burning pleasantly. Inside, he strips off his outer jacket and hangs it on a hook by the door, then kicks off his snowy boots before searching for his mother.
She is humming to herself in the kitchen as she prepares to start dinner. Ajax raps his knuckles on the door frame so as to not startle her, and she turns at the sound.
“Oh, Yasha!” she greets happily, ushering him into the room.
“Hi, Mama,” he says, “What are we making for dinner?”
His mother places a warm palm on his shoulder, and guides him over to the countertop where she has laid out a variety of vegetables and seasonings, chattering animatedly about the stew she plans to cook. Having taken his question as an offer to assist, she instructs him on which vegetables to chop and how finely she would prefer. She leans over the stove to remove one of the knives from where it hangs on the wall, and passes it carefully by the handle into Ajax’s hand.
As his fingers curl around the handle, they brush hers, and she pauses. Her brow furrows as it had earlier, and she takes his other hand into both of hers, holding it palm-up and tracing over the calluses and small scars that adorn his hand. Her own hands hold calluses from house-work and knitting, raised spots from burns and lines from age, but they still have a softness that his no longer do. Likely unknowingly, her confusion and concern pass over to him from their connection.
She mentions nothing of her concerns aloud, only hums to herself and smooths out her expression, dropping his hand and patting him once more on the shoulder.
“Careful not to cut yourself, Yasha,” she warns simply, before turning back to her broth.
Ajax watches her for a moment, a frown etching his features, and then he turns to the countertop to begin his own task. He tries not to think about how, during the entirety of their interaction, she had not once looked him in the eyes.
It’s easy enough to lose himself in the repetition of his chopping duty, and time feels suspended as he repeats a few of his mental circuits while working. Soon enough, the stew is in its final stages, and his mother has him setting the table. Periodically, the front door opens, as his elder siblings arrive home one by one. The smell of dinner eventually draws in Tonia, cradling a sleeping Teucer in her arms, and followed by Anthon. Their father is the last to come inside, as he had taken a brief trip to the market further in town to trade some of their meat for vegetables and mora.
Ajax readies himself for another exercise in mental strength as his family congregates for their meal, boisterous and loud as ever. By the time dinner is finished, and his siblings excuse themselves from the table, Ajax feels exhausted but successful. He knows that as soon as his head hits his pillow, he will likely enter a deep dreamless sleep.
After helping his elder sister with washing the dishes, he drops by the room belonging to his two younger siblings. Tonia had been relieved of Teucer by their mother after dinner, and so she and Anthon have occupied themselves with their toys on the floor. As expected, they are eager to accept Ajax’s offer of a bedtime story, and the three of them clamber into Tonia’s bed. Taking caution to ensure he does not accidentally make skin to skin contact with either of them, Ajax settles back and opens the storybook that Anthon had excitedly handed to him. His siblings take great delight in his dramatizations and the voices he gives to the characters as he reads, giggling and clutching their stomachs in places.
Spending time with his younger siblings leaves Ajax feeling much more grounded, more like the self that he used to be. They make him feel warm in their adoration, safe in their ignorance to the blessings and curses he has endured. Once their storytime is concluded, they settle comfortably into their own beds, and Ajax ruffles their hair before leaving for his own room. It is still only early evening, but his body is pleasantly sore and he feels the telltale ache in his temples from extended pressure against his shields, and so he resolves to head to bed.
Ajax’s new routine proves mostly successful. He wakes and stays motionless for a few moments, holding his breath and listening to the sounds of the house around him. Typically things are calm; quiet apart from the clinking of dishes in the kitchen or hushed voices in the living room. There are a small handful of nights he is unsuccessful, and consciousness draws him from memories of the Abyss. Thankfully, it seems as though he does not project his nightmares every time he dreams, and so there have only been a couple of other sleepless evenings for the rest of his family. Still, it does not get any easier to hear the wailing of his younger siblings, or to assuage his own guilt when he comforts them, knowing he is the one to blame.
He is pushed to return to attending the schoolhouse in the village with his younger siblings during the week, his parents deeming that he has gotten enough rest. Having practiced maintaining his shields around his family, Ajax feels marginally prepared, but still finds himself overwhelmed when in the classroom surrounded by many more children. He’d had no issue with focusing on his studies prior to the Abyss; but now the schoolhouse feels stifling. His attention drifts, his feet bounce on the floor or fingers tap against his desk in agitation. He needs to move, and everything seems so loud , and he feels as though he is going to crawl out of his skin during most of the lessons.
It is not really a surprise to him when on the second day back in classes, he fractures another student’s wrist. A boy perhaps a year or two older than him, known for being a bit of a provocator, takes Tonia’s doll during their schoolyard break. He taunts her with it over her head as she pouts, eyes watering. The boy’s friends jeer and laugh in encouragement, and Ajax storms over when he notices what is happening. He demands the boy relinquish the doll, a soft fabric toy that their mother had knitted her, and the boy refuses. Ajax’s expression darkens, and it takes very little effort to exercise his Empathy, striking potent fear into the group of bullies. There is a satisfying flash of terror on the leader’s face, though his grip on the toy does not waver, frozen in place as he is, and so Ajax places a hand on his wrist and squeezes.
There comes a crack, a whimper, and then the group disperses in a panic. The boys immediately tattle to their teacher, and Ajax is dismissed for the day. He cares little; his sister is delighted with the return of her toy, and he’s gotten a chance to stretch the muscles of his mind. His father sighs upon finding out, when Ajax returns home early for the day, but says nothing, simply having him assist with the remainder of household chores.
The following week, Ajax gets into a full on fight. This time, he finds that his patience has been strung thin through days of keeping up his wards with constant pressure, not yet used to the strain of the additional feedback. A few boys he recognizes from the eastern side of the town make some snide comments about Sentinels outside of service to the Tsaritsa. One of the boys has a father and an elder brother who are Sentinels enlisted in the Fatui, and so his eyes skirt over to Ajax with a smug grin. It’s no secret that Ajax’s father is a Sentinel, and one who has chosen a seaside life with his family over military duty. Ajax clenches his fists and attempts to simply focus on his siblings and his sister’s friend who are scribbling happily on a piece of parchment in random swirls and designs.
That is, until the group of boys goes to pass by where Ajax and his siblings are sitting. The boy who had been attempting to goad Ajax kicks back a clump of wet snow with the heel of his boot. The snow covers the parchment as well as the cleared section of pavement the children have been contentedly drawing on.
“Oops,” the boy says, grin hidden behind a glove, “what a shame.”
Tonia and her friend sit back with matching looks of resignation, attempting to brush away some of the snow, while Anthon begins sniffling. Ajax meets the boy’s sneer with a glint of dull blue. In a matter of moments, Ajax has the other boy face down in a pile of snow, straddling his back and shoving his face deep into the icy ground. The boy’s friends make sounds of alarm and go to pull Ajax from their companion, but all it takes is a projection of intimidation from Ajax to have them backing away instead. They scurry off, likely to grab the attention of an adult, but Ajax pays their actions little heed. He is furious, and thirsty for something he cannot grasp, and it feels so right to let aggression sing through his veins again. How dare this scum insult his family, upset his siblings. Perhaps he should show this sniveling idiot the power of the Abyss; then he would realize his Sentinel father could not save him from the realities of the world, then he would–
A frightened whimper pulls Ajax back to the present. He releases his hold on the boy’s head enough to allow him to turn to the side and gasp for air, and his head whips to the side toward the source of the cry. His siblings and the other little girl sit, staring at him with wide, petrified eyes, shaking on the ground. Tonia is making a great effort in not allowing her tears to fall, but the other two children’s cheeks are stained wet. Ajax stills and reigns in his Empathy, slamming his shields down as fast as he can. With horror, he watches the immediate effects of the children slumping in relief.
Guilty and alarmed, Ajax pulls off from the other boy entirely, ignoring his panicked dash into the schoolhouse. He approaches his siblings slowly, palms extended in a soothing gesture. He is hesitant to get too close without permission; scared to see them flinch away from him. To his relief, and additional remorse, Tonia and Anthon cling onto him immediately, seeking comfort. Tonia’s friend wrings her hands in front of them, expression conflicted. He offers her a wavering smile, and suggests that she go back into the schoolhouse to warm up. She nods and brushes herself off when she stands, walking back to the building on wobbly legs.
Ajax turns back to his siblings, who sniffle into the front of his jacket. “I don’t know what happened but I got so scared,” Tonia is saying, wiping her eyes with one of her gloved hands.
“It was like, like the nightmares again,” she says between sobs. Her words are like daggers in Ajax’s chest. “But big brother was here, and he got the bully, so everything’s okay, right?”
Ajax nods at her, rubbing circles onto her back with his hand, trying to make sure his turmoil does not show. “Of course,” he says. “Big brother is here, and he will always protect you, Princess.”
In his periphery, he sees their schoolteacher come to a halt a short distance away.
Ajax is once again dismissed early from class.
This time when he arrives home, his father is not there, but his mother is reading to Teucer in their living room. She is confused by his presence, but doesn’t pry when he says he got into a disagreement with a few boys, simply chides him for ‘boys being boys’ and enlists his help with food preparation for the week. She offers to let him hold Teucer in her place, typically a great joy for him. But, still shaken from earlier, he does not trust his own hands. He deflects with an excuse that he is tired and does not want to drop him, and his mother eyes him dubiously, but instead lays Teucer down for a nap.
Later in the afternoon, his father returns home, carrying with him supplies from the center of town. He sees Ajax in the kitchen, and then makes eye contact with his mother and nods, and she squeezes Ajax’s shoulder once before making herself scarce. Ajax pretends not to notice, stirring the pot of sauce in front of him.
“Ajax,” his father calls, coming to stand beside him. Ajax hums in acknowledgement.
His father sighs. “I passed by the school on my way home. Your teacher stopped me.” He pauses, offering a place for Ajax to explain himself, but Ajax does not feed the silence.
“Twice now, Ajax,” his father says, something stern entering his tone. “Twice now, where you have gotten into a fight at school. Those boys were terrified.”
Still, Ajax says nothing. He stares blankly into the pot.
“Your teacher may not recognize the effects of Empathy, but eventually it will be figured out. One of those boys will run to tell a family member who will, and that will be that.”
Ajax stills his hand. Turns to look at his father. There is none of the anger he expects in the dark blue eyes, only concern.
“Ajax, perhaps it’s time to think about Empathy Training in the Capital.”
Ajax jolts. “No!”
He doesn’t mean to blurt it out, but his reaction is instinctive. Empathy training in the Capital means signing himself up as a Guide for Her Majesty’s service; means signing away his rights to live a life of freedom. No adventures, no heroic journeys, no chance of reconnecting with his Master.
His father’s expression shifts to one of sympathy. “I do not find it ideal either, Ajax. However, it has been weeks and your gift still seems to be out of control. I have done my best to keep word of your gift quiet, but if this keeps happening, it will not be up to me.”
Ajax’s fists clench at his sides; he knows his father is right. Truthfully, as soon as he presented, his father had a duty to report him to Zapolyarny Palace. The Fatui are in dire need of Guide support for their Sentinel soldiers, and so Her Majesty has decreed that any presented Guides have a duty to register themselves with the Palace, in order to serve their glorious country. Ajax’s father has been protecting his freedom of choice by not forcing the issue, and not telling the rest of their family about Ajax’s ability. However, if Ajax cannot control himself, he will likely be discovered by someone else in their village.
“I understand,” Ajax says. “I will do better.”
His father offers him a wan smile, and ruffles his hair. “Alright.”
Things calm down after that. Ajax still gets into disagreements at school, though he is careful to never use his Empathy around the other students. Instead, he resolves these disputes with his fists. It allows for a bit of his restlessness to be eased, though still earns him disapproval from his father. His mother chalks it up to puberty and testosterone, though she still reprimands Ajax to behave and set a better example for his siblings.
It is about two months after his return from the Abyss when Ajax is asked to tag along with his father to the market in town.
Ajax's father had allowed Ajax to accompany him on his last hunting excursion alongside one of his elder brothers, and they had caught more than expected. Ajax’s father’s ability to sense prey in the surrounding area, and mark them with an unfailing accuracy, left Ajax in awe. Still mindful of keeping his Empathy contained, Ajax had altered his normal method of hunting from the Abyss, and formed a bow from Hydro for the hunt. His father had mostly expected Ajax to assist with cleaning and transporting their catch, but he was intrigued by the use of Ajax’s Vision, and allowed him to find his own prey. Ajax’s aim and accuracy was not nearly as honed as his father’s, though he still proudly presented his own spoils of a few rabbits and a quail. His father and brother had clapped him on the back and called a successful hunt, adding in their catches of two deer and a pheasant.
With as much meat as they had procured, they will not be able to eat it all amongst their family before it spoils, and so Ajax’s father will sell some of it in town. Thus, Ajax is recruited to assist him in the market with their excess. They borrow a sleigh from one of their neighbors to transport the meat, and Ajax is abuzz with excitement the entire time. He feels that he has secured more control over his wards and projections during his exposure at school, and is not overtly worried about the crowdedness of the town square where the market is located.
When they reach the outskirts of their village and pass the border into town, folks wave to them here and there, recognizing Ajax’s father from his frequent visits. They make their way to the market street, most vendors still setting up in the early hours of the morning. The scent of sizzling food at some of the stalls entices Ajax, his stomach rumbling, and his father chuckles and promises that once they are set up, they can get something to eat. They pass by a few stalls offering fresh fish, and Ajax’s father scrunches his nose. Though he is no stranger to fishing, like most Sentinels he is still sensitive to the overpowering stench of such a stall. A short while later, Ajax’s father stops in front of a table where he jovially greets the man behind it.
The two exchange pleasantries, and Ajax is introduced as his father’s third youngest son. The man has agreed to let Ajax’s father sell alongside him at his stall, as the two met each other on a hunting trip a few months prior and became fast friends. Ajax helps in setting up their goods, arranging the meat and ice behind their table. His father thanks him and passes him a handful of mora, encouraging him to visit one of the bakery stalls to get them some breakfast. Ajax eagerly accepts, and darts down the street in search of the most appetizing goods.
As the market has not hit full swing yet, his mind feels relatively unburdened, and he is content to browse the various kiosks that line both sides of the street, greeting those who smile or wave at him. Eventually, his stomach wins out over his curiosity at investigating each stall, and he collects two bags of syrniki and pirozhki to share with his father.
Ajax munches on one of the warm pirozhki happily as he makes his way back to their stall, side stepping around various market-goers as the street begins to fill with morning patrons. As he approaches their table, he can hear a bit of commotion. It would not have registered so alarmingly, but he can tell one of the voices belongs to his father. Ajax picks up his pace until he can see what the fuss is about, shoving through the people in his way, using just a tinge of mental persuasion to influence the crowd to part for him.
“Sir, as I have explained, for this cut of venison I will take no less than one thousand mora,” comes the strained voice of Ajax’s father.
In front of him, on the other side of the stall, a younger man leans into his space, hands flat on the table, attempting to exude intimidation. Ajax can sense intrinsically that the man is a Sentinel.
“And I think you’ll find that you can accept six hundred for it,” he says.
Ajax’s father meets the younger Sentinel’s glower with a scowl of his own, ignoring his posturing.
“I don’t think so,” he replies, squaring his shoulders.
His father’s friend dithers at his side, anxiously wringing his hands.
“My friends,” he attempts, “barter is the soul of the market. However,” he gestures to Ajax’s father, “it would not be fair to underpay my companion here so much for his goods.”
The man catches sight of Ajax, who has come to stand near the edge of the stall cautiously, and he brightens.
“Indeed, my friend has a family to feed; as you can see, here is one of his sons.”
The younger Sentinel casts a derisive glance at Ajax and snorts. “I don’t care about some brat. I’m not paying more than what I offered for your damned meat.”
Ajax’s father crosses his arms over his chest, calm but resolute.
“Then you can take your mora elsewhere.”
The younger man jabs a finger into Ajax’s father’s chest at that, leaning ever closer. The paper bag in Ajax’s arms crinkles in his tightening grip.
“No. You see, I think you’ll give me the meat at a discount. And I think you may even throw in a bit extra for my troubles.” The Sentinel’s free hand adjusts his coat at the side, revealing a Fatui insignia.
A few gasps startle out of the small crowd that has begun to form, though Ajax’s father merely glances down and raises an unimpressed brow.
“Should I expect Her Majesty to visit me with the remaining mora, then?” he asks.
Immediately the younger Sentinel’s face contorts in rage, and he pulls back his arm to ready a strike.
“Why, you–” the man spits, fist flying forward.
Ajax moves without thinking, the bag of pastries falling to the ground as he darts forward. His father has already caught the wrist of the offending Sentinel, halting the fist in its trajectory towards his face. Ajax skids to a stop, hands shaking, aching to call his Hydro blades.
“Old, dulled Sentinel,” the man is yelling, “you’ll see what happens when you mess with an elite in Her Majesty’s service!”
Despite himself, Ajax snorts. The furious man rips his hand from his father’s grip and sets his fiery gaze on Ajax.
“I’ll have you and your brat hanged for this,” he threatens, and snatches out with one hand to wrench Ajax’s head back with a grip in his hair. Ajax hisses at the sharp sting, berating himself for not being prepared enough to dodge. “Wipe that smug look off your face!”
“Unhand my son, now,” Ajax’s father demands lowly, bracing himself against the stall table, readying himself to intervene.
“Or what?” The man laughs. “What’s a washed up Sentinel like you gonna–”
In the next second, the man is face down on the frozen cobblestone. There’s a grunt, and a crunch of cartilage as his face makes contact. Ajax releases his grip on the man’s arm, the one he’d previously been using to hold onto Ajax, and ignores the throbbing in his scalp.
“Ajax–” There’s his father’s voice, laced with concern now, but Ajax does not care. He kicks the prone man hard in the ribs when he attempts to right himself.
The small crowd titters, and a few men come forward to try and step in between Ajax and the Sentinel, to pull them away from one another, but Ajax snarls. Where were they when this man was insulting his father?
He shakes off the hands that attempt to hold him back, and lunges for the Sentinel again. Another bystander steps in front of him, and Ajax greets him with a kick to the gut. More hands attempt to wrangle him, and Ajax lashes out, with his fists, his knees, his boots– and when the pressure becomes too much, he finally allows his mind to expand.
He pushes anger, raw and primal, into the surrounding crowd. Every ounce of his rage, his indignity, he amplifies and projects. He is seconds away from allowing his Hydro to coalesce into his palms, lost in the torrents of his own self-righteous frustration, when a rough hand makes contact with his cheek. Ajax nearly skewers his father before he recognizes the touch.
“Enough, Ajax, cease this,” his father demands.
Ajax meets his eyes, and lets everything drop, chest heaving as he pants. His father’s face is twisted in pain, hand shaking where it grasps Ajax’s face. Feedback of his own anger and pain are reflected in their physical connection, and Ajax once more feels tendrils of guilt gnawing at him for affecting his family.
Coming back into self-awareness, Ajax glances around. There are a handful of men slumped on the ground from the brawl, including the Sentinel Ajax had lunged for. That man sits slumped against a light fixture, dazed, eyes open but unseeing. More bystanders have intervened to assist the injured, calling for a cart to escort them to a healer. Ajax is pulled from his observations when his father’s hand falls from his cheek to grab his arm and tug him behind their stall and into an alley.
“Ajax.” The boy looks up to meet his father’s eyes again, and this time they are cold.
“That is enough,” he says, and a shiver runs down Ajax’s spine that has nothing to do with the temperature. “You have injured innocent civilians. You sent that other Sentinel into a zone. You nearly sent me into a zone.”
Defensive, Ajax interjects, “But he was–”
“Ajax!” his father bellows. “It does not matter what he did. I would have resolved the situation, without nearly killing a dozen men in the process.”
Something in his expression breaks then, helplessly. “I do not know what happened to you, what caused you to become like this. I do not know what to do with you, Ajax.”
“Nothing!” Ajax exclaims, hands shaking, heart aching. “You don’t need to do anything with me, I-”
His father shakes his head. “I can’t sit idly by anymore. Half the town was witness to what just happened; to that violence. You used your Empathy on a crowd of people, Ajax. I don’t think you realize the severity of your actions.”
“The Abyss,” Ajax says, suddenly.
His father searches his face. “What?”
“You said you don’t know what happened to me,” Ajax clarifies. “The Abyss happened to me.”
He feels months of repressed frustration come to a head. The words he never said, the sympathy he never received, his unrecognized achievements and the unjustness of it all.
“What nonsense are you–”
“Three days, Father?” Ajax shouts, eyes rimmed red. “Do you and Mama really believe I changed that much in three days? I fell into the Abyss. I was there for three months. I learned how to use my 'gifts’ there.” Ajax spits the word gifts, realizing now why Skirk had implied they could be a curse.
Ajax’s father pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your time in the forest affected you more than I thought. I foolishly believed that, given time, you would readjust. I see that is not the case and you are in dire need of guidance that your mother and I can’t give you.”
Ajax clenches his jaw, and doesn’t allow his frustrated tears to fall. Of course; his father does not understand. He knew this would happen.
“Perhaps some time in the Fatui can straighten you out, after all,” his father sighs, and it feels like a nail in Ajax’s coffin.
“No,” Ajax whispers, “Father–”
“I can’t have you around your siblings like this, Ajax.” His father gestures towards the end of the alley, where people have gone back about their day. “Or even the town, for that matter.”
His father turns and starts trudging his way out of the alley, beckoning Ajax with a tired, “Come.”
Ajax is numb for the entire walk to the Fatui outpost at the edge of town.
He does not register his father exchanging goodbyes and apologies with his friend at the stall, barely notices that a healer is working to Guide the Sentinel he’d attacked out of his zone. He does not think of the future. He does not think about his siblings. He tunes everything out, until they are standing in front of an ominous brick building, and his father discusses his fate with the Sentinel sergeant in charge of the outpost.
The sergeant and his father shake hands, and Ajax hears the stranger promise they will take good care of Ajax and get him into shape. His father looks at him then, a strange expression of sadness, and perhaps regret on his face, and asks what will happen to him. Bitterly, Ajax thinks it’s a bit late for him to care.
“Since he is a Guide, he will be escorted to the Capital to measure his abilities. Depending on his evaluation, he will either be enrolled in Empathy Training at Zapolyarny Palace, or scheduled for a compatibility assessment. He will start as a foot soldier, like all of our fresh recruits, and depending on the rank of his Sentinel, branch out from there,” the man recites. Ajax’s father nods in acknowledgement.
“All recruits are encouraged to keep in contact with their family, sir,” the Sergeant adds, sensing his father’s hesitance. “And since he holds a Vision, he will likely be paired with a high ranking officer. His trajectory will be comfortable.”
A thin smile stretches the corners of his father’s mouth, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you,” says Ajax’s father, not looking at the sergeant. He extends a hand, then pauses, warring with himself. He comes to a decision, and ruffles Ajax’s hair.
“You’ll be alright,” he says. Ajax isn’t sure if he’s saying that to Ajax or himself.
But, he does not get a chance to ask, as his father then turns away from the outpost, and walks back towards town. Ajax watches him for a moment, before the sergeant next to him lays a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his reverie.
“Come along, then,” the Sentinel says.
Ajax follows the man around the side of the outpost, to a clearing in the back with an array of training equipment. There are a dozen or so soldiers there, talking amongst themselves or putting the equipment to use. They are all young, likely freshly graduated recruits. And, similarly to earlier, Ajax can tell that they are all Sentinels.
“Attention!” the sergeant next to him barks. Immediately, all of the men in the yard stand to attention, moving to congregate in front of their leader, eyeing Ajax curiously.
“We have a fresh recruit,” the sergeant says, and the glances in Ajax’s direction become dubious, as if doubting the lanky teenager could possibly have been recruited. “He is a Guide,” the sergeant continues, and the faces change to understanding and excitement, “so I will need to contact an escort. Keep him entertained until my return.”
His men relay an assent, and then the sergeant turns to Ajax.
“I am sorry about this,” he says, raising Ajax’s hackles, though he does seem apologetic. “It is protocol for Vision bearers who have been unwillingly enlisted to await their escort in cuffs. I will leave your ankles free, as I believe that would be excessive, but I must bind your wrists.”
Ajax grits his teeth but says nothing, only turning his gaze to the ground, and offering no resistance when the metal handcuffs are gently affixed to his hands behind his back. The sergeant then takes his leave.
The Sentinels in the yard appraise Ajax for a moment, murmuring amongst themselves. He tunes out most of the conversation, the words that doubt his ability to be anything useful to the Fatui as a scrawny kid.
One of the voices snorts. “He doesn’t need to be strong, he’s a Guide.”
Another voice chimes in. “That’s true. Then why’s he gotta have the cuffs on?”
“Safety protocol,” another offers.
The first voice barks a laugh in response. “Safety? From a Guide? What’s he gonna do, make us feel really sad?”
At that, the whole squadron breaks into laughter, and Ajax’s shoulders tense. A rough hand claps him on the back, nearly knocking him off-balance. “Don’t mind us, kid,” the voice chuckles.
“Careful!” another says. “You’ll break the poor Guide before La Signora can even get to him!”
The comment sparks a fresh wave of laughter, and Ajax feels his hands clenching where they are bound.
“Why do the bigshots get first dibs?” another Sentinel complains. “When do we get our Guides, huh?”
“Ahh, give it a rest. You know how the hierarchy works here. We’ll be lucky if we ever get summoned for compatibility assessments, unless you wanna kiss up to Sergeant.”
Various retching imitations sound through the group.
“Unless…” One of the Sentinels steps forward, latching onto Ajax’s shoulder with a falsely friendly hand. Ajax glowers at him, though the man seems to find it amusing. “We do our own compatibility testing here,” he suggests. The gathered men provide him with rapt attention.
“Zapolyarny Palace isn’t likely to break up an established bond, now are they?” he continues, smirking.
Low murmurs ripple through the group. The self-satisfied man addresses Ajax then, hooking his index finger under his chin to tilt his head up.
“Now why don’t you open up that mind of yours, kid, and we can see which of us will be your new Sentinel,” he lilts, tone sickly sweet.
Ajax offers him a sharp grin. “Gladly,” he says.
Channeling all of his growing resentment, Ajax pushes outwards in an effort greater than he’s attempted since coming back to the surface of Teyvat. A veritable bomb of mental stimulation that he launches at the group of Sentinels around him, shoving wave after wave of vexation, indignation, fury, agitation, distress; any negative feeling he can relay.
Ajax does not stop when he sees them begin to fall to their knees, clutching their heads and groaning in pain. He delights in how they cower under the pressure of his empathic barrage; they had asked for it, after all. He calls to the forefront of his mind the echoes of the Abyss, and he shares that tainted power, allowing whispers of the void to flow through the telepathic outreach.
Ajax cackles as the men around him devolve to glassy stares and whimpers of distress. He is drawing in gasping breaths, grinning despite the effort, wet warmth trickling down from his nose to his mouth, tasting the tang of blood on his tongue. His temples throb from overexertion, a migraine searing its way behind his eyes; pushed far past his normal limitations.
He only releases his effort when black spots begin to dance in his sight, and he is on the verge of falling unconscious. Ajax wavers on his feet, blinking repeatedly to clear his vision. None of the Sentinels at his feet have retained their lucidity, forced into zones from overstimulation. Ajax wants to scoff; how pathetic. And Guides are supposed to be less powerful?
There comes the crunch of footsteps in snow behind him, and Ajax whips his head around, snarling at the intruding party. He may have exhausted his mental capabilities, but he will still go down fighting. The man who steps into the yard is of short stature, barely rising above Ajax’s midriff beneath the ostentatious hat he wears. His clothes are finely tailored; not something typically seen this far south of Zapolyarny Palace, and flat out dangerous to wear were he closer to Nod-Krai. However, the man does not approach alone.
He is flanked on either side by two large Fatui agents, both sporting bulky weaponry and towering far over Ajax. Further behind them stands the slack-jawed sergeant originally from the outpost. It is the two armed agents that immediately assume an offensive stance when they catch sight of Ajax and his carnage, raising their weapons towards him.
Ajax bares his teeth and digs his nails into the palms of his hands where they are still restrained behind his back.
“Sir!” the two agents parrot, clearly waiting on the diminutive man’s orders.
The man simply hums, waving one hand sharply to dismiss his agents. His shrewd gaze meets Ajax’s glowering eyes through the spectacles lining his nose.
The previously immobile sergeant jogs up to the man’s side, expression troubled. “Lord Harbinger! I- I cannot apologize enough, I do not know how–”
The man tuts. “Nonsense. The picture is perfectly clear. Call a local healer to attend to the zoned men. You are dismissed.”
The sergeant’s jaw moves soundlessly for a moment before resignation takes hold, and he simply salutes and marches into the outpost building.
Though still alert, Ajax’s stance relaxes minutely. He isn’t sure what it is about the strange man in front of him; he can tell the gentleman is another Sentinel, a Harbinger if the sergeant is to be believed, but he feels different. His aura is not the same as the posturing Sentinels Ajax has become accustomed to. The closest thing Ajax can compare it to is how his father’s aura feels.
The Harbinger approaches Ajax, appraising him. Ajax stiffens again, silently observing every movement. The man comes to a stop a handful of feet away, raising one hand to tap a gloved finger to his chin in contemplation.
“A Guide with teeth, hm? Intriguing,” he mutters, though Ajax isn’t sure he’s expecting a response.
The Harbinger turns his back to Ajax to address the men behind him. Ajax’s eyes hone in on the supposed vulnerability; though something in his instincts tells him that the man isn’t as helpless as he may appear, and lashing out at the turned back would not go as intended.
“Prepare the carriage,” he directs the agents. “We will be making our way back to Zapolyarny Palace with one more.”
Once the agents have disappeared around the side of the building, the Harbinger turns back to Ajax, who shifts warily on his feet.
“When I was contacted about a rogue Guide in need of an escort to the Capital, I did not expect much,” he starts. “Frankly, it is not my job to act as a chaperone. I simply happened to be in the next town over, with a carriage heading in the right direction.”
Stepping past Ajax, the Harbinger inspects the stupefied men on the ground, clicking his tongue.
“Her Majesty’s finest, indeed,” he says to himself, sounding amused. He looks back at Ajax. “You have managed to take out an entire squadron of my trained men. Either I have stumbled upon the largest embarrassment of my career, or I have discovered a diamond in the rough.”
The man twirls one side of his frost-white mustache. “For both our sakes, I shall gamble on the latter.”
Ajax watches as the Harbinger turns again, and strolls leisurely away from the exercise yard.
“Come along, my diamond. It is a long ride back to Zapolyarny Palace, and it’s dreadfully dull once it gets dark. I’m sure you will be able to entertain me with your version of events from today.” The Harbinger pauses thoughtfully. “Oh, and lose the bracelets, dear boy. You are not some common criminal.”
Flummoxed, Ajax is helpless but to stare after the man as he disappears around the side of the building. He blinks, half wondering if he had imagined the exchange with the strange Harbinger. There is nothing to do but to follow him, he supposes, and he cannot deny that he is curious about the Sentinel. With the urgency of adrenaline leaving his system, he finally registers the slight sting of the metal against the skin of his wrists, cold from exposure. He tugs at them experimentally, but they do not budge. Ajax frowns to himself. He had never been offered a key, how was he to dispose of them?
That odd man seems the type for tests, and Ajax supposes this must be one of them. He thinks for a moment, then in a moment of clarity, he realizes his Vision had never been confiscated, and it rests innocently in the pocket of his outer jacket. Embarrassment heats his cheeks; he had not even considered using it, earlier. Channeling his connection to Hydro, Ajax estimates where the locking mechanism is on his handcuffs, and coats it. In the frigid temperature, the Hydro freezes over quickly, and with that, it takes minimal exertion of Ajax’s strength to snap the cuffs. The metal falls to the ground by the zoned men, and is left ignored as Ajax trots around the Fatui outpost building to meet the Harbinger.
In front of the outpost, there rests a large wooden vozok, decorated in ornate carvings along the sides. The horses at the front of the sleigh stomp their hooves and snort in impatience, plumes of warmth curling into the air. They are no less ostentatious than the sleigh, dressed in Fatui finery matching the colors of the Harbinger. Ajax finds the man in question having a quiet discussion with the driver seated at the front of the sled. When he notices Ajax, his eyes brighten.
“Ah, splendid! We should be ready to depart, momentarily. Do you have any personal effects to collect, my boy?” Ajax shakes his head. “I see. Then, you may sit inside where it is warm, and I shall join you momentarily.”
The Harbinger gestures to the sleigh, and Ajax eyes him for a moment longer before trudging forward and swinging open the door to climb inside. Inexplicably, there is an elegant cane tipped in a silver handle resting to one side, and so Ajax takes the seat across from it. It is pleasantly toasty on the interior, thanks to a compact furnace. The windows are small to encourage heat retention, and Ajax fixes his gaze on the snowy tundra outside of the sled while he waits for the Harbinger to join him. He fidgets in his seat, attempting to center himself in the moment of quiet. His exhaustion is catching up to him, and the comforting warmth of the sleigh lulls him into a near doze, despite his attempts to keep alert in the strange environment.
Ajax jolts back to awareness with a flicker of panic when the sleigh jerks, moving under the weight of the Harbinger climbing inside. His heart calms as he reorients himself while the other man takes a seat across from him, taking the cane that had been resting there into his hand. He raps the handle against the wall of the sleigh to signal to their driver that they are ready to depart, and fixes Ajax with another one of his pensive stares. Once the sled lurches into motion, the Harbinger speaks.
“I realize it was terribly rude of me not to introduce myself earlier. As you can imagine, there were more pressing matters at hand, but I hope you will forgive me.” The Harbinger seems not to expect a response, as he continues. “I am Pulcinella; fifth of Her Majesty’s Harbingers.”
Ajax knows of the name, vaguely. In school they have been taught the basics of the Fatui’s hierarchy, and the names of the Harbingers and their respective rankings have been included. However, ‘The Rooster’, Pulcinella has been only lightly touched upon. Most attention from his teacher and his peers are towards the more infamous of the eleven seats; such as The Captain, for his prowess, or La Signora, for her beauty and cruelty. When the position of The Knave had recently changed hands, it had caused somewhat of a curious uproar, as the new bearer of the title is the youngest appointed Harbinger in history.
Outside of that, though many revere and idolize the Harbingers, Ajax frankly has no interest in the Fatui or their schemes for Her Majesty. He supposes if he is being carted to the Capital, however, he should likely make an effort to learn. From what he has retained from his lessons on the Harbingers, The Rooster acts as a mayor, organizing many projects and constructing new policies for the benefit of Snezhnaya. He also delegates on Her Majesty’s behalf for legal disputes between the towns and cities of Snezhnaya.
“I imagine it has been a rather strenuous day for you, so I do not fault you if you don’t have an appetite. But, should you like, I do have some pastries leftover from my visit into town,” Pulcinella says into the quiet sleigh, and he reaches inside his heavy jacket to pull out a crinkled brown paper bag.
Suddenly, Ajax’s stomach growls, as if remembering that it is hungry. In the commotion at the marketplace that morning, he had only scarfed down two of his pirozhkis before losing the rest of the bag. Ajax pushes away the thoughts of his father and the pang of betrayal that rises with them, instead reaching out to tentatively take the proffered bag. Reaching into the bag in his lap, Ajax figures he can meet Pulcinella’s generosity with some manners.
“I’m Ajax,” he says, pulling out one of the powdered tea cakes nestled inside.
“Ajax,” Pulcinella repeats, nodding, “a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear boy.”
Pulcinella says nothing after that, seemingly content to allow Ajax to munch his way through the tea cakes. Once Ajax has swallowed the last bite, he feels much less irritable with a satisfying fullness in his stomach. He sets the empty bag next to him, and swipes his hands against one another to knock some of the sugar off of his gloves.
“What happened to the guards you were with?” Ajax asks, instead of ‘What happens when we get to the Capital ’ or ‘Will I have to start Guide training right away ’ or ‘Are you sure you can’t drop me off back home; maybe my father will think he’s made a mistake ’, as none of those questions have answers he is likely to appreciate.
“Ah, yes. They are staying behind to help attend to the zoned squadron.” Pulcinella taps absently against his cane with his fingers.
Ajax wonders if he is expected to apologize, since he is not feeling particularly apologetic. Instead, he hums in response.
“It is of no concern, as I am fully capable of defending myself, should I encounter any...stray beasts,” Pulcinella says lightly, but the glint to his eye tells Ajax that it is warning not to act foolishly. The man then continues in a much brighter tone. “Enough of all that unpleasantness, though. I will be needing to pen a report once we get back to Zapolyarny Palace and I should like to not think about it until then. Tell me, dear Ajax, what sort of hobbies do you have in Morepesok?”
Slightly taken aback at the non sequitur, Ajax stares at Pulcinella for a moment. His Master Skirk had never probed into his life prior to the Abyss, and the people of his village are busybodies enough to know seemingly everything about one another without asking directly. He can’t see the harm in the question, however, and he assumes they have several hours still of their journey.
Haltingly, Ajax explains that as with most Snezhnayan seaside villages, Morepesok highly values ice fishing. He goes on to elaborate that, while as a younger child he found it tedious and dull, he has come to appreciate the time with his father. Ajax pushes away his conflicting feelings about his father to instead talk about his other family members, and the things he enjoys doing with them. His second eldest brother, who occasionally would take him sledding. His sister Tonia, who he would play knights and princesses with. His brother Anthon, who he would read to most nights. His mother, who taught him how to cook and bake, and who had knitted the scarf that hangs around his neck with care. Once he gets started, Ajax finds it easy to go on and on about his family, and the village of Morepesok where he was raised.
Pulcinella listens intently all the while, his face giving no indication of his thoughts, though he will hum and chuckle in certain places. Ajax finds that he doesn’t much care if the Harbinger appreciates his stories; talking about his family is comforting, a way he can hold onto them and cherish them as the sleigh takes him farther and farther away. When Ajax’s throat grows raspy, Pulcinella procures a flask of water from his coat pocket. While Ajax gratefully sips at it, the other man takes the lull in conversation to ask about the subject Ajax has been dreading addressing.
“It sounds like life in Morepesok is quite lively, indeed! But, your tales do not paint a picture of a boy who regularly wreaks destruction. I find myself quite curious as to how it leads to the scene I stumbled upon today,” he prods.
Ajax takes another pull from the flask, just to stall a little longer while considering his words. He swallows, then sets the flask down, deciding to be candid, and if the Harbinger does not believe him then so be it.
“A few months ago, I fell into the Abyss.” Ajax pauses, gauging Pulcinella’s reaction. The other man continues to patiently wait, expression blank. Ajax continues. “The Abyss is where I got my Vision and…presented as a Guide.”
Looking into his lap, Ajax picks at the fabric of his pants.
“I learned how to use my gifts there. I came back wrong, I guess,” he says, trying to keep the vulnerability he feels from his voice. “Started getting into problems at school. Someone in the marketplace. I’m not going to let people mess with my family now that I can help it,” his voice hardens with that, still feeling justified in his actions. “But, my father doesn’t know how to handle that, or, well, me I guess.”
Ajax meets Pulcinella’s eyes again. “I hid my Empathy from my father, but when he found out after my fight this morning, he brought me to that outpost,” he lies. Ajax may have mixed feelings about his father, but he’s not going to incriminate the man for hiding Ajax’s gift for as long as he was able. Pulcinella raises a brow, but does not interrupt.
“The Sentinels there didn’t understand me either,” Ajax said, and then he grinned. “So I showed them.” He cocks his head to the side. “And that’s that.”
The Harbinger makes an intrigued sound, and twirls at his mustache.
“You did indeed,” he says simply.
“My father seems to think that Empathy Training in the Capital will fix me,” Ajax says. He watches Pulcinella carefully, looking for any information he can glean from the man’s reactions. So far, he is like a blank canvas. While initially the lack of feedback was a relief for Ajax’s mental faculties, it has become a little unsettling. The quietness of it, similarly to Skirk, suggests the man is well-versed in maintaining mental shields. Ajax supposes that is to be expected from such a high-ranking Sentinel, though he wonders why the other agents hadn’t seemed to have any capability of that.
Daringly, Ajax reaches out with his mind. He is cautious, as to not tip the other off, prodding only gently at the outer walls of Pulcinella’s guard, just to get a feel for it. As he thought, the defenses are iron clad, no exploitive chinks in his armor that Ajax can find, no hint of what he is thinking or feeling.
Pulcinella chuckles, and Ajax pulls back. “Well, that remains to be seen,” the man says.
The Harbinger casts a glance at the small window to their left, where the sun has fallen low in the sky, and then pulls an intricately designed pocketwatch from his side. He checks the time and slides the polished silver back into his pocket.
“We have a few hours yet of our journey. When we reach Zapolyarny Palace, I will need to debrief with my subordinates. I do not expect this to take long, but afterwards we will still need to settle you in. As it will be much too late to enroll you in the Guide Program and boarding when we arrive, I will arrange for you to stay in my lodgings for the night. Tomorrow, we can register you officially into the Fatui ranks.”
Ajax nods, absorbing the information.
“While you will start at the bottom, I do not expect you to stay there for long. I do hope you will prove me correct,” Pulcinella says, and Ajax blinks at the compliment, unsure why the man has placed such confidence in him.
“Although,” Pulcinella continues, and though his face is largely hidden behind his spectacles and mustache, he gives off a sly impression. “Your career may end rather abruptly if you are as careless with your mental probing around those who take less kindly to it. I would suggest restraint, young man.”
Mortified, Ajax sinks back into his seat, nodding. He was not so subtle, then. Unsurprising; Skirk had never emphasized subtlety in their training so much as brute force. Pulcinella appears pleased with Ajax’s reaction, and takes it upon himself to describe Zapolyarny Palace and his lodgings in detail to him for the remainder of the ride. The Sentinel seems to require no input from Ajax as he talks, and so listening to the lilting cadence of the man’s baritone, rocked slightly by the movement of the sleigh, Ajax is once again drawn into a doze.
Ajax stirs from his light nap to the muffled sound of voices. He blinks his groggy eyes open, and rubs the sleep out of the corners. He can’t remember dreaming, and assumes he must have been too exhausted for his mind to do so. Truthfully, he would like to go back to sleep for several more hours, however the world outside the sled window is dark and his companion is missing from the seat across from him. He recognizes one of the low voices outside the sleigh as belonging to the Harbinger, and moments later the door at the side swings open to reveal him standing outside. A small bit of light filters in from the city beyond, and with it, a cold brush of air sweeps into the otherwise comfortable cabin.
“Ah, excellent, you are awake,” Pulcinella says. “Please, follow me.”
He steps back to give Ajax room to stumble to his feet and climb out of the sleigh. The moment Ajax’s feet hit the frosty ground, his breath is taken away. He barely registers the sleigh pulling away from behind him, drinking in the sparkling sight of the city sprawled before him. Living several hours away from the Capital city that houses Zapolyarny Palace, Ajax’s family has never had occasion to visit. His elder sister had been, once, for a wedding of her friend to a wealthier suitor, and when she had returned she had gushed for days about the splendor the Capital had to offer.
Though Ajax had grown bored rather quickly of her flowery descriptions of the city, he finds now that he understands where her fervor had been coming from. Stunning architecture of rounded domes with stained glass windows, pointed towers stretching into the night sky, imposing buildings the color of ice, all sit before him amidst a labyrinth of main carriage roads and side alleys. Ornate iron lampposts line the pathways, warm glow obstructed only by featherlight whispers of falling snow. Dauntingly sharp icicles hang from windowsills and archways, though the people who go about their business even in the late hour pay them no heed.
In the center of the city, Ajax can see the striking outline of an even more impressive feat of architecture. Tapering spires rise into the sky far past the walled barrier that separates this building from the rest of the city, curling around it in a wide circle. It almost appears like a cathedral, with large arcing windows of stained glass glowing under the lights that decorate the towers and sides of the impressive building. It appears as though it is carved from ice, nearly translucent in places but no less embellished than any buildings of stone or wood with the intricate carvings lining the balustrades and columns along the side that Ajax can see.
“You are admiring Zapolyarny Palace,” the Sentinel interrupts his thoughts, coming to stand beside him. “A beautiful work of art, indeed.” Ajax can’t help but agree.
“Her Majesty designed and constructed the Inner Palace Herself, from Her mastery over Cryo.” Pulcinella’s cane clicks against the cobbled ground as he walks forward, beckoning for Ajax to follow him. “Of course, some things, such as the stained glass, murals, and furniture, were incorporated afterwards by commissioned local artisans.”
They pass bright window displays as they walk down the main street, keeping to the side to avoid the carriages that roll by every so often.
“You will have ample time to see the inside of the Inner Palace with your Fatui induction. Though most combat and practical training for recruits takes place in the Outer Palace grounds, Empathy Training and Compatibility Assessments take place within the Inner Palace, under the jurisdiction of our Second,” the Harbinger continues, turning to guide them down a side alley between two buildings. “Lodgings for Guides undergoing training are within the Inner Palace, whereas the Sentinels’ lodgings are mostly outside of Zapolyarny Palace in the Capital.”
Cynically, Ajax thinks this makes sense, as being within Zapolyarny Palace surely allows more authority over their training Guides. As there exist a smaller number of Guides than Sentinels, the Palace will want to ensure total control. Ajax wonders idly what Her Majesty might be like, then, and if Zapolyarny Palace were to be like a gilded cage for Guides.
Unaware of the uncharitable turn to Ajax’s thoughts, Pulcinella keeps going, “That also means that I will be nearby should you require anything, as I also keep quarters in the Inner Palace.”
The unexpectedness of the offer pulls Ajax from his musings, and he fixes Pulcinella’s shorter form with a furrowed stare. Should a Harbinger be offering such assistance to a fresh recruit; someone who, as he said, will be starting out from the bottom of the ranks? Ajax had assumed the man was going to escort him and then they would go separate ways, unlikely to see one another again, as Pulcinella had said he typically had no business with the Guides.
Either ignorant to Ajax’s incredulous stare, or intentionally dismissing it, Pulcinella comes to a stop in front of a large building. It looks to be a municipal building by its appearance; harsh lines and towering columns to its front, but Ajax cannot see any plaque that denotes its purpose. The Harbinger leads them up the wide stairs at the front, and pulls open the entrance door, stepping back to let Ajax inside first. He glances around as he walks inside, his heavy boots causing his footsteps to echo noisily on the marble floors. A tall ceiling meets more columns of marble, lining down a long hallway. Large doors stand on either side of the hall, and painted portraits decorate the walls between door frames. Within a few steps of the entrance, Ajax’s feet are met by a rug that stretches down the rest of the hall as well, muffling the sound of his steps.
“This is the Capital’s legislative building,” says Pulcinella, “and it is where I conduct a good portion of my work, when not in Zapolyarny Palace.” The Harbinger pushes open one of the large doors with his cane and gestures for Ajax to go inside. “Please, have a seat inside and make yourself comfortable; I will be back once I have touched base with my staff.”
Ajax nods, and steps into the room. Pulcinella does not wait for him to settle in before he lets the door close, and Ajax can hear the softened sound of his cane tapping down the carpeted hallway. A large hearth greets him against the far wall; roaring and warm despite the fact that the room is unoccupied apart from Ajax. Another large crimson rug sprawls underneath his feet, and in front of him lays a short coffee table with a bowl of assorted nuts atop it. Two fancy but uncomfortable-looking couches sit on either side of the low table, and Ajax takes a seat on one.
He is surprised to find it is not uncomfortable at all, and sinks into the cushions, running the tips of his fingers over the carved wood on the back of it. His eyes trace over the mantle of the fireplace, where a portrait of the Fifth hangs, grand and ostentatious. A couple potted plants sit in the corners of the room, and thick velvet curtains hang overtop the singular window in the room to keep out the chill. Ajax helps himself to a handful of the nuts, and then walks over to the covered window. He pushes back the heavy curtain so that he can observe the mesmerizing splendor of the city outside. When he has had enough of the nipping cold that radiates from the windowpane, Ajax steps back and lets the curtain fall once more into place. He takes a seat again on the sofa, and lets exhaustion pull him under.
The opening creak of the door has Ajax on full alert, emerging from the disorienting fog of a short and unsatisfactory rest, jerking his head to the side to see Pulcinella standing at the threshold.
“We may leave,” he says, and Ajax gets up from the couch to follow him out of the building. With Ajax’s unabated exhaustion weighing on him, Snezhnaya’s evening cold feels much more potent. He shivers unintentionally as he follows Pulcinella towards the gates of Zapolyarny Palace, looming in front of them with the promise of rest.
The Sentinel notices his shiver. “Once inducted, you will receive a new wardrobe. The Fatui’s uniform is quite resistant to the colder temperatures.”
“It’s alright,” Ajax says, ignoring the way his teeth want to chatter. “I’m no stranger to the cold.”
Pulcinella acknowledges this with a nod, and then they are at the front of the foreboding gates of Zapolyarny Palace. The Fatui guards flanking either side seem to recognize Pulcinella on sight, as they salute to him and quickly open the gates to allow them entrance. They waste no time striding through the Palace, passing by the outer buildings without sparing them a glance. Ajax assumes one of them must be the Guide lodgings, but he doesn’t care enough to ask at the moment. Once they reach the doors to the Inner Palace, another set of guards grants them entry, keeping quiet but looking curiously at the boy their Fifth has trailing after him.
Ajax struggles to keep up with Pulcinella while also not becoming overwhelmed at the sight of the Inner Palace’s interior. He’s unsure how it was managed, but within the grand entrance, a beautiful mural spans the entire width of the ceiling. Sconces of crystal illuminate the intricate brushwork, but Ajax does not have the time to appreciate the designs as Pulcinella nearly disappears down a hallway. The ceilings are tall, similarly to the municipal building, though much larger in scale. The ribbing is just as elaborately carved as the columns and beams that support the structure, and Ajax knows he could lose himself for hours trying to follow the patterns.
The Harbinger nods and waves to passersby here and there, and Ajax tries not to stumble into his back whenever he pauses while Ajax is eyeing some other captivating part of architecture. No introductions are made, though many of the eyes that fall on him appear intrigued. Some of the people they pass are Sentinels, and Ajax has grown accustomed to being able to instinctively know their designation. They pass a pair of guards where Ajax can feel that one is a Sentinel, but the other person throws him off for a moment, until they lock eyes and Ajax feels an inquisitive brush against the corners of his mind. He shudders, thankful for his shields that are still in place, unsure of how to process coming across another Guide.
Pulcinella thankfully allows him no time to dawdle, making a quick pace down another corridor. A short time later, they come to another stop in front of a set of wooden double doors with a lone Sentinel guard standing to the side.
“Sir!” The woman salutes, and Pulcinella nods at her. He dips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his pocket watch once more. Resting on the silver chain next to the watch there is a master key. The Harbinger sticks the key into the lock on the doors, and turns it until there is a loud sequence of rumbling and clicking as the gears fall into place. Pulcinella pushes open the doors and strolls inside, with Ajax on his heels. They allow the doors to close and latch behind them, and Ajax takes in the foyer they stand in.
Unlike the rest of the Inner Palace, Pulcinella’s quarters are carved from marble and stone. They appear to be well insulated, as Ajax feels even less of the chill he had felt down the hallways of the rest of the Palace. The lit fireplace in the foyer doesn’t hurt, either, and the rugs blanketing the floors provide additional comfort against the cool stone. The foyer branches off into hallways on either side; one of which Ajax can see leading to a grand living room hosting its own larger hearth, and the other branches off to other doors.
Pulcinella instructs Ajax to remove his boots before guiding him to the hallway lined with doors. The Sentinel opens one of them to reveal a bedroom, and further inside that room there is a door to a bathroom. Pulcinella explains that on the same side of the foyer as the living room, there is a kitchen should Ajax find himself hungry. He invites the boy to relax in the guest bedroom, and informs him that he will be working for some time still in his office should he need anything.
“I will be taking you to the Ministry in the morning to get you registered, and then you will begin your bright future in the Fatui. Do rest up, dear boy,” Pulcinella says, and then gently shuts the door of the guestroom behind him.
Shifting on his feet for a moment, Ajax debates using the restroom to wash up, and then decides against it. The large, four poster bed elegantly draped in furs and a mountain of pillows calls to his weary body, and so he shucks off his outer clothes and climbs into the blessedly soft bed. He is asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.
Notes:
Hey there! Thanks for coming by :)
I've already written all chapters of this fic, and once I post all of the prologue chapters (1-3) this week, I'll plan to post a new chapter every Tuesday and Friday. That being said, for those who this matters to: Zhongli appears in chapter 4 lol. Chapters 1-3 are mostly Sentinel & Guide worldbuilding around Ajax since I enjoy the AU!
My many thanks to my lovely friends who have helped me beta this chapter, @mandathegreat and @glamourtentia <3
Chapter 2: Biting the Bullet
Summary:
Once more, Ajax stiffens, instinctively baring his teeth when the Sentinel approaches him.
Beside him, Pulcinella clears his throat. “Are blood samples quite necessary, Dottore? I was under the impression that it was typically just the signature readings.”
Dottore pauses and his lips tug downwards in displeasure. He takes a breath before responding, tone exasperated. “As you are not a man of science, Pulcinella, perhaps I should not expect your understanding, though I would appreciate my methods not being called into question regardless.”
“Consider me curious, rather than doubtful,” Pulcinella retorts calmly, likely for Ajax’s benefit.
Dottore sniffs, tapping one finger against the vials in his hand, glass tinkling. “I hope it does not surprise you to learn that there is a genetic component to compatibility. With these samples, I will be able to further narrow down likely candidates for a match, rather than arbitrarily bringing in large groups of Sentinels.”
Ajax still doesn’t like the situation, but he drops his snarl and dutifully shrugs off one side of his coat and rolls up a shirt sleeve. “Fine.”
“Most Guides are not usually so contrary,” Dottore observes offhandedly.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When Ajax wakes that morning, indulgently sprawled out in the most luxurious bed he has ever set eyes on, he feels much more rejuvenated.
He’s slept like a log, recovering both his mental and physical strength, and he feels prepared to face the day. He bathes in the en suite bathroom; though it takes a bit of fiddling around with the knobs and handles in the outrageously fancy bath to figure out how to use everything. Once clean and redressed, he makes his way out to the dining area, where Pulcinella is already lounging, perusing a newspaper with his breakfast. When he notices Ajax, he invites him to sit at the table. Ajax is startled when he sees that Pulcinella isn’t alone; apparently the man has a personal chef, who he then instructs to prepare a meal for Ajax as well.
The food he is presented with is clearly gourmet, nothing like what his mother prepares at home, and a far cry from his rations in the Abyss. His grumbling stomach is hardly picky, however, and he scarfs the food down fairly quickly. Pulcinella makes no comment on it, though he seems amused at Ajax’s ravenous appetite. Once they are finished, Pulcinella reminds Ajax of their impending visit to the Ministry to complete Ajax’s conscription.
It is not a far walk to the other side of the Inner Palace, where the different Ministry offices sit. The Ministries that are under the command of various Harbingers sit within the Inner Palace in accordance with their importance, Pulcinella informs Ajax. The Ministry of Defense is in joint jurisdiction under the First and Second Harbingers; the Second taking the Weapons and Sentinel-Guide Divisions, and the First taking the Conflict and Strategy Division. The Ministry of the Treasury belongs to the Ninth Harbinger, The Ministry of Development and Education to the Fourth, and so on. Pulcinella himself oversees the Ministry of Legal Affairs, though, due to the complex nature of Divisions within, he has offices both in Zapolyarny Palace and outside.
By the time they reach the Ministry of Defense office, Ajax’s mind feels so overloaded with information, he is hoping their visit will offer some sort of respite.
“Here we are; the Ministry of Defense, Sentinel-Guide Division.” Pulcinella gestures with his cane to the silver plaque adorning the wall beneath one of the Inner Palace’s crystalline sconces. He hooks the handle of the cane into one of the two door handles, and pulls it open. “After you, dear boy.”
Ajax takes a breath and steps through the double doors. Pulcinella is quick to follow, and strides over to the desk sitting front and center to begin speaking with the agent stationed there. Since he doesn’t seem to need Ajax’s input for the moment, Ajax takes a moment to glance around the sparse office. No portraits decorate the sterile-white walls, and there are no windows to allow in any natural light, making the space feel rather uninviting.
Ajax tunes back into Pulcinella’s conversation with the receptionist when his name is called. Ajax joins the Harbinger in front of the masked agent, who turns to greet Ajax stoically. He is then asked his name, his age, city of origin, and the occupations of his parents. He is asked to confirm his designation as a Guide, and then as a Vision holder. The questions become a bit more invasive as they ask about his bond status (unbonded), his expected compatibility level (unknown), and if there are any hereditary illnesses he may be predisposed to (unknown).
By the end of the questions, Ajax is mildly disgruntled, though the agent has been nothing but distantly polite with him. They dutifully catalog all of his answers on the paperwork in front of them, and then address Ajax once more.
“Your enlistment will be fully registered by this afternoon, and we can have your badge delivered in the evening to your quarters in the Guide House to your direct supervisor, Instructor Svetlana. You will be eligible for Empathy Training as early as tomorrow morning. Combat Fundamentals will begin the following day, and from there you will be placed in a training regimen appropriate for your current combat abilities. Your starting salary will be deposited to your account on a weekly basis. If you have any questions regarding income, inquiries can be directed to the Treasury. Welcome to the Fatui.”
Ajax ignores the sardonic voice in his head that reminds him that it isn’t exactly his choice, and simply nods to the agent. At least it sounds like he will get some sort of financial compensation, which he can send back home to help his family.
The agent turns to Pulcinella. “Is there anything else, Lord Harbinger?”
The Sentinel hums, considering, and then appears to recall something. “Ah, yes. Do you happen to know if the Second is around?” He waves a hand. “Or whichever Segment is running his compatibilities for him.”
Segment? Segment of what? Ajax raises a brow, but the agent seems to understand Pulcinella’s question and nods. “Yes, please allow me to see if he is available,” they say, and then they disappear into a door behind the desk.
Pulcinella regards Ajax then. “The Second, who you may also know as The Doctor, is the facilitator of all Sentinel-Guide bondings within the Fatui,” he explains.
“He has an unprecedented record for finding compatible pairs, which is a priceless asset to Her Majesty’s forces. His science may appear incomprehensible, and his methods can be…” Pulcinella searches for a diplomatic term to use, “unorthodox, but the statistics don’t lie.”
“You want him to match me with a Sentinel?” Ajax questions, bluntly. He can’t help the internal recoil he feels at the thought, though he knew it was a likelihood when joining the Fatui.
“It is a compulsory duty of your conscription,” Pulcinella replies, evading the question. “Due to the concerning lack of Guides within our forces, any Guide that is conscripted must fulfill their duty to Snezhnaya by undertaking Compatibility Assessments.”
Ajax doesn’t try to stifle his derisive snort.
“Right,” he says. “And then once I find the perfect Sentinel, I get to be dragged along wherever they want to go, is that it?” Pulcinella has only been charitable to Ajax, but he cannot keep the vitriol out of his voice. A weapon is what Ajax truly is, has been honed to be, but he will be forced to play the part of a glorified psychiatrist within his country’s militarized forces? How absurd. His blood burns in his veins just thinking about it, his palms itching for his Hydro blades.
The Harbinger raises a brow, but does not reprimand Ajax. “Should you find a compatible Sentinel and complete a bonding process, then expectation would be for you to be stationed together, yes.”
Ajax comes to a realization.
“Where’s your Guide, then?” Ajax asks, unprompted. The question is probably rude, but since being chaperoned by Pulcinella from his village, Ajax has not once seen the man come in contact with another Guide, and that does not make sense to him.
Pulcinella takes the brazen inquiry with grace. “My bondmate is likely at home, with her family,” he says.
This takes Ajax by surprise. “With her family?”
“Quite,” Pulcinella nods. “She has a partner and a child. Lovely people, they are.”
“I don’t understand,” Ajax admits.
Pulcinella chuckles at this, and Ajax bristles slightly, but man soothes his nerves with his next words.
“A bond is not a condemnation of freedom, dear boy. She is a trained Fatui agent as per her conscription, though she much prefers municipal work to active duty, and so that is her occupation. My Guide is free to pursue interests and hobbies of her own outside of myself and my duties, and yes, even a family. Not all bonds are romantic in nature, despite what popular consensus will have you believe.”
“But,” Ajax’s brow furrows, “What if you were to travel? To leave?”
Pulcinella tilts his head, giving the question thought. “For short travels, our bond is stable enough and our connection strong enough for me to have little concern about needing direct Guidance, and so she is free to stay in the Capital. To your point, though, it may be a luxury that she was bonded to me, as I have no reason to leave the Capital or Snezhnaya as my home. Were I needed in another nation, then yes, she would be expected to follow me. Her family would be permitted to follow as well.”
Absorbing the information, Ajax peers at his own fidgeting hands. He assumes Pulcinella is likely volunteering this information to keep Ajax complacent, but the man is candid enough, which he appreciates. Though Ajax has no desire to be bonded and to follow the trajectory of another’s path in life, at least there are options. Neither of them get to speak any further on the subject, as finally, the agent emerges once more from the back.
“Lord Dottore is able to see you now.” They walk around the side of the desk and pull out a key to open the door in the wall next to Ajax and Pulcinella.
“Please, follow me,” they say, sweeping an arm out to the corridor beyond.
“Splendid,” Pulcinella smiles, and follows with Ajax close behind.
The masked agent leads them to what appears to be a meeting room, four glass walls with a table in the middle and several chairs lining the ends. Nothing about the space gives the cozy appeal that Pulcinella’s offices have, instead appearing stark and cold without even the splendor of the rest of the icy Palace. Regardless, both Ajax and Pulcinella take a seat as the agent promises that the other Harbinger will join them momentarily, and clicks the door shut behind them.
“These blasted chairs are always so uncomfortable,” Pulcinella grumbles, shifting in his seat while resting his cane against the table. “I will never understand. Harbingers receive ample funding to be able to afford more than mediocre furniture.”
Ajax tries to hide his laugh behind a cough, having yet to see the other man so disgruntled.
“Laugh all you want, my boy,” Pulcinella calls him out. “One day you will be my age, and you will understand the importance of practical furnishings.”
“Of course, sir,” Ajax teases, and then flushes in embarrassment.
Pulcinella’s eyes crinkle behind his spectacles in amusement, but Ajax is saved from any further humiliation by the door clicking open again.
“Pulcinella, my friend, I do hope you appreciate that my schedule is quite tight and that, unlike some, I cannot always drop my work on a whim to attend a personal meeting,” comes the impatient lilt of the Sentinel striding into the room.
His eyes and the top of his face are obscured by a pointed dark mask, though his mouth presents a saccharine smile when he comes to a halt in front of the two, on the other side of the table. Pulcinella brushes off the slight with a chuckle.
“No, of course not, Dottore. Though I assumed that you or one of your Segments would make time to assess our newest Guide,” he responds, gesturing towards Ajax.
Dottore’s smile tilts into a frown, turning only briefly in Ajax’s direction before appearing to disregard him, opening an inconspicuous panel in the nearest wall to press a button.
“Yes, well, procedure dictates new Guides should be worked into my schedule with appointments made by proxy with the Guide Instructor.”
“That is true, so I extend my thanks to you for seeing us now,” Pulcinella replies breezily.
Dottore makes a dismissive sound, but the tense irritation he’d arrived with eases. The door to the room clicks open once more, to allow another masked agent inside, wheeling a cart of intimidating-looking metal instruments. Dottore waves the agent over to the side of the table next to Ajax, who stiffens warily, eyeing the sharp needles and blinking lights of the machinery. Once the cart is situated, the agent dismisses themself with a sharp bow in Dottore’s direction, though the man ignores them entirely in favor of humming and turning his attention to the paper sitting on the cart.
“This assessment will be for Fatui Recruit 112529,” he mumbles, and then scrawls a note on the parchment.
Ajax frowns. “My name is–”
“It matters not,” Dottore interrupts distractedly, now fiddling with the long wires attached to the machine sitting in the middle of the cart. “The data I collect will be assigned to Agent 112529 in our records, and that is how I shall refer to you through our experim–ah, assessments.”
He then turns to Ajax, reaching out towards him with the probes attached to the long wires of the machine. Instinctively, Ajax snarls and bares his teeth, lurching to the side of his seat, Vision glowing through the thin fabric of his pants.
Dottore frowns, as if minorly inconvenienced. “Come now, do cooperate. I do not have the time for shenanigans.”
Ajax is about to spit where exactly he thinks Dottore should stick those probes, but a gloved hand settles on his shoulder from next to him. Ajax whips his head to the side, meeting the calm gaze of Pulcinella.
“Apologies, dear boy. Dottore may be abrasive,” a responding scoff from Dottore, “but these tests are nothing to be concerned about, I assure you.”
Relaxing minutely, Ajax turns his wary gaze back to Dottore. He doesn’t fully trust the Fifth, but the man has yet to mislead him, and so he will give this a chance. He also happily reassures himself mentally that, if things were to go downhill, he can always impale this entitled Harbinger on the end of his Hydro swords.
“Fine,” he assents.
“Fantastic,” Dottore drawls, placing two of the sticky probes on either side of Ajax’s temples. “Since we are done wasting time, I will give you instructions that I expect you to follow.”
The metal is chilled where it rests against Ajax’s skin, and a third is added to the center of his forehead, while a fourth is placed at the nape of his neck. Dottore steps back once the probes are in place, and sends a pulse of elemental energy into the machine that kickstarts it into activity. It emits a low hum, and the probes on Ajax’s skin radiate a low level of elemental energy in return.
“Now,” he says, regarding Ajax, and he smiles with teeth. “Try to infiltrate my mind.”
Ajax is incredulous. “Excuse me?”
Instead of becoming irritated once more as Ajax expects, Dottore cackles in delight.
“Oh, it is always a pleasure to see the reactions to this directive, but I am quite serious.” The Harbinger sobers quickly. “To get an accurate reading of your empathic signature, I need a significant amount of mental output.”
Dottore spreads his arms wide in invitation. “So, please attempt to infiltrate my mind. I assure you that your feeble attempts will not harm me,” he snorts.
Ajax can feel the twitch of his left eye. So be it; he will give the man what he asks for.
He doesn’t technically need to lower his own shields for projection, but vindictively, Ajax doesn’t only want to project onto Dottore. He wants to pry open his shields and read his consciousness; and for that, he’ll allow the vulnerability. He slams his mind against Dottore’s shields; feeling around the edges of his walls impatiently, searching for an opening. The tendrils of his consciousness work fast, and Ajax’s pride surges in victory as he feels something. Apart from the cool constructed placidness of Dottore’s wards, there is a whisper of ambition. It is an ambition that Ajax can feel, because of the strong, all-encompassing desire behind it– it isn’t a thing of warmth, of comfort. It is as cold and sharp as the Snezhnayan winter breezes. Ajax cannot tell what the desire is for; only that it is something insidious, and it sends an uncontrolled shiver down his spine.
Abruptly, Ajax loses connection with the feeling. He had maintained the connection for perhaps a few seconds; but Dottore reacts quickly to the breach, shoring up his defenses. Try as Ajax might, he is no longer able to penetrate the Harbinger’s mind, but his failure now does not override the success he initially had.
“Impressive,” Dottore mutters, and his intrigued voice pulls Ajax back into his own awareness. Ajax breathes heavily, clutching at the armrests of his chair. His eyes dart to Dottore’s face, hidden still behind the mask, but Ajax can feel the analytic gaze prickling against his skin.
“Admittedly, I was careless in underestimating you,” comes a half-praise, “but that first attempt should be sufficient for my analyses.”
Face pulled up in a lopsided grin, Ajax relaxes back into his chair. Pulcinella is a steady presence beside him, offering no verbal commentary or concern, but reassuring nonetheless. Dottore pulls the probes from Ajax’s skin, then busies himself with the machine on the cart. When he turns back around, there is a long syringe grasped in his hand, and several empty vials in the other. Once more, Ajax stiffens, instinctively baring his teeth when the Sentinel approaches him.
Beside him, Pulcinella clears his throat. “Are blood samples quite necessary, Dottore? I was under the impression that it was typically just the signature readings.”
Dottore pauses and his lips tug downwards in displeasure. He takes a breath before responding, tone exasperated. “As you are not a man of science, Pulcinella, perhaps I should not expect your understanding, though I would appreciate my methods not being called into question regardless.”
“Consider me curious, rather than doubtful,” Pulcinella retorts calmly, likely for Ajax’s benefit.
Dottore sniffs, tapping one finger against the vials in his hand, glass tinkling. “I hope it does not surprise you to learn that there is a genetic component to compatibility. With these samples, I will be able to further narrow down likely candidates for a match, rather than arbitrarily bringing in large groups of Sentinels.”
Ajax still doesn’t like the situation, but he drops his snarl and dutifully shrugs off one side of his coat and rolls up a shirt sleeve, presenting a pale forearm to the man. “Fine.”
“Most Guides are not usually so contrary,” Dottore observes offhandedly.
He places his array of tools on the table next to Ajax, and disinfects the surface of his forearm. The sharp scent causes both Sentinels’ noses to scrunch briefly, and Ajax finds himself amused. The amusement dies a quick death when the needle approaches his arm, but Ajax does not look away when it pierces his skin and draws out his blood. Once the syringe is full, the needle retracts from his arm and Dottore moves his attention to filling the various vials and arranging them on the cart. Ajax’s head feels light and airy, and Pulcinella offers a squeeze to his non-bared arm.
Once Dottore finishes with his task, he addresses Pulcinella.
“I’ll send the results of my analysis to my assistants, who will be able to facilitate a Compatibility Assessment for agent 112529. For awareness’ sake, there may be delays if any of the selected Sentinels are deployed outside of Snezhnaya, as they will need to make a return trip.” The Harbinger takes the handle of his cart and begins pulling it to the door as he continues speaking.
“That is all, so I will take my leave. Please feel free to see yourselves out,” he finishes as the door shuts behind him.
Pulcinella huffs and shakes his head, pushing his seat back from the table so that he can rise. Ajax fixes him with a considering stare.
“They would really pull compatible Sentinels from their station for just an assessment?” he asks. It sounds like a waste of resources, and time, if the assessment proves incompatible. There’s a slight lift to Pulcinella’s brows when he meets Ajax’s eyes.
“Why, of course,” he says, as though it were obvious. “In the past year alone, forty percent of our Sentinel discharges from service have been solely due to neurological trauma caused by sustained zones.”
Pulcinella sighs, grabbing his cane. “Unfortunately, our Guides who work communally as emergency assistance can only provide so much help. They can bring our agents out of a zone, sure, but a bond reduces the likelihood of entering a zone to single digits, and a bonded Guide can bring their Sentinel out of a zone much faster.”
Ajax absorbs this, pulling his coat back on and standing to join Pulcinella. He was aware of the neurological impact of zones; that while initially they may seem to only have minor effects, each zone builds upon the damage of the last. His father’s chronic migraines are proof of that.
“So, yes, dear boy. Most Sentinels will jump at the opportunity to match with their own Guide,” Pulcinella finishes.
Ajax nods. “I see,” he says. And he does; objectively he understands. Understanding of the situation does not lessen his distaste, nor his aversion to bonding. Still, he follows Pulcinella obediently out of the room.
Upon exiting Dottore’s private meeting room, the agent at the front counter asks Pulcinella if he’d like for the agent to have Ajax assigned to a Fatui chaperone to show him around the grounds. The Harbinger simply waves them off with a “Nonsense, no need to go through the trouble.”
Admittedly, Ajax is relieved that he has some form of stability in the constant presence of Pulcinella, though he thinks he probably should not be. Likely, the Harbinger has more important tasks to attend to, and Ajax is some pet project that he picked up on a whim, to discard later when he becomes bored or irritated. Even the agent at the desk seems surprised; and further cements the idea to Ajax that it is unusual for a Harbinger to spend so much time with a recruit.
Despite this, the remainder of the day is spent with Pulcinella guiding Ajax around the Inner and Outer Palace, familiarizing him with the various training grounds and class locations. According to Pulcinella, though the primary focus of Ajax’s Fatui training will be combat, defense, and Empathy training, he will also be expected to attend basic courses on arithmetic and literary skills to make sure he does not fall behind his peers due to his age. Her Majesty demands excellence of Her forces, and so he will be expected to remain diligent in his studies as well as his training. Ajax does not mind this; he only hopes he won’t be as easily distracted as he had been back in his village’s schoolhouse.
The training grounds fill Ajax with a sense of excitement; a few groups of agents are running drills in the different fields, and the promise of exercising his muscles again is a silver lining to the rest of his Fatui experience so far. He is mildly disappointed that Pulcinella does not allow him to linger, or to challenge any of the agents to a spar, but he supposes he can wait another day if he must.
In the afternoon, the two of them venture into the city proper for lunch. Though Pulcinella had briefly touched upon the canteen available to Fatui recruits, he had told Ajax that the boy would have enough time to become acquainted with it once training was in full swing, and he’d prefer to show Ajax the culinary delights the Capital had to offer.
The establishment Pulcinella takes him to is as grand as to be expected with the man’s fine tastes. Floor to ceiling windows line the two walls of the main dining room, and delicate chandeliers hang from the ceiling, crystalline jewels dripping from the arms like ice. The glass is thick enough to prevent the clientele from feeling any drifting chill, and two roaring fireplaces near the kitchen supply the room with additional warmth.
In the corner where the glass walls meet, a gentleman in a white suit coaxes a gentle melody from the piano sitting there. A pleasant host shows them to their table, and Ajax is nearly overwhelmed by the extravagance of it all. In his hometown, occasionally his family would join with other nearby neighbors in a potluck, and that was his most lavish dining experience up to that point. With seven children in his family, there are no opportunities for the luxury of restaurant dining.
Over lunch, Ajax decides he can no longer ignore the question niggling his mind. He waits for Pulcinella to pause in his lengthy descriptions of the wine the restaurant has to offer, speaking of tannins and vintage. When the man stops to take a sip from his glass, Ajax presses.
“How come you’re doing all of this for me?”
Perhaps not the most eloquent or polite way of asking, but Ajax just wants to understand.
Pulcinella meets his eyes, and takes the time to savor and swallow his drink before responding. The man places both hands flat on the table and tilts his head in consideration.
“Frankly, I am curious about you,” he says. “Please do not take offense to this, but, a scrappy nobody from a fishing village taking out an entire squadron of my men with relative ease is not a common occurrence.”
Pulcinella glances away and lifts his glass to his lips once more. “Perhaps my interest is misplaced, but for the time being, I would like to follow this investment.”
He takes a sip, and then his gaze meets Ajax’s once more. “Were you a Sentinel, I could officially sponsor you and take you on as a protégé. Unfortunately, no such allowances exist for Guides in training. But, I will be eagerly following your progression.”
Ajax huffs. Another hurdle that a Sentinel designation would eliminate. He isn’t sure how comforting Pulcinella’s interest actually is, as it sounds conditional to some unforeseen potential use, but for the time being he has something of an ally.
Ajax nods once, and says, “Okay.”
He doesn’t make any promises about trying his best to impress the Harbinger by climbing the ranks or putting effort into a bond, but the other man doesn’t seem put off by his lackluster response. Instead, they finish their meal in companionable silence, only broken by Pulcinella’s intermittent praises of the food. Ajax feels warm and sated by the time they leave, heading back out into Snezhnaya’s blistering cold with a shiver.
When they re-enter Zapolyarny Palace, the Harbinger takes Ajax to the Guide quarters. Pulcinella begins to look uncomfortable as they enter, which confuses Ajax. His confusion only increases when, upon approaching the desk in the foyer, Pulcinella is fixed with a judgemental look by the attendant. Ajax can sense the man is a Guide, which he supposes makes sense, but intrigues him as he has only come across one other.
The Harbinger clears his throat. “My companion here registered this morning, and requires boarding. I have accompanied him as an escort while he is learning Zapolyarny Palace.”
The Guide in front of them doesn’t get a chance to respond, as a stern voice rings out in the foyer. Ajax turns to see a tall woman with graying hair and red-rimmed bifocals striding towards them, aura imposing, though he can tell she is also a Guide.
“Lord Harbinger, I believe we have had this discussion already. Your presence makes my Guides uncomfortable.” The clacking of her heels echoes on the marble floor, and she comes to a stop next to Ajax and Pulcinella. She places her hands on her hips and fixes the Harbinger with a harsh stare down the end of her nose.
“Your companion is welcome, but I’m sure you are well aware that all Sentinels are required to remain outside of the building. Including Harbingers,” she tuts.
Pulcinella shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and Ajax’s brows raise. He can’t help but be amused watching the Sentinel’s polished veneer crumble under this woman’s ire.
“Ah, of course, Miss Svetlana. I assure you I meant no disrespect nor harm to your trainees.” He gestures meekly to Ajax. “I was merely assisting–”
“Ah- ah!” she interrupts, moving one hand to wag a finger at him. “Is this boy capable of speech?”
Pulcinella flusters. “Well, yes, bu–”
“Can he move without assistance?”
“Of course! However–”
“Is he sound of mind?”
Pulcinella’s face twists. “Well–”
Instructor Svetlana tsks. “No! I’ve heard enough. He should be just fine speaking to me without a Sentinel chaperone.” She points to the door.
Face turning an impressive shade of red, Pulcinella mutters, “Of course.” He turns to Ajax with a tense grip on his cane, and does an admirable job of pretending he isn’t being kicked out.
“I shall be in my quarters in the Inner Palace should you need me. I will check on you tomorrow, if not.”
Ajax’s thank you comes out a little stilted as a result of his bewilderment. The Harbinger nods, bids Instructor Svetlana a good evening, and then strides to the exit. She harrumphs, watching his departure, and then turns her sharp gaze on Ajax. He jolts, remembering she is to be his supervisor, but then her expression melts into something more approachable, and her aura softens.
“Apologies for the display,” she begins. “I have nothing but respect for our Sentinels, but I will not tolerate them in our Guide-only zone. We strive to make our Guide lodgings as comfortable and stress-free as we can. That being said, may I ask for your name?”
For a moment, he hesitates, unsure if he should give his agent number as Dottore had referred to him by, but he figures she would have asked for that if she wanted it. “It’s Ajax,” he says instead.
The woman smiles at him, eyes lifting to crescents. “Wonderful. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ajax. You may call me Instructor Svetlana. I will be your supervisor during your tenure in the Guide House. Allow me one moment, and I’ll work out your accommodations.”
He nods in response, and the older Guide marches over to where the attendant stands at the desk. They spend a few moments confirming receipt of his registration paperwork, and his room assignment. From what he can gather from their conversation, the Guides that stay in these quarters are typically new recruits who are yet unbonded, or Guides whose bonded Sentinels are stationed within Zapolyarny Palace. Moments later, Instructor Svetlana returns to Ajax and ushers him towards a set of double doors on the left side of the foyer.
“Your room will be over here in the West Wing, where our new recruits board,” she explains as she swipes a key card, giving them access to a long hallway lined with doors. “Your badge should arrive this evening, granting you access to this section. Until then, myself or one of my staff will be able to assist you when needed.”
Ajax attempts to keep up with her long strides as they work their way down the hall, having grown accustomed to Pulcinella’s much more relaxed pace. “How many are there to a room?”
She slows for a moment, looking at him oddly. “Why, just you, of course.”
Ajax blinks in surprise. “Really?”
Instructor Svetlana nods brusquely and picks up the pace once more. “Yes. While Sentinels, Vision-Bearers, and Non-Gifted agents may pile atop one another in their bunks, Guides, of course, require a bit more…care.”
“Of course,” Ajax mutters, dourly. Essentially, as he figured, a gilded cage for their most precious jewels. Nervousness prickles at him, concerned that even in a private room he is still too close to people who may be vulnerable to his night terrors. He hopes he may be incorrect, and doesn’t mention it to the older woman, who is going on about the structure of the Guide House, as he learns the building is called. She explains that the House of the Hearth and the Guide House have a close relationship, as any orphaned Guides brought in by The Knave also receive tutelage and sanctuary there.
Ajax also discovers that the “Instructor” part of Instructor Svetlana’s title is indeed literal, as she works one on one with new Guides in training. When she stops outside of one of the nondescript wooden doors, informing him that it is to be his new quarters, she hands him a metal key looped through one end with twine and tells him that she will see him bright and early the following day for his first Empathy Training course.
“Dinner is served in the Main Hall, which you can access through the back of the foyer. Again, if you need any assistance, please do not hesitate to approach one of the staff,” she says, and then her amiable countenance gains a sterner edge. “Lastly, I enforce one main rule in the Guide House, and that is that we do not use our Empathy on our fellow Guides. This aims to protect our young and vulnerable Guides who are still learning how to shield, or any Guides who simply seek refuge from the constant barrage of mental stimulation outside of these walls. Any violations to this rule will lead to expulsion from these lodgings. Is that understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ajax agrees automatically. He has no intention of projecting on the other Guides, but, again, his dreams haunt the back of his mind. He makes no mention of this to Instructor Svetlana as she pushes her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and nods, then departs back down the hallway.
He watches her go for a moment, and then glances at the key in his hand. He turns to the door behind him, unlocking it with a satisfying click, and then surveys his new room. Though it is sparsely furnished–a simple bed with a wooden frame, a dresser in one corner, and a desk pushed against the far wall which also houses a small window–it is more than Ajax was expecting. He steps inside the room and lets the door close behind him. He rifles through the drawers of the wooden dresser, finding nothing of interest inside them besides a thin layer of dust. The desk is similarly empty, barring the topmost drawer, from which he pulls stationery and an ink well. He pushes his hand farther into the drawer, and is rewarded with a pen which had rolled all the way back. Ajax smiles to himself while examining the pen, thinking of the letters he will be able to write to his family.
Mood lifted somewhat, he peers out of his tiny window, treated to the imposing sight of the section of Zapolyarny Palace wall which runs behind the Guide House. He snorts and leans back on his heels. Peering around the room some more, he notices the second and third doors on the walls perpendicular to the entrance. He’d assumed they would be closets, but it would be odd to have two. Ajax pulls open one of the doors and finds that, yes, at least one is a closet, as empty as the dresser. He tests the second door, and discovers an en suite bathroom equipped with a tub, a toilet, and a sink with a small mirror above it. It’s nothing nearly as fancy as Pulcinella’s guest room, but it still feels somewhat luxurious.
After a thorough inspection of every crack and crevice Ajax’s room has to offer, the light coming in from the outside window has dimmed enough to suggest evening’s approach. He pockets his key, making sure to lock his door behind him, and follows along his mental map back to the foyer. At the front desk, the agent from earlier catches his attention, and beckons him over. The agent provides Ajax with his own agent badge, the numbers 112529 glinting in broad bronze lettering. The agent is still chattering away, explaining how to pin the badge to his lapel as is customary. The other Guide also informs Ajax that they will have fresh uniforms and toiletries delivered to him later that evening, and asks if there is anything else Ajax may require to settle in.
Ajax declines and thanks the man for his assistance, before excusing himself to the dining hall. There are a handful of Guides already spread throughout the room, a smattering of small groups at various tables. Some of them look at him curiously; but thankfully he feels no prodding at his mind, as Instructor Svetlana had promised. He isn’t so relaxed as to release his wards completely, but it is still reassuring to some extent. Ajax meanders to the back of the hall where the kitchen staff are handing out trays of food, and steps in line to collect his own. Tray in hand, he finds an empty table to settle down at.
Though he doesn’t feel particularly social, it is unusual for him to sit down for a meal alone, and something heavy sinks into his gut at the realization. There are no boisterous little siblings to make a mess, nor berating voices of his parents telling them to settle down. No stories or jokes or laughter to be shared around the table. Even with Pulcinella and Skirk, Ajax had some sort of quiet companionship. Here, he feels truly isolated.
Ajax finishes his meal quickly, deposits his dishes in the collection bin, and trudges back to his room. The blank stationery at his desk feels daunting; his hands twitch and heart aches to reach out to his family. He grapples with not knowing what to say, or how it may be received, and that stills him from making the effort. It feels too significant a task for that evening, and so he defers writing a letter to another day. Instead, he pushes the empty wooden dresser so that it sits between his bed and his desk, clearing a decent area on the floor for him to run through some simple exercises. The louder his blood thrums in his ears, the clearer his mind feels, and the tension in his muscles eases into the pleasant ache of strain.
He is wrapping up his stretches when there’s a knock at his door. Bemused, he rises to his feet and cracks open the door, greeted by the sight of a stranger with a bundle of clothes in their hands, a mask resting on top. Ah, right, his uniform. Ajax swings the door open wider. The agent in front of him is a Guide, dressed in the same nondescript gray as the agent from the foyer. A similar black mask rests over the bridge of his nose, obscuring his eyes.
“Your uniform delivery,” the man offers, extending his arms with the clothes.
Ajax takes the proffered bundle. “Thank you…” Ajax glances down, but the badge pinned to the agent’s lapel offers no name, just his identification number, much like Ajax’s own, “...sir.”
The agent nods and doesn’t linger, turning to pursue whatever other tasks he must have. Ajax retreats back inside his door and glances at the clothes in his hands. The fabric is coarse; likely intended to withstand the wild Snezhnayan elements. Unfolding them on his bed and setting the mask aside, there are three sets provided to him. Each set contains a jacket, a shirt, and a pair of trousers. Mentally, Ajax thinks he will need to see how to obtain more undergarments and perhaps a new pair of boots. While he had made do with what he’d had on him in the Abyss, a change of such clothes would be preferable.
Most of the Sentinels he’s seen thus far in the Fatui, barring the Harbingers, bear uniforms predominantly black in color with grey accenting. The exception seems to be if they also carry a Vision, in which case their accents complement their element. The Guides that Ajax has seen, barring Instructor Svetlana, have uniforms in a lighter grey color, with either white accents or colors according to their Vision. Similarly, the clothes spread before him are a medium grey tone, with intersecting lines of white as detailing on the sleeves and pant legs. While the agent who had dropped off his uniforms had a mask of purely black, the mask offered to Ajax is lined with blue along the edges. It is the only trace of color on his uniform, and Ajax assumes it’s to denote his Hydro Vision.
Picking up the mask, Ajax walks into his bathroom, meeting his flat and dull eyes in the mirror. Lifting the mask to his face, Ajax fits it over his eyes. The reflection that meets him appears even more cold than before, and it makes something clench in his stomach. Hurriedly, Ajax rips the mask from his face, and tosses it back on the bed. Sweat clammy on his skin, now, from where it’d been left to cool after his exercise, Ajax decides a bath is in order.
For convenience’s sake, once Ajax has bathed, he uses the still soapy water to wash the clothes he’s been rewearing, and sets them on the edge of the tub to dry while draining the water. By the time he has refolded his new clothes and slid them into his dresser, night has fallen and his room is dark. There are sconces in the two far corners of his room, as well as in his bathroom, but he feels drained enough to simply crawl into bed and hope that a dreamless sleep takes him into the next morning.
Shadows twist and curl in the light of the fire, vague shapes with blurry edges, but sharp and lethal when they lash out.
Adrenaline pumps hot and heavy in his veins, euphoria with every return of wicked slashes at his foes.
One by one they fall, blood and bone at his feet. Far removed from terror, what he feels is pride and a desire for more, ever more. More carnage, more proof of his power, more to satiate his appetite. This form of his hungers .
His jaw splits open, rows of sharp teeth dripping ichor, releasing his cry of victory, hoping to entice stronger foes to find him–
Heart pounding, Ajax’s eyes tear open, ripping him from sleep to wakefulness within moments. There’s a heavy pounding noise that he can hear over the rush of blood in his veins, and his hands fist his sheets while his eyes observe the dark, unfamiliar walls. The static in his mind ebbs minutely as awareness filters in, reminding him that he is in his Fatui Guide quarters in Zapolyarny Palace. The pounding sound picks up again, and Ajax realizes belatedly that someone is knocking aggressively at his door, a muffled voice on the other side.
Swallowing, Ajax pushes himself into a sitting position, letting his dizziness clear a bit before standing. The moonlight still filtering in from his small window tells him that he likely hasn’t missed any appointments as it is still the deep of the night. Still, he takes his Vision from underneath his pillow into his hand, and pulls open his door.
On the other side stands Instructor Svetlana, dressed down in a set of emerald silken pajamas wrapped by a thick white robe. The sash around the waist appears hastily fashioned, and her grey-blonde hair is plaited into a messy braid over her shoulder. Heavy lines trace underneath her eyes from behind her bifocals, and she regards him with a weary look of concern. Glancing behind her, Ajax can see a few Guides shuffling about the lit hallway, a few of the other dorm doors thrown open while they mill about. There’s a thick tension in the air that Ajax can feel even without his Empathy, fed by the tired darting gazes of the other Guides and the nervous hands that wring the fabric of their pajamas or the palms of their companions and cannot seem to settle.
“Ajax,” Instructor Svetlana brings his attention back to her. “Are you quite alright?”
His brow furrows. “Yes. Has something happened?”
The creases under the older Guide’s lids become more pronounced as she narrows her eyes at him. “In a manner of speaking. Ajax, there were some rather strong projections affecting the Guides in this wing, which I was alerted to.” Ajax’s eyes widen in realization as she speaks; he’d been dreaming of the Abyss. He must not have exhausted his mind as much as he thought.
She continues, “I traced the source to your room. Though,” she scrutinizes the guilty look on his face, “I would hazard this projection was not intentional.”
Ajax shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”
She sighs, rubbing at her shoulder with one hand. “It is not uncommon for new surroundings to affect the mind, and therefore dreams.”
Ajax glances around her again at the Guides seeking comfort in one another out on the hallway. Some of them still with round, youthful faces, eyes bright and reminiscent of his siblings. He can feel their anxiety, palpable in the air even with his shields in place, and his guilt sinks heavier.
“Tomorrow, I will have a healer prescribe a sleeping tonic to hopefully help you settle in,” says Instructor Svetlana. She waves over one of her agents who is soothing a handful of the Guides, emitting waves of serenity and calm. In a hushed voice, she directs the agent to start escorting the Guides back to their rooms for the night. Then, she turns back to Ajax.
“Is everyone okay?” he asks, hesitantly.
“Yes, simply unsettled,” she assures. “The Guides in this wing tend to be more vulnerable to projections. That is why we strive to be mindful about not using our Empathy in these walls.”
At Ajax’s frown, she settles a hand on his shoulder, briefly. “That is not an accusation, Ajax. Simply a reminder. Everyone in this wing is still learning, including you.” She flashes a tired smile at him. “You should continue trying to get some sleep, as should I. I will see you in the morning for class. We will have much to discuss, then.”
He nods and bids her a good night. When she walks away, she exchanges a few words with the Guides that are still making their way back to their rooms. The tension has dispersed for the most part, though it still weighs on Ajax’s shoulders as he shuts his door. He slumps back into his bed, and he remains awake for the next several hours, watching the shadows of the night bleed into the first of dawn’s rays of sun.
“I do hope you were able to get some rest last night, as we have much to cover this morning,” Instructor Svetlana says, dropping a small glass vial on the desk in front of Ajax.
Ajax, who had watched the crawl of the sun into the skyline, did not sleep after his night terror had passed. He had dragged himself out of bed that morning by sheer force of will through his exhaustion, dressed himself in one of his fresh uniforms, slid the uncomfortable mask over his face, and had questioned an unfamiliar agent at the foyer desk about where he was expected to be for Empathy Training. He elects not to share this and garner disapproval. Instead, he nods, and examines the small bottle in front of him.
Instructor Svetlana sweeps over to the larger desk in the front of the small lecture hall, and sets down the canvas bag she carries at her side. Currently, Ajax is the only other person in the room, and once the agent he’d spoken with had shown him to the lecture hall, he had taken a seat at the very front.
“That will be your sleeping tincture,” she says, catching him inspecting the bottle. “Five drops before bed should relax you enough to avoid a fitful rest.”
“Thank you,” Ajax says, pocketing the vial. A small kernel of hope ignites in his chest; if he is able to sleep soundly without disturbing others, he will have to find out how to obtain more to bring home with him when he’s allowed to visit.
She nods, and then turns to the board behind her. Grabbing a piece of chalk, she scribbles for a few moments before stepping back and to the side. On the board, in sweeping strokes, it says Instructor Svetlana, Empathy Training Fundamentals.
“You are familiar with who I am, of course. I make an effort to host a one on one Fundamentals course with every Guide that comes into our care. Many Guides are not sure what to expect when consigned into the Fatui, and many do not have a firm grasp of how to control their Empathy. It is my hope that during our time today, we can help answer any questions you may have about your future role in the Fatui, and determine where it is most appropriate to fit you into our general Empathy Training courses.” She pauses, waiting for Ajax to acknowledge this. Quickly, he nods.
“Excellent.” She leans over her desk to rifle through her bag, pulling out a bound notebook, an inkwell, and a pen. She sets them in front of Ajax. “We will work on getting you the full provisions you need. Unfortunately, with the short notice we are often given for new Guides, it can take a few days to procure everything necessary. If there is anything else you think of that is not delivered to your quarters by this evening, please do let one of the agents know.”
Thinking back to his undergarments and boots, Ajax nods, glad for the answer to that question.
“Now, as I said, there is much to cover. First, I would like to ascertain what your current level of understanding is on the existence of Guides and Sentinels in Teyvat.” Instructor Svetlana leans back against her desk, fixing her full attention on Ajax.
His eyes trace to the side as he thinks of how to phrase what he knows, lips pursing. “Sentinels are natural soldiers and adventurers,” he starts, reiterating what he’d learned from his teachers and his father. “They are gifted with heightened senses and physical ability. If they extend their senses too far or for too long, or become overwhelmed, they zone.” He pauses, meeting his instructor’s eyes, and she nods for him to continue.
“That is when they need a Guide. Guides are gifted with enhanced Empathy and can act as a mental anchor for Sentinels. Guides are able to project feelings and sensations with the mind. They guide Sentinels back from a zone and keep them from overextending themselves.” Ajax keeps his personal biases out of his recollection; he decidedly does not mention that Guides are likely better suited to the battlefield as they don’t depend on Sentinels to keep them sane.
Instructor Svetlana hums and taps a finger on her desk. “A rather rudimentary understanding of the functions of Guides and Sentinels, but we must start somewhere,” she says. Ajax tries not to bristle.
He must not hide it well, because she waves a hand at him. “You are not incorrect. Sentinels are blessed with enhanced senses of sight, smell, hearing, and also cellular regeneration, which gives them a physical advantage over non-Sentinels. However, this also leaves them vulnerable to overloading on environmental stimuli without an anchor point. A Sentinel who falls victim to their heightened senses in this way enters an unresponsive catatonic state called a zone. More rarely, a zone can cause a Sentinel to regress to a more primal state, as a manner of the mind attempting to protect the body. This aggressive primal state is called a Berserk.”
Ajax makes an inquisitive sound. While zones are common knowledge, he hasn’t heard of a Berserk state before.
The instructor seems to pick up on his curiosity, as she elaborates. “When a Sentinel falls deeply enough into a zone to trigger a Berserker state, while they appear to be in possession of their senses, they remain unresponsive to outside influence. They will enter a rage that can only be calmed by a Guide or, if no Guide is present, they will exert themselves so violently their body begins to shut down on them entirely.”
“They can die?” Ajax clarifies, shocked.
She nods. “Yes. If the Berserk is not treated promptly by a Guide, the Sentinel will attempt to destroy anything within their vicinity until their own demise. Luckily, Berserker states are much more uncommon than zones, though much more dangerous. Some Sentinels are more vulnerable to either zone state than others, depending on mental fortitude. Some Sentinels are able to remain unbonded for years without issue; others regularly become overstimulated and zone without a Guide to assist them.”
She moves around the desk again to the board to write out her main points for Ajax to reference.
“Which brings us to the number one culprit of discharges for Sentinels within the Fatui: neurological trauma.”
With this, Ajax is familiar.
“Damage from each zone builds upon the last, until the effects leave them unfit for duty. If they are lucky, they simply have their senses dulled to the point they could simply be regarded as Non-Gifted. Unlucky ones are prone to migraines, complete vision loss, or onset of further degenerative disorders. Typically, we discharge before it gets to this level, so that there is a less likely chance of these issues progressing, since out of service, they are less likely to zone.”
As she writes on the board, Ajax feels a familiar twisting in his chest thinking about his father. He hasn’t seen the man fall into a zone, but he knows his years of adventures have taken their toll on the unbonded Sentinel.
“Guides are a solution to this to some extent, yes. A bond with a Guide reduces zone likelihood to less than ten percent on the field, and nearly zero percent out of the line of duty. In non-bonded Guiding scenarios, where a medic or someone similarly broadly compatible attempts to help a zoned Sentinel, the damage of the zone may be reduced if they act quickly, but not to the extent that a bond would have helped them. Bonded Guides are able to pull their Sentinels out of zones within seconds, much more efficiently than an unbonded Guide.
“In an ideal Teyvat, every Sentinel in our forces would be able to pair with a Guide. However, the reality is that Sentinels far outnumber Guides.”
“And that’s why Guides are conscripted,” Ajax interjects bitterly, surprising himself.
Instructor Svetlana turns over her shoulder to regard him. “Yes,” she says. “Due to the shortage of Guides in Snezhnaya, it has become a compulsory duty of national honor for anyone with a Guide designation to enlist. However, this does not mean all Guides will be bonded with a Sentinel,” she says, and turns back to the board to keep outlining her points.
“As I mentioned before, depending on a Guide’s compatibility, they may be eligible to work in medical or instructional fields. Guides who are broadly compatible are essential to emergency response teams, either on the field or simply stationed throughout Snezhnaya. Wherever a Sentinel may fall into a zone or a large public catastrophe may arise, having a Guide available to be dispatched to that area is crucial.”
This catches Ajax’s attention. If he were broadly compatible – would that make him eligible to be stationed somewhere near Morepesok as an emergency responder? It may not be quite as exciting as being in combat, but could he make that work? He jots down ‘broadly compatible – medical field? Morepesok?’ in his notebook.
He tunes back in to the instructor’s lecture. “Guides, as you said, are blessed with enhanced mental capacity. Their Empathy, as it’s called, is able to be telepathically transmitted to those around them. They are able to cast feelings, thoughts, and sometimes even sensations through this mental link. It is important to note, however, that Guides are not incapable of being overwhelmed either. Without a strong mental foundation consisting of shielding and filtering, a Guide can become inundated by external emotional feedback and shut down.”
Ajax tilts his head. “Filtering?”
Instructor Svetlana places down the chalk for a moment and turns to Ajax. “Yes, filtering. The process through which a Guide can ‘filter’ emotional feedback from others and tune out that which is excess, allowing them to focus on one person or one sensation.”
At Ajax’s intrigued expression, she looks surprised. “Interesting. I can tell that you are well versed in shielding, so I had assumed you would be familiar with this concept as well. It is an imperative skill to have, so that will be part of your curriculum.”
He agrees immediately, making another note in his book.
“Filtering is especially important when in crowded environments, or when assessing a potential target. Learning to tune out excess feedback allows Guides to lower their shields without becoming a vulnerable target. Of course, filtering will not prevent attempted infiltrations of your own mind, so it is important to also be aware of how to sense such probing and raise wards in response. For Guides in emergency response teams, emphasis is placed on shields over filters. Often, in high stress public safety situations where emergency response teams are called, Guides are needed to help assist in calming the panic of the general population.”
Instructor Svetlana moves to the side, away from where her notes on Sentinels and Guides are written, and makes a new underlined category on the board: Bonding. Ajax grimaces, though she cannot see and remains undeterred.
“Eventually, you will be summoned to your first Compatibility Assessment,” she says as she writes. “In this Assessment, typically two or three Sentinels are present with one Guide. Through various genetic markers and the analysis of mental signatures, our team is able to match likely candidates with one another. The Guide will be instructed to attempt to connect telepathically with the Sentinels, while the Sentinels lower their shields and reach out in return with their senses.” She turns to Ajax and raises three fingers on her left hand.
“There are three outcomes of this Assessment. One; the Guide is able to connect at a medium level with all Sentinels present. This would indicate a potentially broadly compatible Guide, and would need to be further tested before moving this Guide into communal Guide training. Two; the Guide is unable to form more than a shallow connection with any of the Sentinels present. This indicates a lack of compatibility, and the Sentinels will be dismissed, and another Compatibility Assessment would be scheduled with different candidates.
“Three; the Guide and a Sentinel establish a strong mental connection. This indicates a high likelihood of a successful bond. The other Sentinels would be dismissed, and the matched pair would continue through the stages of bonding. Do you know what those stages are, Ajax?”
“Er, no.” Ajax says, not particularly interested. He wishes she would go back to important things such as filtering and how he can practice that.
Instead, she continues on her trajectory, turning to make more notes on the board.
“The second stage of finding if a pair is bond compatible is the scenting stage. After a successful mental bridge is formed, the Sentinel will scent the Guide. As Sentinels are more sensitive to smell, this is an important stage for them, and solidifies their intent to bond with a particular Guide, additionally signaling to any other Sentinels that this Guide is being courted. If the Sentinel is receptive to the Guide’s pheromones, the scenting stage is considered a success.”
Ajax’s frown deepens into a scowl. Invasive, and frankly barbaric sounding. This additional knowledge does nothing to lift his reluctance to bond.
“After the scenting stage, there is an extended period of courting where gifts are exchanged. Typically, the Sentinel will offer gifts to the intended Guide, or invite them to dinners or outings together, to further gauge their compatibility with one another.”
Looking back to his notebook, Ajax idly flips a page, tuning out the instructor. With any luck, he will never have to worry about bonding. Truthfully, it sounds reminiscent of his elder sister’s romantic attempts with the boy from the next town over, and he remembers how catastrophically that had ended. Thinking of his siblings, Ajax starts to jot down some ideas for when he writes his letter home. A much more rewarding use of his time, he thinks.
“And lastly,” Instructor Svetlana’s emphasis on the word jolts Ajax’s attention back to her, “there is the consummation of the bond.” Ajax’s vision swims with all the new information written on the board while he had stopped listening. He hears her mention something about a “bonding bite ” and “passionate union ” and decides he really would prefer not to ask for clarity.
Thankfully, she moves on from the subject of bonding as quickly as she had moved through everything else. Her next part of the lecture seems to involve listing Sentinels and Guides of note in history, and Ajax is graced with another opportunity to tune out her words and doodle more ideas for his letter home.
He does regain interest when she brings up the Seven Archons.
“As we know, the Archons are split between Sentinels and Guides. Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, of course, is a Sentinel, as are the Pyro, Electro, and Geo archons. The Anemo, Hydro, and Dendro archons are all Guides.”
Ajax interjects curiously, “Do Sentinel archons need Guides?”
While objectively he has known growing up that their Tsaritsa is a Sentinel, he has never particularly thought about the implications of the archons having designations.
Instructor Svetlana smiles and nods. “Excellent question. While there are no known definitive answers, it is widely believed that an archon’s gnosis functions as an artificial Guide, rendering external help unnecessary and eliminating a potential vulnerability. For the archons who are Guides, it is said that the Gnosis artificially provides them the heightened senses of a Sentinel as well.” Ajax breathes out a noise of awe. “However, this is all speculation, as research of the gnoses is largely forbidden,” finishes the instructor.
Ajax nods in acknowledgement, though he believes it. How else would a Sentinel exist for centuries without falling victim to zones or Berserks? Even the most long-lived of their Harbingers had Guide companions.
Inspector Svetlana glances at the clock on the far back wall of the lecture hall, and clears her throat. “It appears we have gone slightly past our intended time together this morning,” she says. “You are dismissed for lunch. Your next Empathy Training course will be in two days’ time, with the other recruits. We can evaluate your practical skills then. This afternoon, you will have your introduction to combat training. Other than that, your time is yours as you please; simply be mindful of restricted areas.”
Gathering his things from the desk, Ajax nods with a “Thanks!” and a smile, and swiftly exits the lecture hall. His body buzzes with anticipation for combat training; finally an outlet for his restless energy! Ajax winds his way through the halls to get to his room to drop off his belongings before heading to the dining hall. He remembers to stop by the desk in the foyer to request new shoes and underclothes, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. The agent he speaks with has no reaction to his request besides acquiescing easily and asking for his size, and so he brushes off his embarrassment. Lunch flies by quickly, as he discovers he can grab his tray and take it back to his room, so long as he brings the dirty dishes back afterwards. He spends his lunch drafting his letter to his family, struggling to ensure his food doesn’t stain the paper.
By the end of the hour, Ajax sits back in his chair, belly sated and satisfied with his draft. The script is meandering across the pages, scratched out or blotted by ink in places where his hand pressed too excitedly to the paper. Notes are scrawled in the margins to suggest places he may want to add illustrations in his final draft, knowing how his sister delights in his scribbles. He sets the draft aside and takes his tray back to the dining hall. Paying more attention now than he had earlier, he notices the side glances he garners from the other Guides when he passes. There are whispers he cares not to listen to, but his skin prickles all the same. Instructor Svetlana had not mentioned whether the rest of the wing was made aware of the cause of the previous night’s incident, but he wouldn’t be surprised if some deduced it on their own. No matter; with any luck the tonic she procured for him will make the dreams a non-issue.
Ignoring the stares, he deposits his dirty dishes and makes his way back to the front desk to inquire about that afternoon’s training class. The agent stationed there asks him to wait a moment, and shuffles around behind the desk before grabbing a folder and handing it to him. Confused, Ajax takes the folder and opens it, peering at the papers inside.
“Your training schedule and a map of Zapolyarny Palace,” the agent explains. “It was finalized this morning. Instructor Svetlana apologizes for the delay. Your combat course and its location will be listed there.”
Ajax removes the schedule; a neat thing in organized rows and columns beneath headings of the weekdays. Thrice weekly he has two hours of Empathy Training in the morning, though the instructor listed is not familiar. He assumes they must be group sessions, as Instructor Svetlana had mentioned she had the one on one courses for initiation. His combat training is to be five days a week, two chunks of three hour sessions with an hour’s break in between. On the two days opposite to his Empathy Training courses, he is scheduled for two hours of tutoring sessions, presumably for arithmetic and linguistic studies. The weekend constitutes his rest days in between his full schedule.
Pulling out the map, Ajax peruses the names of the areas he vaguely recalls from Pulcinella’s brief tour. He scans the map and locates the training grounds, and it isn’t too difficult to match up the number on the map with the indicated number on his schedule. Ajax thanks the agent for their assistance, and sets out to find the indicated training field. Though he makes a couple wrong turns and receives a few odd looks from various agents stationed within the Palace walls, he makes it to his destination. He assumes he has made good time, as there are only a few Guides in a small circle in the training field, with a few more striding in behind him. They appear to be familiar with one another, greeting their companions and chattering amiably while waiting for the instructor to appear. Ajax notices that a handful of them have Visions at their hips, but not all.
Much like the stone pathways that branch off within the Palace walls, the training field is devoid of snow. Meticulously cleared, it appears, as small hills of packed snow line the edges, leaving exposed the partially frozen earth. The field itself is backed on the northern side by one of the large Palace walls, against which there are target boards propped. Along the eastern side of the field there is a line of practice dummies, looking rather rough and weather torn. On the south side of the field there is a short building, and from the description on the map, Ajax gathers that during inclement weather some classes are held inside. From the western side of the field, which opened to the rest of the outer Palace, a tall Sentinel with a decorated uniform comes striding into the field.
“Good afternoon, my Guidelings!” the man bellows jovially, waving one of his stocky arms.
The Guides in the center of the field quiet down, and turn their attention to him, offering murmured greetings in return. Their discomfort is palpable, but the Sentinel seems to either not notice, or care, as he comes to a stop in front of the gathered class. Ajax himself moves closer to the center, though no one is paying him any mind, focused instead on the man posturing before them. There is no Vision that Ajax can see on his person, but he seems to have no issue flaunting his Sentinel status. Ajax frowns, glancing once more at the schedule and the name listed under the Modern Fatui Combatives, Guides, Foundations I. Was this fool supposed to be Drill Sergeant Antonov?
“I hope you all enjoyed a pleasant lunch break,” he is saying. “I certainly did, as I spent my valuable time discussing the training regimen with our renowned Il Capitano.”
There’s a titter of intrigue in the crowd of Guides at the mention of the Harbinger, but Ajax can’t help but grimace incredulously. What business would a Harbinger have with a drill sergeant? He can’t quite place his finger on it, but something about the Sentinel feels…off. As though his words don’t align with his aura.
“Of course, it is a shame most of you may never cross paths with the great Captain, but it is my honor to pass along his guidance to you Guides,” he jokes, guffawing loudly at his own pun. Ajax rolls his eyes as a few of the other Guides offer plastic laughter in response.
In the next moment, alarmingly, the sergeant’s blue eyes fix on Ajax.
“Ah, yes, we have a new Guideling joining us this afternoon,” he exclaims, thrusting an open palm towards Ajax, who tries not to cringe, both at the diminutive name and sudden attention. The circle of Guides shift to look at him, though they seem mostly disinterested rather than wary.
“What’s your name, boy?” the Sentinel asks.
“It’s Ajax,” he replies, forcing his hands to remain unclenched where they hold his folder.
The Sentinel tuts. “Ah, once more?” he asks, with a smile.
Ajax’s brow furrows. He’d definitely heard him. “It’s Ajax,” he tries again.
Sergeant Antonov chuckles and shakes his head, and Ajax catches the exasperated looks of some of the other Guides. “Ah, ah. It’s Ajax, what?”
Clarity. Ajax tries to stop his own exasperation from coloring his tone. “It’s Ajax, sir.”
“Wonderful! I understand it’s your first day here, so I’ll be lenient, but better to get into the habit now,” the man says, chest puffed.
“Yes, sir,” Ajax says tonelessly.
“Atta boy,” the Sentinel says, and Ajax can’t stop the revolted shudder down his spine. Thankfully the man’s attention deviates from him quickly and he regards the rest of the Guides.
“This morning we covered some defensive tactics for when you Guidelings enter combat with your Sentinels,” he starts. “Now, while most of the time your focus will be on assisting your Sentinel, if you encounter a dangerous situation where they are unable to protect you, we want you to be able to defend yourself until help arrives.”
Ajax’s excitement for the combat course begins to dwindle as the man speaks.
“This afternoon we will be putting our defensive strategies into practice. We’ll have each of you demonstrate escaping a grappling hold. Can you remind me of our goal?”
The Guides chorus back, “Escape to safety.”
Ajax grits his teeth. Escape to safety? What about incapacitating their aggressor? That would make them safer than simply running. They’re supposed to be soldiers, for Tsaritsa’s sake!
“Yes, yes, my Guidelings,” the Sentinel praises. “I’d like for all of you to stretch for the next five minutes, and then I will choose one of you to begin. And remember,” he adds sternly, “there will be no assistance with Visions.”
The group of Guides disperses to the wall of the building behind them to begin their stretching, and Ajax takes the chance to approach the sergeant. The man looks at him expectantly when he strides up next to him.
“Drill Sergeant, sir,” Ajax begins clumsily, “I believe I may be in the wrong course.”
The man raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh? This is Modern Fatui Combatives I for Guides, is that not what you are enrolled in?”
“Well, yes, but–”
The Sentinel chuckles and places a heavy hand on Ajax’s shoulder. “I know, fighting is not in a Guide’s nature, but this is a required course. Don’t worry, it won’t be too rough.”
Ajax bristles, and shrugs off the hand. “I’m not afraid of combat,” he tacks on quickly, “sir. I just think I have…previous experience that may make a higher level more suitable.”
Sergeant Antonov scowls at him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You think they made a mistake, huh?”
Ajax nods, “Yes, sir, not intentionally, but–”
The man huffs. “Listen here, boy. You’re in this class until I decide you’ve met the requirements. Would you question my judgement?”
“No, sir, but–”
“Excellent. Then go wait in the center of the yard,” the man gestures. “You can be our first volunteer and show us these skills of yours. And, in case you didn’t catch it earlier, you won’t be allowed to fall back on that decoration you wear,” he sneers, pointing at the Vision clipped to Ajax’s uniform belt.
“Yes, sir,” Ajax bites out, tossing his folder to the side of the field, and then stomps to the center. Preposterous, suggesting he would even need to use his Vision here. The other Guides fix their curious gazes on him, and Sergeant Antonov claps his hands together to get their attention.
“Alright! As you can see, our new recruit has bravely volunteered to be our first demonstration.” The Sentinel points at one of the Guides in the group. “Ivan, we’ll have you partner with him.”
The Guide nods and walks out to Ajax in the field, offering him a small smile. Ivan is a lanky boy, probably a couple of years older than Ajax, with cropped blond hair barely peeking out from beneath his fur hat. Ajax nods back at him.
“Ivan, go ahead and get Ajax in a grappling hold. Any we discussed from this morning will do. Ajax, your job will be to escape Ivan’s hold and retreat to safety.” Sergeant Antonov crosses his arms over his chest, seemingly self satisfied in his match up.
Ajax ignores him, eyeing Ivan instead and resolving to be as gentle as possible when breaking out of his hold. It isn’t the other Guide’s fault, after all, and they clearly are not trained well.
“Sorry about this,” Ivan whispers, moving around to stand behind Ajax.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ajax replies, allowing Ivan to maneuver him into an armlock. Ivan steps his left leg in front of Ajax’s right, and pushes down on Ajax’s right shoulder with his left elbow, forcing Ajax into a bend at the waist. He tugs Ajax’s right arm back with his free hand, locking him in place. Ivan’s movements are confident, but not rough, making the hold uncomfortable but not painful. While Ajax appreciates the consideration, it wouldn’t help Ivan in a practical situation.
“Alright, Ajax, escape,” comes the smug voice of the drill sergeant.
Closing his eyes Ajax lets muscle memory take over from his training with Skirk. He has to alter his goal, slightly, as he does not wish to incapacitate Ivan, but simply remove himself from his hold. In a quick sweeping motion, Ajax shifts his weight to his locked right leg, and uses his left ankle to hook around Ivan’s front leg and yank. Since that leg is supporting most of Ivan’s weight, the startled boy falls forward, releasing his grip on Ajax’s arm. Ajax aids his fall by pushing the other fully to the ground by the back of the neck. Once the other hits the ground with an oomph, Ajax lets go, and straightens to his full height.
He meets Sergeant Antonov’s irritated stare with his dull gaze, and the other man huffs.
“Well done, Ivan, fall back,” the man barks. “Alexei, you’re up next.”
Ajax turns to Ivan to offer him a hand off the ground. “Sorry about that,” he says. Ivan accepts his hand and simply smiles at him.
“No need, that was pretty impressive,” he says, and walks off to trade places with Alexei.
Alexei joins Ajax with no words or smiles offered. He’s a stockier build than Ivan, but clearly still novice, and when he wrangles Ajax into an armbar it is nearly effortless for Ajax to slam him into the ground and free himself. Alexei brushes himself off without help, and the drill sergeant calls for the next Guide to take his place. She surprises Ajax with a headlock, but Ajax is agile enough to maneuver into a flip which throws her off balance, and again, into the ground.
Again and again, Sergeant Antonov calls upon the Guides to put Ajax in a hold. As the number of failed attempts increase, so does their collective anxiety and trepidation. By the time the last of the Guides steps up to face Ajax, the boy is trembling. Ajax feels guilty when the other Guide’s sloppy bear hug ends up with him face down in the dirt, but he does attempt to be gentle about it. The last Guide picks himself off the ground on wobbly legs and scurries away from Ajax, back to the other Guides who all eye him with some measure of wariness.
Sergeant Antonov’s face is more red than Ajax’s hair when Ajax turns to look at him. The man is tapping one foot on the ground, and then exhales heavily. He stomps over to Ajax on the field. Ajax refuses to be cowed by the other’s aggressive and irritated demeanor; conversely, his blood starts to sing in his veins. Breaking out of the flimsy holds of the other Guides had not even made him break a sweat, but if this Sentinel wants to defend his honor with a scrap? Ajax would be more than pleased to indulge.
“Yes, sir?” Ajax questions, not hiding his wide smile.
Sergeant Antonov levels him with a stony look, and then addresses the group of Guides.
“I want all of you to watch my technique, here. We did not practice much on hold implementation as much as escape, so do not worry, my Guidelings. I will show you how it’s done,” he booms.
The Guides exchange nervous looks, but Ajax feels nothing but elation. The man shifts into an athletic stance, and the moment his arms reach for Ajax, Ajax moves without any of the mercy or consideration shown to the recruits. It’s shameful, Ajax thinks, that not once has he felt the need to tap into either of his gifts. When he twists out of the way of Sergeant Antonov’s extended hands, Ajax shifts lightly on his feet and leaps into an aerial spin. The momentum allows him to slam one heel between the sergeant’s shoulder blades, knocking him off balance. The man grunts, but doesn’t fall over, twisting in his bent position to attempt to grab Ajax’s calves. Anticipating this, Ajax angles himself midair to fall to the opposite side of the sergeant. He wraps his legs around the Sentinel’s midsection as he falls, using his weight and a thrust of his hips to yank the other man into a headfirst dive.
Ajax rolls out of the way of his falling body. The sergeant, predictably, extends his arms to try and break his fall. Faster than he can move, however, Ajax launches from his crouch on the ground, landing with his knees on the other man’s back, yanking his arms by the wrists back behind his body. Sergeant Antonov growls, turning his face to the side to avoid having it shoved into the dirt. He pulls at Ajax’s grip, but Ajax is delighted to find it’s barely an effort to hold the muscular arms in place. Ajax extends one knee backwards to prevent the other from being able to use his legs to buck him off.
Humiliated, and even redder in the face, the Sentinel shakes with rage where he is pinned beneath Ajax.
“Off, now,” he spits.
“Yes, sir,” Ajax lilts, audibly pleased with himself. Obediently, he jumps off of the other’s back, not bothering to offer a hand to help the other stand. Even from this distance, Ajax can hear the awed whispers of the other Guides. And he knows, if he can hear it, the Sentinel definitely can. When the sergeant lifts himself from the ground and attempts to piece together a collected expression, he faces Ajax. As soon as the man’s eyes meet Ajax’s, his teeth are bared, a vein throbbing visibly in his forehead.
Sergeant Antonov opens his mouth. “You –”
“Ajax, my boy!” calls a familiar voice from the western side of the field.
Startled, Ajax whips his head to the side, puzzled to see Pulcinella striding towards them. The short man is accompanied by an agent Ajax hasn’t seen before, but his usual cane is gripped in his hand, muffled by the partially thawed ground beneath it.
“L-Lord Harbinger!” Sergeant Antonov salutes, straightening out of the intimidating posture he’d angled at Ajax.
Pulcinella’s gaze flicks to the Sentinel and he hums, then regards Ajax once more.
“I thought I saw that familiar red hair while I was heading back to the Inner Palace,” the Harbinger says, eyes creasing upwards to suggest a smile beneath the mustache.
Ajax raises a brow, but says nothing; something tells him that Pulcinella has orchestrated this meeting, likely knowing his schedule.
“How fortunate,” the man continues, “as I was able to see your skills in action once more.” He strokes his chin thoughtfully, and then turns to Sergeant Antonov. “It seems as though, perhaps, it may be appropriate to have him moved to a more advanced course, would it not?”
The sergeant splutters momentarily, but collects himself. “Yes, of course, Lord Harbinger.”
“Excellent,” says Pulcinella. “I will allow you to get that sorted, then, Sergeant. And I trust you do not mind if I borrow Ajax here for the remainder of the afternoon?”
When the Sentinel replies, “Of course, Lord Harbinger,” it is clear he is doing so through gritted teeth. Pulcinella pays him no mind, instead gesturing for Ajax to follow as he turns back to the agent waiting for them by the entrance. Ajax wastes no time in grabbing his folder from the ground and following, vaguely hearing the sergeant behind them clear his throat and address the group of Guides once more to run through other drills. Once they reach the edge of the training grounds, Pulcinella dismisses the agent with a few words, and leads Ajax to the path towards the Inner Palace.
“Thank you, sir,” Ajax says cheerfully after the agent has departed.
Pulcinella glances up at him from the corner of his eye while they walk. “Whatever for?”
“Er,” Ajax hesitates, “for getting me moved up to a higher level class?”
The older man fixes his gaze forward again. “Nonsense, I had nothing to do with that. I simply gave an unbiased observation of your skills. Your Drill Sergeant is the one advancing your course.”
Ajax’s lips slant downwards, but he doesn’t question the odd brush-off. “Of course, sir.”
They reach the marbled steps of the Castle’s entrance, and the familiar tapping of Pulcinella’s cane picks up once more. “I have to admit,” Pulcinella says, “I did not find you by happenstance.”
It’s not surprising information to Ajax, but he prompts the other man to continue. “Oh?”
The older man fixes him with an unimpressed look, “I know you are aware of this.” Ajax shrugs noncommittally in response. “In truth, I sought you out because you’ve been summoned for a Compatibility Assessment.”
Ajax stops in his tracks, ice coating his veins. “What?”
Once Pulcinella realizes Ajax is no longer following him, he turns on his heel. “A Compatibility Assessment. Dottore’s assistant notified me that they’ve found potential matches within Zapolyarny Palace.”
His tone is matter of fact, not giving away anything he may feel on the matter. Ajax’s stomach clenches; he’d expected, hoped, for more time before this would happen. Maybe enough time to figure a way out of it.
Eventually, Pulcinella’s patience wanes. “Come along, my boy. No point in dallying.”
Reluctantly, Ajax resumes his pace next to Pulcinella, when something occurs to him. “How come they told you, sir? I thought I would be notified by Instructor Svetlana, or someone in the Guide House.”
“Ah.” Pulcinella turns his face away, as though appreciating the architecture of the long hallways they pass through. “Yes, well, Dottore recalled that I was an…interested party. I’m sure Miss Svetlana has been made aware as well; however, since I happened to come across you first, it would be my duty to inform and escort you.”
Amused, Ajax’s smile reappears. “I see.”
The two approach the familiar door to the Ministry of Defence, Sentinel-Guide division, and Pulcinella leads them inside. The agent manning the front seems to be expecting them, as they greet the two of them politely, and ask for them to follow. They are led to a set of doors opposite the ones leading to the meeting room from Ajax’s first visit. Beyond the double doors there is a singular large room. Four grey-blue walls rise to meet a white ceiling where the tiles are interspersed with warm lighting. Surprisingly, beneath their feet lies a dark grey carpet, a jarring change from the marbled tiles of the rest of the office.
On the opposite wall from the door they entered, a tinted pane of glass glints under the lights, another door sitting parallel in the wall. In the center of the room, there are two sofas facing one another, and a low table sitting in between with a flower vase resting atop it, Cecilias blooming within. There are a few large frames with watercolor landscapes decorating the walls, but beyond that, the room is empty.
“Please, take a seat. This room is where you will meet your potential matches.” The agent indicates one of the sofas for Ajax to sit in, and he looks to Pulcinella, who nods, before he takes a seat.
“There are three Sentinels who have been indicated as compatible matches. They will each be brought in by Doctor Velika. She is Lord Dottore’s assistant, and oversees a great number of Compatibility Assessments. If you have any questions, she will be happy to answer them for you.” The agent expectantly looks at Ajax, who nods in acknowledgement. “Once you are introduced to a Sentinel, Doctor Velika as well as two of her staff will observe discreetly from the observation deck.” The agent indicates the tinted window.
“The goal is to allow you some privacy, while ensuring your safety. Rest assured, they will not interject unless absolutely necessary, or once the compatibility test has concluded,” the agent finishes.
Ajax isn’t particularly worried about his safety, but the situation still makes his hair stand on end, feeling like an experiment under a microscope. He looks at Pulcinella, who has remained silently by his side during the agent’s explanation. “Will you be in there, too?” he asks.
Pulcinella opens his mouth, but the agent chimes in apologetically before he can speak. “Ah, sorry, but that won’t be possible. Lord Pulcinella will be able to wait for you in the lobby if he so desires, but no additional personnel can be present during the test.”
“It is as they said,” Pulcinella agrees. “I have no urgent matters to attend to, so I will happily take a rest in the lobby until the testing is complete.”
“Okay,” Ajax says, expecting it but slightly dejected nonetheless.
“I’ll step out to alert Doctor Velika that you are ready, then,” the agent says. When Ajax nods, they exit the room, followed by Pulcinella, who waves a quick goodbye to him. Alone in the stark room, Ajax focuses on centering himself, breathing in and out at a measured pace. If one of the Sentinels brought in today is a match, what does that mean for his training? For contact with his family? For his ambitions? Ajax feels his pulse quicken, and forces his thoughts to calm. Like the element he is blessed by, he will remain tranquil and fluid. He will not let circumstances change him, but he will adapt.
All too soon, the door opens again. A woman in a long white lab coat strides into the room, flanked by two harried agents who appear engrossed in the tablets they both hold. The woman, presumably Doctor Velika, appears to lack a designation, though an Electro Vision is clipped to the pocket of her coat.
She extends a hand out to Ajax. “Good afternoon, agent 112529. I am Doctor Velika and I will be monitoring your Assessment today.” Ah, back to his agent number. He supposes it makes sense if she is Dottore’s assistant.
Swallowing his grimace, Ajax takes her hand in his gloved one for a brief shake.
“My own assistants here,” she gestures to the occupied agents behind her, “will be cataloguing everything for our records. Our goal is to ensure your safety, and if at any time you feel your well-being is threatened, simply raise your hand in a fist,” she demonstrates with her hand, “and we will halt the proceedings immediately.”
“Do these Assessments often end that way?” Ajax can’t help but ask.
Doctor Velika seems unbothered by the question. “No. In my seven years in this department we have only had two such incidents. Since then we have altered our program with the subsequent data obtained from those encounters, and diminished the likelihood of them reoccurring. Such incidents are indicative of a poor match, and we strive to make our Compatibility Assessments as efficient as modern science allows. Still, the safeguard is in place to help you feel at ease.”
Ajax reels at the influx of information, but gathers that she believes such an outcome is unlikely, at least. “Alright,” he says.
She nods, and indicates to her assistants to go into the room beyond the door, where they disappear quietly, still tapping away at their tablets.
“Before I introduce the first Sentinel, do you have any questions?”
He thinks for a moment. “If I’m compatible with the first Sentinel, would that end the Assessment?”
“No,” she shakes her head, “we will still assess your compatibility with the other two. Depending on the level of compatibility involved, we would determine if broader testing would be appropriate. At the end, only if there is an exceptional level of compatibility with one Sentinel would we declare a successful match.”
“I see,” Ajax replies, restlessly tapping his foot on the ground. “I guess that’s it, then.”
“Alright. I will see in the first Sentinel, then.”
He watches her walk to the entrance and hold open the door, motioning for an unseen person to join them. A boy appears behind her, following her into the room. The Sentinel is clearly nervous, though excited, and he smiles at Ajax while taking a seat across from him. Ajax can’t bring himself to return the smile, though he does nod in acknowledgement, and that seems to be enough for the Sentinel. The other boy looks to be around Ajax’s age, which truthfully surprises him. He’d assumed, based on the accusations thrown around by the irritated Sentinels near Morepesok, that the higher ranked Sentinels would be considered for matches first.
The boy across from him is presumably a recruit, like Ajax, as he appears athletic but not quite in the muscularly toned shape the older Sentinels are. He has wavy black hair that falls over a dark but friendly set of brown eyes, still rounded and bright with youth, and regarding Ajax with equal curiosity. Ajax thinks, despite himself, that if he were paired with this boy it may not be such a death sentence.
Doctor Velika’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Guide Ajax, this is Sentinel Floryan.”
Ah, so she does know his name.
“Nice to meet you, Ajax,” says Floryan, extending a hand towards Ajax.
Ajax blinks, and belatedly takes the hand in greeting. “You, too,” he says, hoping it appears as though he means it. When he retracts his hand, he notices the gold of the boy’s glowing Vision at his hip. Geo visions aren’t particularly common in Snezhnaya, and Ajax finds himself intrigued.
“Excellent,” interjects Doctor Velika, “Now that you two are acquainted, I will take my leave. Once I am behind that door, the exercise is as such: Sentinel Floryan will lower any shields in place, and allow his senses to assess Guide Ajax. Guide Ajax will similarly lower his shields, and attempt to establish a mental connection with Sentinel Floryan.”
The instructions seem simple enough, and Ajax hopes it is as intuitive as she makes it sound. Both boys give her an affirmative response, and she joins her agents behind the observation room door, leaving the two more or less alone.
“Here goes nothing,” Floryan says with a lopsided grin, and he closes his eyes to focus.
Ajax swallows, palms itching, and he clenches his hands over his lap. Similarly, he allows his eyes to fall shut, despite his senses blaring at him that such a thing is dangerous in the unfamiliar presence of a Sentinel. Ajax carefully deconstructs his walls, feeling achingly vulnerable. Though Sentinels do not have the same ability to manipulate their Empathy the way Guides do, to a certain extent, they can feel and identify external influence. Ajax assumes this is what Floryan will be attuned to, as he waits to allow Ajax entry to his consciousness.
Taking a deep breath, Ajax allows his mind to extend outwards. He isn’t sure what an appropriate level of push would look like when not on the offensive, so he reaches out slowly. He can identify the outer edges of Floryan’s subconscious, his aura appearing bright and wispy, and relatively inviting. Ajax pushes forward, feeling a little less hesitant. When the edges of his own consciousness slides into the warmth of Floryan’s own, there’s an immediate sense of repulsion.
Ajax jerks backwards, blinking wildly, heart hammering in surprise. Across from him, Floryan inhales deeply with a groan, clutching his head between his hands. Ajax feels fine, apart from his shock, and he regards the other boy with concern.
“Floryan?” he calls, hesitantly.
The boy’s eyes shoot open, no longer warm and inviting, but glazed in a cold sort of terror. Dread pools in Ajax’s stomach when he flinches away from Ajax’s outstretched hand. Suddenly, the door to the observation room flies open, and Doctor Velika and her agents stride towards them. The two agents go to Floryan’s side, where the boy is muttering nonsensically about “cold ” and “dark ” and “wrong, wrong, wrong.” Each word sinks with ice into Ajax’s veins. Had the Abyss sunk its claws into the very fibers of his consciousness?
Doctor Velika watches the agents escort Floryan from the room with a sort of detached interest, before turning her gaze on Ajax. “From our observation, it appears as though Sentinel Floryan’s mind rejected the connection. These things happen; it simply was not an appropriate match.”
Ajax does not believe it is as simple as that, but he holds his tongue. Perhaps he is wrong, perhaps it has nothing to do with the Abyss at all, and they are simply incompatible.
“I will allow you a few moments to collect yourself, and then I will bring in the next Sentinel,” she says, matter of factly.
Ajax sighs; time alone to his thoughts would not help the situation. “I’m ready.”
“Excellent,” she says, and once more walks to the entrance.
Along with her two agents, another Sentinel marches into the room. She takes her seat across from Ajax confidently, and smiles at him. She is at least a handful of years older than Ajax, and has some decoration on the lapel of her uniform, denoting that she holds some sort of rank higher than a recruit. A singular scar traces from underneath the side of her jaw up to the top of her cheekbone, marring the otherwise smooth dark skin. She assesses him with clear grey eyes, neither wary nor friendly but simply intrigued. Long dark hair falls over her shoulder in a neat braid.
“Guide Ajax, this is Sentinel Amira.”
“A pleasure,” says Amira, extending her hand.
Ajax takes it. “Likewise,” he says.
This time, when Doctor Velika reiterates the instructions, Ajax is ready. Amira takes the same steps that Floryan had, shutting her eyes and focusing on her mental state, allowing Ajax access. His own eyes flutter shut once more, and gently he probes forward. The outer edge of her consciousness appears like a foggy mist, obscuring the inner labyrinths of her thoughts. Slowly, and ever so carefully, Ajax pushes forward, into the mist.
The mist solidifies into shields of ice immediately, thrusting Ajax’s consciousness back. More prepared than he was the first time, Ajax reorients himself to his body, opening his eyes to meet Amira’s shuttered stare. She is breathing heavily, but does not seem quite as affected as Floryan had been. Her posture is stiff and tense, and her eyes narrow at him. The door opens as she speaks to him.
“I have done a handful of these Assessments,” she says. “None of them have ever felt so wrong.”
Ajax’s dull gaze remains fixed on her as she stands and sees herself out of the room with the assistance of Doctor Velika’s agents. The doctor tuts. “No need for such dramatics, really,” she says. “Incompatibility is not uncommon.”
Unsure if she is being willfully obtuse, or if she genuinely believes it’s an issue of incompatibility, Ajax says nothing on the matter. Instead, he internally resigns himself and lets her know he’s ready for the final match.
The third Sentinel that walks in is more of what Ajax is accustomed to; tall, burly, clearly very sure of himself. He saunters to the sofa opposite Ajax with a self-satisfied grin, and collapses into a lazy lounge, head propped with his fist on one of the sofa’s arms. He leers at Ajax as though sizing him up. The both of them tune out Doctor Velika’s set of instructions; for Ajax, since he’s used to the drill by now, and the Sentinel, because he’s too busy making eyes at Ajax who is trying to ignore him. Ajax had not bothered catching the other man’s name; he does not see this Assessment going any better than the first two attempts. Especially not when the man’s first words to him are: “I saw those other two Sentinels leaving alone. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you disappointed,” and he winks at Ajax.
The side of Ajax’s mouth twitches downward, but he doesn’t verbally respond. Doctor Velika vanishes into the observation room again, and the Sentinel raises a brow at Ajax’s silence.
“Shy one, are you?” he says, then closes his eyes to concentrate. “We can work on that.”
Ajax is glad for the other man’s eyes to be closed as his nose scrunches and his eye twitches involuntarily in distaste. He can’t find it within himself to be nervous for how he knows this will go, doesn’t even bother to close his eyes to focus as goes through the now-familiar motions of stretching the tendrils of his consciousness towards the Sentinel’s. Somewhat vindictively, he narrows his eyes to watch the other’s expression as he pushes the last bit forward, piercing into the man’s psyche. As expected, the moment he breaches the outer layer of his mind, there’s an immediate repulsive reaction.
This time, Ajax is ready for when the Sentinel’s mind rejects his presence, and pulls out before he can be violently ejected. He watches the man’s face contort into a pained grimace, baring his teeth in a snarl. Then, somewhat unexpectedly, the Sentinel curls in on himself, head in his hands, elbows to his knees, keening in discomfort. Ajax’s frown deepens, unsure of what’s happening. The other man’s face goes slack, suddenly, and his eyes blink open, but they are glazed and dilated.
The door to the observation room slams open, and this time Doctor Velika barrels out while barking orders at her agents.
“Alert the on site medic, now, let them know it is urgent. We require a Guide. Do not move him until they are able to safely pull him from his zone.”
She mutters to herself, completely ignoring Ajax while her agents scuttle out of the room, instead dropping to her knees next to the stationary Sentinel. She pulls a small light from her pocket, and shines it into his unseeing eyes, watching the pupils constrict and dilate.
“Not too deep, thankfully,” Ajax hears her saying. It strikes him, then, when she finally turns to fix her icy gaze on him, that he’s sent this Sentinel into a zone without even trying. Even Doctor Velika seems unable to reason this away, offering no explanations.
“You are free to go,” she says instead. “We will contact you once we find more suitable candidates.”
Swallowing his incredulousness, Ajax stands and nods, making a hasty exit to the lobby. When he is greeted by the familiar white walls, some of the tension in his chest ebbs, and breathing comes a little easier. Despite everything, he can’t help the smile that curls his lips. It is as though the Abyss has granted him another, more insidious gift. One that perhaps, as a Guide, he should not find so relieving. Perhaps there will be no bondmate for Ajax.
“What’s got you looking so pleased, my boy?” he hears, and comes back to awareness, smile falling slightly as he meets Pulcinella’s curious gaze.
Right; the man had said he would wait for him.
“Ah,” Ajax falters, unsure of how to phrase his situation. “They were all…incompatible.”
“Hmmm,” is all that Pulcinella offers to that, his spectacles casting an obscuring glint over his eyes as he shifts in his seat. There is something, though, about his demeanor that seems to lift at the news. It’s a subtle change, one that Ajax can’t quite put his finger on, but the man seems nearly…pleased.
“A shame, indeed,” he adds, though Ajax doesn’t think he sounds very upset at all. “Well, what say you about procuring some dinner? I’m famished,” Pulcinella suggests brightly, pushing up from his seat.
Ajax remains in place for a moment, processing the abrupt change in tone and topic.
“Well?” Pulcinella prompts impatiently from the doorway leading out from the Ministry. “Are you coming along, dear boy?”
He snaps out of his daze, jogging to the Sentinel’s side. “Yes, sir!”
“Very good,” Pulcinella says, the barest hint of a smile peeking from underneath his mustache, “very good.”
Something tells Ajax he is not referring to dinner.
Notes:
Wanted to say thank you all for your lovely comments so far!! They really make my day, and I'm glad folks are enjoying this verse!
Next chapter will be posted on Friday, and that will wrap up the prologue.
Special thank you to KJ for betaing <3
Chapter 3: Clouds and Silver Linings
Summary:
Three weeks before Ajax’s sixteenth birthday, Pulcinella introduces him to Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.
The Harbinger wears a look of pride the evening he informs Ajax of his plan to nominate the boy for the Eleventh seat.
“The Harbingers, sir?” Ajax reiterates with surprise, adjusting the red scarf draped around his shoulders. They have just come out of another splendid performance at the theater, and the rush of endorphins have yet to quiet in Ajax’s blood as they leave the venue.
Pulcinella nods, cane clicking against cobblestone. The two weave between chattering guests of the theater.
“Are you truly so surprised, my boy?” the man questions, then casts a skeptical glance at Ajax. “Or, perhaps, doubtful of your qualifications?”
Ajax’s chest puffs slightly at that under the bulk of his winter coat.
“No!” he denies, then backtracks slightly. “Well, sure, I’m surprised. I suppose I hadn’t thought of fighting for a seat in the Harbingers.”
Notes:
Disclaimer: Since we know nothing abt Krsnik Noc in game, I've just turned it into a winter solstice celebration...any inaccuracies are all mine :')
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sedative tincture proves to be a bust.
Ajax had held high hopes after separating from Pulcinella the previous evening, taking a few drops from the vial before bed. But, as it goes, he is pulled once more from vivid dreams of the Abyss to frantic knocking at his door. He apologizes sheepishly to an exhausted looking Instructor Svetlana, and she suggests they try a meditation session the following night.
His additional clothes and new boots arrive a couple hours past sunrise, and despite his lack of sleep, he feels fresh and ready for his morning tutoring session. There are a handful of both Guides and Sentinels in the class, which is held in a building on the opposite side of Zapolyarny Palace to the Guide House. Some of what they go over are lessons he vaguely recalls from the schoolhouse back home, but the refresher puts his mind to work. He is grateful, at least, for a calmer atmosphere than what the schoolhouse provided, as his peers here are capable of warding their minds to eliminate the overwhelming feedback he’d been battling in Morepesok. There is still a certain amount of restless energy in his bones, though, so when the second hour passes and the class is dismissed, he is quick to gather his things and beeline towards the training fields.
When he asks about his change in course, he’s directed to a training field slightly further west from the one he’d been at the previous day. He’s greeted by a class of Guides that appear a bit more steady on their feet, and a Sentinel drill sergeant who seems interested in actually teaching rather than showboating.
However, upon watching Ajax’s attempts to disarm his fellow Guides without harming them in the drills she has them run, she quickly evaluates that this course level is also below his talents.
“You are welcome to stay for the remainder of the session,” she tells him, “but since your focus is more on limiting your force rather than application of these forms, I don’t think it will benefit you.”
He appreciates her straightforwardness, and agrees to simply try again the following day once her request for his transfer to Modern Fatui Combatives, Guides, Advanced III is processed. His sudden abundance of free time for the remainder of the afternoon allows him to work on his letter to his family, completing a satisfactory final draft. Ajax checks his map for the location of the Post Office he recalls seeing, and upon his walk there he happens across Pulcinella, who looks to be in deep discussion with a taller Sentinel that Ajax has never seen before. Not wanting to interrupt the conversation, Ajax makes to quietly pass them, but Pulcinella must catch him in his peripheral, because he calls out to him.
“Ah, Ajax!”
“Good afternoon, sir.” Ajax turns on the path and gives a stilted wave, unsure of the technical protocol for greeting a Harbinger, not wishing to appear rude since the man is accompanied.
Either he has greeted him appropriately, or Pulcinella cares not for propriety, because he moves on to introducing the strange man to Ajax.
“Dear boy, this is my colleague Pierro, the Director. Director, young Ajax here is the Guide I previously mentioned.”
Ajax stiffens, both at realizing the rank of the Sentinel before him, and the fact that apparently Pulcinella is speaking of him to others in his circle. Pierro, the Director, trains his singular visible eye on Ajax while Pulcinella introduces them, the other hidden behind a dark mask obscuring the right side of his face. The icy blue of his iris reminds Ajax of the Inner Palace’s walls, and his star-shaped pupil pulls at something in Ajax’s subconscious that he can’t quite place.
“Good afternoon, Director, sir,” Ajax says, once Pulcinella stops speaking.
“Good afternoon,” Pierro responds, in a deep voice, before he addresses Pulcinella. “We may continue our discussion later, once you have the reports. I will be in my office.”
“As you wish,” agrees Pulcinella, and Pierro departs once more down the snow-cleared path to the Castle.
With Pierro’s departure, Pulcinella regards Ajax. “Should you not be in training?”
“They’re transferring me to a more advanced course, again,” Ajax informs him with some amount of pride in his tone.
“I see,” the shrewd man returns, and the upward slant to the man’s eyes tells Ajax he is pleased. “Then where might you be off to?”
Ajax indicates the folded parchment in his hand. “I was going to mail a letter to my family.”
“Ah, yes,” Pulcinella says, tapping at his cane. “Your family back in Morepesok. To Miss Tonia and Misters Anthon and Teucer, I presume?”
“You remember?” Ajax hadn’t assumed the man would recall his rambling about his siblings from their sleigh ride together.
The Sentinel scoffs. “Do I truly appear so old that my memory should be failing me?”
“That’s not– I didn’t,” Ajax flusters, backtracking. Pulcinella simply chuckles and waves him off.
“I jest, my boy. Of course, I remember. I’m sure they will be delighted to hear from you.”
Ajax brightens. “I sure hope so. Though Teucer may still be too young to understand, I hope Mama will read it to them.”
“I’m sure she will,” Pulcinella offers.
Though he isn’t sure what his father and mother may have said to his siblings to explain his absence, he hasn’t put many actual details of the Fatui into his letter. Mostly, he talks about the beauty of Zapolyarny Palace, and the wonderful food he’s been able to try, and the interesting toys he’s seen when passing displays in the Capital.
“Would you like to visit them for the holidays?” Pulcinella then asks.
Ajax fixes eager eyes on him immediately, hope simmering in his chest. “I can visit them?”
“Likely not frequently,” Pulcinella amends, “though with Krsnik Noc in a few months’ time, non-deployed recruits are granted a week’s leave.”
“That would be fantastic,” Ajax says. He would have to ask in his next letter home; unsure where he stands with his parents, but hopeful to see his family all the same. Though it has only been about a week since he left, he knows by the time the holiday comes around he will be aching to see them even more.
“You would just need to submit your request with Miss Svetlana, since she is your supervisor. I have no doubt she will grant approval.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll ask her.”
“Superb. Well, then, I will be off, as I have much to attend to,” Pulcinella excuses himself. Ajax bids him goodbye in return, and they carry on in their separate directions.
Ajax arrives at the post office, though once at the counter, he realizes he doesn’t have any mora with which to pay for postage. The clerk brushes off his concern, informing Ajax that with his agent number it will be no issue to charge the cost to his account. Relieved, Ajax thanks the clerk and returns to his quarters. With several hours remaining until dinner, and Ajax not being one for idle time wasting, he strips off his outer layers and falls into the familiar repetition of forms he learned from Skirk. He trains within the limited confines of his room until the light begins to fade in his window, and a pleasant burn lingers in his muscles.
He washes up for dinner, taking his meal in the dining hall. Within his first week, he hasn’t concerned himself with socializing, though he does recognize a few of the faces present from his training courses and tutoring session. Nobody makes an effort to approach him, though, and he is not particularly bothered by it.
After dinner, he opts to take a stroll around Zapolyarny Palace. He leaves his map in his room, challenging himself to make the circuit without assistance. Reflecting the setting sunlight, the snow glitters warm hues of gold and red where it covers the ground next to the stone pathways, or dusts the tops of lampposts and buildings. Ajax breathes in the crisp air, appreciating the subtle sting of it filling his lungs. If he closes his eyes and simply inhales, allowing stray flakes of white to brush against his exposed cheeks, he can pretend he is still in his village. Idly, as he walks, he wonders what his siblings might be up to, and if his parents will entertain him with a letter in response.
Mostly, he lets his mind settle during his walk. At this later time of day, not terribly many people are traversing the frozen grounds of Zapolyarny Palace, and those that do keep a hurried pace and don’t bother sparing Ajax a glance. Eventually, the lampposts flicker on, the deep blue of evening settling over the Palace. Ajax takes that as his cue to head back to his quarters, and is delightedly impressed with himself when he tracks the way back without issue.
He changes into nightclothes, and when there is a knock at his door, he greets Instructor Svetlana. She advises him to take the tincture as prescribed, and then they will work on clearing his mind together. They sit crosslegged on the floor of his room once he has taken his five drops, and she gently instructs him through various mental exercises, not dissimilar to what he’d learned from Skirk. For what it’s worth, he does feel more relaxed, though it isn’t anything different from what he’s tried before to calm his mind before sleep. The only success he’s had has been with pure physical and mental exhaustion, but that does not seem to be keeping the night terrors at bay any longer.
“Ajax, I would also like to try Empathic Therapy,” suggests Instructor Svetlana, once they complete the mental exercises.
“Empathic Therapy?” Ajax prompts.
She nods. “With your permission, I would Guide you. Sometimes, assistance from one Guide to another can compensate for where your own technique is lacking, and help teach your mind where to pick up the slack, so to speak.”
Ajax hesitates. If she attempts to influence his mind, will they have the same reaction as the Sentinels during his Compatibility Assessment?
He voices his concern. “What if we aren’t compatible?”
“It’s not quite the same for Guides and Non-Gifteds as it is for Sentinels,” she corrects gently. “While with a Sentinel, you may be attempting to establish a bond or a link, with other Guides or Non-Gifteds, you simply are sharing a projection.” Ajax tilts his head in confusion.
She hums, and then attempts to clarify. “While a two-way bond requires some sort of compatibility to be successful, a simple suggestion via telepathic push only requires that the recipient’s mind is open or willing. I would not be attempting to access your mind, simply sending suggestions to it.”
Ajax makes a sound of understanding. “Okay, then,” he allows.
“Excellent. Just relax your mind, and lower your walls for me. I won’t take very long,” she says.
The sensation of relaxing his shields entirely still is not one he is very comfortable with, but he does so. He allows his eyes to fall closed, and tries to encourage the tension to melt away from his body. He feels it, subtly, when Instructor Svetlana’s influence brushes over him. There’s a vague understanding that the relaxation and calmness he feels are not his own, but he does not resist. There’s no sense of intrusion or danger, and with her Guiding, he falls into a light doze. He doesn’t even realize the trance he’s entered, until Instructor Svetlana’s voice pulls him out of it.
“I believe we were successful,” she declares, smiling at him as he blinks back to awareness.
Groggily, he reaffixes his wards, and he must admit that he does feel a great deal more relaxed than he’s felt in months. “I think y’er right,” he slurs, his entire body feeling heavy and tired.
She chuckles, and helps him to his feet. “Get some rest, Ajax, I will see you in the morning.”
Sleepily, he hums out an ‘mmhmm’, and sees her out the door. He locks it with a light click, and drags himself to his bed, plastering himself to its soft surface without bothering to dig beneath the covers. His drop into slumber is quick, and painless.
Shifting shadows.
Sharp fangs; extended claws.
Cackling laughter; weapons swift and lethal.
A shawl of stars, a gaping maw, a desire to consume, consume, consume.
A series of pounding knocks at Ajax’s door; a sigh from Instructor Svetlana. Another sleepless night.
Ajax leans heavily on the Cuihua desk in front of him, slumping over the wood with exhaustion. A third restless night is finally taking a toll on him, and the bags beneath his eyes had looked especially dark in the mirror that morning. It wouldn’t be quite so bad if, after he woke up, he was able to sleep again. But, he was reluctant to potentially fall into another round of nightmares that would continue affecting the Guides in his wing, and so again remained awake the remainder of the night.
As it is, he catches the accusing eyes of his peers when he walks down the hall in the morning. Even now, in the group Empathy Training, he can feel withering glares from a handful of the other Guides from the House. He isn’t sure what Instructor Svetlana may suggest going forward, but he knows this isn’t sustainable.
His attention is drawn from his peers to the front of the room, when an unfamiliar Guide enters, though his lapel is decorated enough to suggest rank.
“Good morning, class,” he says, and he scrawls on the board behind him.
Instructor Brodny; Empathic Techniques II is revealed when he steps to the side and addresses the room. “At the beginning of the week, we discussed the theory behind Empathic filtration. Today, we are going to discuss practical application of this skill, and how to stretch your mind to begin practicing.”
Ajax perks up in spite of his fatigue. Filtration is a topic he’s been thinking about since it had been mentioned by Instructor Svetlana two days prior, and he is eager to learn. Instructor Brodny begins the lesson by reviewing a few historical texts that had been published by Guides holding rank in the Fatui, and transitions from there to the recommended process of learning to filter environmental feedback.
Glad that he’d remembered his notebook, Ajax jots down the bits he finds important, and mentally formulates his own plan for testing out this skill. Instructor Brodny clearly intends for the introduction to this skill to take place over several sessions and allow the class to practice together, but Ajax is not so patient.
At the end of class, Ajax drops his notebook off in his room and dashes off to the training fields. Upon being directed to where his new course is taking place, Ajax is pleased to see that the Guides who have arrived before him all carry a confidence that the Guides in the beginner and intermediate courses lacked. A few are engaged in stretches in the center of the field, and a handful of others are chatting at the side. His youth is apparent among those present; they all look to be several years his senior. Regardless, they pay him little attention, but Ajax does not particularly mind.
He decides to run through some stretches himself, and a short while later their drill sergeant makes an appearance. The Sentinel is stony faced, the shadows of his high cheekbones and furrowed brow lending him a stern quality. The man calls for the group’s attention, and once gathered, barks out instructions for the stretch sets and repetitions he wants them to engage in. Before Ajax can disperse with the rest of the Guides, the Sentinel waves him and another Guide by the name of Dusan over. The Sentinel introduces himself as Sergeant Klasky, and then instructs Ajax to shadow Dusan for the stretches and drills.
Ajax doesn’t mind the no-nonsense approach Sentinel Klasky has, and instead appreciates his seriousness. Dusan doesn’t speak much to Ajax, aside from explaining the names of the different poses they shift into, when they join the rest of the Guides. The stretches aim to loosen their limbs as well as aid in strengthening the muscles, and Ajax thinks he may incorporate some of them into his normal routine, as he feels activation of muscles he does not typically work.
About twenty minutes later, the drill sergeant calls an end to the stretching, and directs the Guides to run twenty laps. Ajax estimates the circumference of the field to be approximately six hundred yards, making twenty laps about a seven-mile run. A few of his peers’ faces drop, and there’s a small chorus of groans, but Sergeant Klasky is quick to offer twenty-five laps if they don’t like the sound of twenty. Ajax, conversely, looks forward to the exercise, having been unable to work as much on his stamina and endurance.
The first ten laps feel like a breeze, and Ajax loses himself in the momentum of the activity. By the fifteenth lap, he notices that he is lapping a handful of his peers, and many of the others have slowed down. At his twentieth pass, there’s a faint burn to his calves and a bit of a twinge in his side from being out of practice, but overall he feels more invigorated than fatigued. Sergeant Klasky shoots him an appraising glance.
Addressing the Guides still running, he claps and bellows, “Come on, let’s pick up the slack! The new kid is running circles around you all!”
Ajax flushes slightly under the attention, hoping it passes as the flush of exertion. While waiting for the rest of the Guides to finish their laps, the Sentinel gives Ajax an explanation of the combat drills they’ll be running, which will involve one-on-one practice spars. The Guides in this course are expected to have some level of experience with hand to hand combat, and understand the basics of offense and defence. Restrictions on the use of Visions are lifted in this advanced course, and each Guide is encouraged to fight using whatever advantages are available, as though they are truly out in the field.
Ajax eagerly anticipates the spars. He hasn’t faced a satisfactory opponent since his return from the Abyss. While he doesn’t assume that practice combat with his peers will compare to life-or-death battle, having an appropriate outlet is thrilling. Perhaps, with enough training, when he finally reunites one day with his Master he will be able to force her to use both hands against him!
Two by two, the Guides are matched up, spread out over the expanse of the training field. Ajax, predictably, is paired up against Dusan. The older Guide looks hesitant to fight him, but when Sergeant Klasky whistles through his fingers to signal the start to the spars, Ajax wastes no time lunging at Dusan. Surprised, the Guide stumbles to the side to dodge him, but Ajax pivots quickly on his heel, digging into the frozen ground for momentum. Ajax’s second grapple doesn’t miss, and he has Dusan face down in the dirt in seconds, straddling his back.
Ajax rises to his feet, disappointment sinking in his gut. He’s won; but where is the satisfaction? Dusan hadn’t given him a real challenge, he’d only tried stumbling clumsily out of his path. That hardly counted as a spar.
Still, he offers his hand to the dazed Guide, pulling him to his feet. The other man hisses when he attempts to straighten the arm Ajax had pulled around his side and pinned to his back.
Rubbing at his nape, Ajax offers, “Best two out of three?”
Dusan’s incredulous look is enough of an answer, before he says, “Uh, no. I think you sprained my arm.”
“Ah, drat.” Ajax’s lips slant downwards.
“Agent Dusan, go see the medic.” Comes a voice from behind them, and Ajax glances over his shoulder to where Sergeant Klasky has approached them.
Dusan barks a ‘yes, sir!’ and skitters away, while the Sentinel waves Ajax over to follow him across the field. Most of the other Guides are still facing off, only two other pairs having declared a winner. It is one of those pairs that they proceed towards.
“Agent Veselin; take a break. Agent Jasna; with me,” orders the Sentinel.
The two agents nod, and one strides to the edge of the field, while the other comes to meet Ajax and Sergeant Klasky.
“Agent Jasna will be your next sparring partner,” Sergeant Klasky informs Ajax. “She’s the most skilled in our class.”
Jasna observes Ajax with sharp eyes, and they both can tell that this is a test for Ajax.
“On my signal,” says Sergeant Klasky, and both Guides move over to the space cleared after Jasna and Veselin’s spar. Moving into position, Ajax notices a few more of the other pairs have concluded their matches, and are now watching him and Jasna curiously.
Ajax refocuses on Jasna across from him. Like him, she wears a Vision fastened to her jacket, though hers is the element of Cryo. Her eyes skim over the Hydro Vision clipped to his side, and they both drop into an offensive stance.
I’m going to win this, Ajax thinks, without using my Vision.
Sergeant Klasky whistles.
Unlike Dusan, Jasna moves with clear confidence. She leans her weight forward to jab a fist at Ajax’s sternum, while keeping her head low to avoid potential hits from his hands. Ajax, however, grabs her wrist while her arm is still in motion, and tugs her forward in an attempt to unbalance her. She keeps her weight steady on her forefoot, and retaliates by kicking out at him with the leg not supporting her.
Ajax is forced to let go of her wrist and leap backwards to avoid the kick, though while she straightens her stance, he kicks out with his own heel and nails her in the side before she can dodge. She grunts, but doesn’t falter. Ajax prepares to lunge towards her, but finds that his feet won’t budge from the ground. Confused, he glances down, only to see thick sheets of ice crawling over his boots. He whips his head back up just in time to lean back and avoid the swipe at his face, catching the glint of her glowing Vision.
Cackling, Ajax drops into a crouch to avoid her next hit, stabbing upwards with his arm to jab her in the gut. Even through the thick layer of her coat, she coughs at the impact, and stumbles backwards. It allows Ajax enough time to shatter one of the sheets of ice with a gloved fist, and then the other with the heel of his freed boot. Dodging sharp constructs of Cryo that emerge from the ground like stalagmites as he moves, Ajax zigzags in Jasna’s direction. He feints a kick to her side, and when she moves to block the area, he instead makes contact with the tip of one of her stalagmite constructs. His kick breaks the sharp end of it off and sends the shard careening in a lethal line towards her head.
Quickly, to avoid being impaled, Jasna falls backward. Ajax follows the trajectory of her descent, leaping forward to land atop her when she hits the ground, one hand poised at her throat. Eyes blazing, she pants where she is pinned, frustration lacing her features.
“Match!” booms the voice of Sergeant Klasky, breaking Ajax from his focus.
Adrenaline is slow to fade from Ajax’s veins, and he is loath to let the euphoria slip between his fingers like sand, aching for another battle, another fight, another victory–but he will not get another satisfying fight here, he realizes, the disappointment crawling back in. Jasna is this group’s best fighter, and as he’d promised to himself, he beat her without the use of his Vision. What will it take to find an opponent he can go all out against?
Far from sated, Ajax rises to his feet and turns hungry eyes on Sergeant Klasky. “Do I get to spar with you next, sir?”
Gasps echo through the crowd that had formed a wide circle around Ajax’s and Jasna’s match, and all eyes turn to the Sentinel. The man’s stern demeanor does not falter, not even at Ajax’s impertinence.
“No, as that would be a violation of protocol,” the Sentinel says with a tone of indifference.
Ajax feels indignance rising within himself; does this Sentinel think he’s better than Ajax? Because he’s a Guide? Ajax will show him; Ajax can prove himself the way he’s proven himself to all the other Sentinels who doubted his ability– irrational rage bubbles under the surface of Ajax’s skin, such unsatisfying ends to the spars he was so hopeful for, does he not deserve recompense?
“Ajax, is that you?”
Several pairs of eyes turn to the source of the interruption, including Ajax’s, which burn in self righteous anger. When his fathomless eyes meet Pulcinella’s keen gaze, his fury begins to recede. Instead, a kernel of shame takes root in his heart. He hardly knows this man, and yet, something within him desires not to disappoint him. Ajax’s fists uncurl at his sides, and only when they do does Pulcinella fully regard the Sentinel addressing him.
“Lord Harbinger, what a surprise and honor,” says Sergeant Klasky, seemingly unaware of Ajax’s turmoil. “What brings you to the training fields?”
“Oh, just passing through on my way out into the Capital. I thought I might take a peek at our promising new generation of recruits,” Pulcinella spins blithely.
Sergeant Klasky grunts in response. “Sure. And you’re familiar with Ajax, here?” Pulcinella nods, but offers no explanation, so he continues. “I will say he is quite promising. I will be recommending a higher level combat course for him.”
“Oh, is that so?” drawls Pulcinella, meeting Ajax’s eyes again.
Coming back to himself, Ajax realizes that he has once again allowed his impulses to take control. Pulcinella’s looks seem to be pointedly telling him that he is aware of this, too. He wonders if the older man had been watching for a while.
Thankfully, the other Guides seem to sense this conversation is not for them, and the class occupies themselves with chatter and stretching to soothe their overworked muscles while the three converse. Sergeant Klasky is explaining to Pulcinella that while there are no higher Guide courses, he plans to nominate Ajax for acceptance into one of the Sentinel combat courses. Pulcinella does seem intrigued by this, and so Ajax is freed from the weight of his stare for a short while.
Sergeant Klasky excuses himself after a few more moments of pleasantries, citing a need to get back to the class. He dismisses Ajax for the remainder of the day, and tells him to check with his supervisor in the morning to see what is decided about further combat training. Ajax thanks him, and follows Pulcinella out of the training field.
For several moments, the two of them walk in silence, only the crunching of the thin layer of snow beneath their boots to fill the air. Ajax’s skin prickles when he feels Pulcinella’s eyes fall on him.
“It would be wise to keep those impulses in check,” the man says finally. “To ascend the ranks, you must show discipline.”
Ajax grits his teeth, the familiar tendril of shame in his chest wrapping around his heart, both making him want to hide and to lash out. Instead, he takes a deep breath. Discipline. When it comes to the gnawing, all-encompassing bloodlust of the Abyssal essence left in him, discipline is easier said than done. It frustrates and thrills Ajax in equal measure; the challenge of conquering the void within himself, but he knows Pulcinella is right and it must be done. Such was the hope of his father conscripting him, anyway.
“How’d you know what was happening?” Ajax asks. “Sergeant Klasky didn’t seem to realize.”
“It is no fault of his. I have simply witnessed you in that state before, when I first made your acquaintance,” Pulcinella explains. “I could sense the change in your demeanor. I do have quite sharp senses, you know, despite my age,” he teases.
Ajax snorts at the joke, but his mind travels to when he had first met Pulcinella. He’d felt similarly, then, consumed by a desire to prove his ability, to show the arrogant weak their place. In the Abyss, he’d nurtured those tendencies rather than reign them in, as power was imperative to survival and growth. His ambition for power and strength still drives him forward, intrinsic to his very soul, but threaded along with this aspiration is the desire to protect and stand by his morals. To be a beacon for his family, a role model for his siblings. He would learn discipline, for them.
“You look as though you’ve had an epiphany,” Pulcinella ponders, keen gaze searching Ajax’s face.
The side of Ajax’s mouth tilts up in a lopsided grin. “Nothing so grand as that, sir. But I will do better.”
“We should always aspire to improve ourselves,” says Pulcinella in an approving tone.
They walk for a while longer in a more companionable quiet, much of the tension from earlier lifting from the air. Ajax notes that their path is taking them toward the main gates of Zapolyarny Palace, and he makes a sound of confusion.
“Are we going into the Capital?” he asks. Since his first night away from home, Ajax hasn’t stepped foot beyond Zapolyarny Palace’s walls. With his new schedule, he hasn’t found the time to indulge his curiosity, though the temptation has been in the back of his mind. He has been planning to ask Instructor Svetlana about any restrictions on recruits coming and going from Zapolyarny Palace, but hasn’t yet gotten around to it.
“Ah.” Pulcinella’s eyes widen as though he hadn’t realized his lack of explanation. “Yes, just so. It slipped my mind among more pressing matters, but I had sought you out for a reason.”
“Oh?” Ajax raises a brow.
“I crossed paths with Miss Svetlana earlier. I inquired on the state of matters in the Guide House, and she brought to my attention the most curious conundrum,” Pulcinella continues, vaguely, though Ajax can see where the conversation is leading. “She told me of a Guide experiencing difficulty settling in, and that despite several attempts at remedying the situation, nothing has quite seemed to work.”
Passing through the large Palace gates, Pulcinella pauses his story to nod to the guards stationed there. They continue from the gates down the main road of the city, lined with shops and businesses. Ajax wonders why the Sentinel bothers being so vague and roundabout, but he holds his tongue, half-listening while allowing his eyes to roam the alluringly flashy displays on either side of the busy market street.
“She relayed her dismay that other Guides continue to be affected by this situation, impressing upon me the importance of finding a quick and efficient solution.”
“Mhmm,” Ajax hums, craning his head and narrowing his eyes slightly at one of the window displays they pass, the stuffed toys looking like they could potentially be of interest to Anthon. He mentally catalogues the shop for his next visit out of Zapolyarny Palace, whenever he can figure that out.
“Naturally, as someone sympathetic to her plight, I offered to assist my colleague. It is in the best interest of the organization, after all, to ensure our Guides have a safe environment.”
“Naturally,” agrees Ajax distractedly. In a window across the street, he can just barely make out the silhouettes of children’s dresses. Without a doubt, several of them would look absolutely darling on Tonia. He would need to visit that shop as well. Perhaps he could convince Pulcinella to allow him to visit on their way back?
“I had no qualms volunteering my guest space for housing the troubled Guide, of course.”
“Of cour– wait, what?” Ajax tears his attention away from the soft blanket he’d been considering for Teucer, whipping his head towards Pulcinella.
The man has the audacity to blink guilelessly at him, the picture of innocence. “Is that so surprising? It is as I said. I offered to take in the Guide, as there currently would be no other appropriate place to house them, and the most responsible chaperone would be a Harbinger.”
Ajax’s brow furrows. “And you realize that Guide is me, yes?”
“Of course,” scoffs Pulcinella. “And you have stayed there previously without issue, which is why I am certain this solution will work. Which brings us here.” He halts, gesturing at the shop they’ve come to a stop in front of.
Between the forms of people passing by them on the street, Ajax reads the sign on the door that spells out Capital Home Furnishings & Decor. Brow furrowing further, Ajax looks back to Pulcinella in confusion.
The man sighs, and steps towards the door, ushering Ajax inside. The red wooden door opens with a jingle of the bell hung from a strip of leather at the top, signaling to the clerk at the front desk that clients have entered. The wiry man greets them from his stool, pushing wide circular frames back up the bridge of a crooked nose. Pulcinella cheerfully returns the greeting in a way that indicates the two have previously done business together. After a moment, the Sentinel turns his attention back to Ajax.
“As I was saying, I brought you into the Capital today for precisely that reason. I realize that my guest accommodations may not be up to par with what you need. So, please, have a look and we can discuss any additions to your new quarters.”
Pulcinella appears nothing but sincere, but Ajax can’t help his incredulous expression. The man’s guest room, from what he remembers, is already ostentatiously decorated and luxurious beyond anything Ajax has ever experienced before, and certainly leagues above the Guide House quarters in comfort. Frankly, Ajax has no complaints about his lodgings in the Guide House either, so he feels at a loss for what to even consider. Plus, he’s still trying to wrap his mind around Pulcinella’s machinations in getting Ajax moved. Though the Harbinger can’t officially sponsor Ajax, as he’d mentioned before, the man sure is talented at exploiting loopholes.
“Thank you, sir, but I can’t think of anything else I would need,” Ajax says finally.
“Hmm. Well, I have been wanting to replace the wardrobe in the guest space regardless, so we can start there. Perhaps you will find something that catches your fancy while we pick one out,” Pulcinella suggests.
Ajax agrees, if only to keep the Sentinel happy, though he has no peculiar penchant for interior decoration and is happy to let the other man do the selecting. Coming from a large family where most of their furniture was handmade by his father and older brothers, Ajax has learned to be content with what he has.
Pulcinella browses the shop with an appraising eye, here and there discussing certain pieces with the shop clerk. Ajax mostly tunes them out, the quality of the wood and intricacy of certain designs going over his head. He idly meanders the aisles, admiring the beauty and craftsmanship of the collections, though feeling no particular draw to any of it. That is, until he happens upon a small glass display housing decorative daggers.
Immediately intrigued, he rests his hands on the edges of the glass case to lean closer, careful not to jostle the display. The daggers are gorgeous. Each steel blade curves to a lethal point, elegant engravings of Snezhnayan beasts and snowflakes along the spine. Carved ivory hilts the blades, with gilded ferrules protecting the integrity of the handle. The scabbards displayed next to each dagger are no less stunning, ornately carved sheaths of ivory which display familiar scenes of Snezhnayan folklore.
“What did you find?” inquires a voice from behind him.
Ajax slowly pulls his eyes away from the daggers and lifts his hands from the case to point them out to Pulcinella. The man steps forward and adjusts his glasses as he hums and evaluates the blades.
“Ah, very fine craftsmanship indeed. They are beautiful, though perhaps not quite practical.” He peers at Ajax over the rim of his frames.
The boy nods, knowing this to be true, but still his eyes draw back to the stunning daggers. In particular, there is a blade and scabbard dedicated to Koschei, the Deathless, and the design brings a pang of nostalgia to his heart. The first he had heard of Koschei’s tale was while out on the ice with his father in the early spring, during one of their ice fishing trips. An insidious spirit who attains artificial immortality by transferring their soul from human to beast; man to animal to monster.
“We will take this dagger as well, my friend,” Pulcinella’s voice pulls Ajax from his reverie. He blinks in surprise, giving the other man a questioning look. Pulcinella intentionally avoids his gaze, instead thanking the clerk as he comes over to unlock the glass case and wrap the dagger Ajax had been so entranced by. Ajax is silent while the Sentinel follows the clerk to the desk and wraps up his purchases; the large wardrobe he’d selected and a few smaller pieces of furniture scheduled to be delivered at a later date. The dagger, wrapped in cloth, is handed off to Ajax, who cradles it reverently in his hands.
“Thank you,” Ajax says, voice barely above a whisper, when they exit the shop.
Pulcinella rubs his gloved hands together, bracing against the chill. “Hm? Think nothing of it, my boy. Such pieces deserve to find a home with those who can appreciate them.”
Ajax’s mouth quirks into a grateful smile, to which Pulcinella nods and directs them to another shop further down the street. The two spend another hour procuring more stationery for Pulcinella’s office and Ajax’s room, as well as several pairs of leather gloves and a thicker winter jacket for Ajax at the behest of the Sentinel. Ajax, slightly overwhelmed by the day’s events at this point, balances his new purchases carefully in his arms when they finally begin the journey back into Zapolyarny Palace. Though he’s still interested in the shops they’d passed earlier where he’d noted potential gifts for his siblings, neither of them have the capacity to carry any more bags, and so Ajax resolves to visit on another occasion.
After the tiring trek back through the Palace Gates, and into the Inner Palace where Pulcinella’s quarters are located, the two deposit their purchases and the Sentinel calls for his chef to prepare dinner. Ajax hurries to the guest quarters, kneeling on the floor, eagerly taking his new dagger out of one of his bags. He hastily unwraps it and simply holds the weapon carefully in his hands for a moment. He strokes his fingertips over the ivory surface, tracing the depiction of the Koschei, mesmerized. Slowly, he rises from the floor with the dagger in his hands, and places it atop the dresser next to his bed. He rakes his eyes over it once more, before turning his attention to the remainder of his purchases on the floor.
While Ajax is unpacking his bags in the guest room– or, rather, his room from that point forward– upon opening the wardrobe to put away his new jacket, he finds that it also houses the clothes he’d left in the Guide House. He glances sidelong at the writing desk by the window, and sure enough, his notebook and remaining stationery from his old room are sitting there. He quirks a brow, wondering, but then shrugs and continues unpacking his gloves and new stationary.
When Pulcinella knocks at his door to let him know their meal is prepared, Ajax brings up the items he’d found in his room.
“Oh, yes, I asked one of the staff to bring your possessions over. It seemed less of a hassle than having you go back and forth,” Pulcinella says dismissively.
Over their meal at the Harbinger’s large dining table, Ajax realizes he isn't quite sure who he should be reporting to, now that he’s been moved out of the official Guide accommodations.
“Will Instructor Svetlana remain as my direct supervisor?”
Adopting a somewhat disgruntled expression, Pulcinella explains, “Yes. All unbonded recruits that are Guides report to her until they have either bonded, or entered active service.”
Ajax likes Instructor Svetlana well enough so he’s not particularly bothered, but he’ll need to make time to request leave to see his family for the approaching holiday. He thinks perhaps he will ask her the following day, between Empathy Training and Combat Training.
He and Pulcinella chat amiably for a short while after their meal is finished, before Pulcinella pulls his pocketwatch from his side and excuses himself to attend to some business matters. Ajax bids him a good evening, and departs to his room to wash up and prepare for bed. He hasn’t seen the tincture that Instructor Svetlana had given him, but he supposes it’s not necessary as it hadn’t made a difference in the Guide House, and Pulcinella seems unaffected by his night terrors.
When he crawls into the lush spread of blankets and pillows that night, he falls into an easy slumber.
Ajax feels suspiciously refreshed when he wakes in the morning. He can recall snippets of a dream– flashes of abyssal recollections, but even if he had awoken briefly, he must have fallen right back asleep afterwards. There was no knocking at his door; no exhausted chaperone waking him in the middle of the night. When he sees Pulcinella shortly after, waiting patiently for his breakfast, the man greets him as though nothing is amiss. Whether the Harbinger’s room is too far for Ajax’s nighttime projections to reach, or his shields too strong to permeate, Ajax will not question a good circumstance.
Following breakfast, Ajax’s day proceeds rather smoothly. He attends his Empathy Training with eager anticipation, listening intently to the lesson on feedback filtration. With the recommendation from his previous drill sergeant, his new combat course is, surprisingly, an intermediary Sentinel course. He fully anticipates the sneers and dubious reactions of his new Sentinel peers when they register that there’s a Guide in their class, but he has no problem putting them in their place when the sparring portion of class takes place. They quiet down after that.
While he wouldn’t say that the course is extremely challenging, Ajax is delighted that during his spars with the Sentinels, he finally needs to apply use of his Vision. At the intermediate level, the Sentinels in this class are well versed in using either their own Visions or activating Delusions. To their advantage, they also are relatively in tune with their heightened senses, able to apply their enhanced abilities to the battlefield.
More than once, Ajax has reacted too slowly to a quick slash or kick from one of the Sentinels, walking off the field with a scratch or bruise. He finds that some of his own moves are too slow when the other Sentinels are truly focusing, and they’re able to anticipate more of his attacks. He learns to become lighter on his feet, and more unpredictable; he molds his Hydro into different weapons mid-battle more frequently. While he does not become friendly, per se, with the Sentinels in his course, they develop a respect for him and his abilities for the most part.
Inevitably, there are the select few that cannot overcome prejudices. There are irritated curses when he bests them in combat, and hissed suggestions of where they believe he belongs. He pays the words spit in humiliation no mind– if they were worth anything, they would be able to beat him.
The forms and exercises that his new drill sergeant has them learn leaves his muscles aching pleasantly after every class. Over the next few weeks, he feels the change in his body as they tear and rebuild, stronger than before, and visibly toning him. The changes aren’t dramatic, but he appreciates the visible aspect of his growing strength.
Over the ensuing weeks, his tutoring sessions remain unremarkable. He passes the tests without much issue, and Pulcinella muses that he can most likely graduate from the academic portion of training within the year.
Pulcinella seems more pleased by Ajax’s descriptions of his combat classes, a certain glint to his eyes whenever the Guide describes a spar he particularly enjoyed, or an egotistical Sentinel he claimed victory over. The other matter Pulcinella seems to have the most keen interest in is Ajax’s Compatibility Assessments.
Ajax goes through two more Compatibility Assessments in the two months after taking over Pulcinella’s guest quarters. Two Assessments and five Sentinels, all as disastrous as the first.
Initially, Ajax is mildly anxious to report his continuing failure to initiate a bond in his Assessments to Pulcinella. After his second failed Compatibility Assessment, Ajax paces up and down the Inner Palace hallway outside of Pulcinella’s quarters until the Sentinel irritatedly barks at him to “stop wearing a hole in the floor and come inside”. Embarrassed at having forgotten the Sentinel would likely hear him, Ajax obediently slinks inside, walking to the living room with shoulders hunched. Pulcinella waits patiently for him to finally explain what had happened. After Ajax admits that he’d sent two out of three Sentinels into a zone during the test, Pulcinella’s brows raise, and Ajax prepares for disappointment.
“I see,” is all that the Harbinger says.
Ajax’s mouth opens and shuts a few times. “That’s it?”
Pulcinella turns away from him at that point, shuffling through the newspapers scattered across his opulent coffee table.
“Yes. It is quite a shame, certainly.”
Nothing about the man’s tone implies that it is a shame, rather, Ajax thinks he almost detects a hint of… pride ? He brushes it off and doesn’t think about it again, until the next Assessment. Ajax, still with some trepidation, marches in front of Pulcinella sitting on one of his couches by the hearth. He explains that both Sentinels they had selected for this round had been influenced into a zone by his attempt at establishing a connection. He describes how Dottore’s assistant seems frustrated and at a loss with the repeated failures; muttering about statistics and analytics and how their selections should have been correct .
“Quite puzzling, indeed,” Pulcinella says blithely, and that is that.
Except, again, Ajax thinks he can sense a sort of satisfaction from the man. Not in his words, but something in his posture, the tone of his voice, gives him away. The corners of his eyes lift up just so slightly; not a smile but hinting at one.
Ajax is puzzled, but not upset.
As far as his Empathy Training goes, just as he predicted, the lessons are slow in putting theory into practice. Ajax attempts to practice the concepts they discuss on his own. He finally speaks with Instructor Svetlana, who is glad to hear his new accommodations are working for him, and she is happy to grant him leave from Zapolyarny Palace to see his family for Krsnik Noc. She also affirms that he is welcome to explore the Capital, so long as he has a chaperone. When Pulcinella has the free time, it is easy to convince him to accompany Ajax into the city. Thus, providing Ajax with the opportunity to purchase the gifts for his siblings, as well as make a go of filtering feedback from the Capital crowds.
At first, he triggers a good few headaches and migraines for himself when lowering his shields. He learns to keep his attempts short, at least for the time being, or he will become inundated with external emotional feedback. The more he practices, however, the better he becomes at focusing on a singular thread of consciousness from passersby who are none the wiser. It becomes easier to tune out the extraneous thoughts and feelings of the people who mill about the busy streets.
Pulcinella also seems to keep awareness of Ajax’s mental state during their outings, though he never says as much. If he senses Ajax becoming overwhelmed, or drained, he will simply suggest they stop somewhere to eat, citing a sudden craving and leading them into some relatively empty cafe. Ajax appreciates the attentiveness, though he still feels frustration with his slow progress.
Despite the occasional night terrors Ajax still gets, his sleep is much more regular without the concern of affecting other people weighing on him. The dreams themselves don’t bother him overtly, as he regards his time in the Abyss as something of a learning experience more than a regret.
He also, during this time, gets a response from his family, which delights him. The letter is written in his mother’s familiar script, detailing recent events in their household. Since his departure, Ajax’s eldest brothers have moved out of their family home and into the nearest town, having found stable work there. His eldest sister helps their mother care for Teucer, though she has frequent trips to the town as well, and his mother suspects a significant other to be the cause. She writes that Anthon and Tonia are doing well at school, that they do ask about their big brother Ajax, and that they were overjoyed to listen to her read his letter to them.
According to the letter, his father had explained Ajax’s sudden absence by telling his siblings he is attending a prestigious boarding school in the Capital, having been scouted while in the market. Only Ajax’s mother knows the truth, and though it settles somewhat uncomfortably in Ajax’s gut that they are lying to his siblings, he can admit to himself it is better than them being upset over his unwilling conscription into the Fatui. This, of course, also means that his mother had chosen to redact or substitute some of the parts of his letter when relaying it to his siblings.
Towards the end of the letter, she expresses happiness that Ajax seems to be doing well, and includes a reminder to make sure he wears his gloves and scarf even without her there to scold him. Beneath that, there are a few crude scribbles at the bottom of the page, where it appears she allowed Tonia and Anthon to add to the letter. Next to his mother’s signature, Tonia included her own name in shaky cursive, and there is a splotchy scribble next to that where he assumes Anthon was imitating them.
The letter leaves a smile on Ajax’s face for the remainder of the day. He sends back a reply a few days later, inquiring about his father’s health, and letting his mother know that he will be able to visit for the holiday. Two weeks after that, her reply arrives, telling him that his father is doing alright despite his headaches, and that she would be overjoyed to have him home for Krsnik Noc the following month.
Three months into Ajax’s conscription, and two weeks before Krsnik Noc, he asks Pulcinella what he will do for the holiday. By this point, Ajax has met the Sentinel’s bonded Guide a handful of times, finding her to be a lovely woman, and he knows from what she told him that her family has plans of their own. Pulcinella looks at him oddly when he asks.
“I plan to do what I have always done; I will remain in the Inner Palace and attend to my duties. Work does not stop simply because there are celebrations, my boy.”
Ajax’s face scrunches. “You don’t do anything at all?” The idea doesn’t sit right with him, not when Krsnik Noc only brings fond and warm memories of his family to the forefront of his mind.
“I observe a day of rest, as Her Majesty the Tsaritsa decrees, but other than that, no. I have never felt the need to partake in the festivities when there are many other things that need attending to.”
“You should come home with me,” Ajax blurts, and then flushes. Quickly, he stumbles over his next words in explanation. “It’s just, my family really loves this holiday, it’s a lot of fun. Mama makes so many treats, I even get to help her bake. And, she knits everyone a new scarf each year, I think this year the color is red which is my favorite color,” he rambles, but can’t seem to stop. “Father and I collect a lot of wood for the fire, and whatever’s leftover he whittles into really neat figures, and everyone gets one of those. We all help hang decorations and the kids get to make new ones from things Father brings home from the market, it’s pretty fun.
“On the eve before Krsnik Noc, Mama spends the whole day cooking the most fabulous feast! The next day, the village comes together to light a bonfire. Perform carols, and tell stories. Father tells the best stories, I think, since he used to be an adventurer. Some people even dress up to perform. I always wanted to do that, one day. But, yeah,” he trails off awkwardly, “it’s really neat.”
“It sounds quite lively,” Pulcinella agrees, “though I would hate to put your family through the trouble of accommodating another person.”
Ajax deflates a bit. “Sure, I understand.” He makes a decent point, though, since Ajax’s family home is not large enough to sleep an additional body.
“Although,” Pulcinella continues, stroking at his mustache, “I believe I do recall hearing of an inn near Morepesok. Since you’ll be needing an escort regardless, I’m sure I could find room to stay, there.”
“Really?” Ajax perks up. “You would come with me?”
Pulcinella chuckles, eyes squinting shut in his amusement. “Of course, my boy. I’ve heard enough tales of your family by this point to feel as though I know them, anyhow.”
“You won’t regret it, sir!” Ajax chirps, and dashes to his room to pen a followup letter to his family, to give them notice for Pulcinella’s visit.
The weeks leading up to the holiday pass in a blur. Ajax’s intermediary combat class meets for the last time the day before their leave begins, and the excitement among the Sentinels is palpable, even with Ajax’s wards in place. They chatter amongst themselves discussing their holiday plans until the instructor arrives, after which they begin graduation from the course. After the holiday, some will return in the new year to continue intermediary training, while others, such as Ajax, will move to an advanced class. The graduation itself is rather informal; each recruit receives a handshake and a salute as a sign of respect from their drill sergeant, and at the end they are dismissed.
Ajax’s Empathy Training course will continue into the new year, due to wrap up a couple weeks before his birthday. His tutoring requirements will be evaluated over the leave period based on his test scores, and if his teacher believes he needs further coaching, then he will continue his education courses. Ajax doesn’t bother sticking around once his classes end the way that his peers do to bid one another well wishes and goodbyes before the holiday. He eagerly rushes to his and Pulcinella’s quarters, and double checks that he has all his necessities packed. Most important, of course, are the gifts for his cherished siblings, wrapped carefully by calloused hands and hidden away in a luggage case Pulcinella had lent him.
Ajax and Pulcinella leave bright and early the next morning, the sun only barely peeking over the horizon, illuminating the clouds of their breath in the air. Ajax bounces excitedly on his heels while they wait for Pulcinella’s staff to finish packing their sleigh. Once they settle inside, and the driver is given the order to depart, it takes a little while for the furnace to chase away the lingering chill. Pulcinella has brought a selection of books for him to read to pass the time, under the light of the sled’s small window. He holds one out to Ajax, who turns the offer down as he knows his anticipation will leave him unable to focus on the text.
During their trip, Ajax remembers belatedly to warn Pulcinella about the cover his parents have concocted for his siblings regarding Ajax’s time away from home. The Harbinger quirks a brow, but otherwise shares no opinion on the matter. He agrees to act as one of Ajax’s boarding school teachers, though, which is the important part. The hours drag by slowly during their journey, and Ajax swears he doesn’t remember the journey to the Capital feeling quite so long.
It gives Ajax just enough time to start feeling anxious about seeing his family again. He hadn’t ever truly solved his nightmares situation, so what if he causes issues for his family? What if his father isn’t pleased to see him? What if his siblings have forgotten what he looks like, and don’t remember him when he arrives? Logically, he knows most of his concerns to be baseless, but it doesn’t stop the tension from seeping into his bones. He attempts to give the anxious energy an outlet through bouncing his knee and tapping fingers against the wall of the sleigh, but a stern look from Pulcinella quells the movements.
Just when he thinks he is truly about to combust, the familiar sight of the town’s clocktower comes into view. Impatiently, Ajax shoves his face as close to the window as he can manage, breath fogging the glass while his eyes rake over the familiar sights. Pulcinella watches him with amusement, setting his most recent book by his side.
The busier streets of the town turn into the bumpier roads of the less populated village settlements, the sleigh winding between trees and snow banks as they approach Ajax’s home.
Pulcinella clears his throat. “I can have the driver take me back into the town to the inn, once you are with your family. I do not wish to intrude on your reunion.”
Ajax finally pulls away from the window to give him a reproachful look. “You’re not intruding.” Ajax pauses, then adds, “Unless you don’t want to stay. That’s fine too. We can be a lot.”
Just then, the sleigh comes to a stop, and Ajax nearly flings himself from the door in his excitement. He runs up to the door of his home, nearly tripping over toys left strewn about the yard. They are various treasures of Anthon’s, and rather than irritating him, the reminder of his brother brings a smile to Ajax’s face. Behind him, he can hear Pulcinella speaking quietly with the driver, but he pays them no mind as he lifts his hand to knock at the door. It feels almost wrong, to be knocking instead of throwing it open the way he used to, as though he is a stranger and not a member of the family that lives here.
He doesn’t have long to dwell on this thought, as the door swings open to the warm visage of his mother.
Ajax brightens. “Ma–”
He’s interrupted by the pull of her arms into a tight embrace. “Oh, my Yasha, it is so good to see you.” She pulls back, pushing him to arm’s length so that she can run her eyes over him. As he had grown used to, her eyes never quite meet his own, always hovering somewhere slightly to the side, but he knows she is trying.
“You have grown! Already you are nearly as tall as your older brothers.” She runs her hands down his arms. “And this jacket is new; it’s very nice, very warm, good, good,” she mutters to herself.
“It’s good to see you too, Mama,” Ajax laughs.
When a cold breeze rustles her fringe, she seems to realize that she is keeping him in the doorway, and quickly ushers him inside.
“Come in, come in! The young ones are enjoying snacks in the kitchen, and your father should be back from the market soon.”
He nods and steps through the threshold, beginning to remove his outer clothing. His mother peers out the door, squinting.
“Is that the man you spoke of? Mister Pulcinella?” She queries. Ajax flushes, as he’d already forgotten the man was still out there. “Tell him to come in.”
“Oh! Yes.” Ajax quickly refastens his coat and scarf and darts out to the sleigh. The driver is unloading the last of Ajax’s bags to the ground, while Pulcinella observes.
“Mama wants you to come inside,” Ajax tells the Harbinger, grabbing his belongings.
“I would hate to disappoint her,” Pulcinella acquiesces. He gives instructions to the driver to take his belongings to the inn in town, and then to return in an hour, before gesturing to Ajax to lead the way back inside.
By the time they both step into the house, Tonia and Anthon have been made aware that Ajax is home, and they both rush to his side with twin exclamations of ‘Big brother! ’. They tackle him, wrapping small arms around his waist and thighs respectively. He laughs, hugging them back as best he can without getting unbalanced and tumbling over.
Pulcinella gently closes the door behind them, politely removing his shoes and outer jacket while the siblings re-acquaint themselves with their older brother. The two children seem to finally notice the strange man, and Anthon grips harder onto Ajax’s legs while Tonia’s brow furrows.
“Big brother, who’s that?” Tonia whispers, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“Oh!” Ajax awkwardly shifts to the side, difficult with the way Anthon is clinging to his legs. “This is Mister Pulcinella! He’s my tutor at my fancy new boarding school.”
“How do you do?” the Harbinger greets, bowing slightly to the children.
Their eyes widen, and they ‘oooh’ and ‘aah’, nodding in understanding.
Anthon’s eyes catch on the silver glint of the man’s cane, entranced. “Wha’s that?” the toddler asks, jabbing a finger at the cane.
Pulcinella blinks, straightening, before offering it to Anthon for perusal. “It is a cane, dear boy.”
The shiny cane proves to be too much of a temptation, as Anthon tentatively steps around from behind Ajax to take it in his hands. It is only slightly taller than he is, making it the perfect height to become a new obsession. Tonia also regards the fancy cane curiously, and she and Anthon take turns running their small fingers over the intricate designs in the metalwork.
Ajax snorts. “You’ve just given them their new favorite toy, I’m afraid. You may have outshone my own gifts,” he jokes.
Predictably, the children’s eyes light up and they turn their attention to their brother at the mention of presents. “You brought gifts?” Tonia asks excitedly.
“Well, of course!” Ajax says, ruffling Tonia’s hair with one hand, while deftly taking back Pulcinella’s cane in the other and handing it to the man. “It is Krsnik Noc, after all, and I am the bestest big brother.”
“Don’t get them riled up over gifts, now, Yasha,” Ajax’s mother scolds as she emerges from the kitchen with Teucer in her arms. Her gaze turns to Pulcinella and her expression loses its edge. “Oh! Forgive my manners, it is lovely to meet you, Mister Pulcinella. Thank you for taking care of our son.”
Pulcinella waves a hand nonchalantly, though Ajax thinks he can see a peek of red on the man’s cheeks. “Not at all, he is a lovely boy. It is a pleasure to meet the family he speaks so highly of,” he returns.
Ajax holds back his scoff at the first part of his sentence, and finally shucks off his outer clothes, hanging both his and Pulcinella’s coats on the rack by the door. With a little encouragement, Tonia and Anthon scurry off to the rug in front of the hearth to color on the floor while they wait for dinner to finish cooking.
Ajax volunteers to take Teucer while their mother watches the stove, and she gratefully passes him to Ajax. He and Pulcinella then take a seat on one of the worn couches near the fireplace, Ajax cradling the infant while Pulcinella takes an interest in the other children’s drawings. Somehow, the man gets roped into drawing with them, while Ajax hums an abstract lullaby to Teucer, content to watch the mayhem his siblings inflict on the Sentinel.
At one point, Pulcinella shifts from his seat on the ground, attempting to stretch his aching back, and a few pieces of candy fall from his pocket.
“Wha’s that?” Anthon asks, tilting his head at the brightly colored wrappers.
“I think it’s candy, Anthon,” Tonia replies, her eyes also fixated on it. “It’s awfully pretty, Mister,” she says to Pulcinella. Comparatively, to the candies their father sometimes brings home from the marketplace, or their peers bring to school, these candies are quite fancy. The wrappers are gilded and colorful, and Ajax knows from experience that the chocolates within are delicious. Pulcinella adores this brand of candies, and rarely does he not have some on his person.
“It is indeed candy, Miss Tonia,” Pulcinella says, settling back into position. He scoops the fallen candies into his palm, and holds them out for the children. “Please, try a piece.”
He does glance at Ajax from the corner of his eye as if seeking approval, and Ajax nods, smiling. As he expected, his siblings eagerly accept the offerings. Pulcinella helps Anthon unravel his piece from the wrapper, the toddler a little less coordinated than his sister. They both make exaggerated sounds of appreciation when they try the chocolates.
“So good!” says Tonia.
“Tha’s the bes’ choc’let in the whole world!” Anthon exclaims.
Ajax laughs, “You might just end up taking my place as their favorite, sir!”
“Nonsense,” Pulcinella chides with a stern glance in his direction. There’s a sparkle of something mischievous in his eyes, and he then pulls another two candies from his pocket, turning to face the children again. “Now, don’t tell your brother, but I have two more for you,” he stage whispers to the siblings. Tonia and Anthon giggle and nod, accepting more of the candy easily.
The sound of the front door clicking open interrupts anything Ajax might have said, and from the door frame steps his father. He knocks his boots against the outer ridge of the door to clear the snow from them, and then he steps fully inside. His attention is drawn immediately to Ajax and Teucer, and a frisson of nerves travels down Ajax’s spine, before his father’s sharp expression melts into a smile.
“Ajax,” he greets, stepping out of his boots and shrugging off his jacket.
“How are you, so–” His father freezes from where he is approaching the hearth, eyes snapping to Pulcinella seated on the floor. Immediately, his demeanor changes, limbs stiffening in tension and his broad shoulders drawing up to make him appear larger. Pulcinella doesn’t move, but his shrewd gaze sharpens on the other man. The two Sentinels size each other up in silence for a moment, before Pulcinella breaks the quiet, pushing himself up from the floor.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” he says, extending a hand. “My name is Pulcinella.”
Recognition flares in Ajax’s father’s eyes, and his posture relaxes minutely, taking the other Sentinel’s hand in his own. “Right, yes. The…tutor,” he says, gruffly.
Pulcinella nods, drawing his hand back to his side. “Just so. I must thank you for allowing me into your lovely home, though I believe my driver will be coming to collect me for the inn shortly, so I won’t be staying long.”
At that, the remaining tension in the air seems to drain. “A shame,” says Ajax’s father. “Will you be attending festivities with us tomorrow?”
“I would be delighted, if my work allows me,” Pulcinella replies.
From the couch where Ajax was observing the interaction, he finally interjects. “You still have to work?”
Pulcinella turns to him. “I did tell you, dear boy, the work stops for no one.” Ajax frowns. “Oh, don’t fret, it is only paperwork. I will still have time for celebrations.”
“If you say so,” Ajax says, slightly mollified.
Ajax’s father’s eyes flit between the Harbinger and his son. Ajax can’t help but think the man appears terribly awkward, and wonders if it’s only because he isn’t used to having another Sentinel in his home.
“Well,” his father finally says, “it’s wonderful to have you back home, son.” Ajax meets his father’s eyes, and though they are tired and a bit wary, they still shine with the affection he sorely missed. “Your mother told me your…studies have been going well.”
Ajax’s lips lift into a smile. “They have,” he reassures him. His father nods, understanding passing between them.
“Yes, your son is quite the prodigy. I am sure he has a bright future ahead of him,” Pulcinella adds.
Ajax blinks at the sudden praise, a slight pink rising to his cheeks. However, his father simply regards Pulcinella blankly, lips downturned.
“I see,” he says simply. “I’m going to wash up before dinner,” he then says, moving in the direction of his room. “Have a good night, Mister Pulcinella, if I do not see you before you depart.” And then he’s gone.
Pulcinella and Ajax share a look, to which Ajax helplessly shrugs. Teucer squirms slightly in his arms at the motion, and so he hurriedly begins rocking him again. Pulcinella walks back to the hearth to rejoin Tonia and Teucer, and when Ajax’s mother finally calls them for dinner, he takes his leave.
Pulcinella bids Ajax and his siblings and mother a good night, promising to visit again the following day. Ajax’s siblings seem to have taken a shine to the man, as they wave to him animatedly as he boards the sleigh and disappears into the freshly fallen night.
Ajax’s father rejoins the family at the dinner table, accompanied by Ajax’s elder sister who returns home shortly after Pulcinella leaves. It is as though the awkwardness with Pulcinella had never happened, and so Ajax shrugs it off. The meal is just as delicious as Ajax remembers his mother’s cooking to be, and the boisterous energy of his family around him feels welcoming rather than overstimulating.
Later that night, after tucking in his younger siblings, Ajax bathes and heads to bed, feeling buoyant and content to be back home.
The remainder of the winter solstice week leading up to Krsnik Noc is lovely, if mildly overwhelming for Ajax. Somehow, his sleep is blissfully free of abyssal recollections, which lifts the weight of anxiety from his shoulders each morning he wakes to a calm household. He’s bothered not by feedback or mental stimulation, but the restless energy that begins to hum in his veins after the first few days. His fingers twitch with the desire to raise a weapon, and so he turns to craft making with his siblings in an attempt to diffuse the tic. His elder brothers return home from the town to spend the holiday with the family, and Ajax has to hold his tongue from challenging them to wrestling matches to sate the longing for a spar in his veins. Ajax told his father he is doing better, and he is determined to prove that true to the man. However, he cannot deny that a small part of him can’t wait to return to the Capital to resume his Fatui training as an outlet.
He focuses on trying to enjoy the time he has with his family. While his elder siblings have grown more distant, engaged in new priorities as they pursue their own lives, his younger siblings have latched onto him even harder during his visit. He knows it will make leaving them again that much more difficult in the new year. They decorate the house together, stringing paper shapes from the mantle, banisters, and kitchen cabinets. Ornaments and painted wooden figures their father had made over the years are set out, and Pulcinella surprises their family with two extravagant bottles of wine. The quality is nearly obscenely ostentatious, and a glimpse at the vintage has Ajax’s father attempting to refuse the generous gift. Pulcinella proves to be more stubborn than his father, and so the family saves one bottle for the feast on the final night, and uses the other for the tradition of blessing a Yule log for their hearth.
Pulcinella is adored by Ajax’s little siblings, which he delights in seeing, though he thinks it may be largely due to the Sentinel’s continuing bribery with sweets. Surprisingly, Pulcinella and his father have also developed an amicable relationship, though they keep their conversations short. Occasionally, the Harbinger will attend festivities with them in the town, where most of the locals gather to celebrate each night with dancing, singing, stories, and the occasional drunken brawl. The largest celebration of all occurs on Krsnik Noc, of course, and the festivities last from early in the morning through the dark of night, a large roaring bonfire in the town square keeping the worst of the chill from those who attend.
When it is finally time for Ajax and Pulcinella to depart, two days later, they are ladened with leftover sweets from his mother and a bright crimson scarf that freshly adorns Ajax’s throat. The children are, as anticipated, loath to see them leave. Anthon is inconsolable in his tears, and Tonia hugs him tightly as though she does not want to let him go. Ajax offers them a smile, though his heart aches to be leaving his little stars once more. Teucer is not quite old enough to understand, and so his farewell is the easiest among them. Pulcinella is treated to a surprise of his own when Tonia and Anthon wrap their arms around him in a goodbye hug as well, and the flustered but pleased look on his face when he embraces them in return brings a smile to Ajax’s lips.
Ajax’s mother is the last to pull him into her arms, and she kisses his cheek before wishing him a safe journey. Ajax’s father gives him a lingering pat on the shoulder, looking like he wants to say something, though he maintains his silence. Shortly thereafter, Pulcinella and Ajax board their sleigh, and depart once more for the Capital.
The day after they arrive back in Zapolyarny Palace, daily life resumes as normal, everyone settling into the routine of the new year. Ajax attends his new combat course; Modern Fatui Combatives, Sentinels, Advanced. A handful of Sentinels in this course are familiar from the intermediary lessons, but most are new faces. It is a familiar song and dance to reclaim his reputation as a formidable Guide among his new peers, whose skeptical glances and derogatory comments fade as quickly as he slams them into the dirt. It is lovely to exercise his strength again; both with his fists and his Vision, and the praises he receives from his new drill sergeant don’t hurt either.
His academic scores from the previous year come back as satisfactory, and so Ajax is gratefully free from continuing his basic education. Empathy Training drags on as slowly as ever, though increasingly he finds himself expanding his limits. By the time the class is exercising the concept of filtering, Ajax has advanced leagues beyond his peers’ current capabilities, leaving him a bit bored. The instructor of the class is at a bit of a loss, as they do not have the demand required to have multiple levels of Guide training. Instructor Svetlana takes over for his continued lessons instead, devoting several hours a week to personally working with him.
Under the private tutelage, his ability grows in leaps and bounds, until it barely takes a thought for him to isolate the feedback from around him, or project waves of intent. He excels at influencing more insidious emotions, the ones he became most familiar with in the Abyss, such as rage, despair, anxiety, and intimidation. However, the attempt to practice the more soothing emotions that Guides are known for, such as calm, serenity, contentment, and happiness, ends in disappointing failure. It’s not as though they are emotions he is unfamiliar with, but it seems as though his muscle memory defaults back to darker feelings when he tries to cement any hold on the more positive ones.
It doesn’t bother him overtly, though there is some level of frustration that he does not have complete mastery over his gift. Though, he supposes, as an atypical Guide who uses his Empathy as a weapon rather than a balm, perhaps this outcome is not so bad.
A couple weeks into the new year, Ajax is summoned once more to a Compatibility Assessment. When he reviews the missive from one of the staff at the Guide House, he notices with curiosity that rather than Doctor Velika’s name listed under the administrator, it is instead Il Dottore. Assuming that it is a misprint, Ajax shrugs it off without concern. The date for the Assessment is scheduled for two weeks out, as apparently they called back two of the participant Sentinels from deployment.
When the date for his summons comes, Ajax has forgotten all about the odd misprint on his missive, until he strolls into the office and is confronted with the sight of the Harbinger intently tapping away on a tablet. The receptionist greets Ajax, causing the Harbinger’s attention to dart to him. The Sentinel is frowning, and though his eyes are obscured, Ajax can feel his evaluative stare.
Suddenly, the frown quirks into a smile, one much too wide and showing too many teeth to be considered polite. “Ah, Recruit 112529! Excellent; follow me.”
The man lets the hand holding his tablet fall to his side, and strides quickly to the Assessment room. Ajax is forced to jog slightly to make it to the door before it closes behind Dottore, and he feels a spark of irritation. Inside the room, Dottore has already settled into one of the sofas, and Ajax warily takes the seat across from him. There’s a prickling awareness that the man is watching his every movement with an intense sort of scrutiny, and it unsettles Ajax though he tries not to show it.
When they are both seated, the Harbinger lets out an extremely put upon sigh.
“The Ministry maintains a ninety-two percent success rate of matching successful bond partners within a Guide’s very first Assessment,” he says, apropos of nothing. “Ninety-six by the second. Ninety-nine by the third.”
Dottore leans forward in his seat, elbows supported on his knees, clasping his hands together to rest his chin on. “A fifth session is unprecedented, so I must say, you are quite the anomaly.”
Ajax says nothing, suspecting the man isn’t done. He is proven correct.
“What is also fascinating,” Dottore stresses, “is that not only have the matches failed; but multiple Sentinels have been forced into a zoned state from these attempts.
“One might suspect that these failures are intentional, then, on the Guide’s end,” Dottore continues blithely, tilting his head. Ajax feels his face heat in irritation at the accusation, prepared to defend himself, but Dottore continues on as though disregarding that notion.
“However, my agents strictly monitor the energy readings within the consultation room while each Assessment is in place, and further analysis of these readings post-event proved normal. Implying, then, a natural rejection of the bond from the Sentinel’s end.” Dottore leans back again, separating his hands to tap a restless finger against his knee. “As for why the cognitive response is so strong as to incapacitate some Sentinels, I cannot accurately say, though I do have my theories.”
Dottore’s voice dips at the end of his sentence, into a low murmur. It’s not as though Ajax has been hiding his abyssal nature during his time in the Fatui, though he hasn’t made an effort to broadcast it, either. He hasn’t used the Foul Legacy transformation since returning from the Abyss, though he can still hear its hungry whispers in the recesses of his mind. He wonders, then, if Dottore can sense the abyssal taint on him, if that is the implication of his words. Not even Ajax knows, though, if that is the cause for his inability to find a match.
“By all accounts, this system I have perfected over the last decade should have matched you with an ideal counterpart, and yet, here we are.” There’s a hint of irritation in the other man’s voice, as though Ajax’s lack of success is a personal insult to him. “Quite fascinating! Don’t you agree?”
The bright words and sudden sunny smile don’t match his tone, and Ajax shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Sure,” he says noncommittally.
“Hmph,” Dottore replies, smile falling as quickly as he’d plastered it on. “No respect for the sciences. No matter.”
The Harbinger then rises from his seat, tapping away once more at his tablet. “I will be monitoring this Assessment, and I personally handpicked the attending Sentinels. We will not see another failure,” he promises, and then disappears into the observation room.
Ajax grimaces, and then startles when the other door to the room opens, revealing Doctor Velika and an unfamiliar Sentinel.
This first Sentinel is visibly nervous, offering Ajax a weak smile and a little wave when she is introduced by Doctor Velika. She confirms Ajax’s suspicion that this is her first Assessment, and so he feels mildly regretful when, inevitably, after his mind touches hers, she slackens into a zone. She is escorted from the room by medical staff, as has become procedure enough during Ajax’s Assessments that the medical team is stationed by the door during them.
The second Sentinel that enters the room, however, shows none of the grace or kindness the first one did. He makes no effort to greet Ajax once Doctor Velika gives them one another’s names. Instead, his eyes sweep Ajax up and down, and his lips raise into a disgusted scowl.
“I suppose it’s impossible to find Guides of noble breeding anymore, is it?” the man mutters, crossing his arms over his chest in clear annoyance.
This Sentinel’s uniform is highly decorated, denoting his rank, though his clearly painstakingly groomed appearance and lack of visible scars or calluses makes Ajax suspect nepotism rather than skill. A frisson of irritation lances down Ajax’s spine.
“It’s frankly ridiculous they called me all the way back here for this joke of a Compatibility Assessment; they must be truly scraping the bottom of the barrel,” the man continues to gripe. “I mean, there’s clearly no chance of this match succeeding.”
Ajax raises a brow. “No?”
The Sentinel scoffs. “How could it? There is no chance that someone of my pedigree would be able to bond with you ,” he says, emphasizing his point in a way that implies Ajax is no more than scum on his shoe.
“No, I don’t suppose so,” Ajax agrees through gritted teeth. He is going to enjoy watching this idiot crumple to the ground.
“Hmph, at least you seem to have sense.” Then, the other man sighs, “Let’s get on with this charade, then.”
As soon as his eyes drop shut and Ajax senses his defenses lower, he strikes. Typically, in these Assessments, Ajax takes care to approach the Sentinels gently, letting his consciousness barely brush against theirs as that is typically all it takes for their rejection response to kick in. Now, however, Ajax lurches forward with all his capacity. His consciousness greedily infiltrates the Sentinel’s vulnerable mind, washing into the open expanse fueled by Ajax’s spite. His Empathy gropes for the tendrils of the Sentinel’s mind to sink into, invasive and parasitic. Ajax can feel the other man’s consciousness– his self-assuredness, his narcissism, his derision towards Ajax as a Guide– he gets as far as being able to sense the core of the man’s mind, his very soul , before the rejection hits.
It’s a violent expulsion, one that knocks Ajax back into his body and disorients him, loud ringing in his ears and vision gone white. A growling noise brings him back to awareness of himself, and despite the pounding in his skull, he blinks up at the source of the noise. To his surprise, rather than the blank and glazed look of a zoned Sentinel, the man across from him shakes as though in a rage, hands grasping at his head.
The Sentinel’s eyes rip open, pupils constricted, and the wild gaze lands on Ajax. Instinct tells Ajax to move in the same moment the Sentinel makes a lunge for him, hands outstretched and teeth bared. Ajax tumbles to the ground and rolls neatly into a defensive position, regarding the Sentinel. The man roars in anger, having missed his target, and his head whips around to find Ajax again. His pupils are still constricted in bloodshot eyes, and his lips drip with blood from where he presumably bit his own tongue. The Sentinel moves into position to rampage once more at Ajax, and the Guide shifts on his feet, a lopsided grin cocking his mouth to the side.
“Oh? Now, this is getting interesting,” he breathes, allowing his Hydro to collect into a sword in his palm.
The Sentinel lets out another rumbling growl and makes his move, leaping from the sofa towards Ajax. Ajax braces and prepares to meet the man’s attack with a swipe from his sword, but the moment never comes. Instead, about two feet away from Ajax, the Sentinel suddenly slumps to the ground. Behind the man’s prone forms stands Dottore, an empty syringe grasped in his fingers. The lower half of his face is tilted in a frown, and he ignores the man still twitching and growling on the floor to step towards Ajax.
“Sterile,” the Harbinger states in a monotone.
Thrown off, Ajax blinks and lowers his weapon, but then a flurry of action interrupts them, the medics coming to assess the delirious Sentinel. Still, Dottore’s attention does not stray from Ajax. Once the Sentinel has been removed from the room, Ajax blurts, “What?”
“Compatibility sterile,” Dottore repeats. “Allowing a Guide that triggers Berserk responses in Sentinels to remain in my program would be detrimental to our research, as well as a hazard.”
He steps forward toward Ajax again, who looks at him warily. “So, as fascinating and unprecedented as your case is, I am declaring you Empathically sterile and ineligible for future Compatibility Assessments.”
Frozen, processing the other man’s words, Ajax doesn’t react when the Harbinger continues past him and towards the door of the room.
“A complete waste of resources,” Dottore mutters to himself, opening the door. “The nerve of that Pulcinella…” the words trail off as the door shuts behind him without so much as a goodbye.
For a few moments Ajax simply remains in place, struck numb by the slowly fading pain in his temples and the echoing repetition of ‘Compatibility sterile ’ in his head. Another beat, and he smiles. The smile grows, spreading wide and delighted over Ajax’s cheeks, until they begin to feel sore.
“Haha,” he laughs in disbelief, “Ah...hahaha! ” He doubles over, laughter pulled from his gut in a mixture of incredulity and relief.
Would it truly be so simple for him to avoid the future of a caged bird, bound for a lifetime to the whims of a Sentinel? Have the shackles of the Abyss on his soul truly blessed his fate with freedom? Ajax pulls in gasping breaths as his relieved joy settles over him, and he calms slowly, celebratory smile affixed to his face. Cheerfully, he struts out of the consultation room, waves to the agent stationed in the lobby who returns his jovial wave with some confusion, and exits the Ministry Office with the weight of expectation falling from his shoulders.
His combat training is not for another hour yet, and so Ajax merrily makes his way out of the Inner Palace, whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. He watches the swirling puffs of his breath dissipate into the frigid air, and ducks behind one of the Palace buildings to stand before a section of the perimeter wall. He flicks his eyes to each side of him, finding no other soul present, as expected. Using his Vision as support for momentum, Ajax vaults atop the huge wall, and quickly drops to the other side. During his free time, he’s found that this particular section remains the least guarded, and it is a simple matter to get out of the Palace without being questioned or stopped.
In the Capital, nobody bothers questioning an unchaperoned Guide, especially one donning the apparel of the Fatui, and so Ajax continues his confident strut down the main streets without worry. He finds his way to the municipal building Pulcinella frequents for his work, saluting to the receptionist in the foyer who has long grown used to his comings and goings. He saunters down the hall, and proprietarily raps thrice on the heavy wooden door. He does not, however, wait for the person inside to grant him entry, instead throwing open the door to stroll inside.
Pulcinella glances up at him from the paperwork on his desk, pen poised in his hand mid-work. His expression appears stoic, but Ajax can see the tic of annoyance in his brow at being interrupted.
“You look awfully pleased with yourself,” he remarks, and then sighs as he realizes Ajax is unaccompanied, leaning back into his seat. “Where is your chaperone?”
“I’m with you, aren’t I?” Ajax points out, self-satisfied smile not fading. He takes a seat in front of Pulcinella’s desk, and the other man sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“By all means, take a seat,” he mutters sarcastically, to which Ajax chirps back a “Thanks!”
Over the past few weeks, the two have developed a higher level of comfort with one another, Ajax feeling much less wary around the Harbinger after observing him with his siblings and family. The Guide takes many more liberties around the Harbinger, especially regarding his time and attention, and so this is not his first unchaperoned visit to the man’s office. Though Pulcinella shows clear exasperation at the breach in protocol, he never reports on the issue.
“Go ahead, my boy, you have a look about you that you are simply bursting to share news,” Pulcinella invites, finally setting his pen down.
Ajax feels his smile widen further, leaning forward conspiratorially in his seat. “I failed my Compatibility Assessment today,” he says.
“I see,” Pulcinella says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Is that all?”
“Hmmm,” Ajax pretends to think, casting his eyes aside, “There may have also been a mention of this being my last.”
Pulcinella straightens in his seat. “Pardon?”
“Yup,” Ajax replies, meeting his alarmed gaze happily. “Something about being a hazard to Dottore’s program.”
Pulcinella doesn’t bother to chide Ajax for his lack of decorum in dropping Dottore’s title. “How so?”
“I sent a Sentinel into a Berserk.”
The older man’s eyes widen comically behind his frames. “My dear boy, you what? ”
“Not intentionally,” Ajax shrugs. “But now, apparently, I have been diagnosed as ‘Compatibility sterile’,” he says, marking air quotations with his fingers. “No Sentinel for me!”
Pulcinella blinks several times, digesting the information. He settles into a more neutral position in his chair, and clears his throat after a few minutes, one hand tugging at the end of his mustache.
“I see. Right. Well, terrible news, that is,” he says flatly, though Ajax can see the twitch of the smile he’s fighting. “Of course, with this development, we will need to determine an alternate path for you in the Fatui.”
Curious, Ajax tilts his head, but Pulcinella doesn’t seem to notice, lost to his thoughts. The Sentinel taps his fingers against his desk, eyes narrowed in concentration. Suspecting he’s not going to get further information any time soon, Ajax decides to take his leave.
“Well, that was all, sir!” Ajax chirps. “I’ll be heading back to Zapolyarny Palace.”
Distractedly, Pulcinella waves him off with a “Yes, yes, of course,” and Ajax is on his way.
He attends his combat course which goes smoothly, and arrives back at his and Pulcinella’s shared quarters feeling much calmer and pleasantly tired. He’s surprised when the Harbinger calls out to him from the living room when he steps in the door, as typically Pulcinella doesn’t return until much later in the evening.
“Yes, sir?” he asks, unbuttoning his coat in front of the fireplace.
“I’ve consulted Her Majesty about your predicament,” Pulcinella says, surprising Ajax with how quickly he’d done so. “With your inability to bond, your Guide status will be negligible as far as service goes. Not so much as to negate conscription; but you’ll be officially considered a standard Vision-holding agent.”
“Oh, okay.” Ajax shrugs off his coat, folding it over his arms. “What does that mean for Empathy Training?”
“You’ll no longer be required to attend those sessions.” Pulcinella then coughs into his fist. “In fact, you no longer need to report to any of your recruit training.”
“Sir?” Ajax prompts, confused.
“I’ve been given the approval to officially take you on as my protégé,” Pulcinella starts, and Ajax’s eyes widen in realization. “As your sponsor, I’ve determined that you have the experience and skill necessary to begin active duty.”
“Real–”
“However,” Pulcinella interrupts with a stern glance, “My influence on your career ends there. You will still start as an infantry soldier, like anyone else, and prove your competency.”
Ajax beams at Pulcinella. “Yes, sir!”
“Good,” Pulcinella nods. “Tomorrow morning, I will take you to report to my infantry captain, who will assign you to a platoon and a squad.”
Ajax nods eagerly, and then heads off to his room to bathe and prepare for dinner. During their shared meal, Pulcinella describes to Ajax the hierarchy of his infantry and explains that each Harbinger oversees at least one infantry regiment for their purposes. Some, such as The Captain and The Fair Lady, oversee several regiments. Since Pulcinella’s duties primarily concern municipal matters, as the Capital’s mayor, he commands only two Companies of three platoons each. Ajax, caring more about the amount of fighting he will be able to do than rank, pays little attention to these ramblings. At the end of dinner they bid one another goodnight, and Ajax lays awake in his bed, fantasy scenarios of battlefield glory playing out in his mind’s eye until he falls into a dreamless sleep.
Ajax is assigned to a squad in the Fifth Company. His squad is comprised of twelve individuals; six of which are Sentinels, including their sergeant. Besides him, four of his squadmates are Vision holders. Their squad is part of a platoon that Pulcinella has stationed in the Capital, and one of four squads that are dispatched to handle local disputes and calamities. It is explained to Ajax that the Fifth Company’s platoons are spread strategically in and around the Capital to maximize Zapolyarny Palace’s defenses. His platoon’s barracks are located just outside the Palace, though Pulcinella and Ajax agree it is still in Ajax’s best interest to avoid communal lodging and remain in the Harbinger’s guest quarters for the time being.
Ajax’s squad sergeant and platoon lieutenant appear to be rational and fair minded, though he cannot say the same for the rest of his squadmates. They are dubious of his ability to keep up and be useful during missions, and though he is used to the scorn by this point, it is still aggravating. He gets his chance to prove his worth soon enough, when his squad is deployed to a town bordering the Capital in response to a property dispute that had gotten violent. Their sergeant attempts to diffuse the situation, his bonded Guide with him and emitting wave after wave of calming projections.
The two arguing men relax their weapons, and all seems to be going well, until a group of men approaches from the distance, wielding their own weapons. As it happens, one of the disputing men had called for backup prior to Ajax’s squad arriving, and the newly arrived group are the response. Agitation rises in the air, and there is only so much that the sergeant’s Guide is able to do with such a large amount of discontent. Inevitably, someone takes the first swing.
Ajax grasps the opportunity. While his sergeant’s Guide is still pumping out attempts to soothe the group, Ajax jumps in and adds a twist with his own projections. The intersecting waves of fear, calm, fear, calm, fear, calm – confuse the agitated men into stasis. In their frozen state, it’s easy enough for Ajax to begin disarming the men. His squadmates startle into action behind him, and soon enough, all of those involved are disarmed and detained without casualty.
Though his sergeant reprimands him for acting without orders, he also offers light praise for work well done. The sergeant’s Guide seems bewildered at Ajax’s use of his gift, as do his squadmates, but he hears no other complaints since their mission is a success. Their subsequent missions also happen to be stellar successes as well. Ajax excels in action– often the first of his squad to dispatch threats or stun their opponents, making their work exceptionally easy.
There are some grumbles from squadmates – mostly the Sentinels – about being outperformed by a Guide, but Ajax pays them no mind. The majority of his squad are thankful for his contributions to their team, and often offer him praise after a successful mission where he’d taken the lead. His exemplary performance in his squad reaches Pulcinella’s ears, of course. The man never directly asks Ajax about how active duty is going, though the Guide knows the observant man is getting reports from his lieutenant. The only time Pulcinella brings it up is to airily suggest over dinner one night that Ajax could stand to be ‘ more of a team player ’.
Ajax inwardly scoffs, assuming this is a reflection of the few Sentinels in his squad that feel emasculated by receiving less accolades than a Guide. Ajax assures Pulcinella that he will keep that in mind, though the man’s dubious look in response tells Ajax they both give that assurance the same amount of credence.
Though Ajax is confident in his performance and ability, it still comes as a surprise when his squad sergeant nominates him for a promotion. With support from the platoon lieutenant, Ajax becomes a sergeant to his own squad within the Fifth Company in short order. The lieutenant assigns a handful of agents from his previous squad into this one, and a few more agents he does not recognize. Of the unfamiliar agents, two of the Sentinels immediately demand reassignment from Ajax’s squad when they find out their new sergeant is a Guide, as well as merely fourteen years of age.
The agents carried over from his previous squad are familiar with Ajax’s capabilities, and hold no such compunctions over working with him. Once the fuming Sentinels are sorted and out of Ajax’s squad, they begin taking missions. Ajax is delighted to have some say in what missions his squad is assigned to as a sergeant, and always attempts to claim the tougher combat ones. His platoon lieutenant reminds him that he has a team to consider, but Ajax is confident in their ability to handle the assignments he nominates them for.
His confidence is rewarded during a dispatch to the Capital borders where a minor rebellion is taking place. His squad moves like a well oiled machine; each part falling neatly into place without hesitation or noise. At the head of the charge, Ajax delights at making art of the battlefield. Snow painted crimson; reflections of blue and purple light glancing off the white canvas, smoke and sparks as elements collide and react. The rebellion is quashed within a day; flags the color of the surrounding snowfall waving high above their weary heads.
The radical group, opposing Her Majesty’s rule and the existence of the gnoses in general, is detained and taken in for questioning by another group of Pulcinella’s men. Ajax’s blood is still buzzing after the handoff, and once it’s completed he parts ways with his squad to burn off some steam outside the Capital. His squad has become used to this peculiarity of his, and takes the dismissal to pursue leisure time in the city until they need to report back the next day.
In the outskirts of the city, beyond the neighboring towns and in the deep of the pine forest, Ajax hunts. Hillichurl camps, packs of wolves, a nest of wyverns, it matters not what beasts he slays so long as he can feel the thrum of his heart in his ears and know he is alive and he is strong. The call of the Abyss beneath his skin hums loudly and distractingly. Patience, patience . He cannot justify the use of his Foul Legacy on the kinds of missions his squad is deployed on, not when he isn’t sure the beast he becomes won’t turn on his team. Ajax uses his Vision, uses his Empathy, uses his physical strength to prove himself in the ranks. Patience, patience . He promised his father. He will not let the temptation of the Abyss prove stronger than his own will.
Patience.
Ajax’s hard-fought patience is rewarded. A few months later, he receives another promotion.
Rather than the typical step from sergeant to lieutenant, Ajax’s platoon lieutenant had discussed another avenue with their Company captain. Given Ajax’s inclination towards difficult opponents and his self-sufficient battle style, they believe he would be better suited to private missions rather than overseeing a platoon.
Pulcinella agrees with their assessment, and so, on the eve of Ajax’s fifteenth birthday, he receives the news from Pulcinella himself that he is to be inducted to his Special Operations Forces.
Ajax is ecstatic; a plethora of opportunities open themselves before him with this change, promising him more challenging foes and potential for growth. The sting of being unable to celebrate his birthday with his family for the first year is slightly dulled by the news, even more so when Pulcinella treats him to a ballet in the Capital’s theater. Ajax is entranced by the performance, much more so than Pulcinella expected. The Guide’s eyes are glued to the dancers in awe, leaning forward in his seat, hands fisted in the material of his trousers. Afterwards, Pulcinella can hardly keep up with the praises pouring from the boy’s mouth, endless admiration for the athleticism and coordination displayed by the dancers.
Here and there, for the next few days after the performance, Pulcinella catches Ajax humming tunes from the show as he moves around their living quarters. Occasionally, he sees the boy mimic some of the poses, and when asking Ajax about it, he excitedly informs Pulcinella that he’s been able to challenge his core strength more by incorporating some of the dancer’s routine. An idea solidifies itself in Pulcinella’s mind.
As expected, Ajax thrives in the Special Forces. The first solo missions that Pulcinella assigns to him are purposely lower stakes to assess his capabilities, but the caution proves to be unfounded. Ajax dispatches Pulcinella’s concerns and adversaries effortlessly. If the man has any complaints, it would primarily be that the Guide’s methods can be somewhat… messy. Though, he cares little about method as long as the job is accomplished. He does harbor a mild trepidation for the boy’s ties to the Abyss, unsure of what effects may remain to be seen.
Since his initial introduction to Ajax, where the boy had been wild and reeking of the stench of the Abyss, he has rarely seen other flares of that energy. For the first few months of Ajax’s training in the Fatui, the Abyssal taint had seemed almost dormant, and of little concern. However, with Ajax now in more dangerous levels of combat in the Special Forces, Pulcinella picks up the acrid odor of Abyssal miasma much more frequently.
One such occasion is when Pulcinella assigns Ajax a mission in the mountainous region nearest the Capital. One of the Capital’s most valuable and prosperous trade routes winds between this mountain range, connecting the city to imports from harbor towns. What is already a perilous journey for merchants through the Snezhnayan tundra and icy cliffs has become infinitely more lethal with reports of a nest of dragons nestled in the cliff face above the trade route. Dozens of caravans have already fallen victim to the capricious nature of the beasts, and trade threatens to stall in response.
Predictably, Ajax accepts the mission eagerly, though Pulcinella advises he may want to recruit assistance. The boy waves off his suggestion, departing with a promise to return in a few days’ time. Four days later, Ajax does indeed return, sporting a sharp toothy smile as well as a pronounced limp and the heavy weight of abyssal miasma over him. Pulcinella wrinkles his nose, Sentinel senses acutely offended by the sharp scent, and advises the boy to visit a healer. Ajax retorts that he’s fine and he will be back to top shape within a few days, and retreats to his room to rest. Pulcinella has half a mind to call a healer from the Outer Palace regardless, but true to Ajax’s word, the boy emerges from his room within a day and a half seeming much brighter and abyssal scent tightly controlled. From then on, Pulcinella does not mention the abyssal taint.
Instead, as a reward for Ajax’s accomplishments, Pulcinella begins treating the boy to more theater performances in the Capital. They attend all manner of ballets, orchestras, operas, and troupe shows. No matter the art form, Ajax appears enamored of every performance, and excitedly praises each show afterward.
Ajax attempts to emulate the fluidity of the dancers he sees on stage, and incorporate more of the flourishes he sees into his movements. He finds that he becomes lighter on his feet with practice, and improves his speed and agility. The growth from the unexpected inspiration delights him, and he begins describing the performances he sees to his family in his letters. Where he cannot discuss the details of his missions or Fatui life, he happily fills the pages with details of the actors, dancers, and musicians he observes. His family, especially his sister, respond with intrigue in addition to belated well-wishes for his birthday.
In addition to the new interest that the theatrical arts have inspired in Ajax, motivating him to practice dance and performance in his free time, he also starts to make use of Pulcinella’s kitchen. Initially, the Harbinger’s private chef is affronted, though it shifts to intrigue when Ajax offers to show him his family’s method of cooking certain traditional dishes if in return the man helps Ajax improve his culinary skill. Pulcinella is mildly bemused to see the two cooking together every so often, but the results of their joint efforts are delicious and so he does not question it.
The freedom of Ajax’s new position, both in regards to his surplus of free time to pursue his interests, as well as allowing him to complete his missions in whatever manner he desires, has him feeling much more settled than he has since returning from the Abyss. Without the threat of bonding to a Sentinel lingering over his head, he begins to truly appreciate the avenues of opportunity the Fatui has opened to him. His ability to use the Foul Legacy transformation every so often has lessened the itching beneath his skin, and though the recuperation period afterwards is a bit of a drag, he doesn’t mind the trade off.
His lingering resentment towards his father’s conscription of him to the Fatui dwindles into mere embers. Though some miniscule part of him wishes his family could understand his circumstances, a larger part has come to realize over the past year of his conscription that he most likely would have become a danger to them. Back home, he never would have found an appropriate outlet for his urges, and the chances of him finding a better path to power and strength are equally negligible.
A few months later, when Pulcinella accompanies him home once more for a Krsnik Noc celebration with his family, the atmosphere feels much less tense. Ajax omits the details of his new position in the Fatui from his parents, though the way they eye the additional decorations to his lapel indicates they understand that things are changing. However, it does not dampen the festive mood, especially with the children so excited to see both their elder brother and the uncle who provides them with sweet treats.
In a turn of events, Ajax’s elder sister is spending the holiday with the family of the man she is engaged to within the Capital. His mother had not included her romantic tryst in her responses to his letters, mostly because it had apparently been a well-kept secret up until his sister had declared the week prior that she had met someone in town. His elder brothers still visit from their home in town, one of them bringing a significant other along with him.
The youngest siblings are what brings Ajax the most joy. He feels a mixture of delight and sadness when he sees Teucer taking wobbly steps towards him. His mother had described the recent development in her letters, though seeing the progress in person makes him realize just how much he is missing away from home. Still, he congratulates and praises the toddler, lifting him into his arms as small hands grab enthusiastically at his hair and face. Tonia declares that soon she will be writing letters to Ajax all on her own, showing off her improved calligraphy. Anthon has not yet mastered the art of writing, but he excitedly shows Ajax just how he’s been playing with the toys his brother has sent home to him.
Celebration with his family ends all too soon, and the following week Ajax and Pulcinella once more depart for Zapolyarny Palace. However, this time, Pulcinella too dons a scarf from Ajax’s mother.
Six months pass in the blink of an eye. For Ajax, it is six months of growing stronger, more capable; of fighting formidable opponents and facing both wins and losses. Whether he finds himself victorious, or falling short, he treats each battle as a learning opportunity. His Vision, his Empathy, his body–all weapons in his arsenal that he hones and polishes until there is no question as to his skill. Word spreads quickly of his accomplishments throughout all the ranks, regardless of how confidential a good portion of his missions are. Tales of a bloodthirsty Guide, an astounding juxtaposition, draw in much scrutiny and awe.
When he passes through the halls of the Inner Palace, Sentinels and Guide alike nod to him in respect. It’s a thrilling sort of recognition, one that feels hard-earned and deserved. Even if the Sentinels’ respect is begrudging, and even though the Guides radiate wariness around him, so be it. Ajax’s climb is far from over, and he will not settle until the world bows at his feet. Until he has the strength to gift his family all the treasures and luxuries Teyvat has to offer. Already, his family benefits from the salary he sends back home, but it is not enough. His little stars will reach the sky if he has any say in the matter.
And he, himself, will become the most formidable weapon. A part of him hopes, somehow, that Surtalogi can see what he has fostered; what Ajax has already mastered with his Legacy. He hopes that perhaps one day he will be able to cross swords with Skirk once more, and that his Master may feel pride. Until then, he will continue to pursue his ambitions with the trajectory the Fatui and Pulcinella have given him.
Three weeks before Ajax’s sixteenth birthday, Pulcinella introduces him to Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.
The Harbinger wears a look of pride the evening he informs Ajax of his plan to nominate the boy for the Eleventh seat.
“The Harbingers, sir?” Ajax reiterates with surprise, adjusting the red scarf draped around his shoulders. They have just come out of another splendid performance at the theater, and the rush of endorphins have yet to quiet in Ajax’s blood as they leave the venue.
Pulcinella nods, cane clicking against cobblestone. The two weave between chattering guests of the theater.
“Are you truly so surprised, my boy?” the man questions, then casts a skeptical glance at Ajax. “Or, perhaps, doubtful of your qualifications?”
Ajax’s chest puffs slightly at that under the bulk of his winter coat.
“No!” he denies, then backtracks slightly. “Well, sure, I’m surprised. I suppose I hadn’t thought of fighting for a seat in the Harbingers.”
He hadn’t. It isn’t that a lofty goal such as Her Majesty’s Eleven seems unattainable, nor is it due to the fact all the other Harbingers are Sentinels. Mostly, the future Ajax envisions for himself is separate from the Fatui. Sure, he is granted ample opportunity to expand his abilities, but it has seemed more like a stepping stone than his ultimate goal. The most worthy opponents to gauge his strength would not be found only in Snezhnaya, but by travelling all of Teyvat. Archons, gods, and leviathans that he could not hope to meet as a mere Special Forces agent.
Pulcinella chuckles, drawing Ajax from his thoughts. “Would it surprise you if I said I had been counting on this opportunity from the moment I made your acquaintance?”
Ajax’s head tilts, allowing the gently falling snow to brush against his upturned cheek, considering.
“No,” he says, honestly. “You’re always up to something, old man.”
By now, Ajax is well aware that the Harbinger measures everything by investment opportunity. If there is value to gain, he will invest. If that investment falls through, he will cut his losses. It is a cold way to look at the world, Ajax supposes, but he knows that he is one of the man’s investments, and it has worked out for him so far. Additionally, despite what the man might say or how he may deflect, he knows the Harbinger holds some sort of soft spot for him and his family.
“Indeed,” Pulcinella agrees, simply. “Regardless, I’ve petitioned Her Majesty for an audience, and She has granted us the occasion one week from tonight.”
“What will be expected of me?”
“Nothing, besides your attendance. It is customary for those nominated for a seat.” Pulcinella then sighs. “Pierro, our director, finds it more entertaining to invite his nominees to a Harbinger banquet and have them hash it out before Her Majesty. I find the whole event uncouth and wasteful of my time.”
“What? That sounds grand!” Ajax argues, imagining the opportunity to cross blades with other nominees, and perhaps also a Harbinger or two. What a fun time that would be.
Pulcinella fixes him with a sideways stare and harrumphs. “Do not be ungrateful for the chance I’ve provided you.”
“I’m not, I’m not,” Ajax assures, sobering. Though a Harbinger banquet to fight for his seat sounds like a delightful time, he must admit he is curious to simply meet the Tsaritsa. Despite approaching two years in Her service, he has not had much opportunity to see Her. Every so often, there is the lingering whisper of frost in the air if he traverses down one of the Inner Palace hallways, or even more rarely, a glimpse of Her silhouette through the throne room doors when he has accompanied Pulcinella to one of his meetings with Her.
“Good. Now, what shall we do for supper?” Pulcinella ponders, as they continue their way down the Capital’s main street idly.
“Oh! There’s this seafood place I’ve been wanting to try,” Ajax starts, describing the nearby restaurant to Pulcinella animatedly. Pulcinella’s curiosity is piqued, and the two enjoy a delectable dinner at the new establishment before retiring for the night.
One week later, Ajax stands before the imposing throne room doors, gloved hands clenched at his side. The doors tower dozens of feet above his head, magnificent snowflake motifs carved into the gleaming ice. The leather of his gloves creaks, and he loosens his fists, releasing a deep breath. Pulcinella speaks lowly to an attendant, who disappears for a moment before returning. Pulcinella nods to the attendant, then gestures to Ajax with a hand, signaling that they are to enter the throne room. Ajax takes a single step forward, when the giant doors begin to swing open. They open slowly, gliding noiselessly on their icy hinges, and a crisp breeze of frigid air drifts from beyond, caressing Ajax’s face and hair.
He falls mechanically into step behind Pulcinella as they enter, eyes drawn to the dazzling array of fixtures in the room, entirely composed of ice and glass. Light cascades from the skylight in the center of the ceiling, throwing colors through stained glass that bounce brilliantly off of the translucent structures within the room. Even more entrancing than the rainbows that glitter off of nearly every surface, is the resplendent presence of Her Majesty.
She nearly appears to be a sculpture carved from crystal, so arresting is Her visage where She rests upon Her throne. Ajax’s eyes widen as they approach the dais before Her, dropping from Her Majesty to Pulcinella before him, as Her divine aura makes itself known. It is nothing Ajax can compare to anything he has felt before, except perhaps the oppressive pressure around Surtalogi in the Abyss. But, he would dare not conflate the two, as to do so would seem like a bastardization of Her divinity. Her essence bears down on the two, heavy and breathtaking, exemplifying Her might. For the first time, Ajax feels truly inferior in the presence of a Sentinel.
The sensation is off-putting. It grates against the snarling growls of the Abyss in the back of his mind, rejecting the divine presence, and he feels the pang of a headache beginning to form. He attempts to quiet the chaos in his mind as he follows Pulcinella into a kneel, reinforcing his mental wards with gritted teeth.
“Rise,” commands a tinkling voice. Ajax is reminded then of the operas and orchestras attended with Pulcinella; of the most arresting harmonies and melodies that have entranced his ears. Her voice, ringing in the icy domain, lilting and sonorous, puts them to shame.
Ajax stands at Pulcinella’s left, eyes fixed on the steps of Her altar. Unprepared for the impact of meeting an archon, Ajax tunes out the first part of their conversation as Pulcinella introduces Ajax as the Harbinger’s nomination for the Eleventh seat.
“Come here, my child.”
The direct command yanks Ajax back into awareness. He tilts his head up, to where he can see Her Majesty extending a hand towards him in invitation. Though a veil of white obscures Her eyes, a light smile curves Her lips upwards on porcelain skin. Ajax scrambles to obey, feeling like a newborn foal with how his lanky limbs nearly buckle in his haste. He strides up the carved steps of the dais until he stands directly before the throne. Intrinsically, it feels wrong for his height to cause him to look down upon Her, and so he drops into another kneel.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, gaze fixed low upon his boot.
A cold, bare hand traces beneath Ajax’s jaw and tilts his chin upwards so that he can regard Her in all Her transcendent glory. Instantaneously, his pupils blow wide as his wards are eradicated under the pressure of Her contact, his senses overloaded with ease.
Euphoria.
He feels euphoric under Her assault. He can feel Her power, Her divinity, as it carves through his every nerve and synapse. Her love courses through him like a frigid Snezhnayan breeze, freezing the blood in his veins and the thoughts in his head. Her love is a biting, cold thing that threatens to consume him from the inside out, threatens to carve out his own heart and make a home there. He can barely begin to fathom the depth of Her frozen devotion, the dedication She holds for Her cause.
There is a lick of fear, under the haze of his mind. Fear that comes from vulnerability. Above that, though, there is an admiration. He can acutely feel the Tsarista’s ambition, Her unwavering pursuit of Her goal, Her desire to grow stronger to meet Her needs. She has a warrior’s soul and She is inconceivably baring it to Ajax, knowing his designation.
In the next second, the connection is ripped from Ajax. The Tsaritsa drops Her hand, though Ajax’s wide eyes still stare at Her from his kneel. The knee beneath him has gone numb, and he has no idea how long he has stayed in his trance. All he knows for certain, is that he wishes to be a weapon wielded by this warrior before him.
Her gentle smile has not faltered. “You have altered your fate, same as I,” She says. “We are not beholden to the whims of Celestia. You, a Guide,” She drags the pad of one finger down the side of his cheek, causing Ajax to shiver beneath Her touch, “yet more ambitious and brutal than many a Sentinel.”
She seems to ponder Her own words for a moment, before continuing, taking away Her hand to bring it to hover over Her chest. “Myself, an archon, who desires to use the very celestial power bestowed upon myself and my peers by the Heavenly Principles to eradicate their ilk.”
Ajax can feel the weight of Her gaze, even if he cannot meet Her eyes through the veil.
“What say you, my child?” the Tsaritsa implores, Her smile flattening to something more serious. “Would you join my comedy of ironies? Would you become my blade, so that we may overturn the heavens and laugh?”
Ajax knows his answer with certainty and clarity.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Her smile alights upon Her face once more.
“Then, welcome, my Tartaglia.”
Tartaglia is officially inaugurated a week after his sixteenth birthday, thus bestowing him with another title; the youngest of the Fatui Harbingers.
The ceremony is held before the rest of the Eleven, and it is Pierro who pins his newest tool upon him; an Electro Delusion. Pulcinella observes the proceedings from the side of the throne room alongside the other Harbingers, satisfaction etched into his features.
Along with his new title and standing, Tartaglia is granted private quarters within the Inner Palace. The staff he’s been assigned assist him with moving his belongings from Pulcinella’s guestroom. The change is mildly overwhelming at first, but he’s allotted an adjustment period to get his affairs in order before he is expected to begin his Harbinger duties. He has personal staff, his own infantry regiments, as well as a substantial pay increase that boggles the mind.
Talk of the newest Harbinger spreads quickly through the Capital, and so he figures he should write to his parents to notify them of his promotion before they find out from someone else that the newest Eleventh looks suspiciously like their middle son. They seem to take the news well enough, based on their letter in reply, though they advise him to use caution in his next letters as Tonia is growing anxious to be the one reading and replying to him now that she is able. Beyond that, they ask if he plans to attend Krsnik Noc at home again in the coming holiday season, though he isn’t quite sure how to respond.
As a Harbinger, his assignments are likely to take him beyond Snezhnaya’s borders, and if he were to be deployed to another nation, it’s unlikely there would be an opportunity for him to make the trip home and back in a reasonable amount of time. On the other hand, Harbingers have much more freedom to pursue personal goals and projects when they are not actively assigned somewhere, and so Tartaglia will likely be able to visit his family more frequently outside of assignments.
Beyond Tartaglia’s impending duties and the situation with his family, he finds pretty quickly that he is not much of a fan of his new colleagues. A few of the Harbingers he only knows little about, such as Arlecchino and Sandrone, and much of what he knows is a result of what Pulcinella shares with him. Other than the ceremony for his appointment to Harbinger, he’s had little reason to interact with the majority of them.
Dottore, he avoids simply due to his interactions with the Sentinel in the past, though the man seems content to avoid Tartaglia in return. La Signora sneers at him derisively the singular time he attempts to greet her in the halls, and so he takes to simply avoiding her as well. A few snipes from Scaramouche about his designation as a Guide, without even allowing Tartaglia to fight him in retaliation, has Tartaglia avoiding him as well. Pantalone seems to be friendly enough, though Tartaglia finds that once the man begins monologuing, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stop. Pulcinella is partial to Pantalone, and so Tartaglia attempts to be cordial when they interact, but, yet again, another Harbinger he mostly avoids.
There are a few he does not intentionally avoid. Periodically, he sees Capitano striding through Zapolyarny Palace, though the Sentinel is always accompanied and busy. Tartaglia has heard tales of his prowess and would delight in a spar with the other Harbinger, were the man to have any free time. Columbina and Sandrone are rarely sighted, caught up in their personal projects, and Arlecchino spends most of her time in Fontaine.
Over the next few years, Tartaglia settles into the role of Her Majesty’s Vanguard. He develops a reputation for himself of being a savage on the battlefield; a maniacal force that one should pray to never meet in combat. He eliminates threats to Her Majesty’s divine plans with a glee and ruthlessness that has his own men wary of him. Though, unlike other Harbingers, he’s not one to use lethal force on subordinates. His favorite of the rumors which circulate are the whispers about his designation, that describe how he Guides souls into madness. Tales of his twisted uses of his Empathy; witness accounts that describe the horror of being under his thrall in battle; it all brings a smile to his face.
Even with the rumors, Tartaglia finds that he is often underestimated. It is one thing to hear of the Tsaritsa’s bloodthirsty Vanguard, and another to be confronted with the charming and youthful appearance of the Guide. More than once, he has slain a Sentinel for daring to underestimate him in the heat of battle. Additionally, when his assignments begin to take him out of Snezhnaya, he runs into the issue of how Guides are viewed in cultures aside from his own. In some nations, with gritted teeth he endures endless questions of why he is unbonded. In others, his status is not ever mentioned.
What his diplomatic excursions have helped with, however, is his tuning and filtering of feedback. Over the years, he’s honed his ability to read the people he converses with, which is especially useful in his diplomatic capacity. He can pick up on deceit fairly easily, and can sense when someone is being truthful. When he enters a room, he’s able to pick out and read the strongest feelings, and better prepare himself to act accordingly. He likens it to a neverending performance; once where he gauges the audience’s reactions and adjusts his mask as needed.
In this endeavor, he invents the mask of Childe; the charming and affluent diplomat, eager to learn and please. While Tartaglia roams battlefields and feasts on Abyssal corruption, Childe roams ministry buildings and feasts at market stalls of the nations he visits.
It is Childe, then, who is assigned as a diplomat in Liyue; but it is Tartaglia who will rip the Geo gnosis from Rex Lapis’ chest as the Tsaritsa desires.
Notes:
Next chapter will be Tuesday!
Thank you as always for reading, and thanks to KJ for betaing <3
If you like, you can find me on twitter!
Chapter 4: Two Birds, One Stone
Summary:
Zhongli senses footsteps come and stop next to him at the stall, but dismisses his instinctive alarm as likely another patron. He blinks when a gloved hand reaches toward the display to pick up the jade statuette depicting Rex Lapis, and the interloper lets out an intrigued sound.
“I may be showing my ignorance as a foreigner, but while I recognize Rex Lapis, I can only assume the other figures here are idols of note as well.”
Recognizing the lilting cadence of that voice, Zhongli straightens and turns to the side. A shock of bright red hair, and a pale heart-shaped face with lips tilted upwards in a friendly smile regard him in return. Zhongli’s eyes dart to the side, confirming that the stall owner is still in deep discussion with the owner of the stall on the left, and Tartaglia is indeed speaking to him. He brings a hand to his mouth to politely clear his throat, and then nods to the other man.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Zhongli can sense the moment the Fatui vessel passes into the waters of Liyue.
During his midday strolls through the Harbor, he has remained vigilant in expectation of the Snezhnayan envoy’s arrival. The Tsaritsa had sent a missive to him a week prior notifying him of her Eleventh’s impending departure, thus sparking within Zhongli an unfamiliar sort of anticipatory impatience. With this final piece entering the board, the game could finally commence.
A vague shape is silhouetted by the curtain of fog in the distance of the Sea of Clouds, and Zhongli tracks the ship with sharp golden eyes as it draws ever closer. Casting out his senses further, he estimates approximately fifty to fifty-five souls on board. The heavy thudding of multiple pairs of thick-soled boots rushing to and fro on the deck makes the estimation more variable, but it matters not. One of the souls aboard that vessel is Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, and Zhongli is ever so curious to meet him.
Reining his senses back in, Zhongli waits patiently for the vessel to reach the docks. From his vantage point in Feiyun Slope atop the crimson bridge, he will be able to observe the proceedings well enough without risking being spotted. The ship is not overtly obvious as a Fatui naval vessel, presumably to hold the cover of a diplomatic envoy rather than a Harbinger’s escort. From what he understands of the Tsaritsa’s letter, the Harbinger will be assuming the guise of a diplomat working with the Northland Bank to improve relations with the Qixing.
The ship docks, and a small group of people approach the vessel as those aboard prepare to disembark. The approaching group consists of three Millelith soldiers accompanying Ganyu and another secretary of the Qixing, and they promptly greet the two men who disembark first. Zhongli tilts his head, considering the men speaking with the Qixing secretaries. One is easily dismissed as the captain of the ship, though the other, with a bright shock of auburn hair, is a curious contradiction to what Zhongli expected of the Harbinger the Tsaritsa promised him. What strikes Zhongli as odd is the youthful charm the man exudes as well as his clear designation as a Guide. Speaking amiably with the ship captain and the Qixing representatives, he does not at all appear to be the savage beast of a Vanguard the rumors would suggest.
Tartaglia laughs jovially at something the Captain says, and though the Millelith still seem on guard, they lose a bit of the tension they’d had upon greeting the men. Zhongli cannot parse what precisely is being said, but the groups do not appear to be hostile towards one another. The papers that Ganyu presents to the Harbinger are quickly read through and signed, and the Qixing soon permits the ship official sanction to dock, and they depart. Tartaglia then speaks briefly to the captain, before they indicate to the rest of the passengers and crew that they may begin disembarking. The Harbinger disappears into the ship once more, before reappearing along with what Zhongli assumes is his luggage. One of the scurrying agents is quick to offer him assistance with the bags, but Tartaglia appears to wave him off.
Zhongli watches, still, as Tartaglia speaks briefly to the agents that form a half circle around him, and then the group departs from Chihu Rock towards Feiyun Slope where the Northland Bank is located. As the Harbinger draws closer, Zhongli extends his senses slightly once more to see what he might be able to read from the other man. Though his gnosis is no replacement for the actual abilities of a Guide, he can generally pick up traces of strong intent from a person. Observing Tartaglia, however, is like staring into a smooth sheet of ice; or the placid surface of unmoving water.
Tartaglia stiffens, and his eyes flick in Zhongli’s direction. Surprised at the sensitivity of the man’s awareness, Zhongli pulls back immediately, and is thankful that from his distance the Guide won’t be able to see him without a Sentinel’s enhanced vision.
Regardless, if Zhongli remains stationary upon the bridge, he will likely be caught observing the Fatui as they enter the Northland Bank. So, he descends the stairs, passing by the envoy as he makes to return to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. The chattering agents pay him no mind, but his eyes lock briefly with the depthless blue gaze of the Harbinger for a split moment. Tartaglia continues forward, breaking the eye contact, though Zhongli pauses midstep, watching the retreating form of the Harbinger. He pulls himself from his daze, brows furrowing, and continues on his way.
Zhongli politely returns the greetings of the passersby who recognize and respect him, though his distracted thoughts are fixated on the Eleventh Harbinger.
He will need to orchestrate a meeting in the near future.
“Lord Harbi–”
“A hem.”
“...Master Childe.” Childe can see the downward twitch to the brunette agent’s mouth, though her undoubtedly baleful glare is hidden behind a black mask as she speaks to him. “Are you not going to leave your luggage in the accommodations here?”
She gestures behind her to where the stairs beyond the bank’s lobby lead to agent accommodations. This is where the other members of their envoy are currently making their way.
“Nope!” Childe shakes his head, pausing where he’d been carrying his luggage out of the foyer. “I shall be devastated to be apart from you all, but unfortunately the penthouse suite in the Baiju Guesthouse calls my name.”
“I see,” she responds, unimpressed, crossing her arms over her purple dress. “The luxuries of a diplomat?”
He offers her a sunny smile. “You understand perfectly, Katya! Reliable as always.”
Ekaterina sighs, long used to her superior’s mercurial personality by this point.
“Please be sure to report back in three hours’ time. We’ve arranged a meeting with the bank’s manager to discuss changes in operation, and it is imperative for you to be present,” she stresses.
“Of course, of course, I promised, didn’t I?” Childe agrees breezily, once more tugging his luggage towards the doors of the bank.
Ekaterina radiates skepticism with enough strength for Childe’s senses to pick up on, and he glances at her, affronted. “I can feel that, you know. When have I not kept a promise to you?”
The woman sniffs, and looks away. “I would never dare to question your sincerity, Master Childe,” she says, dodging the question.
“Right,” Childe drawls. “Well, then, I’ll be off. Please see to it that everyone settles in without issue. When I return you can let me know of any problems that need solving.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cheerfully, Childe strolls down the stairs leading to the Northland Bank, and makes his way in the direction of the Baiju Guesthouse. Prior to his departure from Snezhnaya, he had contacted the Guesthouse to book not only their penthouse suite, but the entire floor of rooms below that as well. It likely seemed excessive, and a gross misuse of his wealth, but he didn’t mind the aspersions cast at the seemingly frivolous Snezhnayan diplomat. These accommodations would ensure peaceful rest for his subordinates, and so he would gladly foot the cost and the longer commute to the bank in the mornings.
His check-in to the Guesthouse goes quickly once he provides his identification paperwork, and the hostess from the desk shows him to his suite. He does a cursory sweep of the penthouse, and deposits his luggage in the main room to be dealt with at a later time. After several days aboard a ship, he is aching to get out and explore the tantalizing opportunities Liyue Harbor has to offer. He knows that the following days will likely be full of bureaucracy and paperwork, as management of the bank falls directly under his control, and the Qixing will need to be notified of any future adjustments they may make. What a pain.
Just the thought of his impending future of dull offices and meetings tugs his smile into a grimace, and makes his desire to move grow stronger. He had promised Ekaterina that he would be present for their meeting later on, and so the timer on his freedom is ticking down. He appreciates her ability to hold him accountable–one of the only agents in his employ that acts unafraid of him and his status. She, along with two others from his squad when he had been sergeant, had followed him loyally after his appointment to Harbinger. It had been flattering, truly, and slightly surprising to see the transfer requests come through.
Ekaterina holds no designation nor a Vision, but she is one of the most competent intelligence agents Childe has had the pleasure of working with. Along with her, Nadia, a Sentinel, and Javert, a Sentinel holding a Pyro Vision, have also accompanied Childe for this mission. A handful of other agents working under Pantalone are already stationed at the bank, but Childe trusts them about as much as he trusts the other Harbinger. It will be useful to have agents who are loyal to him nearby.
Another portion of his infantry that had set sail with him were instructed to make camp in the outskirts of Liyue Harbor for reconnaissance, as he will need to investigate multiple avenues of dispatching the Geo Archon. With any luck, it won’t take too long to track down his target, and even less time to engage him in combat with the gnosis as a victory prize.
Childe departs from the Guesthouse, wondering how he should begin acquainting himself with the city. His stomach grumbles, and he decides exploring the food stalls he had smelled earlier to be the sensible course of action. Now that he is unburdened by the heft of his luggage, Childe feels free to admire the Harbor while he walks. The architecture is truly stunning; vibrant crimson columns and railings, the unique shape to the eaves, the intricate carpentry of the facades. Verdant green roof tiles glint beneath the beating heat of the sun, and make the golden accents of the city shimmer even brighter. From what he has observed so far, Liyue Harbor appears as lively and prosperous as rumors suggest, as well as a far cry from the muted and icy atmosphere of his homeland.
Unfamiliar with the lay of the city, Childe decides to simply go where his feet lead, and make a choice from there. He passes by the Northland Bank, as well as a few high-end looking restaurants, though they’re not what he’s in the mood for at the moment. He crosses the bridge into what a posted sign tells him is Chihu Rock, and then follows his nose. He can’t place the scents with anything he is familiar with, but the spiced aroma he can pick up on is magnetizing and appetizing.
He falls into the bustling crowds of people that occupy the stretch of small shops and kiosks, eagerly browsing what each stall has to offer. He tunes out the majority of the cacophony of feelings and thoughts of the people around him, though he is careful to monitor any waves of suspicion that float his way. He doesn’t paint a very inconspicuous picture, in his foreign uniform and bright hair, and he’s already caught more than a few curious glances thrown his way. Though his true intent for his foray into the market is to engage with a culture that fascinates him, he supposes he also paints a promising picture of a friendly diplomat if he is seen patronizing local businesses.
A flash of gold and white has Childe pausing in his stride. He blinks, and then steps to the side of the road to allow people to pass him, peering in through the window of the shop he stopped in front of. It appears to be a small restaurant, and a few pleased patrons are seated next to the counter window in front of the shop. Inside the window, Childe sees the movement of gold and white again, and he tilts his head curiously when a small bear emerges from the side door, carrying a tray over its head. The bear pays him no mind when it passes by him, dedicated in its task to reach a table of guests.
“Liyue sure is interesting,” he speaks softly to himself, smiling in amusement.
“Hey there!” A chipper voice catches his attention, and Childe turns his head to the restaurant window again. “Are you hungry?”
Childe blinks at the girl smiling at him from the other side of the counter. “Oh, sorry miss, did you mean me?”
“Of course! You’re the only one standing in front of our shop,” she points out, and her smile seems to be stifling a laugh.
“Ah, so I am,” Childe notes, a helpless grin on his own face as he approaches the window.
“So, what’ll it be?” the girl asks, leaning her elbows on the counter.
When Childe blanches, realizing he has no idea what to order, and there are no menus in sight, she finally does laugh. “I get the feeling you’re new to the area. It’s okay, I can help you out,” she says, and her knowing gaze gives Childe the feeling that she’s well aware of the foreign envoy’s arrival. A shallow Empathic read tells him that she’s genuine in her pleasant demeanor, though, and her sunny disposition is not a front.
“That would be much appreciated,” Childe agrees.
“Not a problem! Okay, well I can tell you that our most popular small plates are our rice buns, crystal shrimp, and grilled tiger fish,” she starts. “If you’d like to see our other dishes, I can grab you a menu.”
Childe waves a hand. “That’s alright, what you already mentioned sounds good to me. Could I trouble you for an order of the crystal shrimp and grilled tiger fish?”
“Of course,” the girl says cheerfully. “Would you like that for here or to carry out?”
“Carry out, please. And thank you, Miss…?”
“Xiangling! That will come to three thousand, seven hundred and fifty mora, Mister…?”
“Childe,” he offers, pulling the required mora plus a generous tip from his pouch.
Xiangling blinks at the surplus of mora for a moment, before offering it back. “Ah, there’s a bit too much extra here, and–”
Childe shakes his head, holding out his hand to stop her attempt. “Please, it is custom in my homeland to show appreciation.”
At that Xiangling does eye him dubiously. “I can’t allow that when you haven’t even tasted my cooking yet,” she argues.
Unaccustomed to people refusing his generosity even after an explanation, Childe pauses, confused. “So…would you allow it after I sample your food?”
“Well, yes! But only if it is deserved. A chef’s pride in their work is important, Master Childe!” Leaving the mora on the counter, the girl turns to begin cooking Childe’s food. He hums, watching her work through the window, and startles when the small bear toddles into the kitchen to rejoin her.
Xiangling refers to the bear as ‘Guoba’, and instructs it to grab ingredients for her while she works. Childe idly considers that he’s getting a meal and a show, entertained as he is by the display. It doesn’t take long at all for his food to be completed, and he’s presented with four succulent-looking dumplings and a skewer of tiger fish. The scent alone is mouthwatering, and Childe accepts the offered food with gusto. Xiangling watches with her hands on her hips as he intentionally takes his first bite of the skewer in front of the window.
He doesn’t even need to exaggerate his delight as the flavors burst over his tongue, similar to the fish skewers in his hometown, but with a different heat to the seasoning. Once he swallows, he shifts both of his orders to one hand so that he can push the mora on the counter back towards Xiangling.
“Absolutely delicious, Miss Xiangling! Well worth every mora. I’ll be sure to return here,” he says, earnestly. Childe doesn’t wish to be rude, but he does really want to finish his meal now that he’s gotten a taste of it. So, after Xiangling finally accepts the mora and bids him a good day, Childe departs from the restaurant, munching happily on his food. Wanmin Restaurant , he thinks to himself. He’ll have to enlighten Ekaterina.
Several days pass, and Zhongli has not yet intentionally sought out the Harbinger upon his shores. He knows to exhibit some level of patience and decorum, eager though he is to truly begin his retirement. From what he has heard, both from clientele of the Parlor and the gossiping mouths of those in the Harbor, the Fatui diplomat has been quite busy going to and fro the Northland Bank, Yuehai Pavilion, and the Ministry of Civil Affairs. The Qixing are diligent as always regarding foreign emissaries and ensuring legitimate business practices, and it is mildly amusing as much as it is reassuring to see them run the Fatui through their hoops.
Despite this, on the sparse occasions Zhongli has laid eyes on the Harbinger himself, the man has not appeared harried or haggard from the work. He always exudes a pleasant demeanor, unrushed and cheerful whether he is conversing with his subordinates outside, or simply browsing the market stalls. It is during one of these instances when he inadvertently makes Tartaglia’s acquaintance.
Zhongli is enjoying a break from work for the lunch hour, visiting one of his favored lapidary stands to peruse their newest designs. Despite the market’s proximity to the docks, Zhongli has long learned to tune out the overwhelming stench of fish in order to pursue his artistic inclinations. For this stall specifically, the artisan’s skill with their gems has always riveted Zhongli, and he often finds himself using a significant portion of his wages on their work. The stones and carvings on display glitter appealingly under the warm Liyue sun, easily drawing the eye to their exquisite craftsmanship. There is a new series of jade carvings that depict a few of the more famous Adepti, and it is these that have caught Zhongli’s attention today.
Zhongli senses footsteps come and stop next to him at the stall, but dismisses his instinctive alarm as likely another patron. He blinks when a gloved hand reaches toward the display to pick up the jade statuette depicting Rex Lapis, and the interloper lets out an intrigued sound.
“I may be showing my ignorance as a foreigner, but while I recognize Rex Lapis, I can only assume the other figures here are idols of note as well.”
Recognizing the lilting cadence of that voice, Zhongli straightens and turns to the side. A shock of bright red hair, and a pale heart-shaped face with lips tilted upwards in a friendly smile regard him in return. Zhongli’s eyes dart to the side, confirming that the stall owner is still in deep discussion with the owner of the stall on the left, and Tartaglia is indeed speaking to him. He brings a hand to his mouth to politely clear his throat, and then nods to the other man.
“You would be correct in your assumption. These jade sculptures represent a few of the Adepti most prominent in Liyuen folklore. For example,” Zhongli reaches out to gently grasp another one of the statuettes in the shape of a stag, and he holds it up between them for inspection, “this is a depiction of the adeptus Skybracer. He was said to be one of the great protectors of Liyue during the Archon War. It is said that the blood he shed on behalf of Liyue became the Bishui River.”
Fathomless blue eyes widen in appreciation, and evaluate the jade figure in Zhongli’s hold.
“Wow, do all of them have legends so grand?” the Harbinger prompts.
Zhongli lets out a huff of amusement as he settles the figure back into the display. “I would not call all of their stories ‘grand’, per se, but each played an integral role in shaping the Liyue we have today.”
Perhaps realizing the callous tone of his question, Tartaglia’s pale skin flushes minutely. “Ah, I meant no offense. I suppose you could call such tales an interest of mine.”
Offering the other man a smile of his own, Zhongli assures, “No offense taken. To be honest, I find the curiosity refreshing. If you would like, I would be happy to describe each of the depicted Adepti to you.”
Tartaglia’s face brightens again. “Would you really? If you have the time, that would be a real treat.”
Unbidden, Zhongli feels his face grow warm. Odd. His brows furrow, wondering if his Sentinel nature is reacting to the dangerous presence of the Harbinger–but, no, he had no such reactions around La Signora. He brushes a gloved hand over his cheek, feeling for the texture of scales beneath the leather, but only smooth skin meets his test.
Tartaglia’s smile falters, mistaking Zhongli’s pinched expression for one of reluctance. “If not, that’s quite alright. I’m sure I can find some written history on them.”
Zhongli smoothes out his features, snapping back to the present. “My apologies, I was merely lost in thought. As I said, it would be my pleasure to assist you. The skill of this artisan could only be more appreciated with context and understanding for the details they have added to their depictions.”
The Sentinel takes one of the other sculptures into his hand, this one in the shape of a carp. “Here, we have Fujin. She is rumored to have planted the very first tea tree in Chenyu Vale, marking the beginning of the renowned strains they are famous across Teyvat for. It is also said that she, and her companion Lingyuan, defected against their former master in order to aid Morax during the Archon War.”
Zhongli goes on to individually name and briefly describe the feats of the rest of the Adepti in the display: Pervases, Marchosius, Sea Gazer. Tartaglia does not lose his riveted expression throughout Zhongli’s descriptions, only occasionally interjecting to ask for clarifications. By the time he has finished his explanations, the stall owner has returned, and discreetly observes the exchange between the Sentinel and the Guide.
“They all sound like formidable warriors in their own right,” Tartaglia nods, “and this is a fascinating way to commemorate their legacies.”
“Hmm, I suppose. It is not uncommon for devotees of a particular god or adeptus to have idols in their home or place of work,” Zhongli explains.
Tartaglia makes another inquisitive noise, lifting the Rex Lapis figure in front of his eyes. “Then, would it be inappropriate for a foreigner who does not worship Liyuen deities to have such an item?”
“Not at all.” Zhongli smiles at him. “Ultimately, these artistic depictions are not true items of worship. The devotion is in the craftsmanship itself, and obtaining one can simply be an appreciation of the culture.”
“Fantastic,” Tartaglia chirps, and begins to turn to the stall owner. “Excuse me, miss–”
Suddenly, Zhongli has an urge that he is helpless to suppress. “May I?” he asks, extending his palm towards Tartaglia’s hand holding the Rex Lapis figure.
Both the stall owner and the Guide appear confused.
“Oh, uh, sure,” Tartaglia says after a moment's hesitation, transferring the jade statuette to Zhongli’s hand.
“Thank you,” Zhongli says, and then he turns to the merchant. “Good afternoon, Madam, I would like to purchase this for the gentleman here.”
The Harbinger’s eyebrows raise, and he crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh?”
Zhongli’s eyes crease with the sideways smile he offers the other. “As an extension of goodwill, and to hopefully inspire further interest in our history.”
“A lovely gift indeed, Mister Zhongli,” the stall owner pipes up, gladly taking the sculpture and wrapping it gently. “That will be eight thousand and four hundred mora.”
Zhongli hums, patting over his coat pockets. He pauses, lips pursing, and regards Tartaglia again.
The serene expression does not drop from his face when he says, “Apologies. It is a shame, but it seems as though I absentmindedly left my wallet at home today.”
While the merchant merely appears resigned, as though she had half-expected this, Tartaglia bursts into peals of laughter.
Zhongli does frown slightly at this. “It is no joke, I’m afraid. I apologize that I won’t be able to obtain that gift for you after all.”
Still smiling, Tartaglia swipes at the corners of his eyes, his chuckles dying down into short puffs of air.
“You’re a funny guy, Mister Zhongli,” he says, to which Zhongli tilts his head in confusion. Tartaglia reaches into the pouch at his hip and pulls out a handful of mora, passing it to the merchant. The woman thanks him and hands the wrapped statue over, bidding the both of them a pleasant afternoon.
“Thanks again for your time,” Tartaglia says afterwards, turning back to Zhongli and stepping to the side of the stall to allow other customers to browse.
Though still slightly unsure of what the other had found so amusing, Zhongli’s lips tip up in a smile. “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you. It is somewhat of a hobby of mine to share and debate legends of times past. As well, I am fortunate enough to act as a sort of conservator of bygone Liyuen traditions in my employment.”
Intrigued, Tartaglia raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Ah, I suppose formal introductions have yet to be made. I am Zhongli, a consultant of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor,” Zhongli says with a small bow towards Tartaglia. “I assist with all manner of traditional rituals for the departed, though primarily my focus is on maintaining the lost art of rites for the Adepti.”
Copying the other man’s short bow, Tartaglia returns the introduction. “Well met, Mister Zhongli! You can call me Childe, emissary of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa to oversee the Northland Bank here in the Harbor.” He leans conspiratorially towards Zhongli, adopting a sheepish expression. “And, truthfully, somewhat in need of a cultural guide as I’ve only just arrived. Say, since you seem familiar with the scene, do you have any such advisors you would recommend?”
Childe, not Tartaglia; Zhongli must remember to refer to him as such during their acquaintance.
“A cultural guide, you say?” Zhongli repeats, cupping his chin in one hand thoughtfully.
With the way the Harbinger is leaning into his space, the man’s crisp seabreeze scent floods the Sentinel’s awareness distractingly, and so he discreetly uses the leather of his glove to somewhat mitigate the smell. From what Zhongli can sense, the Guide seems earnest in his request, though he can only assume what the man would be asking of a cultural guide. Likely, digging for pertinent information to further his mission, and so it would be beneficial to remain apprised of the situation as well as curate what information he gathers.
Patiently, Childe nods. “Yes. I had been advised to find one upon arrival, though I admit other duties have taken precedence since arriving.”
Zhongli hums, well aware of the Qixing’s methodology. “Of course. Should you like, I would be happy to assist you, as I often take on cultural consulting contracts through the Parlor. Of course, if you would like a referral to another party, I’m sure I can assist with that as well.”
Childe’s expression brightens. “Oh, fantastic! Yes, please, I would like to hire you on.”
Zhongli muses internally at the other man’s eagerness, and the ease of things falling into place. “Splendid. We would need to set the final written terms through my employer, but we may as well talk through our agreement first. Shall we discuss over lunch?”
“If I haven’t taken too much of your time already, then absolutely. It’ll be my treat,” Childe agrees.
“I thank you for your generosity, Master Childe. I do have time for a meal before I am required back at the Parlor; might I make a suggestion as for our dining location?”
“Be my guest,” Childe invites, sweeping out an arm to gesture for Zhongli to take the lead.
Childe isn’t quite sure what to make of the consultant.
He’d approached the Sentinel on a whim, partially intrigued by the jade statuettes the man was admiring, and partially curious about his odd aura. Typically, each person has some level of subconscious projection into their aura that Childe will be able to gauge with his Empathy. For the most well-trained Sentinels and Guides, such as in the Fatui or Millelith, they might be the vaguest of reads, but they are still present to some extent. However, this Sentinel possessed an absolutely ironclad shield around his mind, making feedback nonexistent, piquing Childe’s curiosity.
He had expected to be rebuked as an unfamiliar Guide approaching someone so clearly closed off, but the gentleman, Mister Zhongli, had surprised him with forthcoming candidness. More than that, he seemed genuinely interested in sharing information with Childe. Though Childe had been unable to get a read from his aura, Mister Zhongli’s earnest, if awkward, disposition had Childe’s wariness shrinking back into the recesses of his mind. Despite the man being a Sentinel, he didn’t project the air of self-importance that most Sentinels Childe knew carried, especially amongst the ranks of the Harbingers. Instead, he appeared modest and polite, even with Childe’s blunders.
Childe had been impressed enough to offer Mister Zhongli a contract of employment. No simple civilian would have mental defenses so airtight, so Childe does not drop his caution completely, but he doesn’t see the harm in meeting with the man further on a superficial basis. He clearly holds vast knowledge of Liyuen culture that Childe sorely needs for his mission. As long as he plays his cards right, he should be able to glean the knowledge he needs from Mister Zhongli without jeopardizing his plans.
Currently, Childe turns the small jade figure of Rex Lapis over in his palm, resting one elbow on his desk to support his head. He has another lunch planned with Mister Zhongli for that afternoon– the previous day, Mister Zhongli had mentioned a favored restaurant called Liuli Pavillion, lamenting that the reservations list was typically months long. Childe, aiming to impress the Sentinel, had dropped by Liuli after their lunch at Wanmin Restaurant in order to score a slot for the following day. It had required a bit of displaying his credentials alongside a rather large sum of mora, but he had gotten the reservation. He hasn’t told Mister Zhongli yet where he intends for them to go, but he hopes it is a worthy gamble.
Childe sighs, setting down the figure to focus again on the contract in front of him. Mister Zhongli’s employer, Director Hu, does not mind lending him out at all, which is convenient for Childe. Though, her terms are a bit…eccentric, to say the least. Where he had been expecting financial compensation for Mister Zhongli’s expertise, there is simply a ‘non-competitor’ agreement which instates Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as the lone handler of any Fatui…disposals. While the flowery language she uses is vague enough to avoid legal scrutiny, which Childe appreciates, the intent is clear and he can admire her business acumen.Though, Childe can only act within his purview of a temporary diplomat in Liyue Harbor, and cannot account for any men outside of his own, and so he annotates this next to that clause to specify.
Additionally, in another of Director Hu’s clauses, she makes an explicit clarification that any tabs incurred on behalf of one Mister Zhongli are to be paid by the Northland Bank, and not the responsibility of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Childe takes no issue with that, as he’s already treated the consultant to lunch once and has the funds to continue doing so for the remainder of their acquaintance, but it makes him wonder at the other man’s reputation. While the refined man possesses an air of poise and dignity, he seems to have his bouts of absentmindedness, if the wallet stint from the other day is anything to go by. Childe finds the juxtaposition oddly charming.
On Childe’s end of the contract, his main stipulation is maintaining privacy and discretion, of course. Even if he were truly only a Snezhnayan diplomat and not a Harbinger, the Northland Bank operates under the Fatui and thus nondisclosure is imperative. He will pass along this draft of the contract back to Mister Zhongli at their lunch today, and then hopefully after his small changes are agreed upon it can be signed and finalized.
Satisfied, Childe leans back in his office chair and stretches his arms over his head, straightening out his spine with a gratifying crack. A glance at the clock over the threshold tells him that he has a couple hours yet until his lunch, but the need to move after a morning of poring over documents is an insistent itch. He pushes up from his seat and strides from his office into the foyer, looking around for Ekaterina. Rather than sitting behind the opulent desk where she is normally stationed, he finds his agent speaking in hushed tones with the bank’s manager, Andrei, in front of the man’s office door.
All of his agents seem to be settling in well; Ekaterina has taken on the role of receptionist and Nadia as the night guard. Javert acts as Childe’s go-between for the men stationed outside of the harbor, and has taken on a good portion of debt collections for the bank. Andrei and his staff have been accommodating, if slightly wary, as they had been previously accustomed to reporting only to Pantalone. Childe understands that his reputation precedes him, and while that is something he typically enjoys, it has made it slightly challenging for Pantalone’s men to warm up to him and stop radiating pure terror when he enters a room.
Now, at least, Andrei does not immediately flinch when he sees Childe approach him and Ekaterina. He still averts his eyes, though Childe tends to get that reaction regardless of who he speaks to these days.
“Morning, Andrei, Katya!” he greets cheerily, and Ekaterina finally turns to acknowledge him.
“Good morning, Master Childe,” they return in sync, though Ekaterina’s neutral expression dips into a frown.
“Are you heading out already?” she asks. “I thought your lunch meeting wasn’t for another three hours.”
“You’d be right,” Childe agrees. “I’m going out to…collect some debts, let’s say.”
Ekaterina looks unimpressed. “I have already dispatched a team for debt collections today. Master Childe, did you finish signing the documents from the Qixing? If they aren’t submitted by this afternoon, we may end up penalized.”
“Of course, Katya, that was my top priority!” Her demeanor says she doubts that. “They’re next to the contract for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor on my desk. I can drop them off at the Ministry of Civil Affairs on my way out,” he offers.
Ekaterina shakes her head. “No need, I will handle it, sir. If you must go, I only urge you to be mindful of your presentation when you attend your lunch today.”
The implication: Don’t show up sweaty and covered in gore.
“I am always mindful!” At the twitch of her mouth, he amends, “I will be mindful.”
“Much appreciated, Master Childe.”
He nods to her and heads to the entrance of the Bank. Behind him, Ekaterina adds, “Some clients this morning mentioned trouble with treasure hoarders obstructing the trade route between Lingju Pass and Qingxu Pool.”
Childe makes a delighted noise. “How unfortunate. Thanks, Katya!”
She ignores him in favor of returning to her discussion with Andrei, and Childe makes his way out of the bank, bounding down the crimson steps to the stone street below. He inhales the fresh, warm breeze blowing in from the sea, anticipation coursing through his veins. Though he is careful within the bounds of the city, under the watchful and wary eyes of the Millelith, once he steps foot outside the Harbor he allows his Hydro to manifest in his palms. Whistling to himself, strolling the path from Chihu Rock towards Qingxu Pool, Childe flips his Hydro daggers into the air and catches them again. With any luck, he’ll be able to solve the trade route problem for the Millelith, recognition notwithstanding, as well as relieve his excess energy before his meal with Mister Zhongli.
“Stop right there, pretty boy.”
Childe’s grin sharpens; it seems that luck is indeed on his side. He tilts his face upwards to the voice with his most charming smile.
“Well hello there, friend! What seems to be the problem?”
The Sentinel treasure hoarder who stands on the overpass above the path looks unmoved by his charm.
“You’re in my territory. I’m going to have to tell you to scram.” The Sentinel then cocks his head to the side, appraising Childe. The man smirks, then leaps down from the overpass in front of him. “Though I’m gonna need some payment for sparing your life, first.”
“My life?” Childe affects a surprised expression, one hand over his heart. “Well, if I had such compensation I would surely present it to a considerate gentleman such as yourself.”
The man’s brow furrows, pinching into irritation. He glances down pointedly at Childe’s belt, where his mora pouch sits. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of compensation right there.”
“Ah, no.” Childe now adopts an expression of regret, fighting against his smile. “Unfortunately, this mora belongs to the Northland Bank, which I am fairly certain you are not.” He leans towards the Sentinel who is now openly scowling. “You see, that receptionist there can be quite scary when she wants to be, so I ought not get on her bad side.”
The audible grinding of the other man’s jaw in response fills Childe with fresh delight.
“Listen here, smartass, you’ve gotten on my bad side. Now I’m gonna take that mora and teach you a lesson while I’m at it,” he growls, and reaches forward to grasp at Childe’s mora pouch.
Childe darts to the side, clicking his tongue at the treasure hoarder. “Now, that’s pretty rude. I suppose I might just have to defend myself,” he sighs in mock exasperation.
At that, the Sentinel guffaws. “Defend yourself? What’s a posh Guide like you gonna do? You should’ve saved yourself and bonded to some uptight prick in the city.” The treasure hoarder then makes a show of cracking his knuckles, and blowing a sharp whistle into the air. In moments, the shifting sound of rocks moving under foot marks the arrival of the Sentinel’s crew.
Childe’s eyes narrow as he shifts into a defensive stance, lopsided smirk cutting a sharp line to his cheek. “I wonder,” he breathes.
The Sentinel moves first. Childe has to admit, the other man is fast. He throws a punch at Childe’s head, and the Harbinger ducks under in barely enough time to avoid the jab. It gives him a fantastic opportunity for an uppercut, which he rewards the treasure hoarder with right beneath the man’s jaw. The man spits out a drop of blood and growls, pivoting to face Childe, who has gone back to his defensive stance. The Harbinger smiles sweetly at him.
He roars and lunges again, this time withdrawing a knife from the sheath at his side, and swiping at Childe’s throat. The treasure hoarders behind him cheer and circle around the two, aiming kicks and slashes at Childe when they draw near. It’s mechanical, almost, the way Childe dodges each strike with ease, none landing upon his person even as he is outnumbered. It’s laughably easy to make the men stumble into one another as he dodges and pivots from strike to swing, and the increasing waves of rage and frustration reach a satisfying crescendo to his senses.
It’s almost disappointing that he is able to dispatch the Sentinel’s men with barely any use of his Vision, the uncoordinated crew dropping one after the other to the stony ground. Furious, the Sentinel has not stopped attempting to attack Childe himself, but even with all his heightened strength and speed, Childe has strategy and military training. The other man is panting and heaving, spitting insult after insult at the Harbinger as his punches and stabs continue to miss.
“You damn smug bastard, I’m gonna show you your place, you fucking–”
Quite frankly, Childe is getting bored.
All at once, he stops moving, stops sidestepping the man’s swings. The Sentinel, with perhaps some inkling of awareness, registers this as odd and warily halts as well to observe Childe. Not that it does him any good, since in the next moment, Childe shoves his Empathy outward and shatters the man’s pathetic mental defenses. The Sentinel hisses at the initial onslaught, but Childe doesn’t stop there. He pushes, and pushes . There– he can feel it, the man’s core, the twisted writhing mass of his soul. All of the rage, the greed, the frustration, every ounce of negativity within the man’s subconscious, Childe amplifies it. He focuses on the emotions and entwines his influence with the shredded remains of the man’s mind.
When he feels the inevitable retaliation wind up as the mind’s last defense, he pulls himself out, and waits. Sure enough, he is not made to wait long.
Crazed eyes snap open, pupils constricted into tiny dots. The Sentinel’s mouth curls into a snarl, baring his teeth, unbothered by the drool beginning to foam at the sides. Every muscle in the man’s body tenses, and his mindless gaze locks onto Childe.
Bingo. Childe grins again, at the promise of facing a Sentinel at their most ferocious. He doesn’t use this trick often , per se, but he has attempted it enough to become familiar with how to trigger it when he deigns to.
Pleased, Childe lets the Berserk Sentinel charge for him, dodging out of his way only at the last moment. Though the man is not cognizant, his strikes are much faster and more coordinated than when he had challenged the Harbinger earlier. The heel of his boot barely misses Childe’s side, and the swing of his fist does manage to clip him on the shoulder. Childe laughs in glee at the throbbing pain, ducking down to slide underneath the man’s next hit. A knee comes dangerously close to striking Childe’s nose, but he deflects the attack with his Hydro dagger. The pain of the inflicted wound does not seem to faze the Sentinel, who continues to charge at Childe even with a bleeding calf.
Shifting onto one leg, Childe kicks at the Sentinel, his shin catching him across the middle. It doesn’t knock the man over, but it slows him enough for Childe to pivot off of the grounded foot, twisting midair to land a punch to his cheek. He shakes out his hand while the Sentinel stumbles to the side. Once the Sentinel regains his balance, he whips his head towards Childe and growls. This time, when the man lunges at him, Childe dances to the side, and swings his leg around to hit the treasure hoarder in the back of the knee. The leg buckles, and before the man has a chance to right himself, Childe aims hard and fast at the back of his neck.
Finally, the Sentinel crumples facedown to the ground, unmoving. Childe hums, stretching out his limbs, ignoring the men strewn about the path. It is a pity that they didn’t present more of a challenge, but he’d at least gotten some exercise out of it. Checking his pocketwatch, a gift from Pulcinella upon his appointment as Harbinger, Childe realizes he has a little under an hour before his rendezvous with Mister Zhongli. Leaving the treasure hoarders for the Millelith to deal with whenever an unlucky traveller reports the bodies, he slides the pocketwatch back into his jacket and strolls towards the Harbor.
Childe can feel the exasperation radiating off of Ekaterina when he re-enters the bank a short while later, but she does not say anything as he makes his way to his office. He makes quick work of straightening up his uniform– luckily, there are no visible bloodstains– and grabs the contract from his desk. He notices the empty space where the Qixing documents had been laying previously, and makes a mental note to thank Ekaterina for that later on when she’s not annoyed at him.
When he steps back into the bank’s foyer, he’s slightly surprised to see Mister Zhongli at the desk with Ekaterina. Brow furrowing, certain that he’d had more time, he checks his pocketwatch, and then steps backwards into his office to compare it with the clock on the wall. They both show the same time, twenty minutes until their scheduled meeting, leaving him slightly perplexed. A soft huff of laughter pulls his attention to the other man in the lobby. Mister Zhongli regards him with a small smile next to the reception desk.
“Please, do not fret, you are not running late. I simply found myself with some extra time this morning. Do not rush on my account if you are still working,” he says.
Childe beams at him. “Nonsense, Mister Zhongli! I couldn’t leave you standing in the lobby; that wouldn’t be very hospitable at all.” He then looks to Ekaterina. “Despite the excellent company you find yourself with,” he winks.
Ekaterina scowls, though Mister Zhongli nods in agreement. “Yes, Miss Ekaterina here is a very pleasant conversationalist. She was just telling me about the plants you have here in the lobby; the winterberries are quite vibrant,” he continues, gesturing to the green branches rising up from an ornate golden vase, dotted with small ruby berries.
Childe looks at the plant, noticing it for the first time with Mister Zhongli’s mention of it. “So it is. A wonderful shade of red,” he says. Like fresh blood, he doesn’t say.
“If you’d like to leave now,” Ekaterina interjects, “I’m sure Liuli Pavillion would be able to take your reservation a few minutes early.”
Mister Zhongli blinks in surprise. “Liuli Pavillion? You managed to get a reservation on such short notice?”
Pleased by the reaction, Childe clasps his hands behind his back and finally comes to stand with the other two.
“I did, indeed. You underestimate my charm, Mister Zhongli,” Childe winks playfully at him.
“Evidently so,” the Sentinel hums, golden eyes twinkling in amusement.
“Shall we?” Childe gestures to the doors with an open palm, to which Mister Zhongli nods, “Let’s.”
The two wave to Ekaterina, and head through the double doors to the stairs.
The hostess is indeed willing to take them a few minutes early, since their reserved room is ready. The hostess, a Guide by the name of Licai, leads them to their room and allows them a few moments of privacy to review the menu. The two thank her as they take their seats across from one another, and Childe indulges his curiosity.
“Say, Mister Zhongli, I hope it isn’t rude to ask, but I was curious about the role of Guides in Liyue.”
Mister Zhongli’s eyes flicker up from the menu in his hands to meet Childe’s. “How so?”
Childe drums his fingers against the polished wooden surface of their table, considering his next words.
“Well, I suppose I’ve seen more unbonded Guides in various positions across the Harbor than would be common in Snezhnaya. Such as our waitress, for example.” As well as the Qixing secretary, Ganyu, he thinks, or the Tianquan Ningguang if rumors are to be believed. No unbonded Guide in Snezhnaya would be seen holding such an elevated political position, himself excluded, but he does not mention that.
His companion hums in thought, eyes skimming over the menu for a few moments, before he places it on the table.
“It is my understanding that there is a compulsory enlistment law in place for Guides in Snezhnaya, is that correct?” Childe nods, and he continues. “The Fatui is the largest military force in Teyvat. For that reason, the percentage of Sentinels in service is much higher than in other nations outside of Snezhnaya. Comparatively, the Millelith is much more compact, and there are a high number of Liyuen Sentinels that end up in non-combative careers. Thus, the demand for Guides in service is much lower, as typically they see enough Guides enlist of their own volition to meet the needs of Millelith forces.” Mister Zhongli pauses while Childe digests the information. Childe wonders, briefly, what his life may have been like if Snezhnaya had been in similar circumstances, then dismisses the thought as unhelpful and irrelevant.
“So, I suppose to answer your question, there is not a singular role demanded of Guides. In the days before Liyue Harbor existed, there existed a tradition of marriage-bonding Sentinels and Guides in settlements as a matter of safety and protection of their villages. Though, this has fallen out of practice for the most part. Of course, there are pockets of those who believe in an outdated hierarchy, but they are not the majority.” Mister Zhongli then tilts his head, his eyes sliding away from Childe’s face in thought. “Many of Liyue’s revered figures have been Guides, as well. You may be familiar with today’s Tianquan, but there are also the Adepti.”
Childe leans forward in his seat, intrigued by the mention of the Adepti. Highly respected, often worshiped, powerful, enlightened beings, led by Rex Lapis himself. What Childe wouldn’t give to enter combat with one of the elusive warriors…
With a somewhat glazed expression, Mister Zhongli continues. “Of the Adepti, one may think of Cloud Retainer, a brilliant engineer and dedicated protector. Or, perhaps, the God of Dust, Guizhong, who assisted Morax in establishing the Guili Assembly during the Archon War.”
A touch of grief brushes the outer awareness of Childe’s mind, and he flinches in surprise. A shock passes through him when he pulls back to himself, realizing that he’d reached out, unbidden, to Mister Zhongli’s consciousness. The other man seems to startle back to himself with Childe’s jerk, a look of concern taking over his previously contemplative expression, but otherwise ignorant to what had transpired. Childe can feel the flush heating his cheeks from embarrassment, internally chastising himself, because how inappropriate!
“Sorry, Mister Zhongli, I’m still listening. It sounds like there are a few notable legends of Guides here, hm?” he prompts, hoping to draw attention away from himself. Thankfully, Mister Zhongli adopts a small smile and nods.
“Yes, indeed there are. I would be happy to continue sharing, though perhaps we should put in our order for food, first. I realize I can, ah,” he pauses, “get carried away by my tales.”
“Of course,” Childe agrees, “I don’t mind at all, but I’m sure they’ll be even more enjoyable over a delectable meal. Please, whatever you recommend,” he gestures at the menu.
When they call Licai back into the room, Childe happily lets Mister Zhongli take over dictating their order to the waitress. Internally, he stews over what had happened earlier, wondering how he’d even been able to catch that fleeting feeling from the other man. As usual, the Sentinel’s defenses appear airtight, not the slightest vulnerability that Childe can read from the outside. And yet, he’d been able to slip in, at least slightly, and without causing an adverse reaction.
Perhaps he’d imagined it; after all, why would a tale of legends past cause Mister Zhongli grief?
Prepared to brush the embarrassing incident off as a flight of fancy, Childe instead asks Mister Zhongli about what he’d ordered when Licai leaves the room. The Sentinel’s face brightens as he lists each dish, and the ingredient composition of a few that he favors.
“Though, each dish is an exemplary taste of the rich and indulgent Li-style cuisine, so I am eager to hear your thoughts on them later on.”
“Li-style?” Childe prompts.
The doors open to allow several wait staff into the room with loaded carts of steaming food, which they quickly and efficiently begin setting on the table between Childe and Mister Zhongli. The Harbinger’s eyes widen at the number of plates, though the tantalizing scents and aesthetic plating promise an appetizing meal. Licai bows to them before taking her leave as the staff then files out. When the door clicks shut behind them, Mister Zhongli takes the initiative to begin pouring tea while addressing Childe’s question.
“Li-style cuisine is one of two large culinary traditions in Liyue.” He sets the teapot down in the center of the table, offering one of the cups to Childe who accepts gratefully. Then, he gestures to one of the larger plates before them, ladened with cured pork and many spiced garnishes. “The influence of Li cuisine is of the mountains, where the majority of the ingredients originate. There is also a focus on packing flavor and heat into these dishes. For example, this hot pot utilizes Matsutake mushrooms harvested from Mount Tianheng, and boar meat from the cliffs surrounding Qingce Village. You are able to certify its origin from the slightly nuttier taste of these mushrooms than those harvested elsewhere, and the coarser texture to the pork.”
Mister Zhongli then brings his hands back to his sides. “Conversely, with Yue-style cuisine, there is an emphasis on lighter and brighter flavors, using less by way of spices, and relying more on the natural texture and freshness of seafood. In order to fully appreciate each traditional cuisine, it is important to try both, and so I would recommend a trip to Xinyue Kiosk in your future.”
“I see, Mister Zhongli, thank you for enlightening me.” Childe smiles, absorbing the information. “I’ll be sure to check out Xinyue Kiosk and compare those dishes to the seafood of my home; that would surely be a delight.”
“Is seafood a large part of the cuisine in Snezhnaya?” asks the Sentinel, as he lifts his chopsticks to begin plating his food.
Childe glances at the two sticks next to his plate, then again to those in Mister Zhongli’s grip. At Wanmin Restaurant, they’d ordered mostly finger foods, and so Childe had been spared this particular challenge.
“At least in my village, it was,” Childe starts, attempting to mimic the other’s grip with his own chopsticks. “My home is seaside, and so ice fishing is both a hobby and a necessity,” he says distractedly, working the unfamiliar utensils between his fingers.
“We can get other meat from hunting or trading, but that can be slightly more difficult in our region depending on weather conditions.” Childe clicks the sticks in his fingers together, cementing his grip, then he reaches over the table to make a grab at some of the hot pork.
“Ice fishing?” Mister Zhongli repeats, intrigued. He has already stacked his plate with delectable morsels, and politely watches Childe’s face rather than his unsteady hand on the chopsticks.
“Yes!” Childe says excitedly, managing at the same moment to lift some of the pork. “For ice fishing, you–oh, drat.” The slice of pork sadly slaps down on the hardwood table, to Childe’s dismay.
Childe furrows his brows, and adjusts his grip on the chopsticks. “Excuse me a moment,” he says, and then rears his forearm back.
“Master Childe,” interrupts Mister Zhongli quickly, with some alarm. Childe blinks back at him, arm frozen where it appeared to be gearing up to simply stab at the meat. Mister Zhongli coughs into his hand, and then pushes himself up from his seat.
“If you will pardon me, I may be of some assistance,” he says, moving behind Childe’s seat.
Childe tenses when the other steps out of his line of sight, arm stiff when one of Mister Zhongli’s gloved hands delicately takes his wrist, and pulls it towards him. Childe allows the direction, turning slightly to watch the other’s movements. The Sentinel appears focussed on his task of rearranging Childe’s grip on the chopsticks, not meeting Childe’s eyes where they dance over his face, before resting on their nearly intertwined hands.
“Similarly to your writing grip, if you keep the bottom one in this valley and support it with your ring finger, yes, and the top one here with just the tips of – yes, exactly. Very good.” Childe’s cheeks heat, and his hand prickles beneath his glove when the other man removes his hands. “Now, only move the top chopstick, and keep the other stationary– just like that, yes, perfect.”
Childe swallows, the praise making his mouth run dry, and he distracts himself by experimentally practicing the grip before reaching once more for the pork. Mister Zhongli seats himself as Childe successfully moves one slice to his plate. Proud, he grins and meets the other man’s eyes.
“Just like combat, I’d say, sometimes you simply need to adjust your stance. I’ll surely master this in no time.” Childe allows his smile to edge into something a bit mischievous, deciding to test something he’d heard in the Harbor. “This student thanks you for your tutelage, Zhongli-xiansheng.”
The other man raises a brow, while Childe uses his shaky but improving hold to load his plate. “I assure you, there’s no need for that sort of formality. In truth, I would not mind if you simply referred to me as Zhongli.”
“I take no issue with dropping formality, but, Xiansheng,” Childe argues without dropping his smile, “you’ve already taught me so much. I would hate to seem ungrateful.”
“I would not describe you as ungrateful,” Zhongli sighs, “but perhaps a bit of a rascal.”
“Oh?” Childe’s face brightens even more, enjoying the deviation from the other’s polite demeanor. “Well, I’ve heard much worse.”
“Please, let us indulge before our food cools, and I will continue telling you of the Adepti, should you still have interest,” Zhongli redirects.
Conceding, Childe takes a large bite of the pork on his plate, making a surprised sound at the flood of flavor and heat that coats his tongue. Quickly, he chews and swallows, cooling his palate by following up with half of his glass of water. Invigorated by the unfamiliar kick of spice, he takes a smaller second bite, appreciating the burn as he chews. He can’t say that he can recognize the particular seasonings and flavor profiles that Zhongli rattled off earlier, but the food most assuredly is good .
Satisfied by his companion’s apparent enjoyment of the food, Zhongli samples his own, starting with dumplings. Apropos of nothing, he asks, “Do you happen to enjoy the theater, Childe?”
Swallowing his bite of food, Childe regards him with interest, noting the reciprocal drop of formal address. “Theater? I’ve not had the opportunity to attend any performances in Liyue,” he admits, “but I do appreciate the arts.”
“Splendid. I have considered, since you have expressed interest in the stories of the gods and Adepti of Liyue, perhaps an opera would be in order. Many Liyuen operas have quite beautiful retellings of well-known folklore. Of course, I would clarify for you what is embellished and what is more or less known to be accurate.”
“An opera sounds grand. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to attend any show, so I’ll look forward to it,” Childe agrees easily. The last performance he’d seen was a ballet, which he accompanied Pulcinella to shortly before his assignment in Liyue. He’d loved it, of course, though it would be fascinating to note the differences in Snezhnayan and Liyuen performances.
“I believe currently, the Yun-Han Opera Troupe is performing a newer production following the rise and fall of the Guili Assembly at Heyu Tea House. Since we are approaching the Moonchase Festival, it is likely they chose such a topic to honor the Adepti,” Zhongli suggests, taking a long sip of his tea.
“Right, the Moonchase Festival.” Childe recognizes the name. “My staff at the bank have been talking about that. It’s to celebrate the arrival of fall, isn’t it?”
Zhongli makes a contemplative sound. “In essence, yes. More specifically, it is said that the arrival of fall was when the Adepti would seek their path thousands of years ago, under the light of the moon. The people of Liyue sought to honor this adeptal tradition by emulating it with their own festivals celebrating different Adepti. One of these specifically honored Marchosius, God of the Stove. When he fell, after sacrificing his divine power to protect Liyue Harbor, Rex Lapis unified the various festivals into Moonchase in his honor. It is now seen as a time for people to reunite with friends and family, have feasts, and indulge in merriment.”
“Hmm, so would you say I’d be more likely to encounter one of these elusive Adepti at the start of fall, gallivanting in the moonlight?” Childe prods, lifting a lotus crisp to his mouth.
Zhongli casts a knowing look at him. “Whyever would a diplomat search for an adeptus?”
“To ask for adeptal blessings and favor, same as anyone else,” Childe offers a charming smile around his crisp.
“Of course,” Zhongli agrees smoothly. “Regardless, Moonchase, as an adeptal tradition, no longer exists. The festival is all that remains of it, now.”
Childe sighs. “Ah, well. That’s too bad.”
“Who knows,” Zhongli says, eyes glinting, “perhaps you may encounter an adeptus in disguise amongst the people at the festival. Such chances are auspicious.”
Childe gets the feeling he is being teased, though his companion’s placid expression does not change as he takes another sip of his tea. “Why would an adeptus want to wear a disguise? Are they not revered?”
“One could say that is enough reason to warrant a disguise,” Zhongli argues, placing his cup back in its saucer. “Wanting to engage in a night of merriment with the common folk, without the burden of responsibility or recognition.”
“Burden, hm?” Childe repeats. He places down his chopsticks and rests his chin on one hand, considering Zhongli’s words. “Sounds like you have quite a bit of empathy for these enlightened warriors,” Childe teases with a quirk of his lips.
“I can’t say I understand, though,” he muses, looking away from Zhongli towards the circular window beside them. Through the decorative pane, he can vaguely make out the moving shapes of people going about their day through Feiyun Slope. “Everyone desires recognition, don’t they? For their abilities, their accomplishments, their hard work.”
He can feel golden eyes watching him, the intensity of the gaze feels almost searing on his skin. With his eyes, Childe trails a small boy running after his mother in the street.
“Perhaps, to an extent.” Zhongli says eventually, carefully. “But, what of when the accolades become grating to the ears? As a mortal, I cannot fathom the weight of the thousands of years the Adepti have experienced, of course. But, being elevated and praised for the entirety of one's existence without being able to interact in any meaningful way with those you protect,” Zhongli pauses. “I cannot help but see it as an enduring sort of loneliness.”
Finally, Childe turns to look at Zhongli, regarding the far away expression he wears. “Loneliness? Do the Adepti not get along with one another?”
Somehow, that prompts a huff of laughter from Zhongli, and pulls him from the lost expression on his face, instead raising his eyes to meet Childe’s with a small smile. “I have heard that they have a familial sort of bond, with all the ups and downs that may entail.” Childe returns the smile, though he feels like he may be missing some context. Zhongli continues, “In any case, the number of Adepti is dwindling. Many were lost during the Archon War, and many more fell after that while attempting to rid the lands of karmic debt. After such tragedy…there exist rifts of more than just distance, I would suspect.”
Disliking the somber mood that has come over the table, Childe frowns. He catches his subconscious on the verge of reaching out, forcibly reels himself back in, and tries to lighten the atmosphere.
“Well, perhaps it will instead become my goal to make friends with an adeptus during Moonchase, if one should grace me with their presence,” he tries.
Zhongli brightens just a bit, and Childe feels himself relaxing. “An admirable goal. Though I would refrain from asking such a new friend for those blessings you seek,” he teases in return.
Childe shrugs. “Like you said, who knows. Maybe this mysterious adeptus will be so charmed by this diplomat they will bless him anyway!”
“There is indeed the possibility,” Zhongli says, though the tick of his lips tells Childe he is still teasing.
The two conclude their lunch on an amiable note, with Childe belatedly realizing that he nearly forgot to pass Zhongli the amended contract draft, as riveted by their conversation as he was. As promised, Childe covers the bill, including a substantial tip as per Snezhnayan custom, and on a whim invites Zhongli along to browse the market with him.
“Pardon my tardiness in asking,” Zhongli starts, while leaning over a merchant’s display table to gently touch a dangling earring of cor lapis, “but how did you enjoy the meal?”
He looks over his shoulder to gauge Childe’s reaction, though Childe’s gaze is on the earring he’d been examining. Blue darts over to meet gold, and the Harbinger smiles encouragingly. “It was excellent! You sure weren’t lying, Xiansheng, those dishes were full of flavors and spice.”
“You handled the heat admirably,” Zhongli praises, causing Childe’s cheeks to flush.
“There’s nothing I won’t conquer, whether it’s Liyuen spices or those chopsticks, you can take my word for it.”
“I am glad. I shall appraise your skill the next time we dine out,” Zhongli turns his attention back to the display as he speaks, running his gaze over the various sparkling gems and golden chains. A noctilucous jade pendant catches his eye next, and he tilts his head consideringly, brushing his fingers beneath the polished jade. Discreetly, his eyes dart to Childe, who is now studying a small silver necklace on the other side of the table.
“Don’t worry,” Childe replies, “I plan to make Zhongli-xiansheng proud.” The Harbinger’s eyes, similar in shade to the noctilucous jade Zhongli admires, flash in amusement.
Zhongli looks away again, lips tipping upward. “Rascal,” he says beneath his breath. Childe laughs in turn, and the merchant observing the interaction flushes and suddenly disappears behind the flap of her stall.
“Oh, hm. I was about to ask for the price of this,” Zhongli laments, looking up to where she had vanished.
“I’m sure she’ll return soon,” Childe says, and he looks at what Zhongli holds in his palm. “Oh, that’s quite nice.”
Gently, Childe lifts the earring from Zhongli’s palm, and hovers his hand an inch from Zhongli’s ear. The cor lapis jewel at the top glints in the warm afternoon light, and the soft white tassel at the end flutters lightly in the summer breeze.
His gaze travels from the earring to Zhongli’s expectant stare. “It matches your eyes,” he says earnestly. Imperceptibly, Zhongli’s golden eyes widen just the slightest bit, and–
A soft ‘oh!’ sounds from their side, and both heads turn to see the merchant who had quietly reappeared, though she is clutching the front of her tunic as if in distress. Childe’s brow furrows. “Are you alright, miss?”
He pushes out lightly, trying to gauge if he’d somehow frightened her, but all he can pick up from her is a thread of flustered embarrassment, which confuses him further.
She nods quickly, “Of course, ah, don’t mind me. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Childe’s frown is perplexed. Interrupt? “You’re not interrupting at all, miss, in fact we were going to ask you for the price of this lovely piece.” He casts aside his confusion to show her the cor lapis earring he still held between his fingertips.
Glancing at the earring, then inexplicably back at Zhongli, she tells Childe, “For you, one thousand, three hundred and fourteen mora.”
“Oh, that’s not b–” Zhongli makes a choking sound, and Childe turns a concerned gaze on him. “Are you okay, Xiansheng?”
“Fine, absolutely fine,” he tells Childe without meeting his eyes, one hand rubbing at his sternum. The faintest touch of pink seems to dust the tips of his ears, and Childe wonders if he’s perhaps coughing up a bit of seasoning from lunch. He grimaces in sympathy, then turns back to the merchant.
“Miss, can I please get this earring– and also, those two silver necklaces there? Yes, those, thank you.”
Obligingly, the woman gathers Childe’s order, and he passes over the mora easily. They step away from the stall to make room for other patrons, and move to the side of the market street. Afterwards, Childe hands Zhongli the small pouch containing the earring. “For you,” he says.
Zhongli seems to have overcome his predicament, because he looks as put together as ever when he accepts the pouch, offering Childe a grateful smile. “You needn’t have done that.”
“Well, actually,” Childe says teasingly, digging through the bag still in his hand to admire the silver necklaces, “if you read Director Hu’s addendums on our contract, I am responsible for footing your expenses.”
“A contract that is not yet in place, by all accounts,” Zhongli amends with a raised eyebrow.
Childe looks back up at him and shrugs. “You got me. I would’ve done it anyway.” He then shows Zhongli the delicate chains of starsilver he’d purchased. “Do you reckon a teenage girl would like these? I’ve been looking for gifts for my siblings, and I think these would suit Tonia well.”
Taken aback, Zhongli blinks at the necklaces, then traces the line of them softly with his gloved fingertips. “This is fine craftsmanship, indeed. I cannot claim to know the mind of a teenage girl, but these are lovely gifts. I’m sure she will adore them.”
“I’ll say,” Childe snorts, putting the necklaces back into their bag, “I’m a Guide and not even I can fathom what she’s thinking half the time.”
He muses on her most recent letter to him, where upon finding out he was travelling to Liyue, she’d told him he must find a handsome prince. When he’d replied fretfully that she was not yet of age for a princess to be searching for a prince, she’d corrected him by saying she was requesting on his behalf. The request left him bewildered, but much of what his siblings ask of him does. Well, instead of a prince, hopefully she will be content with some jewelry.
“Do you have many siblings?” Zhongli asks, when they resume walking. They’ve spent a little over an hour browsing the stalls, and both need to get back to their duties, though their pace is rather sedate.
Childe can’t help how his face lights at the mention of his siblings, and he replies eagerly, “Oh, yes. Technically, I’m the middle of seven, but the youngest three are my shining stars. There’s Tonia, the sister I mentioned, then Anthon, the second youngest, and finally Teucer, the baby of the family.”
“That sounds quite lively.”
“It sure can be,” Childe laughs. “Those three take after me, I think. Always getting into some kind of mischief.”
“I can only imagine,” Zhongli replies, sounding amused rather than horrified.
“One of these days, when we have time, I’ll tell you some stories. What about yourself, Zhongli-xiansheng? Any siblings?”
Their pace slows even further as they approach the stairs leading to the Northland Bank, where they will separate.
“Not as such,” Zhongli says. “I do not have any biological ties, but I do have companions I would consider family.”
Childe thinks of Pulcinella, and wonders if that’s something similar. His fellow Harbinger is only ever referred to as “uncle” in Tonia’s letters to him, and the man seems to have taken it upon himself to visit Childe’s family in his stead when he’s away from home for long stretches of time.
“I have something like that, too,” Childe says vaguely. Then, “Hey, if you ever visit Snezhnaya, you could always meet my siblings! I’m sure they’d want to make you family in a heartbeat.”
Childe thinks of how quickly and easily they’d warmed to Pulcinella, smiling. If even that old man could win them over, Zhongli would charm them in moments. At his side, Zhongli pauses in his steps, and Childe stops as well. He looks back, wondering if he’s blundered somehow, but Zhongli’s look of subtle surprise turns to a warm smile.
“I’d like that,” he says softly.
The atmosphere feels heavy, suddenly, as though there is a weight to his words that Childe can’t quite grasp. He swallows, heartbeat picking up minutely, and Zhongli’s gaze darts to the pulse point on his throat as if his heightened senses are able to detect the change. Childe’s skin prickles with heat, and his head fogs in confusion, and his instincts tell him that he is out of his depth. So, like any good soldier, he calls for retreat.
“Well!” he says, a bit more loudly than necessary, rocking back on his heels. “Thanks for accompanying me to lunch, Xiansheng. We should go to that opera you mentioned, too. You can send the details to the bank and I’ll arrange tickets for us, okay?”
Zhongli’s intense gaze eases, as does the atmosphere, and Childe breathes a bit more easily.
The Sentinel nods to him. “Yes, of course, I will. And, with any luck, Director Hu will have the final draft of the contract by the end of the week.”
Childe takes a step back, then another, feeling the familiar wood of the staircase hit the back of his heel. “That sounds great. I’ll see you later, then, Zhongli-xiansheng!”
“Until then, Childe.”
Childe ignores the burning sensation of the Sentinel’s eyes on him as he bounds up the stairs to the Bank, instinctively feeling like he’s under the gaze of a predator. It’s preposterous, he knows, as Zhongli has been nothing but courteous and straightforward with him, with nothing his Empathy can pick up to contradict that, but the sensation lingers nonetheless. It persists until the double doors of the foyer close behind him, and he’s greeted by Ekaterina’s unimpressed look from the reception desk.
“I’m glad to see you enjoyed your business lunch,” she says, pointedly eyeing the bag in his hand, and then the grandfather clock in the lobby.
“Thank you ever so much, Katya,” he chirps in reply, and breezes by her to shut himself in his office. She allows him approximately ten minutes to himself before she knocks on his door to deliver stacks of forms that need signing.
Two days after that, he receives two items in the mail; one being the details of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe’s newest show in Zhongli’s elegant script, and the other being the final draft of his and Director Hu’s contract. Her signature is already on the last page, and after Childe scans through the document, he puts ink to paper and sets the contract in stone.
Notes:
Good luck to anyone pulling for Childe today!!!
And thank you to my lovely betas KJ and Mika 🩵
Chapter 5: Skeletons in the Closet
Summary:
“What do you know about Sigils of Permission?”
Zhongli pauses where he is transferring a serving of Fullmoon Egg to his plate, surprised by the blunt question. He finishes plating his food, and then sets down his chopsticks to turn his full attention to Childe. The Guide rests his chin upon the palm of one hand in a show of relaxed nonchalance while piling his own serving onto his plate, the golden glint of his gifted chopsticks stirring an odd sort of satisfaction within Zhongli. He does not doubt that the other man’s sharp focus is on him despite his demeanor. After all, Zhongli can sense the adeptal energy radiating from Childe’s jacket, and so he knows the other is not asking for hypothetical application. Interesting, if somewhat concerning.
“I know that one has not been seen in many years,” he says carefully. “What makes you ask?”
Childe does fix Zhongli with his gaze, then, as well as a practiced smile meant to disarm. “A client of the Bank mentioned them in passing, the other day. There was an implication that such an item might be a rare find…it simply had me curious.” He considers Zhongli’s words. “It’s true, then, that they are uncommon to come across?”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Thus far, Zhongli’s perception of Tartaglia, alias Childe, remains favorable.
He ponders this, lifting a hand to touch idly at the gifted earring that now hangs from his left ear. Childe continues to surprise him with his forthcoming and generous nature, and his general easygoing demeanor. Though he can sense the underlying hum of abyssal taint the other bears, it’s relatively quiet and, so far, seems harmless. Zhongli would not say he fully trusts the man after their few meetings, as to take any Harbinger at face value would be foolhardy– especially one tasked with taking his gnosis– but he cannot deny that he looks forward to their rendezvous.
Unfortunately, it appears that his busybody employer has also realized this, as the Guide has not stopped teasing him about their plans all morning.
“So when’s your boyfriend coming to pick you up for your date?” she asks, rather impolitely splayed over the couch in his office, head towards the floor and legs kicked up over the backrest.
It takes all six thousand years of his culminated patience not to sigh. “As I mentioned earlier, Director Hu, Childe should arrive shortly so that we may depart for the noon performance.”
He straightens some papers on his desk, narrowing his eyes at a line of writing, hoping to appear busy enough for Hu Tao to leave his office. It is ineffectual.
She snorts. “Right. For his ‘cultural exposure’.”
“Yes, as dictated by your contract, which you may recall signing.”
“And the contract happens to include lunch after the performance, I presume?”
Zhongli sniffs; he and Childe have indeed planned through their correspondence to stop by Wanmin. But, really, the Harbinger needs all the practice he can get with his chopsticks, and Zhongli doubts he practices outside of their meetings. At Zhongli’s continued silence, Hu Tao giggles. She finally swings into an upright position on the couch, legs kicking back and forth while she grins at him.
He feels the barest hint of pressure at the walls of his mind, where she pokes at him, and he shoots her an unimpressed look in response. She drops her prodding easily, simply looking for a reaction.
“Well, whatever. We’ve already seen an uptick in business since finalizing that contract for Fatui casualties, and it’s not like you don’t get your work done. In fact, you could use a break, old man!”
“I appreciate the high praise and encouragement, Director Hu,” Zhongli says dryly, shifting his eyes back to the papers on his desk.
Hu Tao opens her mouth again to speak, when there’s a succession of light knocks on Zhongli’s office door. Before Zhongli can interject, she is already bounding towards the door and throwing it open to reveal a startled Ferrylady accompanied by Childe.
“Hiya, Fatui boy!” Hu Tao greets ecstatically.
The Ferrylady looks at Zhongli wearily. “I intended to let you know that Master Childe is here.”
“Thank you,” Zhongli acknowledges from his desk, though he pushes his chair back to stand and gestures for Childe to come into the room. “Childe, please come in, I will be just a moment.”
“No rush, Zhongli-xiansheng,” the Harbinger smiles. He turns to Hu Tao who is watching him curiously. “You must be Director Hu?”
She grimaces. “Please, only he calls me that,” she says, pointing a thumb at Zhongli. “It makes me feel like my grandfather. Just call me Hu Tao.”
Childe laughs, and Zhongli joins them while shrugging on his outer jacket. “As your employee, it is proper to refer to you by your title.”
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you in person, Hu Tao. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Childe says politely. A serious expression then crosses Hu Tao’s face, one that Zhongli has become familiar with when she is attempting to gauge their clientele. The moment passes quickly.
“All bad things, I hope,” she says, giving Childe an impish grin.
Zhongli’s sigh finally escapes, but Childe meets her mischievous smile with a wink. “Ah, well, it’d be impolite to tell.”
“Thank you, Director Hu, for your time this morning. Childe and I shall take our leave. Please enjoy the remainder of your afternoon,” Zhongli says, stepping between the two. He hovers a light hand over the small of Childe’s back to lead him from the office and away from his meddling employer.
From behind them, Hu Tao sighs. “Ai-yah, always in a rush to leave. They grow up so quickly.”
Childe chuckles as Zhongli leads him through the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor foyer to the front doors. “She’s a riot,” he says as they step outside.
“She certainly is something,” Zhongli agrees, and he can hear the fondness that bleeds into his voice. Though Hu Tao perplexes and pesters him, she means well, and her capability of Guiding clients in grief is nothing short of admirable.
They begin their short walk through Feiyun Slope towards where Heyu Tea House sits atop Xinyue Kiosk.
“I didn’t know she was a Guide,” Childe says casually while they walk.
Zhongli hums. “I suppose it has never come up, and it did not seem pertinent to our contract.”
He casts a side glance at Childe, who appears to be considering that. Based upon Childe’s previous curiosity on the societal roles of Guides in Liyue as opposed to what he is familiar with in Snezhnaya, Zhongli supposes he may still need to digest the disparity. For Childe to have attained his rank as a Guide in Snezhnaya speaks volumes of his skill, and though Zhongli is curious, he is not intended to know of Childe’s Harbinger rank, and it would be impolite to pry regardless.
“I hope she did not make you uncomfortable?” Zhongli asks, considering that perhaps Hu Tao, disregarding etiquette as she was so inclined to do, had attempted to prod Childe’s mind.
Childe is quick to wave off that concern. “Oh, no, no, not at all! It was just an observation.”
“Hm. Perhaps it would be prudent to mention, then, that Yun Jin, the current head of the Yun-Han Opera Troupe, is also a Guide,” Zhongli offers as they approach the crimson steps next to Xinyue Kiosk.
“Oh?” Childe prompts, with interest.
They climb the staircase and Zhongli elaborates, “Yes. I should say that her unique method of utilizing her designation for her performances is quite fascinating. I’ve spoken with her previously, and she has shared that during the entirety of the opera, she is gauging the atmosphere of the audience. In order to inspire the intended effect, she will adjust the performance as needed. She really is quite captivating.”
Childe’s intrigue mounts as the two approach the seating area, adopting a charming smile when he displays their tickets to the teahouse attendant. They are led to a private table in the center of the venue, and the attendant dismisses themselves as a waiter comes over to greet the gentlemen and offer their selections for the day. Childe defers to Zhongli, who selects the Single-Origin Yauwan Tea from Chenyu Vale, and the waiter disappears to procure a pot for them.
Once the man leaves, the two settle in by shrugging off their outer jackets. When Childe moves to lay his jacket atop the back of the chair diagonal to Zhongli’s, the Sentinel halts him.
“If it would not bother you, please take the seat next to mine,” he requests, gesturing to the chair beside his own.
Childe looks at him curiously, but lifts his jacket back up all the same, moving it to the indicated seat. “Sure, any particular reason?”
“While I do not doubt your intelligence or comprehension abilities, Liyuen opera can be confusing for even those who are natives. This will make it easier for me to help explain some of the antiquated language as well as roles and themes,” Zhongli explains.
The Harbinger smiles as he sits down next to Zhongli. “How thoughtful. Thanks, Zhongli-xiansheng!”
“I am only fulfilling my duty,” Zhongli demurs. Their similar height means that their knees are close to touching where they are bent beneath the table, and Zhongli can feel the heat emanating from the other’s thigh. It’s a sort of comforting warmth, and he relaxes into his seat.
“Hmm, I don’t know if anyone else would be half as patient with me, regardless of duty,” Childe jokes, resting his head upon his palm.
“Your Ekaterina seems quite competent,” Zhongli suggests.
“I did say patient, Xiansheng, not competent,” Childe laughs, causing the corner of Zhongli’s mouth to tick up to the side as well.
In the next moment, the waiter returns to their table with a steaming pot of tea as well as two cups and saucers. He pours their first cups for them, bows, and then leaves once he informs them that the show will begin in the next five minutes. A gong rings out in the next moment to signal to the audience to find their seats, and the wailing strings of an erhu lead into an anticipatory orchestral number while the stage finishes being set.
Zhongli takes a slow sip of his tea, closing his eyes to savor the taste on his tongue, and the heat that lazily slinks through his limbs. He hums in appreciation. The scent is rich but not overpowering, the taste mellow and not sharp. When he reopens his eyes, he casts them to the side to observe Childe. The Harbinger has one hand loosely wrapped around his cup of tea, the other supporting his chin on his palm in a deceptively relaxed posture. However, the Guide’s eyes are sharply focused, flickering around the venue, person to person. He doesn’t appear agitated so much as keenly aware of the space and those around him.
It has taken Zhongli years of practice to feel so relaxed in a loud and public venue such as this, with the chattering of attendees serving as a backdrop rather than grating on his sensitive ears, and the scents from various pots of teas turning from a cloying cloud of aggravation to delightful trails of odors he could choose whether or not to follow. Operas and other theatrical performances are not typically popular pastimes for Sentinels, if they are unbonded or otherwise lacking strong defenses. It is all too easy for overstimulation from the cacophony of sound, scents, and action to inflict a mild headache, or even send one into a zone.
To indulge his love of art and storytelling, Zhongli has worked on tempering his senses to better enjoy the creativity of his people. The mediating nature of the gnosis in his chest helps, of course, but it still has taken personal effort. Now, rather than worrying about overstimulation, he is able to focus his senses instead on detecting slight intricacies in costume and set design, or minute vocal emphases.
The orchestra fades out lightly, and the audience falls to a hush. On the stage, in time with the staccato percussion, a lone figure dances into the center. They are draped in flowing robes of gold, with elaborate embroidery depicting the pattern of a dragon, and they expertly twirl a spear as emphasis to their movements. Their makeup contours dramatic golden lines on their face, and sharp red lines beneath their eyes. When they begin to sing, Childe leans over before Zhongli has a chance to do so.
“Is that Yun Jin?” he whispers to Zhongli, eyes still glued on the stage.
“Yes,” Zhongli murmurs in return. “She is playing a Sheng role; more specifically a wusheng. They are the leading male with a martial background.”
Childe nods in understanding, and Zhongli can feel the barest brush of auburn hair against his cheek from where they lean towards one another. He swallows and continues.
“The color and design of the robes each character wears helps to signify their rank. The robe she wears is called a Mang robe, and it is thick and made of silk. It is used to signify nobility or deism.”
“Ah, so she is portraying Rex Lapis,” Childe intuits.
“Morax, in this context,” Zhongli corrects lightly.
On stage, Yun Jin is soon accompanied by another dancer. Her song of duty and solitude morphs into a duet of intrigue and partnership. Her companion dons a dress boasting vibrant blues and yellows, white fluttering sleeves, and embroidery with dozens of ribbons and a repetitive phoenix pattern. A blue and white headdress sits upon them, and they move with an equal fluid grace to their partner. The movements of the two on stage display exaggerated hesitance and wariness, before evolving into beautiful complementary jumps and spins, signifying their developing relationship alongside their song.
Zhongli’s throat goes dry for a moment, and so he takes another sip of his tea before continuing his explanation.
“This new actor portrays the Dan; the female lead role. In this instance, she is, I believe, a Huashan more specifically. It is not so commonly seen, combining traits of multiple other Dan roles to portray an elegant and lively woman, with some martial ability.”
“Is this Dan also a god?”
“Yes. The luxuriousness of her dress along with the golden makeup is intended to indicate her status.”
“Ah.” Zhongli looks over where Childe’s brow has furrowed. “And the bird pattern? Is she a bird adeptus?”
Zhongli smiles to himself at the attempted inference, and gently corrects, “It is a phoenix. The phoenix is often used as a partner to the dragon, the two together indicating harmony and auspiciousness.”
“Oh,” Childe exclaims, softly, “Guizhong.”
Somewhat surprised by Childe's quick uptake, Zhongli praises, “Yes, very good.”
Childe turns his face from the performance for the first time to shoot Zhongli a sly grin, a scant few centimeters separating their noses. “You don’t need to sound so surprised that I’ve been listening to your lessons, Xiansheng.”
Zhongli ignores the tease, coughing lightly into his fist. He adds, somewhat unnecessarily, “In traditional Liyuen operas, a Sentinel character’s robes will have dragon embroidery, while a Guide’s will have phoenixes.”
“You’ve said that Guizhong was Guide,” Childe recalls thoughtfully. “Were they bonded? I hadn’t thought any of the Archons had bonds.”
Zhongli hesitates, picking his words carefully. “Historical texts cannot seem to agree on a conclusion.”
“Hm. Seems like an odd thing to be unsure about,” Childe shrugs, then redirects his attention to the stage, easily re-enraptured by the performance.
Zhongli breathes out slowly, eyes tracing the Guide’s profile before busying his oddly restless hands with his tea. He and Guizhong had never been bonded, no. But the God of Dust remained the only Guide that has ever been able to pull him from a zone.
On stage, the actors sing about the rise of their new settlement, the Guili Assembly. This combined settlement of both Guizhong and Morax’s people thrives even amidst the horrors of the Archon war. Their people and the Adepti alike create all manner of inventions in order to flourish, including the engineering of the Guizhong ballistas. The actors mime battle after battle, with fierce white-faced Wujing portraying the Guili Assembly’s enemy gods.
Zhongli does his best to stay present, explaining the intricacies of the roles and characters to Childe, whose full focus is on the performance in front of them. While Zhongli typically enjoys these kinds of thoughtful and stunning retellings of Liyue’s history, he finds himself slipping deeper into melancholic recollection.
On the stage, Guizhong falls, and Zhongli reminisces.
Before his rise to the mantle of Geo Archon, Morax is a much more brash and hardheaded Sentinel god. When he descends and lowers the tides, raises Mount Tianheng, and gives Liyue’s people a chance to thrive, those people turn to worship him. At times, the prayers can become overwhelming, and he struggles not to react in frustration. He provides for his people the way he knows how: by slaughtering those that threaten their safety, and unearthing ore for them to mine. When he is approached some centuries later by a gentle and weak god by the name of Guizhong, he initially thinks very little of the Guide.
However, she paints a very promising picture of a future for a combined settlement. With her wisdom and his sturdiness, her Empathy and his strength, she says, their people will thrive and achieve heights yet unseen by human civilizations. With her, she brings the other Adepti. Enlightened beasts with the power and inclination to protect their land and further progress their civilization.
For hundreds of years, they flourish.
Sentinel Adepti, by nature of their enlightenment, have much less of a risk of falling into a zone than a mortal. As Prime of the Adepti, Morax even less so. His heightened senses rarely overwhelm him, in the beginning, and despite the odd battle here and there, life in the Assembly is peaceful.
In the worst years of the Archon War, that begins to change. Karmic debt from fallen foes begins to wreak havoc on the land; turning fertile soil into a necrotic wasteland and tearing sanity from even his strongest warriors. Morax falls into his first zone in the midst of a battle, surrounded by karmic energy, attempting to defend his people from the newest threat. Cloud Retainer, who has been fighting alongside him with the use of the Guizhong Ballistas, flies into a panic. Unable to reach him through the fog of his mind, she calls for assistance. The battle wages on without Morax, until Guizhong arrives. First, she soothes the panicked Adepti surrounding him, whose attempts at Guiding him have been ineffectual.
Gently, slowly, she calls out to him.
She brings him just enough clarity for him to battle through the rest of the fog himself, and regain his senses. Once the ongoing battle finally ends, and the land is purged of karmic debt as best they can manage, Morax attempts to apologize for his failure to lead. Guizhong hushes him, reminding him that they are partners, unified for a reason.
They are not a perfect match, but compatible enough for Morax to rely on her Guiding him whenever he succumbs to a zone. Guizhong’s true bond partner, Streetward Rambler, has been magnanimous about their arrangement.
Of course, nothing gold truly lasts. The War for the seven seats of the Archons rages even harder, each battle more brutal than the last. The Guili Assembly is flooded, destroying the land, and Guizhong is slain protecting their people. There remains no choice but for Morax and the Adepti to move forward, taking their grief and their settlement into what will eventually become Liyue Harbor.
Perhaps it is luck or perhaps it is fate that earns Morax the seat of Geo Archon shortly afterwards, with Celestia’s gift of the gnosis pulsing within his chest. It could never compare to Guizhong’s warmth, this artificial Guide, but–
Zhongli feels a yank and a swooping sensation in his chest–
Harmonized singing–
Wailing strings of an erhu–
Applause and cheers of an enraptured crowd–
Blinking rapidly, Zhongli attempts to reorient to his surroundings.
“Zhongli?”
Concerned ocean-hued eyes fill his vision, and Zhongli melts back into his body all at once. He realizes faintly that one of his hands is idly rubbing the space above his heart, and the other is clenched into a fist on his lap. The audience around them claps and cheers, and the actors on stage bow to the well deserved praise. His tea has gone cold, and Childe regards him with a small frown.
Ah, Zhongli realizes, I nearly zoned.
“Apologies, Childe,” he says lamely. “I became lost in my own world. These performances can be quite thought provoking.”
The Guide’s expression tells Zhongli that he doesn’t believe his excuse, but he gracefully doesn’t push the issue. “Yeah, it was really something. Say, do you want to get a bite to eat?”
Zhongli gratefully takes the change in subject. “I would love to. Wanmin Restaurant, I believe we had agreed?”
“That’s correct,” Childe chirps, jumping up from his seat to stretch and slip back into his jacket. The crowd around them has quieted to idle chatter as the actors disappear behind the stage, and other patrons are in varying stages of departing as well. “I’ve been thinking about their crystal shrimp all morning,” the Harbinger admits.
Before standing, Zhongli ensures that his knees will not fold beneath him, and then he slides his own jacket back over his shoulders. “Well, I would hate to make you wait any longer,” he says, gesturing for Childe to take the lead out of the teahouse.
The two walk in companionable silence for the most part, Childe seemingly lost to his own contemplation, and Zhongli still brushing off his own pensive mood. He’s more or less back to rights by the time they cross the bridge from Feiyun Slope into Chihu Rock, but he feels a niggling sliver of guilt for falling inattentive during the last arc of the opera. He is also, honestly, curious to hear his companion’s thoughts on the traditional Liyuen pastime.
“Did you enjoy the Yun-Han Opera Troupe?”
Childe startles from his thoughts, turning to Zhongli with a bright smile. “Oh, absolutely!” Blue eyes dart away, moving as if rewatching the performance in the air before them. “Not just the storytelling, but the grace and balance of those dancers was admirable. And the way they incorporated the polearms–” Childe mimics the arc of a spear with one of his arms, “incredible athleticism. I can’t wait to try out some of those moves.”
Zhongli’s brows raise. “Do you practice dance?”
The tops of Childe’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose flush pink, and Zhongli finds himself a bit endeared to the sight. “In a manner of speaking,” he hedges.
“I have to admit, I find myself curious as to this diplomat’s hobbies,” Zhongli says. “Ice fishing, and perhaps dance as well?”
“I have my reasons,” Childe defends, “Ice fishing makes for excellent meditative work. And, though I’m a diplomat, I’m still Fatui, you know? I’m well-versed in combat. And if combat is similar to anything, it would be dance.”
“I do not believe there needs to be justification for a hobby at all,” Zhongli says placatingly, “simply partaking in the act for the purpose of leisure.”
The look Childe gives him is odd, somewhat skeptical, but he shrugs. “Well, anyway, I’ve incorporated some patterns from Snezhnayan ballets into my footwork. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m a professional, but it has definitely improved my efficiency on the field.”
Zhongli makes a thoughtful sound. “That seems like it would be fascinating to watch.”
“Aw, shucks,” Childe says, casting a grin at Zhongli, “are you saying you’d like to see me in action?”
Zhongli nods without hesitation. “Yes, should the opportunity arise, I would have no complaints.”
The pink hue returns to Childe’s face, but he doesn’t shy away. “Alright, one day then, Xiansheng.”
Having reached their destination, the two approach Wanmin’s side seating with a wave to Xiangling, who bustles around the occupied tables. She waves back at them, and disappears into the kitchen, accompanied by a toddling Guoba. As she does so, Zhongli catches the glint of chopsticks on her stack of used dishes for the wash. The vague outline of an idea begins to take shape in his mind.
“Please excuse me for one moment, I will be right back,” Zhongli says to Childe as the other lowers himself into a seat at a vacant table.
“Oh, alright,” Childe says, curiously watching Zhongli’s retreating form.
Moving at a sedate pace so as to not arouse further suspicion, Zhongli winds back around to the front of the restaurant where the take-out window is. He waits patiently at the window, eyes scanning the visible shelf of purchasable goods.
Xiangling notices him from the corner of her eye where she deposits the dishes into their sink. “One moment, Mister Zhongli!” She calls.
“Take your time,” he replies, perusing the display of reusable chopsticks. Most are of the common variety that are often found in homes, though a few at the end of the shelf lean into more ornate designs. At the very edge of the shelf, a glint of gold catches Zhongli’s attention.
“Okay, what can I get for you, Mister Zhongli?” Xiangling asks, skipping to the window.
Zhongli’s eyes trail from the chopsticks to the girl in front of him, and he smiles. “If you please, we’ll take the set meal for two.” He sniffs, then, and tilts his head while she jots down the order.
“May I ask what dish you are cooking right now?” He adds, “the scent is unfamiliar, but it smells divine.”
“Oh!” Xiangling perks up immediately. “It’s a new Springvale boar dish I’m workshopping. It’s not ready for the menu, yet, but I think I’m close to nailing it.” She leans forward excitedly. “Could I convince you two to give it a try and let me know what you think?”
“We would be delighted to test your new creation,” Zhongli agrees. Xiangling’s culinary experiments could be wildly unpredictable at times, but the tantalizing scent of her current project promised a worthwhile meal.
“Great! I’ll add that to the meal set, then, and I’ll bring that right out,” she says, shuffling aside her notepad to begin preparing the meal. Before she can get back to the kitchen completely, Zhongli adds, “One more thing, Miss Xiangling, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, what is it?”
He points to the ornate pair of chopsticks at the end of the shelf behind her. “Could we also have those brought to the table, please?”
With wide eyes, Xiangling glances from the indicated chopsticks, to Zhongli’s finger, back to the chopsticks again.
To confirm, she gestures at the pair herself, brow furrowing. “You mean these? The ones with the dragon and phoenix pattern?”
Ignoring the hesitance in her question, Zhongli confirms with a smile. “Yes. Those will do splendidly.”
Xianglings eyes widen even further, and she bounces on her feet. “Yes, of course! Congratulations! Please, sit, and I’ll bring everything out in a moment.”
She has darted off to the back before Zhongli can get another word in, blinking blankly at the space where she had been.
“Congratulations?” he mumbles to himself, eyebrows pinching together. He realizes what she means a moment later, and the impression he’s thoughtlessly given her. His initial intention was to simply procure a set that the Harbinger could practice with, which truthfully could have been solved with one of the plainer pairs of chopsticks. However, seeing the beautiful craftsmanship of the dragon and phoenix chopsticks, especially after their discussion at the opera…some part of Zhongli’s instincts had been stubbornly drawn to that pair specifically.
He heads back to his and Childe’s table, resolving to simply correct any misunderstandings that arise when the chopsticks are presented. He is not particularly bothered by Xiangling’s incorrect perception, but it would not do to give Childe the wrong impression. The Guide clearly values his independence, and they have barely begun their acquaintanceship besides. To present a gift that could be construed as a courtship invitation would be highly inappropriate.
Zhongli ignores the excitable tingling sensation the thought inspires.
“There you are! I was nearly about to send a search party out for you,” Childe jokes easily from the table as Zhongli approaches.
“Apologies, I was speaking with Miss Xiangling. Our food should be out shortly,” Zhongli offers, taking a seat across from his companion.
“You ordered already?”
“Yes, was that perhaps too presumptuous?”
“Not at all, thanks for taking care of that.” Childe leans back in his seat. “What did you get for us?”
“The meal set for two, which includes those crystal shrimp you have been craving. As well as–”
“Spring of the Valley!” Xiangling exclaims from next to their table, carrying a food-ladened tray over her shoulder. She purses her lips. “Hm, no. Vale Valley Boar?” She shakes her head with a sigh. “Not good either. I’ll keep thinking.”
She sets two plates in front of Zhongli and Childe, the latter inhaling deeply. “Ohhh, this smells grand, what is it?”
“It’s Xiangling’s newest creation,” Zhongli explains while Xiangling continues to set dishes before them, “a Springvale boar dish, with what smells like jueyun chilis and almonds?”
“Yes, exactly, Mister Zhongli!” she confirms proudly. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” she says, reaching into her side pocket and pulling out a slim decorative box. She lays it gently in the center of the table, where Childe’s curious gaze follows it.
“Enjoy your meal, and don’t forget to let me know what you think!” Xiangling says with a bow, before skipping away.
“Huh,” Childe says, watching her leave, “I wonder why she didn’t stick around. Usually she likes to watch the taste test.”
“Who knows,” Zhongli says, reaching for the box she had placed down. He has an inkling she intended to allow them privacy due to her misconceptions, but he will not bring attention to it.
“What’s that?” Childe asks, turning his attention once more to the box in Zhongli’s hands.
“It is a gift for you,” Zhongli explains, extending the box towards the Guide.
“A gift for me?” Childe’s tone is colored in surprise, though he takes the box carefully.
“Yes, I do hope you make good use of them.”
Childe removes the lid of the box, to reveal the two dark wooden chopsticks tipped in brilliant gold, resting atop a scarlet velvet interior.
“Chopsticks? Are you teasing me, Xiansheng?”
Zhongli says nothing as Childe removes them from the box, wrapping the fingers of his dominant hand around them the way Zhongli had previously instructed. He clicks them together with a pointed look at the Sentinel.
“See, I can– oh,” Childe starts, then becomes distracted by observing the engraved gold tips of the chopsticks. He adjusts his grip to trace a gloved finger over the dragon scale and phoenix feather patterns.
“Just like in the opera,” he says in wonder, “that’s really neat! Thank you.”
Zhongli is relieved that he needn’t make any excuses, though a small part of him wilts in unexpected disappointment.
“Of course. It is important, also, for one to become adept with chopsticks in order to properly appreciate Liyue’s gastronomy. It is my hope you will use these to practice.”
“Sure, though I nearly feel bad using something so fancy,” Childe says, once more fixing his grip. He bites his bottom lip in concentration as he reaches out for one of the crystal shrimp dumplings. After successfully lifting it from the serving platter onto his plate, he beams at Zhongli.
“I’m doing better already.”
Zhongli huffs a laugh, beginning to pile food onto his own plate. “Indeed.”
There are a couple close calls where Childe nearly drops his food, and after a lengthy battle with one particularly slippery slice of boar meat, he does break etiquette the one time to stab the morsel and bring it to his lips like a skewer. Politely, Zhongli ignores this, as he has to admit the Harbinger is making an attempt at the least. Xiangling’s new dish is indeed as superb as he expected, and he makes a mental note to relay his praises once they are finished.
“Say, Xiansheng, is Guili Plains still abandoned?” Childe asks, apropos of nothing.
“To my knowledge, it remains so. The land was so devastated by the floods and karmic energy of the Archon War, nothing has been able to grow or thrive there after the fact, despite the best efforts of the Adepti.”
Childe takes another bite of his food. “But some ruins must remain standing?”
“I suppose so. Nothing that would constitute a substantial shelter, though. Why do you ask?”
“Consider me curious,” Childe says nonchalantly, refilling his cup of tea, and offering to refill Zhongli’s, who thanks him. “If that land played such a huge role in the legacy of Rex Lapis, should there not be some sort of trace of that there? With how devout the Liyuen people are, I’m surprised not to hear more about it as some sort of hallowed ground. No offense,” he adds as an afterthought.
“None taken,” Zhongli assures. “I would presume that is due to the existence of Liyue Harbor. While Guili Plains is naught but a barren wasteland, the Harbor, which is also a part of Rex Lapis’ legacy, stands tall and thriving. People celebrate what they have, and pay tribute to what was lost through our festivals.”
Childe hums. “Then, would one expect to find more traces of Rex Lapis within the Harbor?”
Zhongli narrows his eyes, though Childe isn’t looking at him. Up until now, the Harbinger hasn’t shared any insight as to his plans for pursuing the Geo Archon, though with his cover that is not unexpected. It seems as though he is at least beginning to gather information, and so Zhongli will need to be cautious with his words.
“Perhaps,” Zhongli says carefully. “The Harbor is, after all, where the Rite of Descension takes place.”
Childe nods, mouthing ‘Rite of Descension’ to himself.
Continuing, Zhongli adds, “Additionally, there is a series of books titled Rex Incognito. I would recommend that literature to you for this topic as you may find it somewhat enlightening. And, if you like, I can escort you to Guili Plains to see the cultural landmark for yourself.”
“Thanks,” Childe says, meeting his eyes once more with sharp blue and a smile curved like a blade, “I would like that.”
“Xiansheng, tell me about this Rite of Descension you mentioned,” Childe prompts, hands in his pockets as they stroll up the path from Chihu rock towards Guili Plains.
Two days have passed since they last met for the opera as well as lunch, and Childe feels a restless sort of impatience. In the month he’s had to settle into Liyue, he’s hardly found any time to actually formulate his plans for luring out Rex Lapis. Between the Qixing running him around with paperwork and legalities, and Andrei and Ekaterina calling for his attention on certain bank matters, Childe has had limited time to actually explore and research. From what he has gathered, through bits and pieces of discussions with civilians in the Harbor, though Rex Lapis is highly revered by his people, he plays a small role in the actual governance of the nation and nobody truly knows where to find him.
Luckily, Childe has Zhongli to assist him with his inquiries on the Geo Archon. After their last shared meal, Childe had visited Wanwen Bookhouse to pick up the four volumes of Rex Incognito per Zhongli’s recommendation. Though he hasn’t had the time to read the novels in depth, he has skimmed enough to gather that it is a fantasy series retelling the tales of Rex Lapis’ excursions in the mortal realm. He is hesitant to give credence to fictional books, though he does trust that if Zhongli recommends them there must be something of value within the pages.
Currently, though, he will continue to attempt to verbally pull information from the other man.
“The Rite of Descension is a tradition observed annually,” Zhongli begins. “Rex Lapis descends to Yujing Terrace by the summons of a chosen member of the Qixing. He bestows his divine predictions upon those gathered to witness. Typically, his wisdom concerns the topics of economic fortune and business trends. As such, those gathered tend to consist of investors and businessmen, though there is a high attendance of tourists and children as well.”
“Hm. I suppose Liyue is the land of commerce and contracts, after all,” Childe supplies. That explains why the bank manager Andrei has excitedly mentioned the proceedings multiple times, whereas their local clients have made only passing mentions of the event.
“That it is,” Zhongli agrees, “though Liyue’s history is just as vast and rich as its economy. There is much value to be found in its culture and traditions outside of Rex Lapis.”
Childe tilts his head towards Zhongli with a quirk of his lips. “Sure, but how often do folks get to see a huge dragon god descend from the sky? Maybe I sound like any other tourist, but I’m definitely interested.”
Additionally, it may be his only chance to get close to Rex Lapis if he is unable to otherwise track him down.
“I would hazard that people have the chance to witness such an occurrence once every year,” Zhongli returns dryly.
Childe blinks, processing, before guffawing. “How literal of you, Zhongli-xiansheng!”
They are traversing the bend in the path around Luhua Pool when another presence attracts their awareness. Childe notices Zhongli stiffening to attention moments before he picks up on the empathic presence of the interlopers. From behind a jutting peak of stone emerges a chattering pack of hilichurls, followed by the lumbering steps of a Geo lawachurl. Due to the proximity of the path to where they’ve appeared, there’s no hope of avoiding an altercation.
Though, Childe silently admits, he’s not particularly trying to avoid confrontation.
The stray group of monsters notices them almost immediately, as anticipated, and Childe’s face splits into a wild grin. Letting Hydro coalesce into his palms, he forms his dual swords and takes an offensive stance in front of Zhongli.
“Please, allow this diplomat to show you what he can do, Xiansheng,” Childe says before darting forward.
He doesn’t wait for a response, meeting the charge of the belligerent hilichurls head-on. He dances between swipes and jabs of their attempts to bludgeon him, spinning the blades in his hands with glee into arcs of vicious hydro. He picks through the crowd of monsters, falling into an easy choreography of practiced footwork and lethal attacks. Childe allows the rhythm of the battle to flow through his veins, until his blades have cut through the last enemy before him.
He frowns, coming out of his trance, thinking that the fight so far has seemed deceptively easy.
There’s a grunt and the booming roar of an enraged lawachurl behind him, and Childe frantically spins on his heel with wide eyes, berating himself for leaving Zhongli unattended. The man may be a Sentinel, but, that doesn’t mean–
Zhongli stands firm, a glittering spear of onyx and vibrant cor lapis resting in his hands, a pulsating shield of Geo wrapped around his form. His normally relaxed and pleasant expression has hardened into something sharp and stern, his golden eyes glinting in focus. The lawachurl slams angrily upon the Geo shield, frustrated with its failed attempts at getting to its prey. Zhongli throws one of his hands to the side, summoning a stone stele which knocks the rampaging lawachurl off balance.
In the very moment that the lawachurl’s towering form rocks to the side, Zhongli lunges forward, spinning his polearm in his hands and around his back before kicking it towards the stumbling figure. The arcing trajectory of the spear sends it directly into the lawachurl’s side, forcing it to hit the ground. A plume of displaced dust erupts into the air with the impact of its large body, but Zhongli does not even wait for it to clear before he has recalled his spear. A glint of Geo energy sparks near the lawachurl, forming stone restraints over its arms and legs before it can move, holding it captive to the ground. Zhongli then launches above the restrained monster, plunging the end of the weapon into its back.
The creature gives one last broken off howl of indignation, body twitching, before falling still. Zhongli gracefully and effortlessly pulls the spear from the monster’s back, flicking the dripping ichor off its blade, before dismissing the weapon.
Childe watches, slackjawed, an unfamiliar buzz of energy thrumming through his veins at the display.
Childe wants…He wants…
Zhongli turns from the slain beast nonchalantly, wiping his gloves on the sides of his trousers, placid expression once more overtaking his features as he regards Childe.
Childe wants to fight him.
The Sentinel’s eyes widen when Childe excitedly bounds over to him, teeth glinting in his wide smile.
“Xiansheng, Xiansheng!” Childe exclaims when he’s a mere foot away from the other. His gloved hands reach out as though to grab at Zhongli’s lapels, but change course at the last moment to flutter over the other’s shoulders without touching. “You must spar with me!”
Zhongli blinks, taken aback. “Must I, now?”
“Of course,” Childe nods sharply. “You can’t just display that level of skill and not expect a guy to ask for a friendly match.”
Zhongli had been riveting to watch, as short as the fight had been–all fluid movements, not a wasted motion–it had felt like watching the opera performers again.
“I hardly believe a match up between the two of us would be fair, Childe.”
A stone sinks in Childe’s gut, then, smile falling from his face. Just because Zhongli has never made any overt comments before doesn’t mean that the man doesn’t still hold prejudices about the abilities of Guides versus Sentinels.
“Ah, would that be because you are a Sentinel, Zhongli?” Childe asks in a low voice, eyes glinting dangerously.
“No,” Zhongli says, unruffled. “It would be quite unfair for a mere consultant such as myself to face off against a trained agent of the Fatui, do you not agree?”
“Ah.” The tension drains from Childe’s shoulders, eyes cast to the side in slight shame for his assumption. He meets Zhongli’s gaze again a moment later, determined. “You clearly know how to fight, Xiansheng, I hardly think you would be helpless.”
“Helpless, perhaps not,” Zhongli admits. “I became well versed in combat in my adolescence, though I do not much like fighting if the situation does not require it.”
Childe pouts. “But–with the lawachurl just now, wasn’t that battle such fun? I had fun!”
Zhongli seems to consider this. “While I would not say that I had fun , per se, it was truly a joy to observe you in your element. I could definitely see the influence of ballet in your footwork; your movements were quite fluid.”
“You were–” Heat sears Childe’s cheeks at the praise– when had Zhongli had time to observe him in that fight, when contending with the lawachurl? “Sheesh, Xiansheng,” he says, averting his eyes, “you’ll give a guy an ego saying stuff like that.”
Zhongli’s brows twist, as though puzzled. “I am simply being honest. I would have assumed you would be accustomed to observations like such from your peers in the Fatui.”
Childe exhales, turning away from Zhongli to continue down the path. “You won’t distract me, Xiansheng, I’ll get you to spar with me eventually,” he deflects.
Zhongli just hums in response, following along behind the Harbinger. They fall back in step, and Childe sighs, glancing at the stone ruins that surround them as they finally emerge into the plains. They pass a Statue of the Seven depicting Rex Lapis, and he grins with an idea.
“Maybe I need to set my sights higher,” he tries, sneaking a side glance at Zhongli. “I could always try to request a spar with Rex Lapis at the Rite of Descension, no?”
He waits for Zhongli to look at him, and then continues on dramatically, stumbling over to lean against the statue. “Oh, Rex Lapis, it’s terrible,” he mimes being distraught, an arm thrown over his forehead. “My good friend, Mister Zhongli, refuses to engage me in a friendly spar.”
Childe then blinks up at the towering statue. “But you wouldn’t deny me, would you? Being the God of War, and all.”
Zhongli sighs, though he looks amused when Childe glances over to him, his arms crossed over his chest. “Rex Lapis is a Martial God, Childe, not the God of War. That title belongs firmly to the Pyro Archon, which I am sure you well know.”
Childe shrugs, pushing off from the statue to get back to Zhongli. “Either way, he should enjoy a good battle, shouldn’t he?” His lips tick up mischievously. “And I would love the opportunity to face him.”
“Perhaps.” Zhongli says vaguely, “though I believe if you attempt any of that at the Rite of Descension, you will be swiftly apprehended by the Millelith, diplomat or no.”
“No fun, they are,” Childe deflates.
He and Zhongli resume walking the path further into Guili Plains, with the Sentinel pointing out various ruins and dilapidated structures of note. Childe may have been joking, for the most part, but his thoughts still whir with consideration. If he can’t figure out a way to track Rex Lapis down before the Rite, he will need a foolproof plan to engage the god in battle during his descension.
For now, Zhongli waxes on about the past, and Childe listens.
A few weeks pass before Childe makes any real headway.
Stagnant summer heat eases slowly into the slightest hint of autumn chill in the mornings, the people of Liyue beginning to don thicker jackets when they first step out, though often abandoned by midday. Routine at the bank is beginning to sink fangs of tedious monotony into the back of Childe’s nape, causing an itching impatience beneath his skin. He reads and he researches, but nothing seems to be bringing him any closer to Rex Lapis. Rex Incognito, as fascinating as the tales are, only further cements the probability that Childe will not be able to organically locate the Geo Archon.
If one is to take the tales as credible, the Lord of Geo has a knack for walking amongst his people in mortal form. Whether he appears as a nobleman, an elegant woman, or a rough commoner, is all dependent on his whims. In every iteration, however, the Archon is sly and crafty, with those he speaks with are never the wiser of his identity. So, unless Childe were to attempt to Empathically interrogate every Liyue native he comes across, the chances of him definitively finding Rex Lapis are slim.
The frustration of this realization has him shuffling through the pile of debt collection dispatch files on Ekaterina’s desk. There’s a folder with a gilded edge that catches his attention, and he skims the dossier inside on Yansheng Teahouse. The clicking of heels on the floor behind him indicate the receptionist’s return, but he continues absorbing the information.
A sigh. “Master Childe, is there something I can assist you with?”
“No. Just thinking about taking this little problem off your hands,” Childe says, shutting the file with a flick of his wrist and turning a charming smile on Ekaterina.
“I’ve already assigned that collection to Javert,” she says. “I’m sure he’ll be able to handle the matter swiftly.”
Childe pouts, but out of the corner of his eye he spots a hooded figure in black and red step out from the agent quarters, and he brightens again.
“Javert!”
The Sentinel startles, and looks toward the call of his name. “Master Childe?”
The Harbinger drops the dossier back on the desk, and jogs over to the agent, ignoring the exasperation radiating off of Ekaterina.
“Good, you haven’t left yet,” Childe says. “I’ll be accompanying you to Yansheng Teahouse.”
Childe can pick up on Javert’s thread of confusion and discomfort. “Is it really necessary for you to personally see to such a routine matter?”
“Relax, relax,” Childe waves him off, “I simply have other matters to attend to there as well.”
He doesn’t, but he’s hardly going to tell his agent he wants to go because he’s bored.
Javert relaxes. “I see. I was going to leave now, if you’re amenable, sir.”
“No time like the present,” Childe agrees, and they depart, with Childe throwing an unimpressed Ekaterina a wave and a smile as they leave.
With their long history of working alongside one another, Javert and Childe seamlessly fall into a familiar rapport. The Teahouse, which functions as a facade for a casino, does not open until early afternoon. This allows the two Fatui time to quietly slip into the facility and gauge which assets they may be able to collect as garnishment for the debt until the owner arrives. Childe is admiring a particularly decorative set of Mahjong tiles when Javert signals to him that they have company.
The Sentinel uses his heightened senses to assess the situation, and then relays to Childe that there are four people total in the room next to them, one woman and three men. Childe and Javert creep towards the door that separates them from the others in the Teahouse. As they get closer, Childe can finally pick up on the hushed and frantic discussion taking place. He takes a seat in the chair nearest the door, and signals for Javert to wait a moment.
“Excellent, Chuyi… ”
“Even if one day we can’t continue business here, we can make it far away with this. ”
“But, Master, what about the debt? ”
With Childe’s nod, Javert slides open the door.
“Oh yes, I’m here to collect that,” he drawls from his seat. An impatient finger taps at his knee, and he tilts his head to regard the shocked faces of the room’s occupants.
“Who are you?” demands the owner, an older man whose wariness deepens the creases of his face.
The girl, Chuyi, appears to pick up on the danger a bit faster.
“Protect the Master!” she barks to the men flanking the owner.
Stumbling into action, the two flimsy excuses for guards drop into a defensive stance before their master. Childe sighs, and pushes himself from his chair nonchalantly.
“No matter what it is you owe, you can’t run from your debt,” he says. The Teahouse owner seems to recognize his uniform as he steps into the light, and his expression becomes furious.
“Fatui scum,” he spits from behind his guards, “no sense of propriety. You can’t simply barge into a private residence!”
Smirking, Childe rests his hands upon his hips, tuning out the waves of contempt that ebb in his direction. “Come now, is this not the law of the God of Contracts in Liyue?”
Face turning red, the owner calls out to his men. “Guards! Show him how we treat unwelcome guests here at Yansheng Teahouse.”
The two guards finally lunge forward, and Childe offers an easy grin, though he is somewhat disappointed.
Non-Gifted, not Vision holders. “Not much for adversaries,” he says, forming his blades of Hydro, “but I could always use a bit of exercise.”
As expected, the hired muscle is uncoordinated and unimpressive.
Childe easily ducks beneath the fists they swing at him, and dodges to the side of the kicks they aim. A quick swipe to one’s calf has him tumbling, and when Childe knocks the blunt end of his sword into the other’s nape, that one goes crashing into the other, sending them both sprawling on the floor. Two more well-aimed jabs to the back of the neck leave them unconscious, and then Childe simply has the owner to contend with, Chuyi having slipped out at some point.
The owner quivers helpless and humiliated in the corner of the room, brows creased in anger. Childe does not even need to use his influence to have hopelessness and regret leaking from the man’s every pore. The Harbinger approaches, tuning out the rest of the owner’s negative emotions. The man’s fists clench with his proximity, and Childe peers curiously at the sheen of gold crinkled between his fingers.
“You will not get away with this,” the man hisses. “The Qixing will see to your punishment, Fatui dog.”
Bored blue eyes flit to the man’s face. “Hmm, I don’t think so,” Childe disagrees. He easily pries the man’s hand open and regards the odd golden slip he procures. It radiates an energy that Childe is unfamiliar with, but that stands his hair on end.
“You see,” Childe continues, “you’ve kept excellent records of your dealings. Quite frankly, so has the Northland Bank. Had you paid your debt, that information would have stayed between us. However…” Childe waves his empty hand in the air, letting the implication sit.
The owner’s face blanches, and he turns horrified eyes toward his lap. Incoherent prayers babble from the man’s mouth, which Childe ignores to instead walk back to Javert.
“Any idea what this is?” Childe asks, showing his agent the pulsating golden slip.
He picks up Javert’s shock when the other man finally sees what he holds.
“I believe that is a Sigil of Permission, Master Childe.” Javert explains. “I’ve only heard of them in rumors; it’s been years since anyone has seen one. For an ordinary person to have one…” The agent trails off, but Childe understands that they’ve come across a real treasure.
“Were we aware that he possessed something of this magnitude?” the Harbinger asks.
Javert flinches, a thread of guilt leaking out. “No, Master Childe. Apologies for this dereliction of my duty.”
Childe hums. “No matter. Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
They leave the owner to his regret and his prayers in the corner, and as soon as they step outside the Teahouse Childe can feel the weight of the man’s insidious thoughts slip from his back. He sighs as some of his tension drains; it can truly be taxing to be around those burdened by their own crimes, as the negative energy they emanate tends to be stronger than other people’s. His shields protect against the worst of it, at least.
Javert and Childe head back to the Northland Bank, and Childe considers his next steps while they walk. Once they are safely within the bank’s foyer, and Childe glances around to ensure they have privacy, he speaks to Javert.
“Collect the information on Yansheng Teahouse from Ekaterina and take it to the Qixing. Anonymously, of course, we don’t need any more scrutiny from them,” Childe directs.
“Yes, sir.”
Childe thinks, then adds, “Also, I’d like a report on what you know about the Sigil of Permission. You can leave it with Ekaterina.”
“Yes, sir.”
After briefly checking in with Ekaterina himself, Childe makes to leave again. His periodic meetings with Zhongli have become nearly daily occurrences, and though it’s far too late for lunch, he wonders if the other man would be willing to meet regardless. The Sigil sits in his pocket, emanating that odd energy and burning a hole in the back of his mind. Though Javert will surely relay any information he knows in his report, Childe can’t think of a better source for accurate intel than Zhongli.
Though, considering Zhongli, he wonders idly if the consultant is under some sort of stress. He doesn’t indicate as such with anything he says; always pleasant and polite with the occasional bite of wit. For the most part, the Sentinel’s shields still seem to be ironclad, however…
However, he seems to be right on the precipice of zoning a lot . It doesn’t happen at every meeting of theirs, but frequently enough for Childe to have become mildly concerned. Occasionally, the man will be delving deeply into one of his cultural tales, when his golden eyes will glaze over the slightest bit, and the upward turn of his lips will start to sink down. Or, he will be listening to others’ renditions of tales of the past, such as with the incident at Heyu Tea House. Childe has learned to recognize the signs before his Empathy can begin to reach out of its own accord, which is a reaction he still doesn’t entirely understand.
The first handful of times, Childe does not immediately realize what was happening. He’ll catch a fleeting imprint of an emotion from where his Empathy brushes against Zhongli’s mind, and then he’ll scramble to reign himself in, flustered by his own audacity. Zhongli never seems to notice; he will simply be lost in thought one moment, and aware and present the next. Childe is both relieved and exasperated by the man’s lack of awareness; while it saves him the embarrassment of explaining no, he doesn’t know why he keeps accidentally Guiding the man, it is incredibly dangerous for a Sentinel to leave their mind so exposed to outside influence.
Or, it would be, if not for the fact that Zhongli’s mental barriers are so solid a majority of the time. Childe can’t read him, except for during these odd quasi-zones. Now that Childe has come to expect them, though, it is easy enough for him to detect them and quickly Guide the man back to the present without him any the wiser. Though he retains some hesitance, given the effect his abyssal influence has tended to have on others’ minds, thus far there have been no adverse reactions to his gentle nudges. Regardless, he cannot think of a way to bring up his concerns without revealing his own inappropriate response.
When he reaches the Funeral Parlor, as he stretches out a hand to pull open one of the large wooden doors, he startles when, instead, the door is pushed open for him. Childe blinks up at Zhongli’s smiling face, one of his arms extended to hold open the door and the other bent neatly behind his back.
“Good afternoon, Childe. I heard your approach,” he says by way of explanation. “I was actually just about to leave. Were you coming by to speak with me?”
Childe rocks back on his heels and returns the other’s smile. “You guessed it, Xiansheng. Do you mind if I walk with you, or should I come back later?”
Zhongli steps out of the parlor to join Childe, letting the door close behind him. He shakes his head. “I do not mind at all. I am simply running an errand for Director Hu.”
“Oh?” Childe asks curiously as they begin to walk side by side towards the bridge to Chihu Rock. “What treasure does she have you seeking today?”
“A zither,” Zhongli replies.
Childe’s nose scrunches. “A zither? What does the parlor need one of those for?”
Chuckling, Zhongli explains, “The parlor does not. Director Hu, however, has decided she does.”
“Whatever for?”
Zhongli gestures at the various shop owners as they walk through the street, who are busy flitting around their storefronts hanging paper lanterns and bright decorations. “People are preparing to celebrate the Moonchase Festival. This year, the Qixing has decided the theme to be Melodies of the Harmonious Night, presumably to honor the adeptus Streetward Rambler. As such, this year’s competition is of a musical nature, and Director Hu intends to compete.”
Making a sound of interest, Childe observes the bustling citizens as they chatter happily amongst themselves. Now that he’s less preoccupied with that morning’s proceedings, he can pick up on the general atmosphere of merriment and excitement that buzzes through the Harbor.
“Does Hu Tao know how to play?”
At that, Zhongli makes a complicated expression. “Truthfully… I do not know. She has friends who are in the musical arts and who I am sure intend to compete as well, so perhaps they will practice together.”
Childe laughs, “I see! I admire the dedication. Please, tell her that I’ll be rooting for her.”
“I will make sure to do so,” Zhongli replies with a soft smile of his own.
The two stop in front of a long display table in the center of Chihu Rock, which boasts an array of meticulously painted wooden instruments. Adjacent to the instruments lay a selection of kites and other finely crafted toys. Behind the table, an older woman with silver hair and a warm smile regards them.
“Granny Shan, good afternoon,” Zhongli greets the woman. “Might I take a look at the zither you have on display here?”
“Of course, sir,” she replies, and delicately lifts the zither from the line of instruments to pass it to Zhongli.
He holds the instrument gently, appraising gaze running over the surface of the zither. He plucks the strings lightly, humming in appreciation as his fingers trace over the carved notches in the wood. Floral designs bloom over the surface of each instrument at the stall, the patterns similar enough to indicate a set, but different enough to make each instrument unique.
“Marvelous craftsmanship, indeed,” Zhongli declares. “The body is sturdy, and its distinctive, evocative sound is clear and crisp. The floral engravings are a beautiful nod to the horticultural talents of Streetward Rambler, as well.”
His golden eyes run over the length of the instrument once more, before he addresses Granny Shan directly. “It would be my honor to procure this fine instrument from you.”
“Delightful,” Granny Shan replies. “Please allow me a moment to get my ledger in order.”
Childe’s lips twitch upwards at Zhongli’s ever earnest approach to fine crafts that he admired, even when the intended recipient is not himself. He leans slightly over Zhongli’s shoulder to get a closer look at the zither for himself, and the Sentinel kindly holds the instrument closer to him for his scrutiny. While Granny Shan scribbles her transaction notes into the ledger, Childe strums at the taut strings of the zither, appreciating their rich resonance. Zhongli smiles, murmuring into the space where their heads bend closely together.
“If any of your siblings are inclined to music, one of these would make a worthy gift indeed.”
Childe breathes a puff of laughter at the thought. Imagining such an ornate instrument in the hands of any of his rambunctious younger siblings, barring perhaps Tonia, seems much too humorous. His blue eyes flick over to the array of flashy kites in bright colors instead.
“I’m not so sure they’d appreciate one of these so much as one of the kites,” he replies in a low voice.
Zhongli makes a sound of acknowledgement. “Granny Shan’s kites are of high local repute. Just as well crafted as any of these instruments, and sturdy enough to withstand hours of play. An equally good option,” he nods.
“I might just do that then. Thanks, Xiansheng,” Childe says. He meets the other man’s eyes and they share a smile, before the moment is broken by the clearing of Granny Shan’s throat.
The two draw back quickly from one another, not noticing how closely they’d begun to lean.
“The total comes to one hundred and fifty thousand mora,” says Granny Shan.
“Of course, as for the matter of payment…” Zhongli trails off slowly, brow beginning to furrow.
He delicately lays the zither on the table, then begins to pat his coat at the sides.
“Hm,” Zhongli says.
Granny Shan’s lips purse, and Childe’s raise into a smirk. He unclips the pouch of mora from his belt, and offers it to the bemused woman.
“I think this should cover it,” he says. “And, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll take three of your kites.”
She glances into the pouch of mora and blanches, nodding quickly. “Yes, yes, that will do. Which would you like, dear?”
“Hmm,” Childe holds one hand to his chin, eyes narrowed on the selection of kites. “The silk flower, the geovishap, and…”
Zhongli’s sonorous voice rumbles close to his ear. “The one in the likeness of Rex Lapis is quite nice.”
Childe’s eyes slide over to the kite in brown and glittering gold, displaying the regal visage of the Geo Archon. “And the Rex Lapis kite, if you please.”
Zhongli straightens back up, looking quite pleased, while Granny Shan makes quick work of wrapping Childe’s kites. Zhongli takes the zither, and the two part from the stall after bidding a goodbye to the woman.
Unable to help himself, Childe turns to Zhongli. “Did Hu Tao not give you mora for her errand?”
“She had, but I believe I may have left it on my desk at the parlor,” Zhongli admits.
Childe sighs dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. “What would you have done if I wasn’t around, Xiansheng!”
“I imagine I would have been making a return trip to Granny Shan’s stall after retrieving the mora,” the Sentinel suggests, shooting Childe a dry look. He then gestures at the bag housing Childe’s kites. “Are you pleased with the gifts for your siblings?”
“Yes, they’ll be ecstatic for sure,” Childe beams, imagining the three running around with their new kites. His brow furrows, then, as his mental image. “However, I can’t help but feel like allowing three foreign kids to run a depiction of Liyue’s Archon into trees or the ground is, ah, blasphemous?”
Zhongli laughs, then, taking Childe by surprise. “I doubt Rex Lapis will find fault with some children having fun with a kite. Perhaps instead, he would be flattered that his image has been shared overseas for such enjoyment.”
Childe hums dubiously, but doesn’t comment.
When they are approaching the bridge leading into Feiyun Slope, Zhongli broaches the subject of Childe’s presence.
“What was it that you wished to speak about?”
Eyes flitting around the busy street, Childe decides to save his question for a more private setting. It wouldn’t do for the Millelith or the Qixing to catch wind of the topic through hearsay, after all.
“If you’re amenable to dinner, we could discuss there?” Childe suggests.
“Dinner would be agreeable,” Zhongli acquiesces.
“Great!” The Harbinger thinks for a moment, mentally carding through their recently visited restaurants. “What about Xinyue Kiosk? I’ve yet to go since you recommended it.”
There’s the barest hint of a downward tilt to Zhongli’s mouth, but the Sentinel agrees with a “Xinyue Kiosk would be lovely.”
Childe considers recanting the suggestion based on the Sentinel’s reaction, but Zhongli has already agreed, and the man had been the one to recommend the restaurant to him besides.
“Alright. I’ll go store these,” Childe raises the bag of kites on his wrist, “and then we can meet there in, say, an hour?”
They pause at the end of the bridge; Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to their left, the Northland Bank further still down the street.
Zhongli nods. “I will see you in an hour.”
“See you then, Xiansheng!” Childe spins on his heel with a wave backwards to the other man, and strides off to set their reservation and drop off the gifts for his siblings in his suite at Baiju Guesthouse.
“What do you know about Sigils of Permission?”
Zhongli pauses where he is transferring a serving of Fullmoon Egg to his plate, surprised by the blunt question. He finishes plating his food, and then sets down his chopsticks to turn his full attention to Childe. The Guide rests his chin upon the palm of one hand in a show of relaxed nonchalance while piling his own serving onto his plate, the golden glint of his gifted chopsticks stirring an odd sort of satisfaction within Zhongli. He does not doubt that the other man’s sharp focus is on him despite his demeanor. After all, Zhongli can sense the adeptal energy radiating from Childe’s jacket, and so he knows the other is not asking for hypothetical application. Interesting, if somewhat concerning.
“I know that one has not been seen in many years,” he says carefully. “What makes you ask?”
Childe does fix Zhongli with his gaze, then, as well as a practiced smile meant to disarm. “A client of the Bank mentioned them in passing, the other day. There was an implication that such an item might be a rare find…it simply had me curious.” He considers Zhongli’s words. “It’s true, then, that they are uncommon to come across?”
Zhongli nods, and mulls over what he may be willing to divulge. He uses the excuse of taking a bite of his food, genuinely enjoying the light and decadent flavor of the Fullmoon Egg. The contents have been thoroughly diced and minced, providing a perfectly palatable texture.
“The Sigils of Permission,” he says eventually, “are said to be talismans originally created by Rex Lapis and bestowed upon the people of Liyue during more tumultuous times. Bearers of such talismans would be granted divine power in order to protect themselves in battle.” Zhongli carefully selects a couple Golden Shrimp Balls to add to his plate, resolutely ignoring the taunting visual of the Golden Crab.
“It is also said that a Sigil of Permission would be treated as a sign of favor from Rex Lapis. Any Adepti to come across a bearer would refrain from harming them, or even take lengths to protect them.”
“Power granted by the Lord of Geo himself, hm?” Childe ponders. “How fascinating.”
The Harbinger takes a bite of his own food, chewing slowly in contemplation. When he swallows, a mischievous grin curls over his lips. “Say, how much power would a Vision holder these days be able to wield with such a boon?”
Zhongli knows the man is likely trying to tease a reaction from him, but answers truthfully. “Less than you might think.”
“What?” Childe’s grin falls to a pout. “Why so?”
“It has been centuries since the original talismans were created, and if any remain to this day, the power within will have been mostly depleted. The Adepti may still honor their significance, but their functionality in combat would be negligible.” He isn’t lying; even the Sigil within Childe’s pocket barely holds a fraction of radiance it would have when it was first created. Zhongli then shrugs, “Of course, I am merely speculating. A consultant such as myself would have little chance of coming across an item like that.”
“So what you’re saying,” Childe starts, gesturing at Zhongli with his chopsticks, “is that I need to ask Rex Lapis himself for a fresh one of those Sigils at the Rite of Descension.”
Zhongli’s brow furrows. “I do not believe I was suggesting that.”
“I definitely think you were,” Childe lilts, impish grin returning.
Zhongli huffs a breath of amusement. “Well, you are certainly welcome to try your luck, though you may find yourself disappointed.”
“There’s no harm in trying,” Childe agrees. “By the way, you should try some of this,” he says, lifting the plate of Golden Crab towards Zhongli. “It’s magnificent!”
Despite his best efforts, Zhongli feels himself flinch while fighting off a grimace. He casts his eyes away from the abominable sight of the plated creature, avoiding looking at the plate of Stir-Fried Octopus as well.
“That’s quite alright,” he says, lifting a hand to reject the offer. “I’m glad you are enjoying it, though.”
Lifting a brow, Childe sets the plate back on the table. “Does it not look right? Should I send it back to the kitchen?”
Attempting reassurance, Zhongli’s lips twitch upwards, though they don't fully commit to a smile. “No, it looks…fine. I simply prefer the dishes with a more, ah, minced approach.”
Childe makes a noise of realization, though Zhongli can’t fathom what idea he may have gotten from his vague excuse. Zhongli isn’t particularly fond of retelling his unfortunate history with the vile creatures of the sea, and regardless he’s unable to do so without potentially exposing his identity.
“I understand,” Childe says. “My sister Tonia is like you, she says it’s a ‘texture thing’,” he elaborates using air quotes.
Zhongli finds himself curious; though not entirely accurate it’s not incorrect either. “Oh? I recall you had said seafood was a large staple of your hometown’s cuisine?”
“It is! And don’t get me wrong, she still enjoys seafood, but we’ve just learned to cut it up really well for her first. She’s fine with it like that, as long as it isn’t too chewy.” Childe’s gaze travels away from the table and towards the window of their room as he drifts into fond recollection. “My brothers, though, they couldn’t care less what you throw in front of them. It could be the ugliest creature in the sea, and they’d be glad for it!”
“I indeed feel a kinship with Miss Tonia, then,” Zhongli agrees, finding her approach practical.
Childe laughs, and a wide grin stays fixed upon his face. Zhongli can’t help but smile in return.
“You wouldn’t enjoy the last meal I made for my little brothers, then,” Childe says.
“Dare I ask?” Zhongli prompts.
“There was a legend in our hometown, you see,” Childe says, leaning forward over the table. “Some villagers claimed that they had seen a fish of unimaginable size beneath the ice. Some said it was as long as a fishing boat; some said two. It was said to have scales as sharp as arrowheads, and fins that jutted out like spears.”
Zhongli finds himself leaning forward as well, captivated by Childe’s story and the depth of his lightless eyes.
“The fishermen cursed its presence; they claimed it would steal their catches from their hooks, or rip large tears through their nets. I myself had never run into it, as it had only shown up after I left home to begin my work in Zapolyarny Palace. However, on one of my visits to my family home, Teucer and Anthon couldn’t wait to tell me all about it.” Childe chuckles, eyes creasing fondly. “The little scamps had gotten into their heads that this creature had to be super delicious, and said ‘big brother, won’t you please bring it home? ’” He mimes their pleading voices.
“Why on earth would it have been delicious?” Zhongli asks in confusion.
Childe shrugs, “That’s kid logic for you. And naturally, as the best big brother in Teyvat, I went out to hunt for it.”
Zhongli’s eyes widen. “And did you find it?”
“Of course,” Childe says with pride. “It took a few days, but I tracked the creature down to a sea cave along the shoreline a few miles from the village. It was far too large to hope to use a rod and line on, or even a net, and so I improvised.” Childe then sits back and mimes throwing something with a wide swing of his arm. “Spearfishing!”
“I imagine you succeeded in catching the creature?”
“On my honor as a big brother, I had to! I hardly would have been able to return home if I hadn’t. It was truly massive, possibly the length of this room, so it wasn’t easy to drag back to the village. The look on Teucer and Anthon’s faces when they saw it, though, made it all worth it.”
“To have a brother so dedicated to seeing them happy, I am sure that they feel grateful.”
Childe laughs again. “Well, I don’t think Tonia felt particularly grateful at the time. She refused to enter the kitchen for days, even after Mama had finished cutting it up to store it. We were eating nothing but fish for days. I think the smell also ended up giving my Father a headache,” Childe shrugs, “but you win some, you lose some.”
Zhongli smiles, entertained. “Hopefully Miss Tonia found it within herself to forgive you. Did she like the necklaces?”
“She did, she wrote back that her schoolmates have complimented them,” Childe pauses to sip at his tea before continuing. “That reminds me, I’ll have to grab some more Moonchase souvenirs for them as well during the festival.”
“You plan on attending the celebrations, then?”
“Certainly. Good food, good music, fun games; it’d be a shame to miss that. Plus,” Childe adds, teasingly, “I’m still counting on my chance to run into one of the Adepti.”
“As I am planning on attending as well to support Director Hu, perhaps we could go together?” Zhongli suggests. He then allows a measure of coyness to enter his tone as well; “I may not be able to assist you in your endeavors to locate the esteemed Adepti, but I can walk you through the different traditions practiced.”
“That sounds grand to me. Just don’t ask me to share my blessings from the Adepti if I find one!”
Zhongli chuckles, offering Childe a fond, if exasperated smile. “I would not dream of it.”
Chapter 6: Same old Song and Dance
Summary:
In the children’s section, an array of animal-themed hats have caught Childe’s attention. They are lined inside with soft fur, and the outside is a thick knitted wool, ensuring comfort in even Snezhnaya’s frigid temperatures.
Childe’s eyes flick from his occupied hands, to the apparel on the table. He turns to Zhongli and opens his mouth, but the man is already extending his empty hand. “Allow me to hold those for you.”
“Thanks,” Childe says, passing over his tanghulu and the box of mooncakes with a relieved smile. He then picks up one of the hats, golden in color with dark brown accenting to portray the face of a monkey on the front. When he flips it over, the back has the symbol of Geo knitted into the design.
He lifts the hat and shows it to Zhongli. “What do you think, Xiansheng?”
Zhongli tilts his head, eyes flicking to the red Fatui mask pinned to the side of Childe’s hair, then back to the hat.
“I think it would be a bold departure from your norm,” he offers, face blank.
Childe’s brow furrows for a moment, before he realizes the misunderstanding and laughs.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The evening air is pleasantly cool where it brushes against Childe’s skin, and he breathes a sigh of contentment. Autumn chill, or as much of it as Liyue gets, has finally settled in at its fullest. It is still no competition for the biting winds of Snezhnaya’s cooler weather, but it is worlds more tolerable than the Liyuen summer heat. Moonchase preparations have taken the Harbor by storm over the past several days, culminating in this night of festivities.
Childe has closed the Northland Bank for the day, granting the staff time for leisure and indulging in the merriment if they so desire. He thinks he may get an irritated reprimand from Pantalone for loss in revenue, but he’s hardly concerned. Everyone’s buzzing excitement has been palpable and contagious, and it’s not as though they would have seen much clientele that day anyway.
Now, he stands before the large lantern construct upon the brilliantly lit docks, admiring the craftsmanship and design. Painted upon the sides are curling vines and blooms of flowers, interspersed with the winding lines of a musical stave, where notes blossom into a scale. Chattering friends and family alike stroll around behind him, taking part in the food and game stalls that have set up shop. He tunes the crowd to white noise, until he hears one particular pair of approaching footsteps, sedate in their pace and familiar in their gait.
“Good evening, Xiansheng,” Childe greets, turning to face the other man with a smile.
“Good evening, Childe,” Zhongli returns with a small bow. “I hope you have not been waiting long?”
Childe shakes his head. “Not at all, I only arrived shortly before you did.”
“Good. Shall we grab something to eat?” Zhongli gestures to the kiosks around the docks. “We have some time before the competition begins.”
“Yes, let’s!” Childe agrees eagerly. The offerings of the food stalls smell incredibly appetizing, and his stomach rumbles in anticipation. He isn’t sure where to start; there are mooncakes, tanghulu, dumplings, spicy meat skewers, and dragon’s beard candy on offer and he wouldn’t mind trying all of them. Thankfully, Zhongli seems to have a plan for where to start, heading towards the mooncake stall decisively. Childe follows along beside him into where the crowd thickens around the treat tables.
The designs of the mooncakes follow the theme of the Festival, portraying glaze lilies and silk flowers as well as musical notes and instruments. Childe wishes that he could send some of these delicacies to his siblings, but he isn’t confident they would transport well. He allows Zhongli to order for the two of them, and predictably the Sentinel selects one of every design. Childe hands over the mora while Zhongli collects the box from the merchant, and they are quick to step to the side of the stall to sample their little treasures.
Selecting a mooncake in the shape of a silk flower, Childe breaks it in half, offering the other portion to Zhongli, and hums in delight at the sweet taste of the dense bean paste. “So good,” he praises after swallowing his mouthful.
Zhongli nods in agreement, brushing the crumbs of his half from his lips. “Indeed. Mooncakes are one of the more delightful signifiers of the changing season, and will continue to be a popular treat throughout all of autumn in honor of the harvest season.”
Hmm, perhaps Childe would be able to collect some for his siblings, after all. He could buy some closer to the approach of winter, and send them with their gifts for Krsnik Noc. He’d simply have to find out how they store, to make sure they would keep well, and–
Childe jerks in alarm when a touch alights against the small of his back, urging him forward. The hand retracts with his flinch, and Childe meets Zhongli’s apologetic face.
“Forgive me, I wanted to move on to the next stall without losing you in the crowd,” he says by way of explanation.
Cheeks tinting in a light pink, Childe reassures him. “No harm done. You just caught me off guard, is all.”
Zhongli nods with a small smile, but does not touch him again when they resume walking. Childe chews at the inside of his cheek, wondering why he feels disappointed about that. His instincts are sharp as a tool to protect him; he is proud of them, in fact. It wouldn’t do for a soldier to be caught unawares and vulnerable to attack; so why does he feel irritation with his own reaction?
Frustrated, and frustrated with himself for being frustrated, Childe decides to focus instead on the next stall Zhongli has guided them to. Bright, colorful sticks of candied fruit glisten appealingly before them, the warm light of the lanterns causing their surfaces to shine. Childe leans closer to get a better look at the sugared hawthorn and berries, when a giggling duo of children push at one another, causing one of them to bump into Childe.
“Sorry, Mister!” they exclaim before darting away, their own tanghulu in hand.
Childe doesn’t mind, though the impact has jostled him against Zhongli’s side where they wait in line. He’s about to move again to give the other man space, but then another patron has sidled up beside him in line, forcing him to stay where he is. Zhongli does not seem bothered, as aside from glancing at the kids when they’d made their ruckus, he otherwise is only paying attention to the man behind the stall. Golden eyes diligently observe the merchant dip fresh sticks of fruit into the bubbling pot of syrup, swirling them with expert precision before cooling them in ice water and handing them off.
Childe smiles to himself, charmed by Zhongli’s fascination. He relaxes against Zhongli’s side, though his skin prickles beneath his clothes where they are pressed together. When it is their turn, Zhongli only orders two, likely only due to the limitations of what they can feasibly carry in their hands. Childe passes over the mora, watching the merchant make their tanghulu. It is fairly mesmerising, and he wonders if he could replicate the recipe at home for his siblings.
With one hand holding their box of mooncakes, Childe takes one of the tanghulu from the merchant in his remaining hand. Zhongli takes the other stick, leaving them with one hand free between the two of them. As if moving by unconscious thought, Zhongli once more lightly presses that hand to Childe’s back to move them away from the stall and back into the crowd. Childe makes a concerted effort not to react, crunching into the sugary treat in his hand. Sweet sugar and the tart tang of hawthorn burst over his tongue in a pleasant mix. He hears the crunch of Zhongli taking a bite of his own, and glances over to catch the man’s content smile.
“It’s pretty good,” Childe says, “and it looked fairly simple to make. I’m wondering if I should try to make some for my siblings when I next visit.”
Despite the volume of the festival-goers around them, Zhongli seems to have no issue hearing Childe, though he does lean slightly towards him when he responds. “That’s a splendid idea. The recipe itself is quite simple; the coating is made of boiled water, sugar, and corn syrup.”
“I could definitely manage that, I think,” Childe says, already imagining his siblings’ delight. They pass by another stall that catches his eye, and he pauses midstep. Zhongli stops as well, following Childe’s line of sight to a stall selling various winter accessories. “I’d like to look over there, if you don’t mind,” Childe says, pointing to the stall with his half-eaten tanghulu.
Zhongli nods. “Of course,” he says, then drops the hand from Childe’s back to allow the other to walk ahead, though he does follow behind. The display showcases several stylish hats, scarves, mittens, and earmuffs for children and adults alike, ranging widely in thickness and design. Some of the articles are brightly colored, others more muted, some fur-lined and others light silk. In the children’s section, an array of animal-themed hats have caught Childe’s attention. They are lined inside with soft fur, and the outside is a thick knitted wool, ensuring comfort in even Snezhnaya’s frigid temperatures.
Childe’s eyes flick from his occupied hands, to the apparel on the table. He turns to Zhongli and opens his mouth, but the man is already extending his empty hand. “Allow me to hold those for you.”
“Thanks,” Childe says, passing over his tanghulu and the box of mooncakes with a relieved smile. He then picks up one of the hats, golden in color with dark brown accenting to portray the face of a monkey on the front. When he flips it over, the back has the symbol of Geo knitted into the design.
He lifts the hat and shows it to Zhongli. “What do you think, Xiansheng?”
Zhongli tilts his head, eyes flicking to the red Fatui mask pinned to the side of Childe’s hair, then back to the hat.
“I think it would be a bold departure from your norm,” he offers, face blank.
Childe’s brow furrows for a moment, before he realizes the misunderstanding and laughs.
“You would be right, but I didn’t mean for me. I was thinking of getting them for Teucer and Anthon,” he explains, amused.
Zhongli lets out an ‘oh’ of understanding, and then nods. “I’ve seen a few children about the Harbor with similar hats, they seem to be quite popular. The designs are a tribute to the five Yaksha that defended Liyue; the one that you hold now represents General Kapisas.”
Childe hums, and then turns to grasp the teal hat with the face of a bird on the front, and two wings on either side. This one displays the symbol of Anemo upon the back. “What about this one?”
“General Alatus,” Zhongli answers.
“Hm.” Childe holds them both in front of him, then shrugs. “Well, these are their favorite colors, so I suppose that’s fine.”
He scans the booth for something for Tonia, keeping in mind that she isn’t too fond of hats for how they tousle her hair, and he doesn’t want to offend his mother by getting a scarf. A fluffy fur-lined pair of earmuffs catch his eye, pale blue and white in color with Qingxins embroidered on the sides. The blue would bring out her eyes, and she would adore the floral pattern. Satisfied, Childe reaches over and takes the earmuffs, piling his selections into his arms.
“For Miss Tonia, I presume?” Zhongli asks while Childe waits to catch the merchant’s attention.
“Yep,” he replies, “she doesn’t like hats too much, but these should keep her warm. And they’ll look adorable on her!”
The merchant wraps up with her previous customer and turns to greet Childe and Zhongli with a smile. Childe pays for his gifts and accepts the bag the merchant offers him, taking the box of mooncakes from Zhongli and placing them inside as well.
“There,” he says cheerfully, “that makes things easier.”
Zhongli hands Childe his tanghulu, having finished his own while at the stall. “Good idea.”
“Where to next, Mister Consultant?” Childe looks to Zhongli, who sweeps his gaze over the nearby stalls.
The Sentinel sniffs the air, and then glances at Childe. “There is a dumpling stall that smells divine. Would you like to procure some dumplings, and then head to Yujing Terrace?”
Childe nods, sniffing the air for himself, but he can only detect the sugary scent of the treat stalls closest to them. “Lead the way.”
Zhongli smiles and nods, and then his light touch ghosts the base of Childe’s spine, leading him in the direction of the dumplings. They weave through the crowd, Childe catching flickers of joy and affection and excitement from the people they pass. When he finally picks up on the scent of jueyun chili, he assumes they must be nearing their destination. Sure enough, a few moments later Zhongli guides them into a queue for the dumplings.
“You’re right, Xiansheng, that does smell really good,” Childe says, peering around the line in front of them to catch a glimpse of the dumplings. The sign at the front lists pork, crab, and vegetable options, prompting him to consider which flavor he’s most eager to try while he polishes off his tanghulu.
“The sharp scent of the jueyun chilis they are using indicates their ingredients are fresh, likely sourced further north west,” Zhongli says thoughtfully, “Qingce Village, I would imagine. More subtly, there is an undercurrent of violetgrass. I believe this particular batch was harvested from cliffs in Minlin, due to its muskier notes.”
“You can tell all that from the scent?” Childe muses in wonder.
Zhongli’s lips tip up, and he turns his eyes on Childe. “Scents carry a plethora of valuable information. Rarely do people have the inclination to parse them, though, even Sentinels. It is simply a hobby of mine.”
“I think that’s neat,” Childe admits honestly. Not for the first time, he wonders how things might be different had he been a Sentinel, but dismisses the thoughts quickly. It does no good to dwell in what-ifs, and he’s quite satisfied with how things have turned out.
The two reach the front of the line, and predictably order several of each flavor. Zhongli collects the paper bag while Childe pays, and then they depart in the direction of Yujing Terrace. The Qixing have lavishly decorated the courtyard in front of Yiyan Temple, erecting tall banners to stand in a circle around the raised area. The banners are made of thick silk, with the same floral motifs as seen around the Harbor. Streamers cascade from the banners to the ground, and paper lanterns are strung in the space between them. A wooden platform has been constructed on the side closest to the temple, and attendants of the event flit to and fro upon the stage, setting final touches to the lights and props.
A picturesque painted backdrop hangs in the back of the stage, obscuring the sight of the Temple beyond the courtyard. In swirls of green and blue, it depicts the scenery of a tranquil lotus pond. Upon the platform rest a few stools, and a provided drumset for those who may need them. An audience has already begun to form; small clusters of people mill about the courtyard in front of the stage, chatting and laughing amongst themselves.
Zhongli does not move in that direction, however, bypassing the center courtyard entirely to instead climb the steps to the outlook off to the side. Childe follows him, and mirrors his lean against the stone railing behind them. If he looks over his shoulder, he can see Feiyun Slope spread out beneath them, lights twinkling in the cover of the night, illuminating the festivities in the streets below. From the outlook, they have a decent enough side-view of the stage, but they’re a good distance away.
Inquisitively, Childe glances at Zhongli, who is opening the bag of dumplings. “Did you want to get any closer to see the performances?”
Zhongli offers the open bag to Childe, who thanks him and pulls out one of the dumplings. “I am content where I am. Otherwise, the volume may cause an unpleasant headache,” he explains. “Though, should you wish to get closer to the stage, please feel free to do so.”
Childe makes a noise of understanding. Though the orchestra of the opera hadn’t seemed to bother Zhongli’s senses, the performances at the festival are likely to be much more boisterous. It also appears as though the banners in the center courtyard have been arranged with acoustics in mind, placed strategically to amplify the sound. Even where they stand, it is likely to be quite loud. Childe chews on his bite of dumpling slowly, thinking, and then his eyes widen. He shoves the rest of his dumpling in his mouth, ignoring the bewildered look Zhongli shoots him, and begins rifling through his bag.
The influx of hot spice from the jueyun chilis makes his eyes water irritatingly, but he perseveres until he finds what he is searching for. Triumphantly, he straightens up and spins towards his companion, reaching out. Zhongli’s perplexed expression nearly makes him laugh when he pulls his hands back, a pair of fluffy blue and white earmuffs now resting upon the other’s head. They look a bit silly, in juxtaposition with the rest of the man’s regal attire of golds and browns, but Childe refuses to second-guess his actions.
“There,” he says with satisfaction, hands on his hips. “They may not be as effective as actual ear protection, but they should help.”
Zhongli blinks at him, lifting one hand to brush a featherlight touch to the earmuffs, and then his surprise melts into a warm smile. “That is very considerate, Childe, thank you.”
Half-expecting the Sentinel to take them off, Childe’s cheeks heat at the earnest gratitude. He deflects, “I would say you can fight with Tonia for custody, however, I’m afraid they’re not half as cute on you as they will be on her. Sorry, Xiansheng!”
Zhongli takes the tease with grace, chuckling lightly. “I would not dream of attempting to upstage Miss Tonia with her own gift.”
Childe pretends to think for a moment, tapping his chin with his index finger. “You know, you might be able to pull off the hat I got for Anthon, though. The gold goes with the color scheme you have going on.”
“Ah,” Zhongli’s brows pinch together and his smile twitches. “I thank you for your confidence in my ability to wear such a…statement piece. Sadly, as it is a gift for Mister Anthon and not for myself, I shall have to bear living without it.”
The two hold eye contact for a moment longer, before they both laugh, settling back against the bannister. “Tragic indeed,” Childe agrees, still smiling.
They finish off the rest of their dumplings, just as delicious as Zhongli promised they would be, and start picking at the mooncakes again as more people begin to crowd the courtyard. Finally, the Yuheng, Keqing, takes the stage to announce the beginning of the competition, and the audience cheers. When she leaves the stage, a girl with dark hair with accents of red skips into the center, a guitar strapped to her torso and a Pyro vision on her back. She riles up the audience, elevating their excitement with her own contagious enthusiasm, even before she begins her performance.
“That is one of Director Hu’s friends,” Zhongli says, leaning over Childe’s shoulder so that he can hear him. “Miss Xinyan.”
Xinyan starts her performance, kicking off the night with an upbeat rock song.
“I’m not surprised that Hu Tao’s friends are just as energetic as her,” Childe says back to Zhongli, watching Xinyan dash about the stage while her hands dance wildly over the strings of her guitar.
“Indeed,” Zhongli agrees with a fond smile at the stage. Xinyan’s music is fiery and bright, the same as her bubbly personality seems to be. Even from his distance, Childe can catch glimpses of her determination and ambition as they radiate off of her while she performs.
She leaves the stage to thunderous applause and cheers, and another unfamiliar face takes the stage after. Childe glances at Zhongli, but the man shakes his head, indicating he does not know the performer. It is a man with a Hydro vision clipped to his tunic, and he is perfectly adequate, but nothing compared to the energy of the performance that preceded him. A few other performers take the stage, none that Childe recognizes until he thinks he sees–
“Is that Yun Jin?” It’s hard to tell out of costume, as he’s never met her outside of the opera, but her voice when she speaks to the audience is familiar.
“Yes,” Zhongli replies, “from what I understand, she entered alongside Miss Xinyan and Director Hu. The three of them spent quite some time practicing in the parlor.”
Childe snorts, eyes still glued to the stage. “And your clients didn’t mind the noise?”
He feels Zhongli’s amused exhale ruffle the hair by his cheek. “No, though most of our clientele is fairly…inanimate.”
It takes a moment, but then Childe is laughing at Zhongli’s dry wit. He supposes a funeral parlor would be fairly empty aside from the bodies, so even if rather morbid it would make for a convenient rehearsal venue.
Yun Jin begins her song on stage, having brought an erhu with her for her performance. Her vocal range does not cease to impress Childe, and her projection and inflection is riveting to listen to. Though she does not move around the stage or dance as some others have, due to the limitations of her chosen medium, her stage presence is no less captivating. By the end of her performance, Childe’s eyes feel dry as though he hadn’t blinked a single time.
“It’s going to be hard to choose a winner,” he says as the next performer is announced.
Zhongli hums in agreement. “There is surely some considerable talent within the Harbor.”
“Maybe next year, I can compete too!” Granted, he may be a fugitive of the nation if his plans go smoothly, but it’s fun to imagine.
“Are you musically inclined?” Zhongli asks, turning his full attention to Childe rather than the new performer.
“Don’t look so surprised, Xiansheng,” Childe chides, though he smiles at the Sentinel. “It’s sort of like dance, I suppose. I have an interest, and I can hold my own on a stage, though I’m more confident with a weapon in my hands than an instrument.”
Golden eyes sparkle in consideration, and Zhongli looks as though he’s opened a box to find something he wasn’t quite expecting. “Hm. While I would surely enjoy seeing you perform, I’m afraid it’s unlikely to be at next year’s Moonchase. The Qixing change the theme of each iteration. Last year, for example, had a textile weaving competition.”
Childe’s face falls. “Well, drat. I’m no good at that.”
“Knowing you, though, no matter the medium I’m sure you would try to master it in time for the competition regardless.”
“Ha! That’s true.” Childe smiles again, looking back at the stage. “You really do–” know me, Xiansheng.
Lead sinks in his gut. He feels Zhongli’s eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze fixed ahead, smile evening out into an expression of fixed neutrality. Zhongli really knows him? But he doesn’t, does he? Zhongli doesn’t know that Childe is a Harbinger, nor that he intends to kill his Archon; to rip the divinity out of his god’s chest. It’s safer for the consultant, anyway, to remain ignorant. Lends him plausible deniability for after the storm.‘That upright Sentinel, tricked by that devious foreign Guide?’ How pitiful; how tragic.
Perhaps he is being cruel, allowing the consultant to get this close. To allow this…camaraderie they have developed. It is not strictly required by their contract, after all, and there is no stipulation that they must meet regularly for meals, or for shopping excursions, or walks about the Harbor. Certainly, the excuse for Zhongli to show him around the festival as a cultural expert had been a flimsy one. Although, Childe has never felt so at ease in the presence of a Sentinel, aside from his father and possibly Pulcinella. It could be that the unprecedented nature of their relationship has allowed Childe to get too comfortable.
But, Childe is having fun, and Zhongli seems to be having fun as well, so where lies the harm? As long as he does not jeopardize his mission, this should be fine. A Guide he may be, but he will not allow empathy for a man who is not family to derail his plans.
“Childe?”
He tunes back to the present, where Zhongli has laid a concerned hand on his shoulder. Shoot; he’d completely missed the last performer, and the next is about to be announced. Childe takes a breath, and faces Zhongli with a smile.
“Sorry, Xiansheng, got a bit distracted there.” With his best effort, he pushes out reassurance, and a mantra of believe him, he’s fine, believe him, he’s fine. Given Zhongli’s impressive defenses, he has no idea if it’s having any effect, but the man drops his hand with a nod and a small frown anyway.
Thankfully, the next artist announced is Hu Tao, and so Zhongli’s attention is quickly focused on the stage. Hu Tao bounds onto the platform, zither in hand, waving and posing to the crowd. Childe can tell the moment she sees Zhongli, because the line of her shoulders relaxes just the slightest bit. Then, she lifts the blocky instrument up, and begins furiously strumming at its surface.
Childe is jolted entirely out of the vestiges of his sour mood at the cacophony of sound.
“That seems…unconventional,” he hazards.
On stage, Hu Tao begins vocalising, pitching her voice low and raspy.
“Yes,” Zhongli says serenely. “That it is.”
There’s a certain charm to it, Childe thinks, as the discordant sounds do technically work together. The crowd seems uncertain, torn between those who dance and cheer regardless, and those who shift uneasily on their feet. Childe cheers, admiring the girl’s audacity and experimental sound. She truly has guts.
At the end of Hu Tao’s performance, applause is scattered, but she doesn’t seem any less cheerful than when she began. Childe picks at another mooncake while the last performer is announced and brought up on the stage.
“After this act, we can cast our votes over there,” Zhongli says, pointing towards a table set up along the edge of the courtyard. The Yuheng sits at the table with the Qixing’s adeptus secretary Ganyu, various papers laid out before them.
Munching on his mooncake, Childe nods, wondering who he feels most compelled to vote for. The current performer is fine, much like several of the others, though she does not particularly stand out. There is Xinyan, a bright blaze of energy, or Yun Jin, a showcase of incredible technical skill, or even Hu Tao, who simply impressed him with her boldness.
“Are you voting for Hu Tao then, Xiansheng?” Childe asks, when the last performer has cleared the stage and the Qixing have opened the voting booth.
“I could not possibly tell you and potentially sway your own vote, Childe. That is against the spirit of such things,” Zhongli chides sternly, sliding the blue earmuffs from his head and offering them back to Childe now that the performances are complete.
“Right,” Childe says skeptically, accepting the earmuffs and dropping them back into his bag. “Can you tell me after we vote, then?”
“Of course.” Zhongli pauses. “And, thank you, the earmuffs were most helpful.”
That settled, the two make their way through the crowd to the voting booth. Childe thinks he has become very good at no longer reacting to Zhongli’s touch upon his back, and considers this another skill mastered. He ignores the blatant stare from the Yuheng boring into his head when they finally make it to the front of the line. Still unable to pick a favorite amongst his top choices, he scribbles all three on a piece of paper, and points his fingers between them while mentally rehearsing a childhood counting game.
The moon emerged from the fog,
He took a knife out of his pocket,
“I will cut, I will stab!
You will be it, anyway!”
Perfect. He selects the last name his finger lands upon, scribbling out the other two. He folds and drops his sheet into the collection box on the table, and happily joins Zhongli where the man waits for him at the end of the table.
“Xinyan.”
Childe stares blankly at him, before realizing the implication.
“Oh…you did? ” Childe gasps, eyes wide.
Zhongli nods, unphased by his companion’s scandalized tone. “I did. I am quite fond of her music. She is a pioneer for the rock-and-roll genre in Liyue.”
Amused, Childe shrugs. “Well, I suppose that’s better than choosing randomly like me. I ended up putting Yun Jin down. I won’t tell Hu Tao if you don’t.”
“Truthfully, I do not think she would be bothered even if she knew,” Zhongli admits as they walk back to the outlook to wait for the results.
They don’t have to wait very long, as the two diligent Qixing make quick work of tallying the votes. With the contestants lined up in the courtyard in front of the stage, Keqing marches to the center of the platform to announce the winner. When Xinyan’s name is called, the girl as well as her friends break into excited yelling, and the audience cheers in support. Xinyan dashes onto the stage to accept her victory with a sweeping bow, and a quick riff of her guitar which drives the audience wilder. With a smile, the usually stiff Yuheng passes over the reward for the competition, consisting of a small pouch of mora and a commemorative plaque.
Childe and Zhongli clap along with the audience, watching Xinyan leap from the stage to rejoin her companions who gather excitedly around her while Keqing and Ganyu ask the crowd to make a neat and orderly exit with the closing of the event.
“Did you want to speak with Hu Tao?” Childe asks while people begin to file out from the courtyard.
Zhongli glances at the group near the stage, where Hu Tao is speaking animatedly with Xinyan and Xiangling and a few other people Childe does not recognize. Golden eyes soften, and he shakes his head. “No, I should let her enjoy the evening with her friends.”
In the distance, Childe can hear Xinyan loudly declare that treats and games are on her, to which their group cheers and dashes down the stairs towards the docks.
“Hmm, well, you and I haven’t tried any games yet, Xiansheng. Could it be that you’re afraid to face me in a challenge?” Childe taunts. “I promise I’m not a sore winner!”
Zhongli’s lips tick up in a smile, and he helps Childe shuffle their remaining mooncakes into Childe’s bag. “I suppose I am open to finding that out for myself,” he replies.
“You’re on, Xiansheng!”
“Say, Zhongli-xiansheng, the atmosphere here feels sort of…heavy.”
Frankly, that’s barely scratching the surface. Ever since their boat had crossed into the waters of Guyun Stone Forest, Childe has felt a pulsating resonance from deep beneath the churning waves. It makes his nerves feel frayed and a deep sense of wrongness settle in his gut. The sensations only grow stronger the closer they draw to the center, and by the time their boat has docked, Childe’s restlessness feels like a buzzing beneath his skin. From the deep of the oceanic abyss, a presence claws for recognition at the outer defenses of his mind; a pounding push of desperation to be seen.
From beside him, Zhongli appears perfectly serene, if somewhat lost in thought. He does acknowledge Childe’s assertion, though.
“Yes, that would be a common consensus of those who visit Guyun Stone Forest. It is the reason that many of the more superstitious locals refuse to come near these islands, due to their history.”
Childe follows Zhongli from their waverider over to one of the jutting peaks of rock in the sand. The consultant had not offered much by way of explanation when he mentioned to Childe the previous day that there was a historical site he thought they should visit, and Childe had not pushed for more information at the time. This morning, when Zhongli had informed him that they would require a small boating vessel to venture out into the Sea of Clouds, Childe had been intrigued but not particularly concerned. Now, he is still primarily curious, though wariness has set a stiff tension through each of his limbs, with the unknown pressure at the back of his mind.
“What history is that?” Childe asks, knowing Zhongli will elaborate. Zhongli pauses at the rock formation, thoughtfully sliding a gloved hand down its ridges and grooves.
“According to legend, many a god was sealed here by Rex Lapis.”
Childe’s eyes widen, and he glances around the archipelago as though this information would grant him the ability to see remnants of these battles.
“Most notably, the Overlord of the Vortex, a sea serpent called Osial.” Zhongli turns from the peak of stone, and gestures to the surrounding islands of rugged and tall rock formations. “These stone structures that remain here to this day are said to be remnants of the spears Rex Lapis called down upon those sealed here over two thousand years ago.”
Letting out a low whistle, Childe regards the size of the so-called spear remnants. Each formation is easily the size of a large building, and certainly larger than any weapon Childe has lifted. He considers something of note in Zhongli’s explanation.
“You say they were sealed here, not slain?” he clarifies.
Zhongli nods. “Yes, sealed and not slain. In order to protect his people, Rex Lapis had to consider the consequences of potentially slaying a powerful god so close to Liyue Harbor. The impact could be catastrophic to not only the physical land and sea formations, but also to the general ecosystem.”
“How so?” Childe asks. While he’s hunted down large monsters before, he can’t say he’s yet slain a divine being.
“When a god is killed, their divine energy is dispersed. The more powerful the god, the more divine energy is released. The explosion of such concentrated energy levels can be unpredictable and devastating. Results of such instances give us the cautionary tales of Havria and her petrified followers, or Decarabian and the ruins of Old Mondstadt, or Orobashi and the Tatarigami curse in Inazuma.” Zhongli pauses, closing his eyes. “Even with the gods sealed beneath Guyun, it is not difficult to feel the effects of their lingering karmic energy. It seeps into the land and waters around it, tainting them, leaving the surrounding sea barren and the nearby soil infertile.”
“And killing them would amplify that exponentially, I assume?” Childe surmises.
Zhongli opens his eyes again, the gold somewhat hazy. “Correct. Had Osial been destroyed, there is a possibility that Liyue Harbor and the Sea of Clouds would have been unable to sustain life.”
Childe feels an uncomfortable dread prickling at his chest, unrelated to the wrathful energy rising from the depths of the sea. If the death of a god could cause such an impact, what would the death of an Archon do? If he risks leveling the Harbor with his plan, he either needs to figure out how to collect the gnosis without killing Rex Lapis, or come up with a contingency plan to attempt to mitigate the consequences of his death. Perhaps…could the research on the Sigil of Permission be of use?
After Childe’s discussion with Zhongli on the purpose of Sigils of Permission, and Javert’s followup report, he has placed priority on researching the slip’s power. Somewhat reluctantly, he had written to Dottore with a description of the Sigil of Permission, and the other man has taken to the project rather enthusiastically. Childe had sent him the Sigil, and according to Dottore’s updates every other week, research and replication is moving along at a significant pace. If there is a way, potentially, to harness the Sigil’s power and hold a god’s energy in stasis…
Sighing, Childe shakes the thought away for the time being. Trying to concentrate on that while latent karmic energy continues battering away at his mental defenses will only cause him to develop a migraine. He glances over at Zhongli, and alarmingly he realizes the other man has fallen into one of his quasi-zones. Golden eyes stare listlessly out towards the churning waters in the center of Guyun, and the Sentinel’s hands continuously turn over one of his rings between his fingers in unconscious fidgeting.
“Zhongli?” Childe calls tentatively. As expected, he receives no verbal response.
While Childe has never been able to successfully Guide another Sentinel, and doesn’t know the proper protocol, with Zhongli the connection feels intuitive. Shutting his eyes, he uses his Empathy to cast out gently to the edges of Zhongli’s mind, calling out to him where he can sense the other’s vulnerable consciousness. Zhongli, he calls, tugging at the edges of the Sentinel’s mind, not daring to push any further. Still, Zhongli responds to the call. There’s a flash of sorrow and of regret when Zhongli’s consciousness answers, and then Childe feels the other’s walls reshaping into something more solid. Taking that as his cue, he pulls back from the Sentinel and opens his eyes.
Zhongli blinks rapidly, turning to Childe with eyes that are focused and sharp. “I apologize, did you say something?” he asks.
“Yeah,” he lies, “I was thinking, this place must not make a very good fishing spot then, huh?”
None the wiser, Zhongli smiles at the question. “I am afraid not. Unfortunately you will not find any fish in these waters.”
“Ahh, what a bummer,” Childe sighs, “I could’ve caught us some lunch!”
Zhongli chuckles at that. “If you are hungry, we could head back to the Harbor?”
Though he’s not particularly hungry, the heavy atmosphere of these islands is clearly doing neither him nor Zhongli any favors. Additionally, with colder weather approaching, he does not need to be responsible for Zhongli catching a cold due to walking around a windy beach in autumn. His newfound knowledge of the ancient gods sealed beneath the clamoring tides is enough to spark the suggestion of an idea, but he can visit again in his own time. For now…
“Yes, please! I think some Slow-Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup could really hit the spot.”
As expected, Zhongli’s face brightens at the mention of one of his favored orders. “Oh, yes, I agree. That sounds splendid.”
With lunch agreed upon, the two retrace their steps to their waverider, discussing their order for lunch and not once glancing back at the Stone Forest.
“Hmm…I think Teucer would like it, but I’m worried he might break it. What do you think, Xiansheng?”
Zhongli glances over his shoulder at Childe, who looks at him expectantly, a rattle drum in his hand. They had met for lunch earlier, during which Childe had lamented that he would not be able to travel home to Snezhnaya this coming holiday season to celebrate Krsnik Noc with his family. He had seemed inordinately distressed, and so Zhongli had suggested a trip to the market in order to search for gifts. Childe had immediately brightened at the idea, and so after their meal they headed to Chihu Rock.
Now, they stand at Granny Shan’s stall, mulling over her toy selection.
Zhongli extends a hand, and Childe obligingly places the rattle drum into his palm. Zhongli spins the rattle drum briefly, gauging the sturdiness of the toy, and then he hands it back to Childe. “It is very well crafted, and is intended to withstand the rough handling of children, so I believe it will be fine. Even if he were to break it after a time, it would only signify that he thoroughly enjoyed your gift.”
Childe gives him a relieved smile. “Thanks for your input. I just really want these gifts to be good.” He sighs. “I feel awful that I won’t be able to see them next month.”
“I’m sure that your siblings understand that you would be home if you were able,” Zhongli offers as reassurance. Over the past few weeks, Childe has seemed a little more distant than is normal for him, and Zhongli isn’t sure if this reticence is related to his plotting for the gnosis, or if he’s truly fretting over his family this much. “Your love for them is very clear.”
Breaking eye contact with Zhongli, Childe’s expression twists into something rueful. “Yeah, I suppose so. And Pul–er, my uncle will be travelling to see them and I know he’s going to spoil them rotten, so I can’t be too worried.”
“Oh? Spoils them more than you, you mean?” Zhongli teases, watching Childe pick up and examine several dolls and stuffed toys from the display. The Guide’s cheeks flush a light pink, and he pouts at Zhongli.
“They deserve it!” he defends. “If you saw them, Zhongli-xiansheng, you wouldn’t be able to deny them a thing either.” His mouth then twists into a grimace. “And please, don’t ever insinuate that my uncle could out-spoil them over me. I work hard for the title of favorite, you know.”
Zhongli chuckles. “Alright, I won’t mention that again. And, I’m sure you are right,” he agrees, “since I find it very difficult to deny their brother anything at all.”
Light pink darkens into a red bloom over the bridge of Childe’s nose, and the Guide visibly struggles to affect nonchalance. “Yes, well, charm runs in the family.”
From Granny Shan, who has done an admirable job pretending she has not been listening to their entire conversation, Childe asks for the price and a bag. He ends up purchasing two of the rattle drums, three dolls, and a stuffed geovishap toy. When they move away from the stall, Childe is busy moving things around in the bag the way he would prefer them to sit. In an effort to avoid having the preoccupied man run into other people on the street, Zhongli sets his left hand lightly in the middle of Childe’s back, guiding him in a straight line towards the docks.
Over the months of their acquaintance, he’s noticed that the Guide has progressed to a certain level of comfort in his presence. No longer does he flinch or tense when their arms might brush, or like the first time Zhongli had tried to lead him with a hand behind his shoulders, and the small show of trust satisfies something deep within Zhongli. He doesn’t typically consider himself an overly tactile person, unlike Director Hu, whose expressions of affection are largely physical in nature. She enjoys embraces with friends, clinging to his arm when they walk together, and rough pats on the back in congratulations. Zhongli, while tolerant of these behaviors, doesn’t actively seek out physical touch in the same way. For whatever reason, though, when he is with Childe, he feels a desire to be close.
Initially, he had attributed it to his curiosity for the Harbinger, and wanting to keep him close the way one would an unpredictable enemy. But these days, he has stopped seeing Childe as an enemy docked upon his shores, and more as a companion he enjoys learning about. Then, he thinks perhaps it is due to their designations and biological impulses, but that still does not make sense. He is close with Director Hu, with Ganyu, and even with Lady Ningguang, and has never desired physical proximity with them in the same way. And, anyway, since the passing of Guizhong, he has not known a Guide to be able to connect with him. Regardless of the reason, Childe is accepting of the friendly touches, and so there seems to be little harm in indulging the impulses.
“Oh, let’s look there, Xiansheng,” Childe interrupts his thoughts as they pass a shop selling candies and pastries, pointing at the window. “Those three can never get enough sweets.”
“Did they like the Moonchase treats that you sent?” Zhongli asks as they head inside.
“They sure did.” Childe immediately heads toward the large packs of sugary candies. “I received a letter from Tonia just the other day where she told me that Anthon got in quite a bit of trouble with Father for sneaking mooncakes into his bed. He had tried to save some under his pillow, and woke up with a mess all over the place,” Childe laughs while eyeing the packages. “Apparently, it took Mama two washes to get all the stains out.”
Zhongli chuckles along with him, spotting a brand of sweets that Director Hu adores and lifting it into his arms. “It sounds like he may be a rascal much like his older brother.”
Childe scoffs, selecting a few packs of his own. “I was a perfect angel at Anthon’s age, thank you. I didn’t start causing Father’s headaches until much later,” he jokes. “Anyway, the winter gear and kites were a big hit, too, though it appears the kites have already become victims of the trees.”
“Then I suppose new kites are in order,” Zhongli suggests, earning another laugh from Childe.
They take their selections to the front of the store, where the clerk begins tallying their total. “I think if I allow them to keep decorating the trees with kites, I will also get an earful from Father,” Childe says.
Before Zhongli can even attempt to pitch in for the sweets he selected for Director Hu, Childe has already handed over the mora, and is collecting their purchases from the clerk.
“Thank you, Childe. I had intended to get those chocolates for Director Hu. I can pay you back, of course.”
Childe waves him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. It can be my way of thanking her for letting me steal away her consultant so often.”
“It is appreciated.” They step out from the shop, and Zhongli makes a thoughtful sound. “Childe, does your father often suffer the headaches you mentioned?”
He doesn’t need to look at Childe to sense the way the other tenses, and he wonders if he’s stepped out of line by asking.
Though Childe is silent for a moment, he does eventually answer in an affirmative. “Ah, yeah. He’s a Sentinel, so, you know how that can go,” he trails off.
An implication that his father and mother are not a bonded pair. Interesting, but not wholly uncommon, at least in Liyue. Still, Zhongli does realize that can be a sensitive topic to some, especially outside of his own culture, and so he does not pry.
“I believe I know of a traditional Liyuen herbal remedy that may be able to alleviate his symptoms,” he offers.
The tension falls from Childe’s shoulders, and he looks to Zhongli with wonder. “Really?”
Zhongli nods. “We would need to collect some ingredients from Bubu Pharmacy, but I can instruct you on how to make it.”
“That would be great! I could send that with the rest of the gifts for Krsnik Noc. Thanks, Xiansheng,” Childe beams.
“It is my pleasure.”
While the remedy could not fix any neurological damage already caused, it should soothe the pain and lessen the number of attacks. Zhongli has never needed to use it himself, but over the years he has known many unbonded Sentinels who have fallen victim to their untreated zones. Though…perhaps it would be prudent to get back into the habit of making it, again. He does not know what effect the loss of his gnosis could have on him, but he does not have a Guide to fill the space that it will leave. An adeptus he may be, but erosion comes for all, eventually.
Zhongli leads them towards Yujing Terrace, and considers his predicament in further depth. While he is eager to see if his people can thrive without his guidance the way that he believes they are ready to, he also has to consider the inevitable effects of erosion. It would not do to have a Sentinel fall victim to erosion while holding the amplified power of a gnosis, which is a factor also contributing to his desire for retirement. Though he feels stable at the moment, erosion is a slow creep of insidious undoing. He may not realize it has taken effect until it is too late, and he would prefer not to put his nation at risk due to ignorance.
Without his gnosis…without his gnosis, he will pose much less of a threat to his nation. And, with any luck, he will have many years before the spiderweb cracks of erosion begin to take his mind. As for the risk of zones and adjusting in the meantime, he supposes he will simply have to live as any other unbonded Sentinel does. From the side of his eye, Zhongli glances at Childe, who hums an unfamiliar melody as they traverse the steps leading to Bubu Pharmacy.
Zhongli hopes, once everything is said and done, that he will be able to continue calling this man his friend.
“Good afternoon, Mister Zhongli,” greets Herbalist Gui from behind the Pharmacy’s counter when they step inside. Politely, the man also nods to Childe at Zhongli’s side.
“Good afternoon,” Zhongli returns. “My companion, Childe, and I were hoping to obtain a few ingredients.”
Dutifully, Herbalist Gui jots down the ingredients that Zhongli lists off, and then dismisses himself to the back to procure them. He is gone for perhaps a total of five minutes when a little girl with a talisman on her forehead toddles out from the door he had disappeared through, a small bag grasped within her tiny fist. Zhongli feels Childe shift in surprise when he sees her, and she makes her slow way around the side of the counter to offer the bag to Zhongli with a placid expression.
“Why hello, Miss Qiqi,” Zhongli greets the small child.
“Hello, sir. I have your order,” she tells him.
Zhongli leans over to gently take the proffered bag from her, glancing inside to confirm the herbs and minerals within. He nods once. “Thank you.”
Beside him, Childe crouches down to Qiqi’s level, a warm smile on his face. “Hi there, Qiqi. Thank you for the herbs!”
Qiqi turns her head to look at Childe, expression unchanging, though she tilts her head curiously. “You are welcome, Mister.”
“Are you the assistant here?” he asks her.
“Qiqi is Master Baizhu’s apprentice.”
“Wow, that’s pretty impressive,” Childe replies, inflecting awe into his voice.
Unmoved, Qiqi shrugs. “It is Qiqi’s job. Now, I have to get back to work. Excuse me.”
Then, she swiftly disappears behind the counter once more, leaving Childe in his crouch on the floor. As he straightens, Herbalist Gui makes a reappearance.
“Sorry about the delay,” he says apologetically, “something came up with a patient in the back. Qiqi gave you the order, I trust?”
“Yes, we received it, thank you,” Zhongli affirms.
Herbalist Gui then gives them their total for the ingredients, and Childe passes over the mora. “Please tell little Miss Qiqi that we’re very grateful!”
Offering a rueful grin, Herbalist Gui says, “I will, though she may not remember later.”
Outside, Childe makes an odd sound. “She won’t remember later? What’s that about?”
“It is a result of her condition, unfortunately. Qiqi is undead. Adeptal gifts were used to resurrect her after an untimely passing, but such things are an imprecise art. Her memory is like a sieve, now, and she will never grow,” Zhongli informs him. Most of the Harbor is aware of Qiqi’s tragic history, but Zhongli remembers with clarity the day that Mountain Shaper had approached him about the hapless maiden he had sealed within his amber. It seems the zombie has come a long way since then.
Childe looks at him with intrigue. “Resurrection? Hm. The power of the Adepti truly seems limitless.”
“All power has its drawbacks and limitations,” Zhongli warns.
Lost in thought, Childe looks away while they descend the steps outside of the Pharmacy. “Don’t worry, Xiansheng, I’m perfectly aware. I was just thinking.” He pauses, and frowns, as if considering his words. “It makes sense why I couldn’t read anything from her. It was different from someone having good wards, like yourself. It was more like an absence, entirely, of anything being there.”
Zhongli hums in acknowledgement, unsure of what to say. He can imagine it would be an unnerving discovery for a Guide, though Childe seems more introspective than horrified.
“She was really cute, though,” Childe says next, lifting the heavy air.
They follow down the meandering path from Yujing Terrace to Feiyun Slope, discussing the herbal remedy Zhongli intends to show Childe how to make. They decide it makes the most sense to go to where Childe is staying in the Baiju Guesthouse, in order to store all of the gifts he has purchased. Despite the time they have spent together visiting historical sites, indulging in meals, and attending performances, they have yet to visit one another’s living quarters. Zhongli is a bit surprised that Childe has extended the offer, but he is curious and pleased with the invitation.
Childe greets the Guesthouse attendant as they enter the building, and then veers past the massive and ornate staircase in the center of the lobby once they are inside.
“Top floor, Xiansheng,” he explains, gesturing to the lift situated at the side of the main room, “I’d hate to make you climb all those stairs.”
Zhongli would not have particularly minded, fairly accustomed to the many flights of stairs he had to climb on a regular basis to go between the parlor and his home in Yujing Terrace. But, since both their arms are ladened with their purchases, a lift would be more practical. The painted doors slide open, and the two step in with their bags. When they exit at the top floor, there is a singular door situated in the hallway before them. Childe digs into the pocket of his jacket for a moment, pulling out a pocketwatch with an attached key to allow them entry, and then steps back to let Zhongli enter first.
“Home sweet home,” Childe says, as Zhongli steps through the threshold and looks around the open space.
“Or, well, something like that,” Childe continues, a dismissive hint to his tone. “I haven’t really had much time to decorate, and the place is huge anyway, I wouldn’t even know what to do with all the extra space.”
Indeed, the penthouse is palatial and expansive. Inside the main room, long walls with wallpapered designs stretch up high to a dougong structured ceiling, hosting a caisson in the very center inlaid with beautiful tile work and wooden carvings. On the far wall from the entrance sit two latticed doors leading out to a balcony overlooking the docks, letting in the golden light of the afternoon alongside the room’s windows. To the left side of the room is a spiraling staircase leading to an upper level. A glance to the right shows sliding doors that lead to a kitchen, as shown when Childe slips past Zhongli to enter the room.
Though the suite has plenty of decorative elements from the tiles, to the lavish furniture, to the carvings, to the potted plants aesthetically placed in a few corners, it lacks personal touch. Childe appears to be very fastidious with tidiness, as the few items within the main room that Zhongli can see are all neatly stacked away on shelves with not a spot of dust to be found. He is musing over the small collection of books on one of the shelves, eyes falling upon ‘ Rex Incognito ’, when Childe emerges from the kitchen with empty hands.
“Alright, Xiansheng, I’m all set. Would you like some tea before we get started?”
Zhongli turns away from the shelf with interest. “Tea would be lovely. What is on offer?”
Childe frowns, then disappears back into the kitchen. Zhongli follows behind, stepping into the room to see the Guide squinting at the boxes in one of his cabinets. His lips quirk into an amused smile, and he faces Childe next to the counter.
“I have to be honest,” Childe admits to him as he approaches, looking up from the box in his hand, “the tea came with the room, and I haven’t actually tried it yet.”
Zhongli hums, and steps around to Childe’s side to peer at the tea in his hands. He then glances at the selection within the cabinet, and his eyebrows raise at the variety.
“Do you mind?” he asks, one hand extended towards the open cabinet.
Childe shakes his head and steps back to give him space. “By all means.”
Pleased, Zhongli takes the box from Childe’s hand and places it neatly back within the cabinet, and then selects one from further in the back. He closes the cabinet door and shows his selection to Childe.
“The tea you were looking at was Tianheng Bohea; a green tea cultivated in Qiaoying Village and very popular within the Harbor. While it is a lovely strain in its own right, it would be a shame not to try this Sunglo Tea.” Zhongli can feel his excitement rising as he speaks. “This is also a green tea, though more popular in Chenyu Vale and not served as frequently locally. The label on this box here,” Zhongli points to a small symbol on the side, “indicates you have been presented with a very high grade as well.”
Childe makes a soft ‘oh’ sound. “It would definitely be a shame not to have some, then.” He then shuffles to the side to open another cabinet door, pulling out a teapot and two cups and saucers.
“I will assist you in preparing it,” Zhongli offers, pulling the teapot to the counter in front of him. Though Childe could likely prepare a tolerable pot, Zhongli would prefer to brew the tea himself to ensure fullness of flavor, so he hopes his breach of etiquette does not offend the other man.
Childe shoots him a grateful look instead. “Thanks, Xiansheng.”
Content, Zhongli sets about measuring out the tea leaves while Childe ignites the heat on the stove. They add a small amount of water to the teapot, then fill a kettle and move both over the heat.
“It’s nice to finally use this kitchen,” Childe says while they wait for the water to boil. “It’s lovely, but I haven’t really needed to cook since most of my meals are eaten out.” He then shrugs. “I guess this might not really count, but at least it’s getting some use.”
“Do you normally cook? Back in Snezhnaya, I mean,” Zhongli asks, collecting the bag of ingredients from Bubu Pharmacy. He figures he may as well sort everything out while they make the tea, since it will take some time to brew.
“I do it when I can,” Childe replies, helping Zhongli set out the bundles of herbs and minerals on the table in the center of the kitchen. “It’s not always feasible depending on where I’m stationed, but especially when I’m with my family I like to.” He searches through the cabinet that had housed the teapot, and withdraws a mortar and pestle, setting it on the table next to their ingredients.
Zhongli checks the kettle on the stove, confirming that it needs a little longer to come to a full boil. When he turns back to Childe, the Guide is resting a chin on his hand over the table, gaze thoughtful and far away.
“Another tradition for Krsnik Noc, too. I always help Mama with baking treats and cooking the feast,” he says.
“It may not be the same,” Zhongli starts, “but perhaps you can still celebrate here, in Liyue.”
“Maybe,” Childe says, though his tone is doubtful. “But it’s not as though I’m not enjoying Liyue’s festivities. I just get to participate in different celebrations while I’m here.” He smiles at Zhongli, and it doesn’t seem to the Sentinel like he’s faking his enthusiasm, at least.
Zhongli can hear the water in the kettle begin to bubble at the ideal frequency, indicating its readiness. He turns away from Childe as he responds, so that he can remove the kettle from the heat.
“Lanternrite, Liyue’s celebration of the new year, falls shortly after Krsnik Noc,” he says, inflection carefully blank as to not push any expectations on Childe while he adds the tea leaves to the teapot and begins pouring the heated water overtop. “There will be five night’s worth of festivities themed around an adeptus it will honor. The sky will be filled with xiao lanterns carrying the wishes of those who participate, and on the final night there will be a large fireworks show.”
Zhongli places the lid back on the teapot to allow the tea to steep for the appropriate amount of time. Behind him, at the table, Childe makes an intrigued noise.
“That sounds like fun. Could we go together, like we did for Moonchase?”
Zhongli’s lips tick up in a pleased smile, his back to Childe as he prepares their cups and a strainer.
Childe starts to backtrack before Zhongli can answer. “I mean, if you’re not celebrating with anyone else already. I wouldn’t want to intrude if you already have plans.”
There are a few more minutes remaining before the tea can be served. Zhongli turns to Childe.
“You would not be intruding at all,” he says. “I would be delighted to attend with you. I typically join Director Hu and some other friends for a meal on the last night, but you are surely welcome to come along.”
“Great!” Childe exclaims, then clears his throat, speaking more quietly. “That would be great.”
“I look forward to it, then,” Zhongli says. He places the teacups and saucers onto the table, then lifts the lid to the teapot to assess the color of the brew. Satisfied, he strains out the tea leaves, and brings the pot over to the table. Childe is quick to stand and extends a hand toward the teapot.
“Please, allow me?”
Nodding, Zhongli sets the pot on the table, taking his seat. Childe carefully pours them each a cup, concentrating on his efforts with a slight furrow to his brow. He does well enough, not a single drop spilling. So, when he places the teapot back on the table and looks expectantly at Zhongli, the Sentinel nods and offers his praise.
“Well done, thank you, Childe.”
“You did all the work, really, so thank you,” Childe returns, though he sits with a pleased smile of his own.
“A combined effort,” Zhongli offers magnanimously, prompting a laugh from Childe.
They both take a long sip of their tea, savoring the taste. Zhongli takes a moment to appreciate the warmth it brings, and the brief surge of nostalgia with its familiar flavor. The aroma settles in his nose while the tea warms his limbs, and he opens his eyes. Across from him, Childe’s eyes are closed in appreciation, a smile still curls his lips, and his soft features are settled in contentment. A peculiar pang of longing hits Zhongli, then, alongside his realization of the domestic atmosphere that has settled over them, and he has the fleeting thought that he would like to keep doing this, indefinitely.
Childe’s eyes open, meeting Zhongli’s, and they are still guarded with that bit of wariness that never seems to leave the Guide. The moment breaks, and Zhongli wonders if the warmth was all his imagination. He swallows, then, and releases their eye contact to point to the ingredients still spread upon the table before them, neatly laid out.
“Now, I’ll start by introducing you to the ingredients before explaining how they are prepared.”
Childe nods attentively, leaning forward in his seat with teacup in hand.
Zhongli takes one of the dried bundles into his hand.
“Here, we have violetgrass. It is lauded for its medicinal properties, most notably the reduction of pain and inflammation…”
It is several hours before Zhongli departs for the evening.
Soft white flakes flutter silently to the ground in Liyue’s first snow of the season. The sky is black under the cover of night, and a slight breeze amplifies the evening’s chill. Though Zhongli is able to regulate his temperature as an adeptus, he still has a strong preference for Liyue’s warmer weather. Even still, he observes the falling snow with an idle wonder. Liyue’s climate does not always allow for snow in the winter, and so nights like this are few and far between. The frozen flakes dissolve on contact with the ground, the temperature not allowing it to settle and build, leaving the stone paths glistening.
Zhongli continues on his path to Chihu Rock, drawing his coat a bit more closely around himself. The streets are mostly barren of people, given the late hour and uninviting weather, lending an eerie sort of stillness to the night. It is a surprise, then, when he hears raucous laughter and jovial voices coming from the outside of Third-Round Knockout. As he nears the corner of the tavern, he can see a large group of people have pushed together the outdoor tables into a communal seating arrangement. There is a stove lit next to the table, as well as a canopy extended above them to keep the snow from falling directly on them, but there is no sign of Iron Tongue Tian.
His heightened hearing picks up on a very particular voice, and he stiffens, scanning the bodies around the tables once more. He catches a familiar shock of auburn hair, and realizes that the people seated around Childe are his staff from the bank. Zhongli hesitates, casting a glance further down the road where he had been heading. Though he is curious, as he always is when it pertains to Childe, what the Northland Bank staff is up to technically is none of his concern, and he had told Director Hu that he would collect the incense they required from Ying’er. Perhaps he can mention it to Childe another time.
Having reaffirmed his plans, Zhongli continues his way past the tavern. He has made it about a quarter way through the plaza when a voice calls out.
“Mister Zhongli?”
He recognizes Miss Ekaterina’s voice, and he pauses. He can pick up on the hushed back and forth of ‘ who is that? ’ ‘ isn’t that the consultant? ’ ‘ Mister Zhongli, invite him over! ’ from the others at the table. He turns, not wanting to be rude, and offers Miss Ekaterina a smile and a small wave. She is half-turned, sitting on a stool, and from across the table Childe pushes up from his seat to peer into the plaza and make eye contact with Zhongli.
“Xiansheng?”
Ekaterina’s eyes dart from Zhongli to Childe, and in that moment Zhongli realizes that she is not wearing her usual mask, nor her typical Fatui uniform. In fact, none of the group is; instead they are warmly bundled up in thick woolen shirts and fur trimmed coats, donning scarves and hats.
“Mister Zhongli,” Miss Ekaterina says again, “come up here.” She waves a hand, gesturing for him to join the group.
Hesitantly, he steps toward the tavern, grateful for the invitation but not wanting to overstep where he is not welcome.
When he climbs the stairs to the patio, he says, “Is this alright? I wouldn’t want to intrude upon your evening,” eyes flicking between Miss Ekaterina and Childe. Childe seems to break out of his surprised trance, shaking his head.
“You’re not intruding at all,” he says. Another stool is pulled up to the table, and people shift around, leaving a seat next to Childe free, clearly intending for Zhongli to sit there. “We’re just doing our own little celebration for Krsnik Noc, since we’re all so far away from home.”
“Yeah,” another voice pipes up while Zhongli walks around the table to take the offered seat, “and Krsnik Noc is all about spending time with loved ones!”
Zhongli is settling onto the stool when he hears a pained ‘oof! ’ from the same area the voice was heard, though he doesn’t see what caused it. There’s an incensed whisper of ‘don’t be so bold! ’ with a rebuttal of ‘but look at how happy Master Childe is! ’ which Zhongli is sure he was not supposed to hear. His lips quirk up, and he looks to his side at Childe who has flushed a delightful shade of pink.
“Well,” Zhongli says slowly, waiting for Childe’s eyes to meet his own. “I would be honored to partake in even a small portion of your culture, in return for the way you have been earnestly participating in mine.”
Childe’s throat flexes as he swallows, the rosy hue of his cheeks illuminated by the lanterns that line the tables. Then and there, Zhongli decides that the incense can wait. Ying’er will surely be available come the following day, and opportunities such as this are difficult to come by.
“Then,” Childe says, fathomless eyes locked to Zhongli’s, “if you want to celebrate like a Snezhnayan, you’re going to need Fire-Water.”
The staff around them whoop and cheer, and suddenly there’s a large bottle of Fire-Water being pushed in front of the two of them. A quick glance to the wall of the tavern shows an alarming number of already empty bottles, and the one before him is already halfway through. Breaking their eye contact, Childe takes the Fire-Water and pours them each a shot, offering one to Zhongli with a sharp smirk.
A few of the agents around the table offer encouragement; ‘come on, Mister Zhongli! ’, ‘it’s not that bad, we promise, ’ ‘take it like a true Snezhnayan!’. Zhongli takes the offered drink, but before he can bring it to his mouth, Childe stills his hand with a light touch to his wrist.
“A toast,” Childe says, heat bleeding from the fingers in his glove to the skin of Zhongli’s wrist.
Zhongli nods. “To?”
Eyes locked once more, Childe considers for a moment. “To…an exchange of cultures.”
With a smile, Zhongli inclines his head. “To an exchange of cultures.”
Childe releases his wrist, and the two clink their glasses together before throwing the Fire-Water back. The cheers pick up again as Zhongli swallows, the searing burn of liquor sliding down his throat and pooling into pockets of warmth in his chest and stomach. He sets his empty glass down on the table with a quiet sigh, wiping at his lips with his thumb. Childe lets his glass clatter noisily to the table with a satisfied exhalation, and he fixes Zhongli with an easy grin.
“Mighty impressive of you, Xiansheng! Not even a flinch.”
Though Zhongli’s preference lies in sweet floral wines, over the course of his many years he has become no stranger to harder liquors. “I apologize if I’ve taken some of the fun out of the experience for you,” Zhongli jests, returning the grin.
Around them, the rest of the group has gone back to conversing amongst themselves, enjoying the light atmosphere.
Childe laughs. “You caught me. Maybe I was hoping to see the refined Zhongli-xiansheng lose some of that composure.”
Zhongli simply hums in response. Childe shifts so that his upper body is angled toward Zhongli, one elbow resting on the table with a hand cradling his cheek. Due to the limitations of space around the table, the lengths of their thighs are pressed together, creating a line of prickling heat down Zhongli’s side. If they were to fully face the table, their shoulders and arms would be pressed together as well.
Pulling his attention away from Childe, Zhongli observes the plates, bowls, and platters scattered around the tables. Not much is left on them, most of the food picked through, but what remains does not look familiar to Zhongli.
Following Zhongli’s line of sight, Childe explains. “Pelmeni, borscht, and kulebyaka. And a few pastries. I had to experiment with some of the recipes since not all the traditional ingredients are available in the Harbor, but I think I did pretty decently.”
Zhongli’s brows raise. “You made these?”
“Yep! Finally put that big kitchen to work,” Childe smiles, though it drops when Zhongli reaches for one of the pelmeni. “They’re probably not warm anymore, Xiansheng, you might not want to–”
Zhongli ignores him and pops the dumpling into his mouth. Childe is correct, that it is no longer warm, but the taste is still exquisite. The pork is juicy and lightly seasoned with jueyun chili, which Zhongli assumes is one of his alterations. He swallows and reaches for another.
Childe sighs. “At least dip them in the sour cream.” He pushes one of the bowls towards Zhongli, who obliges.
“Thank you,” he says. “They are fantastic with or without the sour cream, but I can see how it adds to the flavor profile appealingly.”
Childe snorts, though the red hue still dances over the bridge of his nose. “Thanks, Xiansheng.”
Though, Zhongli considers as Childe pours himself another glass of Fire-Water, the flush may be partially due to alcohol consumption. Most of the faces around them are rosy, and Childe in particular has a relaxed softness to the lines of his body that he normally does not have. He seems perfectly aware and sharp, still, but his smile is a little easier, the lines of his face less wary. He is perfectly content to sip his Fire-Water and watch Zhongli sample each of the foods at the table, describing each recipe to him.
Each dish that Zhongli samples is superb, the tastes unfamiliar and therefore that much more of a novelty. Even more intriguing when considering the hands that made them, and the hidden depths of the Harbinger that Zhongli continues discovering.
Zhongli is allowing Childe to pour him another glass of Fire-Water when some of the voices around the table start chiming in on a song. The melody is not one that Zhongli knows, but more people join in when they recognize the tune, and soon the whole group is singing along. It’s an upbeat rhythm, though the key it’s intended to be in is a mystery as the chorus of voices, while strong, is not particularly harmonious. Zhongli finds himself swaying along in his seat anyway, eyes drawn to the presence next to him. Childe’s sonorous voice joins the chorus of his peers, laughter in his breath, and Zhongli finds it positively enchanting. The words themselves are lost to Zhongli, paying little attention to the story of the song in favor of appreciating the atmosphere of camaraderie it has sparked.
The song draws to an end, dissolving into laughter and cheering and several side conversations. It’s then that Childe stands from his seat, wobbling just slightly and only for a moment before steadying himself.
“Alright, you crazy lot,” he starts, hands on his hips and a wide smile plastered across his cheeks. “It’s been fun, but it’s time for your fearless leader to call it a night.”
There’s a round of good-natured booing and jeers among the agents at the table, attempting to encourage him to stay for another round and another carole. Childe laughs and shakes his head.
“Unfortunately, I do need to go, but please celebrate to your heart’s content,” he continues. “I’ve left a good bit of mora with the owner, but anything additional can be charged to the Northland Bank. I’d better not see any of you at work tomorrow.” He levels his team with a mock-stern glare, and then raises one hand in a salute. “Everlasting glory be to Her Majesty the Tsaritsa!”
Salutes fly up one by one around the tables. “Everlasting glory to the Tsaritsa,” his agents parrot back cheerfully.
Childe gives one sharp nod, then turns to Zhongli, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You are of course welcome to stay, too, Xiansheng,” Childe says in a voice just for him to hear.
Zhongli shakes his head in refutal, rising from his own seat. The movement offbalances Childe, who still has a hand on his shoulder, and so Zhongli lets his own arm shoot out to steady the man around the waist. “I would prefer to see you safely home, and I should retire for the evening regardless.”
Childe flusters, that warm hue deepening delightfully on his cheeks again. “Xiansheng, you–”
There’s a wolf-whistle from somewhere around the table, and Childe’s head whips to the side in a half-hearted glare. His amused agents go back to their own conversations, and Childe regards Zhongli again.
“Xiansheng, you know I can protect myself just fine. I’m hardly that inebriated.”
Zhongli dips his head in acknowledgement. “You are certainly capable. However, it would bring me peace of mind to walk you to your lodgings, anyway. Will you allow me that?”
Childe sighs, as if put-upon, though it comes out sounding reluctantly endeared instead. “Alright, if you insist.”
Smiling, Zhongli says, “Great.” He steps back from the table, dropping his hand in order to give the other man room to step out as well.
Despite his previous insistence that he is fine, Childe sways slightly when he walks, and so Zhongli allows his hand to slip back onto that place at his waist. Childe does not seem to mind, instead throwing his head back to the sky as they step away from the tavern, allowing the flurries of snow to fall upon his face. His weight shifts more against Zhongli’s arm, whose hold remains firm, while Childe gleefully hums and sticks out his tongue to catch some of the flakes.
Zhongli watches this unfold with amusement, and Childe catches his eyes when he straightens up again. “It’s nice to be in the snow again,” he explains quietly, “it feels like home.”
There’s a tenuous vulnerability there, with the words, and Childe seems to realize this belatedly and so he fixes his expression into something teasing. “Not that a dusting like this is anything close to a Snezhnayan storm. I think even the Qixing would stop working if Liyue had so much snow!”
Chuckling, Zhongli allows Childe to steer the conversation back onto comfortable ground. “I’m sure you are right.” He thinks for a moment. “Though, I do have a friend who adores the snow. He has a penchant for attempting to eat it.”
Now, Childe’s expression twists into bewilderment. “Whyever would he do that? Not even my little siblings try to eat snow anymore.”
Zhongli shrugs, the motion unintentionally drawing Childe closer to his side as they walk. “I am told the consistency is pleasing to him.”
“Huh,” Childe says, and leaves it at that.
They are quiet for the remainder of the walk, both enjoying the serenity of the night. The streets remain empty, and the only sounds once they pass into Feiyun Slope are the clicks of their boots against stone. Zhongli is content to savor the companionable silence, to simply be present in this shared moment with Childe. However, when they round the corner of the Guesthouse, Childe comes to a slow stop.
Dropping his arm from Childe’s waist, Zhongli moves to stand in front of him, giving him a questioning look.
“Childe?” he prompts.
Childe’s face is pensive. “You know, I don’t really understand you, Xiansheng.”
Zhongli exhales slowly, studying Childe’s expression. If he concentrates, he can hear the beat of the other man’s heart, the blood pumping through his veins. He can catch every flutter of snow-kissed lashes against rosy cheeks, every swipe of a pink tongue over dry lips. When he inhales, he can taste the salt from the seabreeze that Childe carries with him.
“What do you mean?” Zhongli asks.
Drawing his lower lip between his teeth, Childe deliberates. Zhongli tracks the movement, idly, waiting for his response. “You’re kind of odd, for a Sentinel,” Childe starts, though Zhongli gets the idea it isn’t meant as an insult. “You know I’m a Guide, but don’t expect me to be inferior or incapable. You know I’m Fatui, but you don’t mind being seen with me everyday. Our contract is ostensibly so that you can teach me how to acclimate to Liyuen culture, but you willingly ask to indulge in mine.”
Zhongli’s brows furrow, unsure how any of that would be an issue.
“Our time together is starting to feel less like a business transaction, and more like,” Childe pauses with a frown, while Zhongli waits patiently.
“More like you might actually…” Childe trails off, and then huffs, evidently frustrated. “Forget it, Xiansheng. Sorry for keeping you so late in this cold. I think that Fire-Water got to me after all,” he deflects with a manufactured smile; an attempt to maintain the status quo.
Zhongli can hear the implication in the unspoken words; Like you might actually like me, like you might actually care. Childe makes an attempt to skirt around Zhongli, to disappear into the Guesthouse and leave things unsettled. Zhongli reaches out and grasps his wrist, firmly enough to keep him there but not roughly enough to hurt.
“Childe,” Zhongli says, urgently. Blue eyes, wary and defensive, meet his own. Zhongli grapples with the words he wants to say, the sentiment he wishes to convey. He grows frustrated in the limbo of his own indecision; unsure what phrases would correctly define how he feels. For all that he has been described as eloquent, he feels inarticulate now, inept at finding words that are not woeful understatements.
Taking a breath, Zhongli attempts to settle himself. He closes his eyes, focusing inward. Slowly, cautiously, he lowers the carefully constructed wards of his mind. It should be enough, he thinks, for the Guide to be able to at least superficially read him. Zhongli allows himself to settle into his thoughts of Childe. His intrigue to learn more about the contradictory man, the contentment he feels when they spend time with one another, the desire he has to share his knowledge with someone who will not only listen, but appreciate.
Zhongli has not had many chances to make friends on equal footing, but since adopting his mortal guise, Childe feels like the opportunity he has been waiting for.
Across from him, he hears a soft surprised inhale. Zhongli nearly startles when he feels a subtle brush against the edges of his consciousness, unused to not keeping his defenses high and solidified. There’s vulnerability in allowing Childe this access, and he hopes that the Guide understands. Suddenly, the connection changes, and Zhongli feels an achingly familiar touch of warmth. Childe reciprocates the offer in his own way, presenting Zhongli with glimpses of his own fondness and curiosity.
Childe’s presence in the peripherals of his mind is oddly comforting, rather than invasive. Again, Zhongli is taken by a sense of familiarity, as though he has been here before. Something tugs at the vestiges of a memory, an imprint of a feeling, something just out of reach–
Childe tugs lightly at the edges of Zhongli’s mind, as though making sure he is alright. It’s then that Zhongli realizes that this is the same centering force he has felt when getting lost in thought around the Guide. When he falls into the recesses of his recollections, and feels a gentle pull back to himself, he has assumed it is the work of his gnosis mitigating a zone. If all along it has been Childe, then…
That would mean that they are compatible.
The shock of this realization and the following thought makes Zhongli’s grasp on himself tremble. His eyes wrench open, shields flying back into place, and he watches, heart racing, as Childe slips back into his own mind. He needs…time. Time to process the sudden impossibility that a compatible Guide has walked into his life after several millennia; a Guide who has been instructed to tear his heart from his chest. A Guide he has an immense affection and curiosity for, but who has never indicated that he would entertain a relationship with a Sentinel.
Regardless, he can’t just leave Childe without a word, despite how dry his throat feels and how much his hands shake.
Blue eyes open and settle on Zhongli’s, concerned.
“Zhongli? Are you alright?”
Zhongli offers a smile, though he is sure it appears brittle. “Yes. Apologies, Childe, it has been a long time since I have intentionally invited anyone in.” It’s not a lie, but not the full truth either. “I sincerely hope, though, that this addresses some of your concerns.” Even though it spawns a dozen more for Zhongli.
Childe, however, smiles, and it appears genuine. “You didn’t need to do that, Xiansheng. But…yeah. Thanks.” He pushes his nose into the high ridge of his scarf, and then regards Zhongli with brows that pinch together.
“You really should get inside somewhere warm, though. Those clothes are not appropriate for this kind of weather,” he says. “If we were in Snezhnaya, Mama would not dare allow you out of the house.”
Zhongli blinks, internal dilemma subsiding for the moment. He supposes that Childe is right, and he must look odd in only his standard layers of dress, seemingly unbothered by the chill. It gives him a convenient excuse to take his leave, however.
“I see. I believe you are correct, it is quite cold, and late.” Zhongli inclines his head toward Childe. “Thank you, Childe, for allowing me to join you tonight. It was a very pleasant evening.”
“Of course, Xiansheng. Thanks for joining us, it was fun.”
“Until next time.”
Zhongli waits until Childe has disappeared behind the double doors of the Guesthouse before he turns on his heel and allows the frown to fall over his face.
Of all the possible hurdles his road to retirement could have thrown at him, he never would have guessed this to be the one to cause a stumble. Perhaps if he possessed even a modicum of Guizhong’s wisdom, he could have prepared. Currently, he needs to consider all approaches, not rush to a foregone conclusion. Zhongli takes a deep breath, slowing his stride to a more sedate pace. Alright.
He and Childe have become friends.
That is… fine. While it may cause some tension once the truth of the contract is eventually revealed, he should be able to explain himself and ask for understanding. Hopefully, Childe’s plans will not put him at unresolvable odds with the Qixing.
Childe is a Guide.
This, he has always been aware of. Along with rumors of the Tsaritsa’s bloodthirsty vanguard, her rabid guard dog, there have also been whispers that he is cursed. A Guide with empathic ability so toxic that he can send a Sentinel into a zone merely by looking at them. Zhongli always considered such rumors on both accounts to be greatly exaggerated, well aware of how his own legends have become twisted over time.
Surely enough, Childe subverted Zhongli’s expectations relatively quickly. He is charming, generous, and clearly disciplined. While he is strong, he is no mindless beast heedless to any morals. As far as empathic ability goes…well, clearly, Zhongli is not in any danger of falling into a zone around him.
And therein lies the crux of the issue.
He and Childe are compatible. Compatibility does not necessarily mean that anything needs to come of it. Truthfully, it would be safer and more practical to make sure that nothing does. Were Zhongli to allow Childe full reign of his thoughts and emotions through a bond, there would be no salvaging the sanctity of his contract with the Tsaritsa. The wise option would be to pretend he had never discovered their compatibility.
Except. Everything inside Zhongli revolts against that thought. While initially Zhongli only felt concern over the potentiality, the more he thinks about it, the more euphoric the idea makes him feel. He wants to pursue this connection with Childe, he wants to see where it could lead. It seems so delightfully human to want something so selfishly. And it is doubtlessly selfish, to desire such an intimate connection with a man he intends to deceive; a man who has only ever indicated that he is perfectly content being unbonded.
He has been blind to assume that his interest in Childe ends at the border of friendship and acquaintances. His instincts have been defining his actions towards the Guide since their first meeting, where he attempted to present the man with a gift, and every time after. He has taken every opportunity to touch, to lean in close, to share his scent. Every opportunity to share his knowledge, his interests, his culture. The insistence he felt to gift Childe that very specific pair of chopsticks. Zhongli has allowed himself to be as dense as his element when it comes to his intentions toward Childe.
With the inevitable conclusion of his contract looming over his head, Zhongli’s options are limited. He cannot be straightforward with his feelings to Childe without jeopardizing everything. Doubtlessly, Childe would not thank him for that, and still may not be receptive to his advances. Zhongli will need to be patient. Thankfully, he has had six thousand years of practice.
By the time Zhongli reaches his front door in Yujing Terrace, he has decided upon a course of action.
Zhongli will continue on as he has, testing the waters of courtship with Childe. When all is said and done, he will explain the contract to Childe, and formally ask to court the Guide. With any luck, Childe will agree, and his retirement will begin on a fresh foot forward.
Notes:
To be honest I think this was one of my favorite chapters to write lol. Next update on Friday!
Thanks a ton to Mika and KJ for betaing 🩵
Chapter 7: Game of Two Halves
Summary:
Zhongli and Childe stand shoulder to shoulder facing the water, the reflection of the floating lights mesmerizing on the sway of the tide.
“Are you ready?”
“Yep,” Childe says, without turning his head. “Do we just…let go?”
“Hmm, a peculiar thought, isn’t it?” Zhongli ponders, and Childe finally looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Letting go,” Zhongli clarifies. “Simple in explanation, perhaps, but rarely so easy in practice.”
Childe glances back at the lantern in his hands, somewhat lost. “Ah, yeah, sure. It was fun while it lasted.” He isn’t particularly distraught about releasing the lantern, though his wish makes the concept feel a bit vulnerable.
Zhongli makes a thoughtful noise. “Yes, I would agree. Though, I believe the next step will be equally delightful.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Time marches forward toward the Rite of Descension.
There remains very little for Childe to do while he bides his time, as far as arrangements for his plans go. Dottore has been exceedingly productive with replications of the Sigils of Permission, and Childe now has an ample stock of the glowing slips, all pulsating with unreleased energy. He’s taken a few with him on journeys to Tianqiu Valley, as far away from any settlements as possible, in order to put the manufactured Sigils to the test. It’s surprisingly intuitive, to draw the power resting within the slips to his own elemental energy reservoirs, and mold it to his will.
While the rush of additional power is exhilarating, nearly addicting with the thrum of volatile energy in his veins seeking an outlet, that it is not an increase in strength achieved by his own merit keeps him from considering an attempt to sustain his access. He will use the Sigils as a necessary tool and discard them. Whether he uses them to contain the shockwave of destruction after Rex Lapis’ death, or whether he must use them to raise an old enemy from the depths, remains to be seen. His contingency plan puts a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth, and so he hopes it will not be needed. It is hardly noble to coerce an opponent from hiding by placing their subjects in the path of potential harm and death, but if Childe runs into any obstacles during the Rite of Descension, his current progress indicates he will be unlikely to find Rex Lapis otherwise.
If all goes according to plan, however, the Geo Archon will simply be forced to face him at the Rite, and that will be that.
Childe holds no concerns over his own fate, facing a divine being head on. Failure is simply not a consideration. He will succeed. He has trained for this battle since he fell into the Abyss; since he absorbed the teachings of the corrupt with an eager mind and willing body. He has trained for this with every opponent he’s faced in honor of Her Majesty’s name; every scar he’s received and every scar he’s inflicted in return. His Hydro, his Empathy, his body – all honed weapons with the singular purpose of ripping out an Archon’s heart and delivering it to his Queen. Beyond that, the entire world will one day lay at his feet. And so, he cannot be stopped here; it is simply not an option.
At times, the restlessness of uncertainty and anticipation becomes too insistent. Impatience will claw at his nerves, with the hissing of abyssal voices clamoring in the back of his mind. For all that Childe is masquerading as a diplomat, he is a Harbinger, as well as an abyssal beast, and at times he grows hungry. When the itching beneath his skin becomes too much, when circles grow dark beneath his eyes and a frown begins to etch permanently onto his face, mood black as the clouds of a storm, he will quietly dismiss himself from the bank for a few days.
Wuwang Hill in Bishui Plains has become familiar ground for him during these periods. Local superstition of sirens’ calls that prey upon unsuspecting travellers keeps away unwanted interlopers, and Childe is free to let loose upon the area’s beasts and monsters to his heart’s content. Due to the heavy and unwelcoming atmosphere, when the infrequent traveller does come along, it takes only the barest mental suggestion of Leave, it’s dangerous here, get out, and they scurry away fairly quickly. Childe can feel it himself, the faint whispers of malicious intent that permeate the fog of Wuwang Hill, the decaying remnants of karmic energy that unsuccessfully attempt to pass his defenses into his mind.
Childe remains there, eviscerating hillichurls, mitachurls, and phantasms until the urgency in his blood cools and the whispers dwindle to the recesses of his mind. He returns to Liyue Harbor, feeling much lighter and more relaxed. Ekaterina says nothing except to welcome him back and update him on happenings with the Northland Bank during his absence. Typically, as well, there will be an invitation from Zhongli upon his return.
The invitations, delivered to his desk in crisp plain envelopes bearing familiar strokes of smooth script, cause a swooping sensation in Childe’s gut. It is not dissimilar to the feeling he gets after a daring move in combat, though this giddiness lacks that sharp edge of violence.
Something has shifted between them, ever so slightly, after the Krsnik Noc celebration. Childe had been embarrassed upon waking the next morning, bemoaning the way he conducted himself under the influence of the Fire-Water. Flustered at how he had peeled open a part of his armor to expose his vulnerable underbelly to the Sentinel in order to assuage his own insecurities. He is an adult, for Celestia’s sake, and a Harbinger, no longer some prepubescent recruit. Zhongli, however, had responded in kind, and for whatever unfathomable reason, appears to genuinely care for Childe.
Childe isn’t unused to positive relationships with others; he has his family, of course, and he has his agents who seem to like him to some degree. There’s Pulcinella who still acts as though he’s Childe’s sponsor and who helps care for his family. He can chat pleasantly with Xiangling and Hu Tao, or the merchants down at the docks, and several of the fishermen have come to know him by name. He would not, by any means, call any of these people his friends . So the slow development of the companionship he has with Zhongli has been especially interesting on account of its unfamiliarity.
Following the night of the Krsnik Noc celebration, their meals, performances, and excursions outside of the Harbor have continued on, though now with an underlying thread of anticipation. Zhongli’s penchant for keeping a companionable hand on Childe’s back when they walk hasn’t abated, instead morphing into other additional small touches.
Zhongli’s gloves will dance over his shoulders to sweep away dust or dirt, and they will flit about his throat when the collar of Childe’s shirt doesn’t sit quite right to straighten the wayward fabric. His thumb and forefinger will curl gently around Childe’s wrist when he wants to get his attention; his breath will brush against Childe’s ear in a warm wave when he leans in close to whisper to him during a performance. Childe assumes these are all aspects of close friendships he simply has not experienced before, and so accepts the changes, trying to adapt to the way they make electricity dance along his nerves.
It is nearly a month after Krsnik Noc when Liyue Harbor’s Lantern Rite preparations begin. Similarly to Moonchase, the locals dive into decorating their homes and storefronts eagerly. There is a buzz of joy and good cheer throughout the city that is palpable, and Childe feels some of his own tension from his pending plans fall to the wayside. Colorful paper lanterns are strung over doorways, hang from windows, and line the Harbor’s pathways. Construction of a large mingxiao lantern installation in the middle of the docks has started, and whispers travel among the locals, taking guesses at which adeptus will be honored this year.
Granny Shan has added xiao lanterns to her display of wares, some simple in design and others boasting more elaborate structures. Many food stalls pivot from their standard selections to food more suited for the upcoming festivities, such as longevity noodles and sweet rice balls. Other stores begin selling home decorations and there is a marked increase in products that represent the Adepti. Childe muses on what he should get for his family from this celebration, and resolves to ask Zhongli for his expert opinion.
As it happens, the two have already made plans to meet for an orchestral performance. The orchestral troupe is originally from Fontaine, where they rose to fame performing in the Opera Epiclese, and since began travelling. Childe has heard tell of them from Pulcinella, the other man having had the opportunity to see the orchestra during a diplomatic visit to Arlecchino at the House of the Hearth. When Zhongli had mentioned the event to Childe to ask if he was interested, Childe had enthusiastically agreed.
The night of the performance, Childe makes his way to the docks to meet Zhongli. Idly, he looks to the scaffolding surrounding the mysterious art piece under construction. The Qixing have been quiet, intending to reveal the identity of the honored adeptus once the giant lantern is complete. The surrounding area is lit by smaller lanterns and decorated by large banners and billowing ribbons, still festive even without the main attraction. While Childe is squinting at the scaffolding in an attempt to see if he can peek at the work inside, footsteps on the docks alert him to another presence. He glances to his side to see Zhongli stepping into the warm glow of the lights.
A small smile sits on Zhongli’s lips, his golden eyes glimmering in the soft light where they meet Childe’s. A familiar thrill runs down Childe’s spine, which he ignores to straighten and greet the approaching man.
“Evening, Xiansheng.”
“Childe,” Zhongli returns in his rumbling baritone. A small furrow creases his brows. “Will you be warm enough?”
When Zhongli is just a step from him, gloved hands come up to adjust the red scarf wrapped loosely around his shoulders, tugging at it to sit higher on his neck.
Childe breathes a laugh. “I’ll be fine, Xiansheng. I’m Snezhnayan, after all; this is nothing.” Zhongli’s mouth has tilted into a frown, and Childe raises a brow when giving the other man a once-over. “Though maybe I should be asking you that question.”
Zhongli wears his usual suit in shades of brown and black, with only his gloves to warm his hands. He dons no scarf or hat, and the material of his outer jacket is not what Childe would call insulated. Childe’s own uniform is designed with the chill of his motherland in mind, and so the material is very coarse and very thick. It’s uncomfortable in the Liyuen summer, but perfectly suited to their mild winters without needing anything extra. Childe’s additional scarf is simply because it is a gift from his mother, and it has finally been cool enough to wear.
Zhongli chuckles, “I assure you that I am alright. My attire is warmer than you might think.”
Childe makes a doubtful sound in his throat, but presses no further. “Lead the way, then.”
Nodding, Zhongli guides Childe toward the end of the docks, down a ramp that leads to a small covered boat. Next to the boat stands a gruff-looking man in a straw hat who nods at Zhongli once they draw closer.
“Pinghai, it is good to see you,” Zhongli greets the man from a few feet away.
Pinghai grunts in acknowledgement, sliding a wary glance at Childe, then back to Zhongli. “You folks bound for the Pearl Galley, then?”
“Yes, that would be correct,” Zhongli nods. Pinghai makes another low grumbling sound, turning his back and gesturing with one arm for the two to follow him onto the covered boat. Childe and Zhongli share a glance before stepping behind Pinghai to board the vessel. Zhongli steps down first, extending a hand to Childe afterwards in a gentlemanly offer of assistance. Though the help is unnecessary, Childe accepts anyway and hopes that the cover of night is enough to obscure his flush.
Once they are both seated, Pinghai unwinds the rope from the dock and begins rowing them toward their destination. In the distance, a large ship sits upon still waters, twinkling lights casting a warm glow from each level. It is ostentatious in design, noticeable even from far away as part of its allure, with painted motifs of clouds and lotus petals illuminated on its sides and on its tiered eaves. Childe has heard of the Pearl Galley, of course, though he has not personally visited before. The vessel functions outside the purview of the Liyue Qixing on the waters of the Sea of Clouds to host its illegitimate activities, functioning as a luxurious gentlemen's club with the associated types of entertainment.
The Northland Bank keeps a file on the proprietor of the Pearl Galley; a man by the name of Rouran. He had made dealings directly with Pantalone several years prior in order to fund the construction of the Galley, and remains the bank’s debt since. That being said, as the one in charge of the Northland Bank currently, Childe has an open invitation to board the Pearl Galley whenever he should please. Certainly, that would have made it convenient enough to request tickets for the orchestral performance, but Zhongli had surprised Childe by presenting tickets of his own. Apparently, due to his renown as a historical expert and consultant, Zhongli receives frequent invitations to come aboard.
“Doesn’t really seem like your kind of scene, Xiansheng,” Childe had joked. “I suppose the flowers of the Pearl Galley are truly that eye-catching?”
Zhongli had scoffed, the barest hint of offense coloring his tone. “While I’m sure the flowers are lovely, I have not seen them myself, no. My business remains above board, where the scholarly debates take place.”
“Hmm,” Childe had continued to tease. “What I’m hearing is they may be too fragrant for a Sentinel such as yourself?”
A sharp yet amused look from Zhongli in response had prompted laughter from Childe, and the subject had dropped to move onto other topics.
Now, in the blanket of midnight blues that wrap around them from the evening sky to the smooth waters beneath their boat, Childe looks on eagerly to the bright beacon of the Pearl Galley. Their small passenger boat pulls up to the side a few minutes later, and Pinghai oversees them disembark and climb up the side ladder. By the time Childe has climbed his way on deck, Zhongli is already engaged in conversation with an unfamiliar Sentinel by the railing. The unfamiliar man peers over the side to nod and wave to Pinghai, who gives a cursory wave in response, and then begins guiding his boat back towards the Harbor.
“Much appreciated, Uncle Zhao,” Zhongli thanks the man, sliding his invitations back into the pocket of his coat.
Uncle Zhao, a man with a no-nonsense appearance who Childe assumes to be the ship’s security, nods in response.
He gestures to the tables further in on the deck, where a scattering of well-dressed folks are seated and chatting. “Enjoy your night, gentlemen.”
Zhongli and Childe move into the center of the deck, where waiters bearing trays of wine and food weave between tables to attend to their guests. As he does in any new surroundings, Childe scans the area with his eyes as well as his Empathy, searching for any potential threats. Any hint of anxiety, unease, or irritation would be enough to raise his alarm, but the mood aboard the vessel is pleasant. The layout of the ship allows for multiple exit routes if necessary, and Childe settles somewhat. Beyond the seating area, on the bow of the boat, a stage is being set for the night’s performance. Behind them, the terraced eaves of the cabin rise into the sky, with two latticed doors at the front guarded by a handful of men.
Finding an empty table is not terribly difficult, and they pick one that is further back from the stage. Immediately upon sitting, one of the waitstaff appears to their side to ask if they would like to start with a drink. As usual, Childe rests his chin on his hand and defers to Zhongli, happy with whatever the man should decide.
Zhongli thinks for a moment, and then a small smile draws across his lips. “Osmanthus wine tonight, if you please.”
The waiter nods and disappears.
“Any reason for wine rather than tea?” Childe asks curiously.
Golden eyes turn to Childe, smile softening. “I thought perhaps I would finally return the favor of you sharing your Fire-Water with me. Osmanthus wine is certainly not as potent, however it is a favorite of mine.” Zhongli’s eyes drift to the side, contemplative. “For me, its sweet floral notes are nostalgic, reminiscent of days past.”
“So, kind of like how Fire-Water reminds us Snezhnayans of home.”
“Yes, that was the thought.”
Childe smiles. “That’ll be nice to try, then.”
Their waiter returns with a painted clay bottle and two porcelain cups. He pours for Zhongli, first, and waits as Zhongli lifts the cup to his nose and inhales, eyes dropping shut and face easing into something serene. Zhongli then sips the wine, humming low in his throat as he swallows. After, he nods his approval to the waiter, who then pours the second cup for Childe, and leaves the rest of the bottle on the table.
“Good?” Childe asks once the waiter has left.
“Just as I remember,” Zhongli says, satisfied. “Please, I am eager to know what you think.”
Lifting the cup into his hand, Childe gives the wine a swirl before bringing it to his lips to take a sip. Normally, he isn’t nearly so reverent with his alcohol, but the expectation on Zhongli’s face makes him want to savor the taste. He is overwhelmed, first, by the strong fruity scent that hits his nose, followed by the sweet taste of the wine itself. He can identify the floral influence, though the deeper and muskier notes to the wine elude him. It’s far from the sharp rejuvenating sting of a shot of Fire-Water; a much more mellow and soothing drink that is made for indulgent sips.
Childe places the cup back on the table, sliding his eyes open again to regard his companion. “That’s pretty nice, Xiansheng.”
Zhongli’s smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “I am glad that you think so.”
Around them, the crowd grows hushed, as the orchestra comes out from below deck to take the stage. They are a small group of thirty not including the conductor, and they take their spots in three rows of ten on the stage. For a moment, the only sound is the light clinking of silverware and the lapping waves against the sides of the boat. Then, an oboe rings out, joined by a symphony of the other instruments tuning in. The flutes then rise into a flurry of notes, followed by the resonant singing of violins, the velvety timbre of horns, and the beats of the percussion.
Though mostly unfamiliar with the Fontanian style of orchestra, Childe is no less entranced. His eyes track the fingers that glide over strings and caress keys and valves to produce their harmonious sound. The rhythm sinks into his bones and he finds his fingers tapping along on his knees, body swaying in his seat. Instead of the rush of his own blood and the swinging of his blades to provide a soundtrack he delights in dancing to, he allows this music to make a home in his veins. The instruments are engaged in a battle of their own; leaping through scales and darting through dynamics, maintaining a practiced tempo and striking the perfect chords to achieve a symphonic victory over their song.
Some of the people at the surrounding tables come and go, taking trips to the lower level of the ship to partake in games or escorts, but Childe pays them no mind. Besides the occasional sip of his wine and the steady presence beside him, nothing pulls his attention from the orchestra. The music engages him, draws his interest, and does not release him until the last of the ringing notes come to a close. It has barely felt like any length of time at all when the audience applauds and the musicians rise to give a short bow. Childe sighs, taking another drink of his wine, watching wistfully as the orchestra files away to the performer’s quarters to relax. Shortly after, a young woman takes the stage to provide the remainder of the evening’s entertainment, her lilting voice rising into familiar opera pieces. Chatter and laughter once again rise from those occupying the tables on the deck, with the main performance now over.
“I quite like the complexity of Fontanian arrangements, I must say.”
Childe swivels his gaze to Zhongli, who holds his chin between two fingers in contemplation.
“Hm. It’s fairly similar to what I’m used to back home, but I would say the sound is definitely more,” a brief pause, “dramatic. It was invigorating!”
Zhongli chuckles. “An apt descriptor. Liyuen orchestras tend to focus on lighter, simpler melodies more focused on string instruments than harmonizing a large variety. Both certainly have their merits, and I wouldn’t mind listening to more performances like this in the future.”
“You should definitely attend an orchestra with me in Snezhnaya one day, then,” Childe says without thinking. “The theater in the Capital often hosts troupes as large as one hundred musicians!” He realizes his assumption, and adds, sheepishly, “If you were to ever find yourself there, that is.”
“I have not had the opportunity to travel much these last years, but that may soon change,” Zhongli says vaguely. “Should I have the chance to travel to Snezhnaya, I would be delighted to take you up on that.”
Childe takes another sip of wine to hide his smile. “Good,” he says after placing the cup back down, “great. Just let me know, and I can make the arrangements.”
“I will,” Zhongli affirms. He then makes a thoughtful sound. “I wanted to mention, the full moon will be in three days’ time, marking the start of Lantern Rite. Are you still interested in attending?”
“Of course! Although,” Childe pauses, brows furrowing. He will be in the outskirts of the Harbor for several days, in order to fulfill his duty in training Fatui recruits stationed throughout the nation. “In three days I will be out of the Harbor for work. The festival goes on for a while, didn’t you say?”
Zhongli nods. “Yes, Lantern Rite festivities will continue on for five nights.”
Childe brightens. “Perfect! I should be back in time for the final night, then, if that works with your schedule?”
“I am amenable to that,” Zhongli agrees. “The conclusion of the festival will feature a fireworks show, and a dinner invitation from Director Hu, as I have mentioned before. Of all the nights to attend, that may be the most auspicious.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. Oh,” Childe leans in a bit closer, curiosity etched into his features, “do you know which adeptus they’re honoring this year? Folks have been guessing about it all week.”
Zhongli raises an eyebrow. “I couldn’t possibly guess,” he says, taking his own sip of wine.
Childe’s expression molds into skepticism, and he leans back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, come on, Xiansheng. As the cultural expert in town, you must have some idea. For example, maybe this year is particularly favorable for a certain adeptus…” Childe trails off, watching Zhongli expectantly.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you,” Zhongli shakes his head. “There are no records that would suggest this to be a more opportune year for one adeptus over another. We will simply have to wait for the Qixing to make their announcement.”
When Childe’s lips twist into disappointment, Zhongli continues. “Although, given the size of the Plaustrite mined by people over the past year, we are likely in for a fairly large mingxiao lantern.”
Childe looks at him in confusion. “Did the Qixing not fund the construction of the lantern?”
Zhongli shakes his head, smiling. “Not entirely, no. The spirit of the mingxiao lantern is in the efforts of all the people who partake in its creation. Visitors and citizens alike may donate materials, including Plaustrite. The artists commissioned to actually construct the lantern are vetted and hired by the Qixing, and only they are privy to the identity of the honored adeptus.”
“Hm,” Childe hums thoughtfully, “that’s pretty neat.”
“I agree. It is heartening to see the Harbor come together each year, strangers and friends alike, to support the festival. While the original purpose of Lantern Rite has long since changed, it is still ultimately a time of community and togetherness.”
“And you’re sure you want to spend that community time with some diplomat of the Fatui?” Childe teases, brow raised and a smirk on his lips.
Zhongli’s expression remains unperturbed. “Community includes friends, does it not?”
Half-expecting Zhongli to tease back, Childe is flustered by his candidness. “Well, I…sure.”
“Then, I suppose I will be spending that time with a diplomat of the Fatui.” Zhongli’s lips tip up, though he lifts his cup to obscure it. “Even if he may be a rascal.”
Childe sighs, hiding his flushed cheeks behind a gloved hand, face buried in his palm. “How unfair, Zhongli-xiansheng,” he mutters.
Zhongli simply hums, and returns to his wine.
After a week of wrangling Fatui recruits into shape, or as close as they can get, Childe is eager to unwind. He normally does not mind making the rounds from Dunyu Ruins all the way out to Yaoguang Shoal; however, the latest batch of recruits has been… challenging, to say the least. Every now and then he will come across a Sentinel recruit that is too full of themselves; too self-assured that they could never possibly need to learn anything from a Guide. Those types of fools are thankfully few and far between, as most came to respect the name Tartaglia and the bloody trail it leaves in its wake shortly after enlisting. And, when those types do make an appearance in his training groups, they have a change of heart fairly quickly.
However, the most recent groups of agents he has had to train have not been an issue due to underlying prejudices, so much as their own incompetence. Childe isn’t sure if Zapolyarny Palace is shipping over their roughest recruits to Liyue specifically for the Vanguard to train, but regardless, he has had his work cut out for him. Their practice spars have been an exercise in restraint for Childe trying very hard not to accidentally kill or mutilate them, and their weapons practice has mostly been stance work rather than practical demonstrations. He will need to make a second round in a month or two in order to check on their progress, since a week simply is not enough time to work miracles. Hopefully, by then, they will at least be sturdier on their feet.
Now, back in Liyue Harbor, Childe rushes to sign and stamp the last of the documents Ekaterina had left piled on his desk. The clock above the threshold taunts him with the encroaching hour of his and Zhongli’s agreed upon meeting time, but he dare not leave the paperwork for another day. If he attempts to do so, he will undoubtedly hear about it from Ekaterina, and she is already irritated with him for nearly being late to his last meeting with the Tianquan. Thus, to avoid any further conflict, he is channeling all of his focus into completing these documents.
By the time he finishes, his wrist is beginning to cramp from the repetitive nature of scrawling his signature, and his stomach growls unhelpfully. Another glance at the clock tells him that he won’t have time to change before heading out for the festivities, but at least there are no obvious bloodstains on this uniform. Winter’s chill still lingers in the air, and so he wraps his mother’s scarf up high around his throat. For good measure, he rolls down the cuffs of his sleeves, and decides to button down the length of his shirt completely.
The rest of the bank’s staff has already left for the evening, since Childe has allowed them to close earlier for the holiday. He takes his stack of signed papers and locks them in a drawer under Ekaterina’s reception desk. Hopefully, she will be pleased to find them in the morning. Then, whistling a tune to himself, he takes his leave from the bank, locking the doors behind him. The streets outside are lively, as most of the Harbor has taken part in the celebrations. Children dance through the streets with sparklers, laughing and darting around adults who titter yet smile at their antics. Groups of friends chat in good cheer, raucous laughter and teasing banter shared along cups of wine and tea.
Childe skips down the steps outside of the bank, careful not to upset the lanterns winding their way along the railing. The stone streets and surrounding buildings glow in the warm light of dozens more lanterns; some painted with elaborate designs and others a plain cream color. Embers of red and gold can be seen glowing in the night sky like stars where released lanterns have already made a home, and as Childe approaches the stairs to the docks, the sight is positively breathtaking. A multitude of lanterns float above the ocean, their glittering reflections making the sea and the sky appear as an infinite tapestry of stars. In the middle of it all sits the finished mingxiao lantern, glorious and resplendent now that it is complete.
While Childe aches to get closer, to truly admire the mastery behind the craft, he must first locate his companion for the evening. Glancing around near the top of the steps, he searches for long dark hair and golden eyes in the passing crowds of festival-goers. He recognizes other familiar faces; Xiangling and Hu Tao pass by with a wave in his direction, and the little girl Qiqi darts through with another small girl in green. He even spots a few of his agents roaming the stalls below. In the end, it is Zhongli who spots Childe first.
“Childe,” comes his familiar rumbling tenor.
Childe’s attention is immediately drawn to the sound, and he watches Zhongli slip easily through the waves of people passing by in order to reach him by the side of the stairs. Childe opens his mouth to greet Zhongli in return, but finds that it has run dry when the man comes into complete view. The Sentinel is dressed in a flowing silk hanfu that Childe has never seen before. Dark ochre in color with gilt accents along the lapels and fluttering sleeves, it matches Zhongli perfectly, bringing out the molten intensity of his gaze. Golden dragons embroider the bottom where the ochre fades to a lighter aureate color. The dark sash that cinches around his waist provides him an elegant silhouette, and his long sleeves and the folds of the fabric ripple and sway like water, making his movements fluid and graceful. Suddenly, Childe feels like he should have made time to change.
“Zhongli-xiansheng, I have to admit I feel underdressed,” Childe says finally.
“Nonsense,” Zhongli rebukes. “I simply enjoy partaking in the traditional aspects of the festival. You will find that only a portion of attendees bother to don traditional garments anymore.”
He isn’t wrong; Childe has seen a handful of men and women in tang suits and qipaos, but the majority seem content in their more modern dress.
“Well, it certainly suits you,” Childe offers, letting his eyes trace the luxurious robes once more before forcing them away from the other man.
He can hear the smile in Zhongli’s voice when he says, “Thank you.”
Hands adjusting the way his scarf lays bring his gaze back to Zhongli. “Red is an auspicious color, you know,” the man says quietly. When he is satisfied with the arrangement of Childe’s scarf, he meets his eyes and smiles.
Childe’s tongue moves before he processes the words. “Then I suppose with your golds and my reds, we complement one another quite well, hm?”
Zhongli’s smile stretches further, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Indeed we do.”
A hand falls lightly to the small of Childe’s back, and Zhongli sweeps his other arm out before them. “Shall we?”
Ignoring the heat that suffuses his cheeks, Childe nods, and allows Zhongli to guide them both down the stairs toward the food and game stalls. As aware of his surroundings as he is required to be at all times, Childe knows that they are drawing gazes. Or, rather, that Zhongli is drawing the eyes of others. There are stirrings of interest, of attraction, that he can pick up on from the crowd surrounding them, among the smatterings of general holiday joy and excitement. He’s not ignorant to the attention that his companion grabs on even the most mundane days; he can hear the chittering aunties who sip tea and discuss eligible bachelors for their daughters, he is aware of the scholars who seek the tales and knowledge of the renowned consultant, and he knows objectively that Zhongli carries this reputation.
But to feel the effect of this in full force while the man chooses to be walking with him, it causes his nerves to sing and his head to feel light. It’s not as though Childe is unused to drawing attention himself; as a Harbinger, he is touted as something of a celebrity in Snezhnaya, and the attention has never bothered him before. But somehow, this feels different. Discomfited by his own reaction, Childe looks for a distraction.
His eyes fall upon the mingxiao lantern again, and all other concerns drop to the wayside. Now that they are closer, he can see that the lantern is crafted in the likeness of a woman. She sits upon the platform in shades of red, knees bent to the side, one arm raised towards the sky full of glittering lanterns, and the other bringing her hand over her chest. Her hair rises from behind her head like a halo of flame, and the fiery motifs that surround her on the platform and on her dress indicate a Pyro affinity. On her face rests a dark crimson mask, with two golden slits for eyes. Billowing swirls decorate the brow of the mask, as well as its crown, giving an illusion of smoke.
Picking up on Childe’s interest, Zhongli leads them to the front of the lantern. “General Musatas, one of the Five Yaksha who served Rex Lapis,” he explains. “She shared a fate with many others of that time who tragically succumbed to karmic debt after the Archon War.”
Zhongli’s tone is steady, but with an undercurrent of melancholy that draws Childe’s gaze to him. Golden eyes wistfully trace the stunning craftsmanship, reflecting the warm light of the lantern, lending an illusion that they themselves are glowing. Childe looks back at the depiction of the Yaksha, pondering.
“Are any of the Five Yaksha still around?”
“One,” Zhongli says, eyes not straying from the lantern. “General Alatus. It is said he honors his contract to defend the people of Liyue to this day.”
Given Zhongli’s tone, Childe surmises that it would likely be inappropriate to ask for the whereabouts of this Yaksha, and whether he would be willing to spar with a Snezhnayan diplomat.
“Hm. Sounds like an admirable warrior,” Childe says instead.
Zhongli’s gaze finally drifts from the lantern to land on Childe, and from the slight raise of a slender brow, Childe figures his thoughts may have been obvious anyway.
“They all were,” Zhongli says, before redirecting the conversation. “Now, I believe you wanted to look for souvenirs for your siblings?”
Childe takes to the change in subject easily. “Oh, yes! Though, I can just keep an eye out while we walk if there is anything in particular you wanted to look at first.”
“I am content to go wherever the night takes us. However,” Zhongli turns his head slightly, interest clearly piqued by one of the vendor stalls. “I see Scent of Spring has a stall with some new incense, if you are amenable?”
“Sure.”
They make their way to the line of vendor craft stalls, which line the docks opposite to the food stalls. Childe can see that further out on one of the piers there are a few games that look like they could be good fun, as well as a xiao lantern crafting bench. His eyes wander over what the other vendors have to offer while they walk to the stall, wondering what may be of interest to his family that he hasn’t yet gifted. When they reach their intended display, a woman greets them with a sly grin that puts Childe slightly on edge, though her aura is perfectly amiable.
“Happy Lantern Rite, Miss Ying’er,” Zhongli greets cordially with a small bow.
“It certainly is now,” she replies coquettishly, eyes curving with her smile as she regards Zhongli. She turns her half-lidded gaze on Childe, covering her mouth with one hand in faux-shyness. “Two handsome men at my stall, ah, if only I wasn’t working.”
“You flatter us,” Zhongli returns, unmoved by the flirtations levelled their way. “Now, I was curious about these new incense fragrances,” he says, pointing to the display. “Could you tell me about them?”
Ying’er’s coy expression melts into the straight face of a businesswoman. “Of course, Mister Zhongli, I am not surprised your sophisticated nose has become intrigued. Scent of Spring has recently entered a collaboration with Pomum de Ambra of Fontaine. With Mademoiselle Emilie’s assistance, we have developed these scents.” Ying’er points to each incense in turn. “This is a combination of Romaritime and Silkflower scents, which you will find complement each other splendidly. Here, indulge in a whiff…”
Childe tunes out their discussion of the incense sticks as he peruses the other side of the stall, which hosts a variety of perfumes, colognes, and oils. While Teucer and Anthon wouldn’t care much for cologne, Tonia might appreciate a hair oil or a perfume. Childe hums to himself, lifting the various bottles to read the different scent labels. Sandalwood, safflower, violetgrass, whopperflower root…ingredients that mean very little to him outside of cooking. Childe takes one of the perfume tester bottles, and spritzes his wrist lightly. Just as the bottle advertises, he can detect notes of sandalwood and violetgrass in the scent, and it smells pleasant enough to him. Though, he’d rather get a second opinion.
A look to his left shows that Zhongli and Ying’er have finished their discussion, leaving Zhongli to contemplate a purchase.
“Hey, Zhongli,” he beckons, and when golden eyes turn to him, he lifts the perfume bottle up for the other to see. “How’s this one?”
Given the other’s Sentinel designation, Childe’s singular spray should’ve been enough for Zhongli to smell without overwhelming him. However, to Childe’s surprise, the man makes a thoughtful sound and delicately takes the back of Childe’s hand to lift his wrist to Zhongli’s nose. Childe tenses as Zhongli inhales, centimeters away from the bare skin of his wrist where his sleeve and glove don’t quite meet. If Zhongli were to move any closer, his lips would brush over Childe’s pulse point, and Childe swallows hard at the thought. As it is, the Sentinel’s exhale warms over his skin, and Childe can only hope that his hand isn’t trembling in the others’ grip.
“It is a fine perfume,” Zhongli rumbles, meeting Childe’s eyes. “The subtle woody undertone complements the stronger floral notes quite well. Neither are too overpowering.” A slight frown pulls at Zhongli’s lips. “Though, I must say I vastly prefer your natural scent.”
Childe hears a soft and amused ‘oh’ from Ying’er beside them, and the tips of his ears feel hot.
“N-not for me,” Childe stutters, embarrassingly, and tugs his wrist from Zhongli’s grip. “I was looking at it for Tonia.”
Inexplicably, Zhongli’s face brightens. “Oh. Of course. Yes, it would make a lovely gift for your sister. Perhaps you should get the matching scented hair oil, as well.”
“Hm, yeah, I was thinking about that,” Childe says. As he’s collecting the bottles he’d like to purchase, he attempts to joke with Zhongli to diffuse the odd weight of the air around them. “Although, maybe a cologne for me wouldn’t be a bad idea. Not everyone has enhanced smell like Sentinels, after all, I don’t want to only smell good to you.”
His teasing seems to fall flat as a dark look passes over Zhongli’s face that he can’t explain. Though, before Childe can try to backtrack, his expression smooths out once more.
“I do not think it is necessary, but should you like assistance in selecting a scent, I would be happy to help.”
“Ah,” Childe falters. “Well, thanks, Xiansheng. I think I’ll just get Tonia’s this time.” He clears his throat and then addresses Ying’er, who has been watching the exchange with her coy grin back in place.
“I’d like to get these, please,” he asks with his best effort at a charming smile.
“Of course,” she says with a knowing voice, taking the oil and perfume from Childe, then lets her eyes wander to Zhongli’s hands pointedly. “Will there be anything else?”
Oh, the incense. Zhongli makes no offer to separate his order from Childe’s, but Childe doesn’t truly mind.
“Right, the incense as well, please.”
Zhongli hands his selection to her with an innocuous smile. “Thank you, Childe.”
“My pleasure, Xiansheng,” Childe returns as he collects their bag of goods from Ying’er and hands her their payment. When their transaction is complete, she waves them goodbye.
“I would tell you to have fun tonight, but I don’t think I need to,” she says with a wink and a smirk.
“Many thanks,” Zhongli says, while Childe simply offers a bemused grin.
“She’s quite bold,” he says thoughtfully as Zhongli steers them away from the stall.
He gets a hum from Zhongli in response, the man’s hand a steady presence at his back. Childe glances around to see if any other vendors pique his curiosity, when he does a double take in the direction of the food stalls.
“Is that the Tianquan?” He asks, squinting in the direction of where he believes she is standing, along with an unfamiliar Sentinel woman.
Zhongli pauses alongside him, and looks over. “Oh, yes. It appears Lady Ningguang and Captain Beidou are enjoying the festivities as well,” he says mildly.
In the distance, even with passersby occasionally blocking his line of sight, Childe can make out the way the dark haired woman carefully adjusts Ningguang’s hairpin, hand trailing reverently down the side of her cheek afterward. His eyebrows raise incrementally.
“I was under the impression the Tianquan is unbonded.”
He cannot seem to tear his eyes away from the way Ningguang reciprocates the tender action in turn, using her closed fan to stroke a line beneath Beidou’s jaw.
From beside him, Zhongli huffs in amusement, finally pulling Childe’s attention away and to the other man instead. “She is not. It is a poorly kept secret that she and the Captain have been unofficially courting for quite some time now.” Zhongli looks fond, rather than put off.
“Courting, huh?” Childe raises an eyebrow, glancing back over to where the two women have begun strolling the length of the docks again, arms interlocked.
“It is not our place to speak on their journey,” Zhongli replies airily. Then out of nowhere: “Have you had a chance to read some of the Customs and Etiquette Guidebook?”
Childe blinks at the non sequitur, and then grimaces. The book Zhongli references is one that the Sentinel had gifted Childe seemingly out of the blue about a week prior, saying that he had been remiss in his duties as a cultural advisor not to present it sooner. It’s not as though Childe is avoiding reading it; however, when there are debts to be collected and performances to attend, such things can fall by the wayside.
“Not yet,” Childe admits.
“Hm,” Zhongli acknowledges. A light pressure from his hand, and they’re once again moving through the crowd, in the direction of the piers. “I believe you may find its instruction and guidance to be very useful during your stay here.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Childe agrees playfully, “but that’s also why I have you, isn’t it?”
“True enough,” Zhongli concedes with a grin of his own. “However, even I have my lapses in knowledge.”
Childe snorts. “I’ve yet to see that.”
“I appreciate your confidence, though I assure you, my mind is not infallible. For instance,” Zhongli pulls them to the side, where a stall is selling lantern kits, “I can tell you how to construct a xiao lantern, and I can tell you their purpose, however I’m sure there are details I may not think to include.”
“Alright, alright, Xiansheng,” Childe groans, “I’ll read the book, don’t worry. But I think you’re doing a fine job by yourself.”
Zhongli just gives him a small smile, and extends an open palm to Childe, who interprets this as a bid for mora. His presumptions prove correct when Zhongli takes the offered pouch and requests two lantern kits from the gentleman behind the display.
“So then, Xiansheng, what is the lantern’s purpose?” Childe inquires as they move from the stall to a crafting bench, where a smattering of children and adults are building their own kits.
“In the days of the Archon War,” Zhongli starts, leading them to a clear section of the bench, “the lanterns were a way of guiding soldiers back home. Since the conclusion of the war, releasing lanterns has been a way to commemorate those fallen and honor their sacrifices.”
Zhongli begins methodically unpacking one of the kits onto their section of worktable, and he continues. “From wishes for the safety of the soldiers coming home, to wishes for the souls we have lost, and now wishes for anything one may hope for in the new year.”
Childe makes a thoughtful sound, and copies Zhongli, laying out the other kit of lantern materials. “I see. Is it Rex Lapis who receives these wishes?”
“Who knows,” Zhongli replies vaguely, “perhaps the book may offer more insight.”
Childe pauses, and then laughs loudly, drawing attention from the people around them. He pays them no mind, quirking a sideways smile at Zhongli. “You’ve made your point.”
There’s a brief tilt upwards to the corner of Zhongli’s mouth that betrays his amusement, but it is gone in a flash. “Let’s get started, shall we? These lanterns are quite simple, but if you wish to try a more elaborate design next year, at least you will have some experience. Now, we have the wooden skeleton of the lantern– yes, that’s it. Those pieces simply need to lock together like so,” Zhongli demonstrates with his own, “and then the Plaustrite piece goes in this center holding piece here.”
Childe watches and imitates Zhongli’s action, the interlocking pieces of his lantern coming together fairly smoothly.
“The wick is optional, for those who do not possess elemental energy. Feel free to discard that. Next, the lantern paper will slip into the frame like so–” Zhongli easily slides his paper into the designated grooves of the frame. “And you have a mostly complete xiao lantern.”
Zhongli holds up his lantern to show Childe, who finishes shortly after. “Neat,” Childe says, admiring his lantern as he turns it over in his hands. “What’s next?”
“Next, we want to think of our wishes.” Zhongli gestures to the small slips of paper they have left over, and the communal ink and brushes on the workbench. “Once you think of your wish, you may write or draw it onto your wish slip, which we will add to the bottom of the lantern, here.”
Eyes drifting to his wish slip, Childe’s brow furrows in concentration. What is it that he would like to wish for?
“What do people usually wish for?”
“Anything at all, Childe. You may wish for your family’s health, or for your greatest desire to be achieved. There are no limits.”
Childe frowns. Of course he wishes for his family’s health, but he can already afford the best medical care for them, should they need it. His greatest desire is to one day conquer all the gods and stars alike, all of Teyvat at his feet, but that is something he will accomplish with his own strength and merit. What else could he want?
From his periphery, he sees Zhongli’s brush moving in languid strokes over his paper. The man’s golden eyes are soft, but focused in consideration for his task. Dark hair falls gently over his brow and cheeks, framing the contours of his face. Childe looks back at his own blank paper. If he could be entirely selfish; if he had not been sent to this nation for the very purpose of dethroning their God; then perhaps he could wish for this in perpetuity. Afternoons of lazy lunches, evenings of riveting performances, hours and hours of engaging conversation, day in and day out.
At the end of the day, such daydreams are juvenile and naive. Childe walks the path he chose, the path he forged for himself, and will continue to do so without regret. Still…
Without fully thinking about his own movements, Childe takes a brush, and puts it to paper. With little finesse, he traces out the forms of a dragon and phoenix. On the wish slip, it’s difficult to tell what they are, as he has never been much of an artist outside of the battlefield. But he knows what the lopsided lines symbolize, and that is enough. A reminder of their first opera, of the patterned chopsticks Zhongli gifted him, of the designs on Zhongli’s hanfu. A dragon and a phoenix; a prosperous union. It feels accurate to how their friendship has been thus far, even if it may change in the future.
Finished, he takes his wish slip and binds it to the bottom of the frame where Zhongli had indicated before. To his right, Zhongli finishes binding his own slip, giving Childe a moment to collect himself. When he is finished, he meets Childe’s eyes.
“Finished?”
“Yep,” Childe chirps, holding up his lantern. “I should take some of these kits back to Snezhnaya. I think even my brothers could handle this activity.”
“It is an appropriate craft for all ages,” Zhongli nods. “Now, to activate your Plaustrite, you only need to channel a small amount of elemental energy into it. Though–”
“Oh!” Childe exclaims, fumbling to grasp his lantern as it attempts to rise into the sky.
“As I was saying, once you activate the Plaustrite, you must be careful not to let your lantern float away,” Zhongli continues, giving Childe an amused look.
Childe chuckles sheepishly. “Oops. Got a bit carried away, I suppose.”
“It’s perfectly alright.” There’s a brief pulse of golden light, and then Zhongli’s own lantern is lit and buoyant.
“Come,” Zhongli beckons with a tilt of his head, lantern cradled in his hands. “We should release them at the end of the pier.”
With a nod, Childe follows him away from the crafting bench and past the various games set up along the side of the pier. When they reach the end, it is surprisingly vacant. The laughter and cheerful voices of the crowds can still be heard, but this small area at the end of the pier feels pleasantly secluded for the moment. Zhongli and Childe stand shoulder to shoulder facing the water, the reflection of the floating lights mesmerizing on the sway of the tide.
“Are you ready?”
“Yep,” Childe says, without turning his head. “Do we just…let go?”
“Hmm, a peculiar thought, isn’t it?” Zhongli ponders, and Childe finally looks at him with an eyebrow raised. “Letting go,” Zhongli clarifies. “Simple in explanation, perhaps, but rarely so easy in practice.”
Childe glances back at the lantern in his hands, somewhat lost. “Ah, yeah, sure. It was fun while it lasted.” He isn’t particularly distraught about releasing the lantern, though his wish makes the concept feel a bit vulnerable.
Zhongli makes a thoughtful noise. “Yes, I would agree. Though, I believe the next step will be equally delightful.”
And with that, Zhongli lets go. For a moment, Childe is hypnotized by the slow, meandering ascent of the lantern, unhurried as it rises to join its brethren in the dark sky. His eyes drift over to Zhongli, who watches the lantern with a serene expression, a content smile curving his lips. Childe releases his own lantern, nerves tingling at the flutter of his wish slip at the bottom, watching it trail after Zhongli’s. He wonders, briefly, if Rex Lapis does hear the wishes of these lanterns, what he might think of Childe’s. A foreign Harbinger on his shores, chasing after precious moments with one of his citizens with the same hunger that he chases the gnosis.
The thought is fleeting. Childe focuses on the present, where his and Zhongli’s lanterns fade into indistinguishable brush strokes among the canvas of twinkling stars and warm xiao lanterns decorating the night sky.
“Yoo-hoo! Zhongli, Fatui boy!”
A voice sings out from a short distance behind them, startling Childe from his reverie. Zhongli sighs, not appearing surprised in the least, and they both turn to see Hu Tao waving at them from the midway point of the pier. Childe cracks a smile, waving jovially and striding toward where she waits. Zhongli follows sedately a few steps behind him.
“Evening, Hu Tao, are you enjoying Lantern Rite?” Childe greets when they get closer.
“Of course!” she chirps, and she lifts the large stuffed rishboland tiger toy at her side. “Isn’t she cute? I won her from the game stall over there next to the Paper Theater.”
Hu Tao points to a stall where a group of kids eagerly attempt to get red balls into an array of vases behind the counter. There are indeed a host of large stuffed prizes displayed next to the game, and Childe finds his interest piqued.
“Your coordination skills are admirable,” Childe compliments, watching the multiple failed attempts of others at the stall. “I certainly wouldn’t mind giving it a go.”
“Thank you,” Hu Tao says, puffing her chest in pride. “I actually won four other times; I just gave those prizes to Xiangling, Xinyan, Yun Jin, and Chongyun. I wanted to win another for Xingqiu but I’ve been officially banned from competing at that stall any more,” she huffs.
“Well, that’s hardly fair at all,” Childe commiserates, hands on his hips. He turns to Zhongli, who hasn’t offered any input thus far. “Xiansheng, I must correct this injustice.”
“Truly a noble cause for such a valiant warrior,” Zhongli offers with audible amusement.
Childe just nods, playing into it. “Yes. I shan’t return until I have conquered this battle. Please, excuse me.”
Hu Tao claps as Childe strides over to the stall, now that the previous group of children have left. He exchanges brief words with the attendant, and slips over some mora while the attendant provides him with three red balls. The goal is to get all three into vases, but Childe challenges himself further. Concentrating, he aims and tosses each ball into the same vase in the very back of the rows. His grin is smug when he turns to the attendant, who mostly seems nonplussed and simply gestures at the display of prizes.
Childe turns to beckon Hu Tao over, and she skips over to him happily, Zhongli trailing behind her. “Pick whichever one you want for your friend,” he offers.
She cheers and selects the stuffed xuanwen beast, now boasting two large toys in her arms. “Thanks! Now we can all have one.”
“Where are your friends?” Zhongli chimes in as they step away from the games.
“Oh!” Hu Tao exclaims, looking as though she’s just recalled something. “Right, that’s why I came to find you. They’re already at Xinyue Kiosk for the dinner party. It was my job to come grab you, Zhongli.”
“Ah, I had not realized that it was time already,” Zhongli replies. “Let us not keep them waiting, then. I trust it would be alright for Childe to join us?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hu Tao waves a hand as they walk the steps toward Feiyun Slope, “I figured you would be bringing him, anyway.”
“Ah,” Childe interjects, “I can help cover the cost of the meal, for the trouble.”
Hu Tao sighs. “Normally, I would absolutely take you up on that. However, the dinner’s already been covered by the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. This one’s on us!”
“Then I appreciate the generosity.”
They reach Xinyue Kiosk before long, where Xiangling stands outside conversing with Yueshu, a waitress that Childe and Zhongli have often been served by when dining there. When Xiangling catches sight of them, she waves excitedly, and Hu Tao bounds to the door to greet her. Yueshu politely nods to Zhongli and Childe as they approach, and holds the door open for the group while they file inside.
“I was trying to see if she’d share some of their recipes, but she drives a hard bargain,” Childe hears Xiangling explaining to Hu Tao as they enter. “But I’d really love to do a spin-off of their Stir-Fried Fish Noodles!”
In the main room where their table awaits, there are two boys already seated that Childe recognizes only from having seen them previously with Hu Tao, and also Xinyan and Yun Jin. One of the boys is a Sentinel, bearing a Cryo Vision, and the other wields a Vision of Hydro. The four of them chirp out ‘hello’s while everyone else finds a seat, and a few waiters quietly file in with carts of food that they begin setting on the table. Childe can sense his companions’ curiosity as he pulls out a chair next to Zhongli, though their interest feels light-hearted rather than suspicious. He’s wondering how he should introduce himself, when Hu Tao takes the initiative.
“Okay everyone! You obviously already know my lovely consultant Zhongli,” she gestures to the man in question, and then to Childe, “and this here is his financial sponsor, Childe.”
There’s a few tittering giggles around the table, and Childe laughs good-naturedly along with them while Zhongli takes an exasperated breath.
“Master Childe is a diplomat with the Northland Bank, and a dear companion of mine,” he says, once the waiters have left the room.
“Sure, sure,” Hu Tao replies, dropping into her own seat on Zhongli’s other side.
“Pleasure to meet you, Master Childe,” pipes up the boy with teal hair across the table, leaning forward in a partial bow. “You may call me Xingqiu.”
There’s a thudding sound beneath the table, and then the pale-haired Sentinel next to Xingqiu shoots a glare at his companion before muttering an introduction. “I’m Chongyun. Nice to meet you.”
Xinyan is quick to join in. “I’m Xinyan!” she exclaims brightly. “Great to have ya here.”
“I believe I have seen you at some of my performances,” Yun Jin says with a soft smile, “but we have not had the opportunity to get acquainted. I am Yun Jin.”
“We’re already familiar,” adds Xiangling with a smile, “but it’s nice to see you, Master Childe!”
“Thanks for the warm welcome, guys,” Childe says once the introductions have finished. “It’s always nice to share a warm meal with comrades.”
“Indeed,” agrees Zhongli. “Lantern Rite especially provides a perfect opportunity to partake in good food with friends old and new.” He gestures with one hand to the steaming plates upon the table. “Let us not wait until these lovely dishes grow cold.”
A chorus of agreement rises up from around the table, and everyone begins plating some of the food for themselves.
“Oh, Xingqiu,” Hu Tao begins, transferring some Fried Radish Balls to her plate. “I got you a present! Well, with Childe’s help.”
Xingqiu looks over curiously from where he’s putting a spoon into his Jewelry Soup. “Oh?”
Once Hu Tao lowers her chopsticks to their rest, she bends to the side and proudly lifts the xuanwen beast toy into the air. “Ta-dah!”
Xingqiu’s eyes light up, and he claps his hands together. “How splendid!” He turns his joyful expression toward Childe, who is happily twirling longevity noodles around his own chopsticks. “Thank you for your assistance, Master Ch–”
Xingqiu pauses, smile falling into a concentrated expression. “Say, those chopsticks are rather…ornate.”
Childe also pauses, meeting Xingqiu’s eyes, and feels the rest of the table turn their attention to him. He glances at the chopsticks in his hands. “Oh, yeah, they’re pretty nice, hm?” He lets the noodles slide off back onto his plate, so that he can show off his chopsticks to the table, clicking them together proudly. “Zhongli-xiansheng got these for me!”
He hears Zhongli cough lightly into his fist next to him, as the eyebrows of everyone except Xiangling shoot up towards their hairlines. The chef simply wears a satisfied smirk, quietly observing. If he concentrates, Childe can pick up on the threads of surprise and intrigue from the kids, whose eyes flit from him to Zhongli. He supposes he can understand; they did cost a pretty mora after all, so dragon and phoenix chopsticks must not be terribly common to see. He clicks their gilded tips together one last time before restarting with his noodles.
“Are they going to be handing out red envelopes, then?” Chongyun asks Xingqiu in a loud whisper.
Childe looks up as Xingqiu slaps a hand over Chongyun’s mouth, hissing, “You can’t just ask that, Chongyun!”
When Childe casts a confused look around the table, wondering what context he’s missing, he hears Zhongli huff a laugh from beside him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Childe directs his question to Zhongli.
The man simply hums, feigning ignorance, and focusing his attention on his Lotus Seed and Bird Egg Soup. “I wonder.”
Childe frowns at him, but Zhongli merely adds, “You should eat your food while it’s warm.”
Though no one seems inclined to resolve Childe’s curiosity, the mood around the table remains light and jovial. Their food is delicious, the conversation flows easily, and by the end of the meal everyone is relaxed and content. It reminds Childe of holiday dinners with his family, making his chest ache with nostalgia.
“Are you alright?” Zhongli asks quietly while the others are engrossed in their own side conversations.
Childe smiles at him. “Yeah. This has been nice. It just reminds me of meals back home.”
A responding smile graces Zhongli’s lips. “I am glad that this could bring back such fond memories.”
“Whew, I’m stuffed,” Hu Tao whines from beside them, breaking the moment.
Xingqiu nods from across the table. “A fine meal indeed.”
“I think the lion dancers are gonna start soon,” Xinyan suggests, pointing to the clock hanging on the wall. “I definitely wanna see them!”
There are noises of assent from the others around the table, and as they all rise from their seats, Childe looks to Zhongli.
“Lion dancers?”
“Mm, I think you will enjoy them,” Zhongli replies, pushing his chair back under the table. The group departs from Xinyue Kiosk, thanking the staff and bustling into the cold night air once more. In the front, the girls skip excitedly in the direction of the docks, while Xingqiu and Chongyun follow behind at a quick pace. Zhongli and Childe meander behind at a much more relaxed speed, though Childe’s mind whirs in wonder for the performance they are about to see.
Down at the docks, the crowds have gathered around the space in front of the large mingxiao lantern. While the group of friends dash into the crowd to get closer, Zhongli and Childe pause to the side of the steps leading down to the area, which provides them a clear enough vantage point. It seems as though they’ve arrived just in time, as the deep rattle of drums rises into the air. Gasps of awe and excitement echo through the crowd as the lights on the docks grow dim, only the warm glow of the mingxiao lantern and the floating lanterns in the sky providing any light.
Suddenly, two figures leap out from behind the mingxiao lantern, into the space in front. They wear thick and elaborate costumes and a mask, portraying the colorful face and body of fantastical lions. Their costumes glow brilliantly with lines of elemental energy, providing a magical feel to their movements as they dart rhythmically about the makeshift stage. The crowd claps and cheers, and on the water, two more dancers appear. They dash and leap their way up small platforms of elemental constructs, allowing them to climb into the sky alongside the floating lanterns.
Childe whistles, watching the four dancers fluidly move about in their costumes, combining their physical and elemental abilities into a mesmerizing performance. “Now that is neat,” he whispers to Zhongli.
“I thought you might appreciate it,” he returns.
Following the movements of the dancers with his eyes, Childe adjusts his body, mimicking the set to their shoulders and legs. “They move like warriors,” he comments, straightening back up.
“Their dance is intended to be reminiscent of a lion’s movements,” Zhongli tells him. “So I suppose there are certain elements of boldness and strength.”
Childe nods. “Fascinating. I wonder if I could learn.”
At that, Zhongli chuckles. “Knowing you, I am sure you could if you put your mind to it.”
The dancers before them draw their performance to a close, the drums rising to a crescendo of loud staccato beats as all four dancers flip into a pose before the mingxiao lantern. The lights around the dock rise with the conclusion of the performance, and the crowd breaks into raucous applause and cheering. Though enraptured by the scene, Childe notices Zhongli’s slight flinch at the noise, and he nudges him with his arm.
“Should we get out of here before the fireworks?”
“Do you not wish to see them? And what about getting more gifts for your siblings?” Zhongli asks.
Childe shrugs. “I can see fireworks another time, and I’m sure I can find more of those lantern kits somewhere. I’ve already gotten them a good amount of souvenirs from other events.”
“If you are sure,” Zhongli replies, but his expression appears grateful.
“Of course. Allow me to walk you home,” Childe offers.
“I would be happy for the company.”
It is not a far walk to reach the residential buildings of Yujing Terrace, and it’s mostly quiet as the bulk of the festivities are taking place in Feiyun Slope and the docks. Lanterns remain suspended in the dark sky above their heads, and the cool air feels just a bit warmer with the good mood. In the distance, crackling fireworks sound off, blooming into colorful shapes amidst the lanterns.They approach a small stone gate with a pathway leading to one of the eaved homes, and Zhongli draws to a stop.
“I would invite you in,” he says, “but I’m afraid my home is not visitor friendly at the moment.”
“That’s alright,” Childe waves him off, “I should be getting back to the Guesthouse anyway. Early day tomorrow.”
Technically, his day can start whenever he pleases, and he has a feeling Zhongli suspects as much.
“Thank you for accompanying me on this lovely night. I hope you had a pleasant experience for your first Lantern Rite.” Zhongli then reaches out, adjusting the way Childe’s scarf sits around his neck.
Childe ignores his shiver when Zhongli’s glove accidentally brushes against his throat. “How could I not, with the esteemed Zhongli-xiansheng accompanying me,” he teases.
“Hmph. Rascal.” Evidently satisfied with his fixes, Zhongli drops his hands from Childe’s shoulders, and pushes open the gate to his home. “Good night, Childe.”
Turning with a wave, Childe bids him a good night as well, and begins his stroll back to Feiyun Slope. In the distance, the Guesthouse awaits him amidst the lingering celebrations of the night.
The next morning, Childe makes good on his word to begin reading the Customs and Etiquette Guidebook that Zhongli had given him. Sequestered in his office for the morning with little to do as the majority of the Harbor is sleeping off the festivities, it seems a good enough time as any. He’s mildly surprised to find that the reading doesn’t drag the way he expects it to, though he’s only skimmed through the sections that seem interesting or useful. He has eagerly absorbed the section on Liyuen plays and operas, much of which refreshes the knowledge he has already gleaned from Zhongli. Additionally, he has come across some delightful turns of phrase that he looks forward to implementing at the next possible opportunity. Liyuens have some truly interesting sayings.
Some sections of the book do not draw his interest in the least, or simply seem irrelevant. The entire chapter on Liyuen courting for Sentinels and Guides, and common Liyuen marriage traditions, for example, have not warranted even a brief skim. He also doubts he needs to become well versed in fine dining etiquette, as he has no intentions of joining the Qixing for a meal, and his recent conquering of chopsticks feels like enough of a victory.
He’s reading through the various forms of address and their appropriate usage when a hesitant knock raps against his door. Casting his mind out, he feels the familiar aura of Ekaterina behind the door, and frowns since she typically announces her presence with self-assured confidence.
“Come in,” he grants, closing the book on his desk and watching the door curiously.
Ekaterina pushes the door open slowly, and slips in before shutting it behind her. Besides the general waves of discomfort and reluctance that she’s emitting, her body language clearly communicates she would rather be elsewhere. Childe’s frown deepens, wondering if he’s done something to warrant such behavior; though he had thought she would be pleased coming in to all of his completed paperwork.
“Sir,” she greets, and then pauses, collecting herself. Childe waits for her to continue. “I must be frank with you.”
Childe’s brows raise towards his hairline. “I do appreciate your straightforwardness, Katya.”
She nods, but continues to dither, shifting on her feet. “Please forgive the unprofessional nature of what I am about to say, but I felt that it is important as it pertains to your reputation. Not only within the Northland Bank and among your agents, but there is risk of it affecting your status within the Harbor as well. I am aware you don’t typically put much stock in reputation, however, given your cover for this mission I felt that it may be prudent to bring up.”
“Okay,” Childe prompts with confusion. “Speak your mind.”
Ekaterina exhales, discomfort leaking from every pore. “There have been…whispers, among our agents, about the nature of your relationship with the consultant. They are quite presumptuous in nature, and run the risk of softening your image, so to speak. Our clients, as well, have felt it appropriate to gossip about such affairs.”
Perplexed, Childe’s eyebrows furrow. He’s not quite sure what she’s insinuating, and it isn’t like her not to get straight to the point.
“Spit it out plainly, Katya,” he requests. Then, sensing an opportunity; “As they say in Liyue, ‘there’s no point in beating a dead bush’.”
Ekaterina stops her fidgeting, and her aura of discomfort ebbs into confusion. “Beating a– what?”
“‘Beating a dead bush’, Katya, it’s a common saying here,” he inflects nonchalance into his tone, though he’s quite proud of himself.
Ekaterina frowns. “Do you mean ‘beating around the bush’?”
Oh. Was that it? “Hm,” Childe sniffs. “I’ve heard it both ways.”
Ekaterina shakes the frown from her face with a sigh, and appears to steel her resolve. She straightens and then speaks. “Master Childe, there are rumors that you and Mister Zhongli have begun courting.”
Childe can do nothing to stop the slack-jawed expression from crossing his face.
“Pardon? ” he asks, voice pitched high in shock.
“Our Sentinel agents have made comments about Mister Zhongli’s scent being on you,” she continues through gritted teeth, still clearly uncomfortable. “Residents that come in to make deposits or withdrawals comment often on the courting gifts they believe the two of you have exchanged.”
At Childe’s continued shocked silence, she adds, “Your personal life is not my business and I do not intend to make it so. It is simply my duty to make sure you are informed and aware of anything that could potentially affect you.”
“Right,” Childe hears himself say, though he’s distracted by his own rampant thoughts. Courting? Him and Zhongli? His agents are talking about it? Has any of this travelled back to the homeland?
Nothing further is said for a few more drawn out moments. “That is all I needed to say, sir. If you’ll allow, I must get back to work. There are only a few weeks until the Rite of Descension, and Andrei predicts we will have an influx of investment transfer requests, so I must make sure we have the necessary forms.”
“Yes, of course,” Childe says, shaking himself from his internal chaos for the moment. “The Rite of Descension approaches, and as they say, ‘time smells of incense’.”
“It– what? ”
He does not understand her confusion. “You know, it burns through quickly?”
Ekaterina’s frown reappears, but she simply shakes her head and moves toward his office door. “Right, of course, sir. I will take my leave, then.”
Childe thinks he hears her whisper ‘time smells of incense, unbelievable’, as she closes the door behind her. Perhaps she is unfamiliar with Liyuen idioms, and he should lend her his book. For the moment, though, once she has left his office, his disbelief returns along with his racing thoughts.
Courting. His heart races inexplicably at the thought, and he wishes desperately, for the first time, that he had paid closer attention to his Empathy lessons back in Snezhnaya when they covered such a thing. Have he and Zhongli truly been insinuating such a thing? Do close friends not act as they have? Ekaterina mentioned his scent, and their exchange of gifts.
Childe thinks back to all the times Zhongli has let his touch linger, and how Childe has come to accept and appreciate his tactile tendencies when they are together. He thinks of the trinkets and the jewelry he happily foots the bill for when they are shopping together, of the chopsticks that caught the eyes of anyone who saw them. He thinks of their countless meals, shows, excursions – the hours and hours they have spent together, neglecting other duties with the vague excuse of a contract for cultural guidance.
Dropping his head into his hands, Childe releases a shaky exhale. Beyond all of that, he thinks of Zhongli’s quasi-zones, and his own tendency to Guide him back. His cheeks heat, and his nerves itch beneath his skin. That– he has no real excuse for. He knows it has been inappropriate, though he has excused it away as being harmless since Zhongli never seems to notice. Childe is not a normal Guide. Until Zhongli, he has never been able to successfully Guide a Sentinel without hurting them, and that has been fine, it has been great, even. He likes being incompatible and repulsive as a bondmate.
With Zhongli, though, when he thinks about compatibility, he is not filled with the repulsion he normally feels. Instead of instinctual rejection to such a notion, he feels warmth in his limbs, and fluttering in his stomach. When he thinks of Zhongli, he does not picture a controlling and self-absorbed Sentinel, only caring for their own prowess and benefit. Zhongli has been humble, fascinating, and thoughtful— quite frankly, a terrible match for a Harbinger of the Tsaritsa, but nonetheless an appealing prospect to Childe’s instincts.
Childe ruffles his fingers through his hair roughly and sighs. It’s not as though he can pursue such inclinations at the moment, regardless. He has a mission to accomplish, and a gnosis to obtain for Her Majesty. He is not so naive as to allow a fluttery infatuation to interfere with Her noble cause. Perhaps he is simply confused, since Zhongli is the first Sentinel he’s met of his kind. Perhaps by the end of his mission, once Rex Lapis is slain, Zhongli will hate him anyway for using him and killing his Archon. Just a few short weeks, and Childe will know for sure. He can address these rumors and his own feelings after the Rite of Descension, if he is not swiftly exiled from the nation.
Resolutely, Childe takes the Customs and Etiquettes Guidebook, and shoves it into one of his desk drawers, locking it after. The temptation of scouring the courting traditions section will only become a distraction, and a weapon does not need distractions.
A weapon must remain sharp and lethal.
Notes:
HAPPY LANTERN RITE AND LUNAR NEW YEAR!! This Lantern Rite had probably my favorite quest of all Lantern Rites so far.
Anyway, see you next week!
Chapter 8: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
Summary:
“The hour is upon us,” Ningguang announces. The two attendants at her side bow to her, and back away from the altar as she begins Rex Lapis’ summoning.
Golden streaks of Geo energy surround her as she utilizes her Vision, channeling the elemental energy into the censer resting on the altar. A magnificent beam of bright light bursts forth from the censer and into the clouds, shredding them into a circle around its power. The crowd titters and gasps in awe at the raw surge of energy, eagerly peering towards the sky to watch the descent of the Archon. Childe braces, muscles flexing impatiently as he awaits his moment to strike.
Then—things take a turn. The clouds darken ominously, and the surging beam of light fizzles out. As the energy falls, so too does the hulking form of a dragon, plummeting ungracefully through the clouds down to the altar. A heavy thud shakes the foundations of Yujing Terrace as the body of Rex Lapis crashes into the courtyard, obliterating the altar and sending seismic cracks branching into the surrounding stone beneath people’s feet.
“Rex Lapis has been killed,” Ningguang determines with steel in her voice, rising from her crouch before the unmoving body. “Seal the exits.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In the weeks leading up to the Rite of Descension, Childe becomes even busier than anticipated. Besides ensuring he has an ample store of Sigils, he also winds up responsible for damage control for the Northland Bank in the wake of La Signora’s activities in Mondstadt. With the Anemo gnosis obtained, the Tsaritsa edges ever closer to Her goal. However, Childe is left to reap the repercussions of increased wariness around the Fatui. Despite his cover as a dignitary, the Qixing harbor obvious distrust of him, and he’s noticed a marked increase in Millelith patrols near the Northland Bank as well as attempting to tail him.
It puts an unfortunate limit on his freedom, as he needs to be cautious not to rouse any additional suspicion, and every so often his irritation flares with La Signora having acted at such an inconvenient time for his plan. Additionally, since he can no longer leave Liyue Harbor without presumption of being followed, his decompression battles with the monsters in the wilderness must come to a stop. Though he could lose the tail of the Millelith, it would only look suspicious, and he can’t chance potentially being barred from attending the Rite as a hazard.
That being said, besides battling additional sanctions demanded by the Qixing to attempt to limit the influence and control of the Fatui within the Harbor, Childe must play the role of a responsible diplomat stationed in the bank. Because of this, he’s managed to see Zhongli only a handful of times in passing when running errands in the Harbor. There has not been time to attend any shows, or enjoy a lavish meal at any of their usual haunts, and it has Childe feeling exceptionally restless. For now, though, with little other option, he grits his teeth and bears his impatience.
The one positive in the midst of it all is that during one of his brief conversations with Zhongli, Childe learns that the man will be out of the Harbor for work on the day of the Rite. This means that Childe will not need to manufacture an excuse for not attending with him, and also there’s a better chance he may salvage their friendship if Zhongli does not watch him rip out the heart of his Archon.
On the morning of the Rite of Descension, Childe buzzes with expectant anticipation. He cannot help the sharp smile that makes a home on his face, his dangerous expression causing his agents to edge around him carefully when they cross paths. Ekaterina is the only one who appears nonplussed by his mounting bloodlust, far too accustomed to it by this point. She ensures that he has the Sigils he needs and that the rest are securely contained in the vaults of the bank, with extraction plans if the Qixing come sniffing around. They run through his plan and his contingencies that may need her assistance, given the likelihood that he will be a fugitive after his performance.
Childe steps out of the bank, and takes a moment to just breathe in the air of the Harbor. Around him, excitement wafts from civilians and tourists alike who intend to witness the Rite of Descension. The salty seabreeze carries just the slightest lingering hint of chill, though the Harbor has invited the beginning of spring with open arms. His restlessness calms for the moment, honed into determination and focus. Finally, all of his months of planning and waiting shall come to fruition. He will be getting the battle of a lifetime; a chance to conquer not only a god but an Archon.
The abyssal miasma within Childe stirs eagerly at the thought, and his smile sharpens further. He strolls his way to Yujing Terrace, ignoring the blatant stares of the Millelith who guard the path towards Yiyan Temple. He tunes out their suspicion and mistrust, projecting an air of innocence about himself mostly out of spite. He knows a simple projection like that will not alter heavily ingrained prejudices, but it does cause twisted expressions of confusion to cross over their faces when he passes by.
Early as he is to the scene, Childe chooses to linger at the back, pushing himself up to sit on the railing of the overlook he and Zhongli had stood on during Moonchase. Near him on the outlook rests a large brass censer, with trails of incense smoke rising from its top. Several such censers sit on the perimeter of the courtyard, with another in the middle of the long altar in the center. Upon that altar also sits a veritable feast of food and wines, and offerings from the Qixing.
Most attendees have chosen to get as close to the altar as they are able, excited voices guessing at Rex Lapis’ potential predictions. The Tianquan and the Yuheng stand in front of the doors to the Temple, discussing something in private. The Millelith is thicker in presence in this area, and whenever their suspicious gazes fall upon Childe, he makes sure to send them a wink or a wave.
It is quite bolstering to absorb the good mood of the people around him, though Childe maintains awareness for anything out of the ordinary. This close to the realization of his mission, he will not take any chances. Luckily, the Qixing present do not cast more than a cursory glance at him, as preoccupied as they are, and the Millelith do not approach. A few people come up to the censer near Childe to make their wishes, paying him little mind, and he largely ignores them in turn in favor of watching the Tianquan finally advance toward the altar.
What does catch his attention, though, is the next presence that approaches the censer on the outlook. The woman is clearly a foreigner like himself, her pale blonde hair an immediate indication of this. While a foreign status doesn’t draw his curiosity by itself, given the large number of tourists present, what does spark his interest is her aura. Or, rather, her entire lack of one.
While he can generally gauge a person by either the subconscious emotional feedback they emit or by sensing their mental walls, this woman only has an empty space of empathic presence. It’s as jarring as it is unusual. She chats briefly with a merchant Childe recognizes as Changshun by the censer, along with the odd fae companion floating by her side, and makes a wish of her own. Childe’s eyes follow her as she walks away from the outlook, and over to the next censer. Curious, very curious indeed.
He doesn’t have very long to ponder the strange traveler, since the Tianquan commences the Rite shortly after.
“The hour is upon us,” Ningguang announces. The two attendants at her side bow to her, and back away from the altar as she begins Rex Lapis’ summoning.
Golden streaks of Geo energy surround her as she utilizes her Vision, channeling the elemental energy into the censer resting on the altar. A magnificent beam of bright light bursts forth from the censer and into the clouds, shredding them into a circle around its power. The crowd titters and gasps in awe at the raw surge of energy, eagerly peering towards the sky to watch the descent of the Archon. Childe braces, muscles flexing impatiently as he awaits his moment to strike.
Then—things take a turn. The clouds darken ominously, and the surging beam of light fizzles out. As the energy falls, so too does the hulking form of a dragon, plummeting ungracefully through the clouds down to the altar. A heavy thud shakes the foundations of Yujing Terrace as the body of Rex Lapis crashes into the courtyard, obliterating the altar and sending seismic cracks branching into the surrounding stone beneath people’s feet.
A moment of stunned, uncomprehending silence, and only the Tianquan dares to make a move to approach the body.
“Rex Lapis has been killed,” Ningguang determines with steel in her voice, rising from her crouch before the unmoving body. “Seal the exits.”
Panic, outrage, and disbelief all surge then, the crowd clamors in shock. There are currents of surging anger and distraught sorrow amidst the palpable currents of anxiety and fear, the cacophony of feedback immediately overwhelming Childe’s filters and forcing him to slam all of his defenses in place before a migraine threatens to rip through his head. He makes himself concentrate, gritting his teeth, mind whirring. He cannot stay here.
Already, the Millelith have surged forward to apprehend anyone attempting to leave, pulling aside those who had been close to the altar. It is a short matter of time until one of them tries to corner the Fatui diplomat, and so Childe cannot ruminate on this unexpected obstacle to his mission. Instead, he projects out a strong suggestion of do not look over here, there is no one of interest, and once he is sure that any attention is diverted from himself, Childe jumps over the railing of the outlook.
Below, where the stairs leading down from Yujing Terrace intersect with patches of trees, Childe conceals himself in the canopies of leaves as he makes his escape. The Millelith remain on high alert in these lower levels as well, so Childe continues his mental suggestions to Guide their attention away from his hiding places. He is just about to make his next move, when he recognizes a flash of pale blonde hair.
The strange traveler intends to creep around the corner of the stairs into the clearing below Childe, unaware of the Millelith patrol stationed there. Childe’s brow furrows, and he attempts to send a projection to the woman to influence her away from the clearing. Do not step there, you will be caught, he tries to suggest, however his projection meets empty air. Frustrating, as well as intriguing. As expected, when the traveler steps into the clearing, the patrol of Millelith are on her. She runs, attempting to outpace them, but a second patrol meets them from the other side, cornering her in the middle.
Childe weighs his options, watching her steel herself and draw a sword in the midst of the Millelith surrounding her. The Millelith charge, and Childe sighs.
“Hold still, Miss,” he calls to her, leaping from his vantage point in the trees.
She jerks back in surprise when Childe flips to a landing before her, pivoting quickly into an offensive stance with his daggers of Hydro. He meets the Millelith strike for strike, disarming them with quick efficiency. He utilizes his Empathy to send out a pulse of confusion, which stuns the unarmed soldiers for enough time to make an escape.
“Come with me,” Childe calls back to the frozen blonde behind him, and he doesn’t wait before he continues down the rest of the stairs.
Though she hesitates, he hears her light footfalls against the stone behind him. They use the trees and rooftops of Feiyun Slope to choreograph the rest of their getaway, darting from sloped eaves and balconies towards the bank. The farther they draw away from Yujing Terrace, the less Millelith they see, until the coast is entirely clear. Once they make it to the red stairs before the bank, Childe turns to regard the stranger. Her amber eyes dart around the street over her shoulder, searching for any further potential trouble, before they swivel to meet his own. While the foreigner does not seem out of breath, the same cannot be said for her fae companion, who huffs and puffs in the air next to her.
“Just who are you exactly?”
It’s not the blonde woman who asks, but rather her companion, who gazes at Childe with suspicion. Unable to get a read on either of them, Childe decides to simply follow the flow of the conversation. He will need to recalibrate his plan to obtain the gnosis, which will be difficult to accomplish with the Millelith locking down the city, but this traveler may be able to provide some unwitting assistance if she is who he believes she may be.
“Call me Childe,” he replies, affecting a charming smile.
“Childe?” the floating fae rebukes, dubiously. The traveler also wears a skeptical expression, her eyes sizing him up.
“It’s an alias, of sorts,” he clarifies, and then pauses to consider. With the shrewdness he can see in her gaze, a certain amount of candidness will likely benefit him.
“Have you crossed paths with a woman named Signora?” he prompts casually. If he is right, then this is not simply a foreigner coming to Liyue for the Rite of Descension, but the outlander who confronted La Signora in Mondstadt when she obtained the Anemo gnosis. He has heard gossip of her from agents in the bank, but had not assumed he would run into her during his own mission.
The reaction of the woman is instantaneous. Any relaxation she may have had evaporates, and her body sinks into a defensive stance, eyes sharp on Childe.
“Are you a Harbinger?” Her voice is steady with the first words she speaks to him.
Though he is further intrigued by her reaction, he is not looking to goad her into a battle for the moment.
“Don’t worry,” he reassures, keeping his own body language open and relaxed. “I’m not looking for a fight.” He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing in affected irritation. “She left quite a poor impression, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised, I’m not her biggest fan, either.”
Though the traveler’s stance hasn’t relaxed, her gaze is inquisitive, prompting him to continue.
“Right, let’s forget all about her unpleasantness, shall we?” Childe waves a nonchalant hand in the air. “I’d like to help you.”
An incredulous blonde brow raises. “Help?”
“Yes,” he nods, “Help. I’m not a bad guy–” Her brows furrow. Fatui reputation, he supposes. “-Alright, perhaps I’m kind of a bad guy. But I’m not here to give you any trouble.”
Childe eyes her hand that rests on the pommel of the sword at her hip. “Would it be too much to ask you to keep the sword sheathed?”
“Hmph.” Slowly, she straightens out of her defensive stance, though her gaze is still wary.
“I thank you for your knightly nobility,” he beams at her, though his charm still seems to have no effect. If anything, she appears to grow exasperated.
“How is it that you’re intending to help me, exactly?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest.
“Helping you prove your innocence, of course,” Childe supplies. “You caught my attention at the Rite– not uncommon for you, I’m sure, but since I did have my eyes on you, I know you’re not responsible.”
“And why would you bother going out of your way to prove my innocence?”
“The way I see it, we’re in a similar boat,” Childe says plainly. “As a Fatui envoy from Snezhnaya, regardless of my innocence, there’s a snowball’s chance in Natlan that I’ll be trusted after an attack of this magnitude. While the Qixing have always held suspicions of us, this will be their excuse to justify them, undoubtedly.”
“Are the Qixing wrong to hold these suspicions, though?”
Childe smiles, a bit helplessly. “Perhaps not entirely. Maintaining a distance from foreign entities may be a responsible idea, sure. We’re more or less used to it at this stage, regardless.” He shifts back to the topic at hand. “My point being, we both desire to clear ourselves of suspicion, and I think we can be mutually beneficial to one another. It’s up to you, of course, but you’ll have a better chance of that if you come with me.” Childe then turns, approaching the stairs behind him.
“We can talk privately at the Northland Bank,” he says, not looking back to see if she follows. “As the old Liyue saying goes, ‘the walls have eyes’.”
A few short moments later, he hears a resigned sigh, and the telltale sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs behind him. A satisfied grin slips into place over his face, and he considers his next course of action. It would not make sense for Rex Lapis to truly be dead; the facts do not line up. However, Childe can hardly freely search for the truth with the Qixing and Millelith watching the Fatui’s every move. Approaching the Millelith to appeal for their innocence directly is out of the question, as it would lead to both of them being immediately apprehended. The only beings in Liyue that would have the authority to question the Qixing are those who do not fall under their jurisdiction. Namely; the Adepti.
From the intel Childe has gathered during his time in Liyue, he has come to understand that the Adepti and the Qixing do not see eye to eye on political or social matters. It seems as though the single factor keeping them civil towards one another has been the ruling presence of Rex Lapis. With that tenuous bond broken, who’s to say what might happen? It may provide the perfect chance for Childe to investigate the truth of Rex Lapis’ fate. And, as it just so happens, Childe knows the perfect way to get the Adepti involved.
When they reach the latticed doors of the bank, Childe nods to Nadia standing guard, and guides his companions into the lobby. The bank has been closed to the public for the day for the Rite of Descension, and so thankfully, the lobby remains deserted.
“Alright,” he says, regarding the two before him, “the Northland Bank. We may speak freely here. First things first, though, may I ask your names?”
“Lumine,” the woman introduces herself curtly, and then gestures toward her companion, “Paimon.”
“Wonderful, pleased to make your acquaintance, Lumine, Paimon,” he nods to each in turn.
Lumine hums. “So, Childe, what’s your plan for proving our innocence?”
Getting straight to the point, hm? Fine by him.
“Well,” he starts, slipping a hand inside his jacket pocket, “I thought you might be able to use this.”
When his hand emerges, he holds one of the glowing Sigils of Permission in his palm. He extends it toward Lumine, whose eyebrows raise.
She makes no move to take it, glancing back at Childe. “And this is?”
“A sort of Sigil,” he offers, half-truthfully. “What I do know is that it is supposed to keep the mighty and illuminated Adepti from bringing harm to you.”
“Adepti?” interrupts the curious voice of Paimon, eyeing the slip.
“Yes,” Childe nods, “Rex Lapis’ retainers who dwell in Jueyun Karst. According to legend, they are contracted by Rex Lapis to protect Liyue.”
“Legend, you say,” Lumine ponders, finally taking the Sigil from his hand. “Yet you believe it to be true?”
“I do,” Childe says with confidence. Lumine hums again in consideration.
“And why should we look for the Adepti? We aren’t citizens of Liyue.”
Childe laughs at that. “Oh, my friends. Plenty of folks go looking for the blessings of the Adepti, citizens or no. In search of money, power, love; you name it. You, however, will be seeking justice.”
Amber eyes flick to Childe’s again. “Justice for us?” she clarifies.
“Justice for Rex Lapis,” Childe corrects. “The Qixing have already dispatched the Millelith, and they’ll be seeking out the assassin from among the onlookers. But how could a mere mortal kill a god that can sweep aside entire armies? The Qixing’s response to Rex Lapis’ death so far has been nonsensical.”
Lumine tilts her head. “You think they’re trying to hide the true culprit?”
Childe chuckles. “Well, I don’t know that I’d say that. But, who knows. It is suspicious regardless.” His expression hardens. “Not even the Northland Bank will be able to hold off the Millelith for long, once they start poking around here. The way I see it, the Adepti are our best bet at uncovering whatever truth the Qixing may be hiding, as well as clearing our names.”
Mouth twisting in a frown, Lumine pockets the Sigil. “It doesn’t seem like I have any other choice at this stage.”
“Well, you could always just hand yourself over to the Millelith, I suppose,” Childe suggests blithely.
Lumine levels him with an unimpressed look, and he laughs. “I jest,” he says. “But, yes. You’ll want to approach the Adepti before any messengers of the Qixing do, in order to prevent misunderstandings.”
She sighs, clearly reluctant, though her body language implies that she’s far less suspicious of Childe now than she had been initially. “And why is it that you don’t want to approach the Adepti yourself?”
Childe guffaws loudly at that suggestion. “You are funny, Lumine! Besides the fact that I will be expected to remain at the Northland Bank for the foreseeable future, Sigil or no, I doubt the Adepti would look favorably upon any Fatui invoking their blessings. You, at least, have far more freedom than I in those regards.”
Though she looks disgruntled at his laughter, she seems to accept his reasoning.
“Fine,” she says, “I’ll give it a try. Just tell me where Jueyun Karst is.”
“Gladly,” Childe replies, and briefly details the journey from Liyue Harbor to Jueyun Karst. When he has finished relaying the directions to her, Lumine and Paimon depart, and Childe is free to finally attempt to decompress a bit.
He wanders from the empty lobby to his office, collapsing into his desk chair, his head held in his hands. Rex Lapis is dead, without his own planned interference, and yet the chains of the Qixing still rest heavy on his limbs. Either Lumine’s suspicions are correct, and the Qixing is hiding the true murderer, or Childe’s own may be, and Rex Lapis is not dead. After all, Zhongli had mentioned the effects of a god’s death in detail; the destruction, the unpredictability. Childe had erected safeguards for such an outcome, for when Rex Lapis would be slain by his own hands. And yet, a simple cloud of dust and a heavy corpse are supposed to be all that the death of the Geo Archon left behind? Simply unfathomable.
Childe feels a pang, then, thinking about Zhongli. He wonders if he’s returned to the parlor yet, and if he’s heard the news. Childe wishes he could go to him, to share his suspicions and see what Zhongli thinks– but such things are not possible at the moment. The Millelith will be on highest alert through the night, and Childe will not intentionally direct their wariness towards Zhongli or Hu Tao by paying them a visit. Until Lumine returns, he will have little he can do to progress his mission, besides keeping an ear out for further news on the Qixing’s actions regarding Rex Lapis.
Two days later, as Childe is making his way to the bank from the Guesthouse, he hears familiar footfalls approach him from the side.
“So, you’ve returned.” He pauses to turn and greet Lumine with a smile. “How was your journey to Jueyun Karst?”
The dark circles beneath her eyes betray her tedious journey before she even begins to speak. “It was…enlightening,” she says flatly. “The Adepti are convening to make a decision. Moon Carver and Mountain Shaper are eager to clear the names of the innocent, and seem offended at the audacity of the Qixing. Cloud Retainer would prefer to wipe the Harbor off the map altogether in retaliation, though I think we’ve averted that outcome. The Conqueror of Demons would prefer not to get involved, but he feels responsibility for correcting the perceived wrongs of the Qixing. I think there’s a good chance they will come to speak with the Qixing.”
Pleased, Childe considers this. Some of the names she mentions he recognizes from Zhongli’s tales, others not, but it seems as though his plan may come together more easily than anticipated. Tensions are higher than ever between the two ruling factions, and were they to meet, chaos would likely ensue.
“I see,” he says to Lumine. “As a returning gift for your journey, I have information for you as well.”
Lumine perks up at that, eyeing him curiously.
“Regarding the archon’s passing, the Qixing’s response has really given me food for thought,” he starts. “They’ve announced that, as the true killer has not yet been found, they are not allowing anyone to pay their respects to the Exuvia. They’ve even gone so far as to try and cut off the flow of information.” He scoffs. “But given the magnitude of what happened, even the Qixing isn’t able to keep a firm lid on things.”
Lumine’s brow quirks up, but it’s Paimon who speaks. “Exuvia?”
“Mm,” Childe nods. “Rex Lapis is also an adeptus. The Geo Archon is not only Rex Lapis, but also God of Contracts, and Exuvia, Prime of the Adepti, among his other lofty titles.”
“That would be a good reason for the Adepti to be so concerned with the wellbeing of his nation, I suppose,” Lumine comments.
“Naturally. The Adepti have both the responsibility and the aptitude for the care of Liyue. If the ruling Qixing became unable to perform their duty properly, the Adepti would have the right to take corrective action,” Childe says. And that, quite frankly, is what he is hoping they will attempt to do. “In any case, the Geo Archon’s spirit has allegedly risen, so why would the Qixing hide his vessel? It’s too suspicious.”
Sighing, Lumine agrees. “Something is definitely not right. And, this makes things difficult for me, too.”
Paimon makes a sound of realization. “Oh!” she exclaims. “Right, Rex Lapis is the whole reason we came here. If the Liyue Qixing have locked up the Exuvia and won’t let anyone near, then Lumine’s quest to find The Seven may already be over.”
The two companions trade troubled looks, while Childe raises his eyebrows in interest. A journey to find The Seven? How peculiar.
“Oh?” he tries, curiously. “You’re trying to find The Seven? And just why might that be, pray tell?”
Lumine’s amber eyes flick over to him, hardening in mistrust. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
Childe laughs, more amused than offended. It’s not as though they are friends, after all. “Fair enough. As a Harbinger I can certainly appreciate discretion. But, I can help you get to Rex Lapis, you know.”
“Really?” asks Paimon, and Childe nods again, thinking of Zhongli. If anyone could get close to the Qixing or the mystery surrounding the Exuvia, it would be the illustrious consultant.
“Give me some time,” he implores Lumine. “I can find someone who can help you break through this stalemate.”
She nods, once. “Fine. How will I hear from you?”
“I’ll have one of my agents find you in the Harbor,” he suggests breezily. “Until then, best stay on your guard, comrade!”
He offers her a two-finger salute in farewell, and spins on his heel to continue his way to the Northland Bank.
“What a weird guy,” he hears Paimon say faintly in the distance, and what could be a grunt of agreement from Lumine in response.
Childe is unbothered; giddy even. He’ll need to discuss with Zhongli– and oh, what a treat it will be to see him again after such a busy few weeks— but his plans are looking like they might fall together smoothly. With the Qixing’s secrecy, he can only assume they are keeping the vessel hidden to protect the gnosis. That, or his suspicion that Rex Lapis is still alive may bear fruit, though he won’t know until he gains access to the corpse. And in that case, he has enough Sigils of Permission left over to know exactly how to draw him out for their unrealized duel. Soon, soon.
For the time being, once he reaches the bank, he has Ekaterina send a missive to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor to ask for Zhongli’s availability to share lunch. Barely an hour has passed before he hears her familiar raps upon his door.
“Mister Zhongli can meet you at Wanmin Restaurant at the designated time,” she relays to him.
“Splendid, thank you, Katya.”
He ignores her pointed stare when she leaves, intentionally not thinking about her previous…accusations regarding their relationship. He’s barely had time to think about Zhongli, let alone see him, or attempt to pursue an inadvisable romance. He has been quite successful, he thinks, in focusing entirely on his mission. It just so happens that Zhongli is a very valuable source of information, and as Childe recalls him explicitly mentioning that he performs parting rites for Adepti, it is not far fetched to think he will have access to the Exuvia’s body. Yes, Zhongli is a very convenient friend indeed. When all is said and done, though, Childe does hope Zhongli will not feel too guilty for his instrumental role in Childe’s plans.
At the agreed upon hour, Childe goes to Wanmin Restaurant, and sure enough Zhongli is already seated at their favorite table near the back of the dining area. Childe does not need to fake the smile that curls his lips as he slips into a seat at the table.
“Hey there, Xiansheng,” he chirps, “have you missed me?”
His grin is teasing, and he rests his chin on one hand as he meets Zhongli’s warm gaze.
“Terribly so,” he replies with a small smile. “It has been quite some time since we last dined together. How have you been faring?”
Childe softens, his restless energy beginning to ebb in the familiar steady presence of the Sentinel. “Oh, same old, same old,” he replies vaguely. “The Qixing have been somewhat overbearing, I’m sure you can imagine. Though I suppose it’s not every day that they are contending with a deicide.”
Zhongli sighs at that. “That is true. I imagine it is frustrating to be under constant pressure from them at the time being, though as you’ve said, these are unprecedented times.”
“Hmm. Say, Xiansheng, I’m going to propose something bold.”
“That does seem to be a tendency of yours.”
A huff of laughter. “You’re not wrong. But, what if Rex Lapis isn’t dead?”
Childe watches Zhongli’s reaction carefully, but the other man does little more than regard him inquisitively. A shallow empathic read gauges nothing from him either.
“I fail to see how that would be a possibility, as the Qixing have his remains.”
A slight frown. “Sure, but they also aren’t letting anyone see his vessel, not even to pay respects. Is that not suspicious?”
Zhongli places a hand to his chin in contemplation. “Unorthodox, surely. I personally have my grievances with the flagrant disregard of tradition regarding their observation of adeptal parting rites. But I still do not see how that correlates to Rex Lapis being alive.”
“Ah, never mind then, Xiansheng,” Childe dismisses. “Just a whimsical notion of mine. Though,” Childe prods, cautiously, “I am curious. Does that mean the Qixing are not allowing you to perform parting rites for him?”
“That is not quite what I meant,” Zhongli shakes his head. “The Rite of Parting shall be observed as is custom. It is simply that the timeline is not ideal, and they are providing little help in sourcing the necessary materials needed for such an endeavor.”
Childe makes a soft sound of understanding, and he sees his opportunity. “Well, I would be happy to help fund the needed materials. And I believe I know someone who could help you collect everything in time.”
Zhongli raises a brow at Childe then, though that is when Xiangling approaches their table, with platters ladened with food. She chirps a greeting to Childe while laying out their meal, and skips off to assist the next table.
“Mm.” Childe claps his hands together eagerly. “Thank you for ordering ahead. This looks delicious as always.”
“Of course,” Zhongli inclines his head, then gestures to the food. “Please, eat, we can discuss while we enjoy Miss Xiangling’s culinary endeavors. As for your offer, I would be exceedingly grateful for the help, as would Director Hu. I must ask for elaboration on your acquaintance, though?”
While piling a couple jade parcels onto his plate, Childe explains. “Sure. I met a traveler by the name of Lumine, after the Rite of Descension. I’m not sure where she’s from, but I believe they’ve been calling her the, ah,” he pauses as if struggling to recall, and not appear as though he’s memorized every tidbit of info gleaned on her from his agents, “‘Honorary Knight’, in Mondstadt.”
Zhongli makes a sound of recognition, but allows Childe to continue without interruption. “Anyway, she’s been looking for a way to meet with all of The Seven, apparently. So, I think if you were able to provide such an opportunity, she would be willing to assist in whatever capacity necessary.”
“Fascinating,” Zhongli says, instead of immediately shutting Childe’s idea down. Childe smothers the grin that threatens to spread over his cheeks by shoving a dumpling into his mouth. “I would certainly be open to meeting her.”
“Great!” Childe says enthusiastically once he’s swallowed his bite. “I’ll make the arrangements for dinner, then. Before I forget, though.” Childe reaches a hand into his pocket, and sets a pouch of mora onto the table next to Zhongli’s plate. “Take this, for the materials collection.”
“Your generosity is much appreciated, Childe,” Zhongli thanks him, slipping the pouch into his own pocket.
“It’s always a pleasure to help a friend,” Childe replies, and finds that he means it. Though the mora is intended to ensure events unfold according to plan, with him in the middle of it, it always brings him satisfaction to assist Zhongli in this way.
The rest of their lunch continues amiably, discussion branching away from the current political climate and into discussions of Yun Jin’s latest opera. According to Zhongli, she has requested his consultation for certain aspects of her newest project. Though he is not at liberty to reveal much to Childe, due to the constraints of his contract, he does emphasize that the show will surely be a treat.
“I’d love to go see it with you, Xiansheng, when is it expected to be on stage?”
“Not for a few months, yet,” Zhongli answers. “But I am glad to hear that. When the time comes, I will be sure to let you know.”
“I’ll look forward to it then,” Childe says, despite the lingering doubt in the back of his mind that he will still be in the Harbor in a few months’ time.
At the end of their meal, they both give Xiangling their praises and Childe delivers payment. He and Zhongli agree to meet the next night for dinner at Liuli Pavilion before they part ways, Childe heading for the Northland Bank and Zhongli for the Funeral Parlor.
As Javert is currently scavenging for intel around the Harbor, Childe summons another agent by the name of Felix to his office, and sends him to locate Lumine to extend a dinner invitation.
When Childe departs from the Northland Bank the following evening, he wonders idly what Zhongli might make of this mysterious traveler– the “Honorary Knight” of Mondstadt, Lumine. Though she has made her wariness of him clear, Childe finds her quite interesting. Her lack of empathic footprint is fascinating in and of itself, and though Childe saw no Vision upon her person, he could feel the familiar thrum of elemental energy around her. She definitely appears to have some familiarity with combat, and though he itches to test her on it, he knows that he must behave for the time being.
If circumstances permit in the future, perhaps he could goad her into a spar. That is, if they do not end up facing one another on the battlefield that Liyue is surely about to become.
Lost to his thoughts as he draws to the front of Liuli Pavilion, Childe nearly does not notice Lumine’s approach. It is only the familiar high pitched whine of her floating companion that draws his attention to them.
“Aha, so you made it,” he greets them with a smile, resting his hands on his hips. Lumine nods in acknowledgement, coming to stop a short distance in front of him.
“Yeah, I got your message. It’s kind of creepy that your agent was able to find us, you know.”
Childe sniffs. “You call it creepy, the Fatui calls it admirable skill.”
“Right,” Lumine says, doubtfully.
“In any case,” Childe moves on, “as I have promised, I have found someone who can help you. Someone who can solve the mystery of why the Liyue Qixing would hide the Geo Archon’s vessel.”
Paimon floats around a bit higher, as though searching for such a person. “So where are they? In Liuli Pavilion?”
Amused, Childe nods. “I believe so. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
He turns and leads them towards the doors of Liuli Pavilion, where the familiar faces of Licai and Hongru await them. They bow as Childe approaches, pulling open the doors for him and his companions.
“Welcome back,” Hongru greets pleasantly, “you honor us with your presence. Mister Zhongli is awaiting you in the room you booked.”
Childe nods and thanks them as he steps inside, following the path to their typical private room. When he glances back, he sees Lumine and Paimon looking around the opulent restaurant with wide eyes, and nearly chuckles. He then steps around the divide to the room, eyes alighting on Zhongli who is seated at the table with a cup of tea in his hand. Zhongli glances up at Childe, who waves to him with a smile, and Zhongli’s eyes soften with warmth as they follow Childe’s trajectory to his chair. They flicker away for a moment to assess Lumine, walking in behind Childe, and he offers her a small smile, gesturing at the seat next to him. Dutifully, Lumine takes a seat to Zhongli’s left side, with Childe on her right.
“Allow me to introduce Mister Zhongli,” Childe begins, gesturing toward the Sentinel. “Consultant to an organization known as Wangsheng. And, a trusted associate of the Fatui,” he adds almost as an afterthought, if only to gauge Lumine’s reaction.
Predictably, her neutral expression falls into a slight frown. “Wangsheng? Associate of the Fatui?”
Her amber eyes dart over to Zhongli, then back to Childe’s guileless smile. “Indeed,” he continues, attempting to keep the amusement from his tone. This meeting may be business oriented, but there is no reason he can’t have fun. “Wangsheng’s line of work can be,” he pauses, “sensitive, at times. And the Fatui have always been glad to do business with friends who walk in the shadows.”
At the last part, Childe’s gaze flickers to Zhongli, who is raising an eyebrow at him. A bit of humor dances in his eyes, though he straightens his expression once Lumine turns to look at him.
“It is an honor to meet you,” Zhongli says. “I have heard tell of you from Mondstadt.”
Paimon puts small hands on Lumine’s shoulder, anxiously muttering, “Discretion? Shadows? Is Wangsheng some kind of business involving dealing with people?”
Zhongli turns his attention to Paimon, and Childe can see the imperceptible hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Indeed, it is as you have guessed,” he replies solemnly.
Amused, Childe watches Paimon shriek, darting behind Lumine entirely. Lumine herself narrows her eyes at Zhongli.
Nonplussed, Zhongli continues. “The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor organizes burials. We ensure that those who pass on do so in peace.”
Lumine’s shoulders relax, and Paimon makes a sound of confusion. Childe can’t help his laugh, then.
He leans toward Lumine conspiratorially. “Did you think he was some sort of hired killer?” he teases, watching her expression change to mild exasperation. He leans back casually. “The Fatui calls many such people friends, but the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor does not dabble in such business.” He pauses in faux-thoughtfulness. “Well, ostensibly.”
Unamused, Lumine parrots, “Ostensibly?”
“Well, they are still–” Childe shakes his head, “ah, I shouldn’t say too much. In any case, I brought you to meet Mister Zhongli because–”
“Because I can bring you to see Rex Lapis’ vessel,” Zhongli interrupts, ending Childe’s thread of teasing. The fond look he levels at Childe implies that he’s not irritated by the games, though, so Childe simply shrugs.
“You can?” Lumine asks sharply.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Childe drawls, choosing to finally pick at the food on the table. “Sure, the Geo Archon’s body has been squirreled away by the order of the Tianquan, Ningguang, but…well, perhaps Zhongli-xiansheng should explain.”
Following Childe’s lead, Lumine also begins to pile food on her plate, and she nods at Zhongli to continue.
Zhongli takes another sip of his tea before he continues. “Rex Lapis may be the Prime of the Adepti, but he is ultimately an adeptus. Many Adepti have left us over the millennia – this is the inexorable trend.” He pauses, giving thought to his next words, looking from his plate to Lumine. “The times have changed. You must have felt it, too, when you were at Jueyun Karst.”
Lumine inclines her head. “That’s true,” she says, considering. “The Adepti are staying away from Liyue Harbor.”
“Yes.” Zhongli nods, bringing a hand to his chin, solemn gaze fixed on the table. “As you have seen, the time of the Adepti is ending, and the time of mankind is slowly dawning.”
Childe, whose eyes have been fixed on Zhongli, notices the slightly unfocused haze that spreads over sharp gold. Recognition flares, and he hopes the moment will pass.
“In years past,” Zhongli continues in a lower tone, “Liyue’s tradition was that a huge memorial service be held to mark the passing of every adeptus.” The haze grows, as does the frown that tugs at Zhongli’s lips, as he goes silent. Drat.
Lumine continues to stare at Zhongli expectantly, brows furrowing when he does not show any signs of continuing.
“Mister Zhongli?” she prods cautiously, garnering no response.
Childe grimaces, feeling somewhat helpless. Typically he and Zhongli are alone, or at least not under scrutiny, when the man has his quasi-zones, and there’s no risk of anyone witnessing. Now, though, in Lumine’s presence…
She moves as though to shake Zhongli’s shoulder, as though not recognizing the signs of a zone. How peculiar.
But, perhaps, this means that Childe can act without suspicion. As quickly, yet gently, as he is able, Childe pushes out towards Zhongli’s consciousness, calling for him. He feels the response of Zhongli’s mind, his scattered subconscious drawing together once more. There are flashes of wistfulness and nostalgia that pass over Childe as he withdraws.
Across the table, Zhongli blinks, eyes darting from Childe, then to Lumine who is stretching an uncertain hand out towards him.
“Ah, apologies,” he says smoothly, “it appears I got lost in my own thoughts.”
Lumine slumps with some relief, relief that Childe feels as well, sinking back into her chair. “No worries. You were saying, about a memorial service?”
“Right, yes. Though that is tradition, the Qixing have made no attempt whatsoever to respect that.” Zhongli huffs. “It is sacrilege.”
“Well, they do have a deicide to deal with,” she reminds him.
“Deicide or no, the concern of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is this: when the ritual to receive this god is so kingly, it is all the more egregious for his final send-off to go unattended to.” Zhongli crosses his arms across his chest, levelling a serious look at Lumine. “Childe has told me a bit about you. Since you have had dealings with the Anemo Archon, could I ask you to help me prepare the Geo Archon’s last rites?”
Lumine’s brows raise, and she taps on the table with a finger for a moment as she processes.
“I suppose I could be persuaded,” she offers.
“I think participating in the Rite is its own persuasion,” Childe chimes in. “Since the Tianquan has forbidden anyone from accessing Rex Lapis’ vessel, which you would need to do in order to accomplish your goals.”
Zhongli nods. “Precisely. Only by participating in the Rite of Parting will you be able to see the form of Rex Lapis again.”
Sighing, Lumine pushes some of her food around with her chopsticks. “Looks like there’s no other choice.”
“Come now, no reason to sound so put out about it,” Childe teases lightly.
Lumine fixes him with an unimpressed look. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the opportunity. The whole situation is just…” She trails off.
“I get what you mean.” He does; he is also backed into a corner in a manner of speaking. Both of their plans have been interrupted with the unexpected death of Rex Lapis. “But, a little persistence may yet bear some fruit.”
Lumine nods, and sips at her tea, pushing her empty plate away from her. Across the table, Zhongli sets his utensils down, indicating that he has also finished with his meal.
“Childe is right,” he says. “Persistence is the key to obtaining one’s ambitions. Whether it is meeting an Archon, or dealing with impossible circumstances, many great things can be achieved with determined effort.”
“Well said, Xiansheng!” Childe chirps. “Now, we have names to clear and truths to uncover, do we not?”
The three of them rise from the table, and Zhongli nods to Lumine to catch her attention. “If we are agreed, then please, come with me. We may speak of the details as we walk.”
Lumine turns her head to Childe, who waves her off with a smile. “My bridge-building work is done, so I will take my leave. Don’t have too much fun without me, though!” He punctuates his sentence with a wink, which provokes a grimace from Lumine and Paimon, but a light laugh from Zhongli.
“Until next time, Childe,” Zhongli says with a fond smile.
Lumine merely waves at him, and follows Zhongli out from Liuli Pavilion. Though Childe is curious, it won’t do to be so obviously nosy about their discussions. He has trained agents for that, after all, and he is needed to debrief with Javert anyway.
Childe walks from the room, and locks eyes with Hongru. They nod to one another, and Childe goes back to his room in the restaurant. The discretion of Liuli Pavilion is something he appreciates, and so when the Northland Bank is not an option, he often meets here with his agents. A few moments later, Javert marches into the room.
“Master Childe,” he bows.
“Sit, sit,” Childe gestures at the table. The Sentinel nods and takes a seat across from Childe.
“So, tell me.” Childe props his chin on his fist. “What have you learned?”
“The Qixing has received a missive from the Adepti. Apparently, it was quite scathing and made several demands of the Qixing for their response to Rex Lapis’ death. The Qixing is stalling a response, so that they may address the ongoing situation in their desired fashion without interruption.”
Childe nods. The Adepti likely will lose patience quickly with the Qixing, and regardless of the Tianquan’s desires, she will have a confrontation on her hands in the near future. Perfect. “And what of the Exuvia?”
A pulse of regret from Javert. “No further news on the location of Rex Lapis’ vessel. Both the Qixing and the Millelith have remained tight-lipped on the subject.”
“Hm. Frustrating, but not unexpected.” Childe sighs.
“Sir, if I may add,” Javert requests, and Childe nods at him to continue. “It appears the Tianquan intends to issue sanctions on the Northland Bank. There have been rumors about trade barriers and embargos on ships intended for Snezhnaya.”
Childe’s brow furrows. “She treads dangerous waters.” Suspicion of the Fatui is one matter, but risking the ire of Her Majesty by affecting their mutually prosperous trade is a level of foolhardy Childe has not expected of Ningguang. Regardless, such sanctions would make a convenient excuse for the Fatui to rally publicly against the Qixing.
Javert says nothing more, patiently awaiting Childe’s next orders.
“Your next assignment will be the outlander– Lumine. I need to be kept apprised of anything pertinent she learns on the current situation.”
“Yes, Master Childe.”
“Dismissed.”
Javert rises, and after bowing once more, he vanishes. Childe rises from the table and stretches, whistling on his way out from Liuli Pavilion. Nothing for it, but to see where the pieces fall.
Childe’s patience is rewarded, not too long after.
Several days after his dinner with Zhongli and Lumine, he finally obtains valuable information.
Most of Javert’s reports detail the errands Zhongli has sent Lumine on, which sound tedious and mostly uneventful. It is amusing, though, to hear of the back and forth he is sending the traveler on in order to prepare for the Rite. Childe’s own attempts at “stumbling upon” the two in the midst of any important conversations have also been largely unsuccessful, presumably because his own stealth is no match for Zhongli’s Sentinel senses.
At the very least, his meetings with them have been entertaining. Lumine provides a perfect opportunity to tease Zhongli about his spending habits, as she seems to grow ever exasperated by the Sentinel’s lack of awareness with mora. Childe’s teasing is lighthearted in nature, which Zhongli seems to understand, since the reproachful looks he sends Childe during such occasions still have an edge of fondness. He takes the teasing in good grace, most likely soothed by the mora Childe continues to provide them afterward.
It’s only by chance that Childe happens to encounter the group at Bubu Pharmacy one night, in the wake of their attempt to procure Everlasting Incense. A misunderstanding with Qiqi had led them on a wild goose chase which had Childe doubled over in laughter when he overheard it– Cocogoat, really? Only a recruit could be so naive. In any case, he’s able to assist them with his mora once more, and is rewarded by the information he gleans in the aftermath.
The Exuvia is in the Golden House.
As Teyvat’s only mora mint, the Golden House is impenetrable for how it is secured. Millelith patrol the inside as well as the outside, strictly in groups of Sentinels. It would be a fool’s errand to attempt to break in under any normal circumstances, even for a Harbinger. Luckily, circumstances are approaching far from normal, and Childe merely needs wait for his chance.
Said chance arrives a few days later. When Javert informs Childe that the Adepti plan to storm Liyue Harbor, a wide grin breaks across his face. The pieces, surely and truly, are falling into place. Without wasting further time, Childe calls a meeting with his most reliable agents, who gather in his office.
“Based on Javert’s intel, we can expect the Adepti to arrive in Liyue Harbor sometime within the next two days,” Childe explains to his team, pacing behind his desk. “That being said, they will either demand an audience with the Qixing, or the Qixing will make an attempt to bar them from entering the city at all, as they likely expect citizens to rally behind the Adepti should they learn about the conflict. Whether this stalemate will devolve into violent action is unclear, but would not be outside the realm of possibility. I will need you to ensure that our uninformed agents steer clear of wherever this standoff takes place,” Childe directs the last part to Ekaterina, who nods sharply.
“Where our efforts will need to be focused, will be putting pressure on the Millelith. Ningguang has declared, ‘in these tumultuous times, the Millelith must rein in the actions of the Fatui’, has she not?” His agents nod, all having heard the declaration from the day previous. Childe’s smile grows sharp. “Then, let’s give them something to rein in. I cannot spare all the details, but in order to complete the task entrusted to me by Her Majesty, I will need the Millelith heavily distracted. I trust you will be able to manage that.”
This, he directs to Nadia. Nadia inclines her head in agreement.
“Excellent. Lastly, depending on how things turn out, we may need to mobilize our men into action quickly. Should this be required, Javert, I will count on you.”
Javert accepts his role with a “Yes, sir.”
None of his agents emit any anxiety or doubt for their instructions, and so Childe nods, satisfied. “Dismissed.”
His agents file out of the office, and he sinks into his seat at his desk. Though his blood sings in restless anticipation, he must continue to be patient. The culmination of all his hard work is on the horizon. Soon, soon, soon.
As soon as Childe catches wind of the Adepti approaching Liyue Harbor’s borders, he knows it’s showtime.
Javert passes along the news, and explains that the Qixing have gone to meet them at the gates. With the combined efforts of Nadia and Ekaterina, the Fatui as well as several unaffiliated Snezhnayan expats have congregated outside of the Ministry of Civil affairs to protest Ningguang’s sanctions. As the Tianquan is not present, though they are not aware of this due to the Qixing attempting to keep things hushed, the Millelith is forced to keep the protestors at bay, calling for backup from around the rest of the city.
With the torrents of chaos dragging Liyue Harbor into its whirlpool, Childe finds his opportunity.
Stashing several Sigils of Permission in his pockets, he departs for the Golden House.
Discreetly, he makes his way out of the bank, leaping over the stairwell railing to go around the back. While Millelith presence has been high all over the city in recent days, it seems as though his agents have caused enough of an uproar to divert most attention to the Ministry of Civil Affairs. He darts stealthily down the alleys of Chihu Rock, working his way toward the Naval Yard. The area is beautifully clear of civilians and Millelith alike, and Childe is free to cut across the shallow inlet between Chihu Rock and the section of Mount Tianheng which borders the Golden House.
Childe climbs the cliff face on the right side of the mint, quickly rising to the peak. He keeps low amid the jagged rock along the top of the mountain, to keep out of any potential Millelith’s sight. When he’s able to get a clear view of the Golden House below, he considers his next move. While most Millelith forces have been recalled to the Harbor to assist in dealing with the Fatui, the Golden House certainly has not been left unguarded. The soldiers that move in calculated patterns around the outside of the mint may be Sentinels, but Childe thinks at this reduced number, he could take them on without issue.
While the idea sparks his restless energy, he knows that logically he cannot leave bodies strewn about the outside of the building without potentially drawing excess attention. So, more stealth it is.
Very aware of the Sentinels’ heightened senses, Childe utilizes his Empathy as soon as the Millelith below him are in range. Before they can react to the sound of him dropping to the stone ground, he’s projecting an urgency to go in the other direction. There’s trouble on the other side of the mint, he channels, go. The Millelith respond to the manufactured paranoia wonderfully, dashing off around the other side of the building, leaving Childe a clear coast to break in through the side door.
Once inside, he concentrates on his mental map of the Golden House, recalling the blueprints that Ekaterina had managed to get a hold of. Keeping his guard up, he quietly moves through the hallways, sending out small waves of empathic influence to redirect any guards that risk discovering him. By the time he reaches the inner sanctum, his skin itches with anticipation. Rex Lapis’ vessel lies beyond the next door, and with it, the Geo gnosis for his Queen.
Childe pushes open the sanctum door, and freezes. Voices.
“This is where all of Teyvat’s mora is minted, right? In that case, maybe they won’t notice if a few mora go missing,” comes the irritatingly familiar cadence of Paimon.
“If it were that easy, this place would have been emptied long ago,” Lumine retorts dryly.
Childe grits his teeth. What in Celestia are those two doing at the mint? He figured they would still be meandering around the outskirts of the Harbor, collecting supplies for the Rite. Drat, drat, drat. He sighs. No matter. He will deal with the interlopers swiftly. Nothing will come between Childe and Her Majesty’s Glorious Cause, not even the traveler he’s grown fond of.
Paimon and Lumine idly chat away as they grow closer to the center of the sanctum, and closer to–the Exuvia. It’s absolutely magnificent, up close, stunningly breathtaking in its size and regal appearance. It looms in the back of the sanctum, coiled in a display of pulsating Geo energy that keeps it in place. Though no life breathes from the vessel, its horns and claws still glow with remnants of adeptal energy.
Oh, how Childe wishes he had the chance to fight such a fantastic beast.
Lumine’s shoes click upon the stairs rising to the Exuvia, and Childe shakes himself from his stupor, slowly striding out into the sanctum behind them.
“You’ve already fulfilled your task of guiding me here,” he sighs, causing the both of them to startle and spin around. “So why do you still linger? Haven’t you already seen enough trouble?”
Childe comes to a stop a few paces before them, arms crossed over his chest, and he chuckles. “If you were Fatui, I imagine that you would be entitled to a generous reward from the Tsaritsa Herself.” His expression darkens. “But now, you’re nothing but dross. And you’re in my way.”
Childe drops his walls to allow his Empathy to reign in full force. He emits all of his pent up aggression, his irritation, his impatience, into a wave of intent that would leave most Sentinels zoned. Lumine, however, has no discernable reaction to his waves of influence. It appears she is truly immune–which is inconvenient, but not impossible to navigate.
“It appears I was just in time. How did you find out it was here?” she demands, expression pinching with a frown and furrowed brows.
Again, Childe laughs, unkindly. He withdraws his empathic projections and regards her. “Ah, well that would mostly be thanks to you. ‘The walls have eyes’, remember? And anyway, don’t you think that trying to stop me now would just be wasted effort?”
Lumine narrows her eyes at him. “You’ve been planning to take the gnosis all along,” she accuses.
Childe tilts his head, expression bored. “As one of the Harbingers, it’s my duty to see the will of the Tsaritsa fulfilled. She will get that which She desires.”
“I won’t allow you to get near the Exuvia,” Lumine growls, dropping into a defense stance before him.
Amusement flashes on Childe’s face at that. “Good thing I’m not asking for your blessing, I suppose. There’s nothing you can do to stop me, anyway.”
Excitement pulses through his blood, a grin stretching over his teeth as he cracks his neck and stretches his arms. “The time for discussion and diplomacy has already passed.” He laughs, “I mean, if it were up to me, I would have skipped that song and dance to begin with.” He straightens, levelling his deep blue gaze at Lumine, prowling towards her. “But, I’m willing to do as the Tsaritsa deems fit.”
Lumine braces where she stands, Paimon fluttering to hide behind her, but Childe pays them no mind. “We now come to my favorite part of the play,” he continues. “A simple pleasure, and one that I am so very delighted to share with you.” His smile stretches. “The battle.”
“Battle?” Paimon yelps from where she cowers, and Childe laughs.
“Signora may have relied on her snow and ice to make her escape after obtaining the Anemo gnosis, rather than confronting you directly. She prioritizes the trophies of her missions rather than the opponents she faces. For me, the greatest pleasure of my duty as a Harbinger is crossing blades with such strong opponents,” he explains.
“I won’t let you have a repeat of Mondstadt,” Lumine warns.
“Oh?” Childe lilts, only a short distance now from her. “So you intend to fight me? Good.” He’s been hoping for a chance to face her, and if he can’t cross blades with Rex Lapis, then the Honorary Knight of Mondstadt will be the next best thing.
“I won’t kill you, Lumine,” he assures. “I’ll just play along, to feel the thrill of battle. Even if you have no hope of winning, please try to enjoy the fight; I know I will.”
Lumine bares her teeth at him. “You’re completely delusional.”
Childe bursts into a peal of laughter. “Perhaps so. But show me all you’ve got, anyway.” Finally, he shifts into an offensive position, forming Hydro blades in his palms. “Come now, amuse me.”
Shifting her weight, Lumine lunges toward him, drawing her sword from her side. Delighted, Childe pivots to the side to avoid the slash of her blade, meeting the edge of it with one of his own. He pushes her back with a burst of Hydro, but she recovers quickly, covering any open vulnerabilities. She darts forward to strike at him again, and he parries the blow with one blade, aiming at her ribs with the other. Lumine leaps backward to avoid the swing, and launches a flurry of Anemo gusts towards him in retaliation.
Laughing, Childe dances between the gusts, slicing through the ones he does not dodge with long arcs of Hydro. He sends a serrated edge of Hydro toward her, and she infuses her sword with Anemo in order to neutralize the attack. Childe switches tactics, dissolving his swords to summon a bow, and rains a volley of arrows in her direction. Lumine blanches, and runs, dodging a majority of the falling arrows, though small rivulets of blood on her right arm and her left cheek show she hasn’t been entirely able to escape the onslaught.
Incensed, she uses the wall of the sanctum to push herself into a high jump over Childe, spinning into a downwards plunge with her weapon. He grins, delighted by her adaptability, and he meets her plunge with a swing of Hydro, now transformed into a glaive. The strike sends her careening to the side, and she rolls on the ground before pushing herself into a low crouch, debating her next move.
Childe narrows his eyes, and allows his Hydro energy to coalesce, and grow, and grow– the phantom cry of a creature of the deep, and a construct the size of Yiyan Temple in the shape of a celestial whale careens downward to where Lumine sits. Amber eyes widen at the approaching behemoth, and she raises her arms uselessly above her head as it crashes down around her.
He nearly feels guilty. Nearly.
As it turns out, his near remorse is misplaced– as once the Hydro construct hits the ground, dissolving into a blast of Hydro energy, he barely has time to dodge the sword spinning in the direction of his head. Childe feels the sting of steel on the cartilage of his ear, and the following warmth of blood that drips down to the side of his neck. The sword clatters in the distance after it nicks him, and Childe whistles in appreciation. Turning his attention back to Lumine, her limbs shake but she pushes herself from the ground with determination, contempt burning in her eyes.
“Wonderful,” he praises, “no wonder Signora was wary of you.” Childe focuses and calls for the spark of Electro from his Delusion, smiling at its familiar burn over the skin of his hands. “Please, prepare yourself. I would hate for this to end too soon.”
In the next moment, Electro arcs over the expanse of his body, dancing like whips of elemental energy. He launches at Lumine, who barely pivots out of the way of a sharp jab of Electro. Invigorated, ecstatic, Childe matches Lumine’s dance step for step. Every time she backs away, he moves in, when she darts forward, he twirls to the side. Their blades ring like percussionary instruments when they meet, their footsteps a rhythmic beat on the floor beneath them. Slash, parry, jab, swing– the taste of blood, the burn of Electro, a sharp gust of Anemo.
It’s beautiful, until Lumine falls out of step. One of the swipes of Childe’s Electro weapon sets her off balance, causes her to stumble. He grasps the opportunity, kicking out and sending her careening into the back wall. Calling his Electro glaive to his hand, Childe prepares for one last strike.
“Not bad,” he consoles, as Lumine slumps to the ground, “your swordsmanship is quite impressive. But, I believe this is about as far as you will get.”
Childe races toward her, readying his weapon for his attack. Electro flares around him, desperate and eager for an outlet, channeled only by the force of his will into a sharp blade. His arm swings forward– and is met by the resistance of Anemo. Lumine grits her teeth at him, pushing with all her might into her counter, but bit by bit, it is slowly giving under the force of his Electro. Their gazes narrow at one another, and Childe prepares for the last bit of her defense to break–
He is interrupted by the very ground changing beneath his feet. Childe leaps into the air, forced to dodge rising spikes of Geo constructs that erupt from the floor. Lumine has one arm in front of her eyes to shield from the plume of dust the blast has aroused, and she only swivels her head around towards him when he laughs.
“Didn’t think you had another card hidden up your sleeve,” he says, one hand on the chest of the Exuvia. How fascinating , the use of two elements, without a Vision or a Delusion? This battle truly is a treat.
Lumine frowns, realizing he had used her distraction to get closer. “You were just biding your time to get to the Exuvia.”
Childe raises a brow. “Does that surprise you?”
Once more, he summons Electro to his fingers. “I would have thought that you, of all people, would have expected this.” He plunges his fist into the Exuvia, into the cavity where he can sense vague elemental pulsations. Finally, finally — when he pulls out his hand, he opens his palm to nothing more than golden sparks.
Disbelief. “Ha!”
Childe’s trembling hand curls into a fist, lowering to his side.
“I see.” Electro arcs over his body once more, growing with the heat of his humiliation.
“You.” Sharp eyes settle on Lumine, whose expression has gone shuttered. “You beat me to it, did you?”
From deep inside, the Abyss calls out, and Childe answers.
It has been so long—months upon months– since he has last utilized this form. It feels freeing, it feels right, to finally resubmit to the burning in his blood, the hunger for power. Miasma crawls over his skin, changing him, answering his bid for blood. It sings to him, soothes him, in the same way it makes his limbs shriek in pain.
Childe sighs as he settles into the familiar ache of the Foul Legacy.
“Not bad,” he says, his voice now a distorted rumble. Lumine looks on in horror. “But that is going to cost you.”
He moves faster than mortal eyes can comprehend. In a blink, he is before Lumine, and the shaft of his glaive sweeps her into the air. She falls to the ground harshly, but he gives her no time to recover. He blinks over to her again, a sword in his hand swinging in a downwards arc toward her neck. She moves, summoning a Geo construct into his line of attack, blocking the movement. Lumine darts back to put space between them, and Childe growls, low and menacingly.
“Did you simply move faster?” he asks, launching an array of Electro and Hydro daggers at her.
She combines her gifts of Geo and Anemo to block and help her dodge the attacks, while sending pulses of elemental energy in his direction. Changing tactics, Childe dives forward, claws outstretched in a bid to swipe at her. They meet air when she uses Anemo to boost herself out of the way, and Childe growls again, aiming a flurry of clawed strikes at her.
“Or perhaps,” he spits, lost to his indignation and fury, “did you intentionally leak false information to me regarding the Golden House?”
One of his strikes finally lands, though Lumine softens it with a burst of Anemo. She skids backwards on the floor, and Childe scoffs. “No matter,” he says. “Hand the gnosis over. Don’t make me take it from you.”
Lumine speaks lowly. “I don’t have it.”
Childe roars, launching at her once more. Lumine braces herself with the sword called back to her hand, and she waits. The Foul Legacy looms over Lumine, one clawed hand poised to strike at her with a dagger of Electro. She waits. His fist swings down, an arc of raw power that creates a fissure of heat in the air. Lumine’s hands coalesce energy. When the sparking weapon is centimeters from her throat, Lumine strikes.
She thrusts her blade forward, where it cracks against the armored chestplate of the Foul Legacy. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the culmination of her saved elemental energy bursts forth, through the tip of the sword like a conduit, directly into the Foul Legacy’s chest. He makes a startled crackling noise, and the chestplate begins to shatter. The following moments seem to happen in the blink of an eye.
When Childe regains awareness, he is gazing down at the backs of his gloves, pressed to the tiled floor of the Golden House, on his hands and knees. He pants, wearily, entire body a nauseating shock of agony. He grits his teeth to prevent a groan, and tilts his head upwards, to where Lumine watches him cautiously.
With effort, he pushes himself up onto one knee, ignoring how his limbs scream in protest. It seems the burden of the Foul Legacy is already coming to haunt him, at the most inconvenient of times. Though, now that his head has cooled slightly, he realizes he has not thought his circumstances through.
“Now that I consider the matter more carefully,” he says, haltingly between pained breaths, “you never had any opportunity to beat me to the gnosis. You had no connection to it, or where it was taken.”
“I tried to tell you,” Lumine says, quietly.
Childe laughs, and it makes his chest spasm. “Shamefully, I underestimated you. Though this battle has left me satisfied, and I admire your tenacity.” He pushes himself into a standing position, blinking to clear away the darkness that threatens to take his vision. “Unfortunately, I must bring this amiable conversation to an end, as my quest still beckons. If the gnosis was not taken by you or I, then we must re-evaluate our assumptions.”
A smile cracks over Childe’s lips as he realizes he may have been right all along. “Perhaps the gnosis was never in the Exuvia.”
Lumine’s eyes widen in realization. “You mean…Rex Lapis is still alive?”
“It appears so,” Childe says. “It seems that the guardian deity of the Capital of Commerce is also well versed in little maneuvers beyond the boundaries of contracts,” he says scathingly. “As such, I must now look to my backup plan.”
Once more, Lumine’s expression hardens. “Backup plan?”
Childe’s eyes flutter shut, regretful to a certain extent, but he must push all headaches of both physical and metaphorical variety to the back of his mind.
“I had hoped it would never come to this, as my backup plan will affect the weak and innocent. Under ordinary circumstances, I wouldn't want to be using it at all.” He sighs, steeling himself. “But, at the end of the day, this world exists for those who seek to become stronger. There's no room for me to worry about the weak. Harbingers cannot always pick and choose their methods; there comes a time when even children have to eat their vegetables.”
“What exactly are you planning on doing?” Lumine demands.
“I will awaken the god that lies dormant beneath the Guyun Stone Forest,” Childe says simply.
Alarm colors Lumine’s features. “God?”
“The Overlord of Vortex, Osial,” Childe clarifies, reiterating what he had learned from Zhongli all those months ago. “During the Archon War, he was defeated by the Geo Archon, and pinned beneath his stone spears under the waves. If this ancient god were to be revived, and unleashed on the defenseless Liyue Harbor, do you think Rex Lapis would stand aloof and just watch the ensuing destruction?” There is not a chance he would ignore the plight of his people.
“How would you be able to unseal him, anyway?”
Childe quirks a smile at her. “Well, I’ve come prepared, of course!”
With that, a flurry of gold spirals around his body, creating a ring of potent adept energy.
Lumine blanches in recognition. “Sigils of Permission?”
“Indeed!” Childe chirps, stroking the edge of one of the golden slips with his index. “The one given to you was just a by-product of Fatui research. With the power of these accumulated Sigils of Permission, breaking Rex Lapis’ stone spear seal should be no obstacle.” Childe’s expression twists. “Honestly, in my opinion, borrowing the strength of an ancient god bears no merit. But, though it may not align with my personal principles, knowing that this will draw out Rex Lapis…” A sharp grin curves his lips, and despite the strain on his body, Childe feels an excited flutter of energy. “That is something worthwhile.”
With that, Childe calls upon the energy of the Sigils, directing them through the flow of the leylines deep beneath the surface of Teyvat. The energy flows easily, with his boost of power, and he feels the moment it makes contact with the seals in Guyun Stone Forest. There’s a responding echo of restless Hydro energy, and Childe’s mental defenses flare. Childe focuses a surge of power into weakening the seals, and when he feels the outpouring of resentment and malice threatening to drown his mind, he knows he has been successful.
Childe pulls back to himself, satisfied. There’s thunder and a crack of lightning that rattles the foundations of the Golden House, and Lumine startles.
She turns back to Childe. “What have you done?”
“Oh, Lumine,” he drawls. “I’ve simply played the role assigned to me. Now, I have an Archon to slay and a gnosis to collect. Feel free to stay and enjoy the show.”
With assistance from the elemental boost of the Sigils, Childe calls upon his Hydro to disappear in a swirling vortex. He lands on the top of Mount Tianheng, in the perfect position to see the churning ocean of the Sea of Clouds, and the three rising heads of the ancient beast beneath the water. Childe grins, dropping down to sit on a flat boulder.
“Let the show begin,” he whispers.
The stage is set: slinking in on stage left, the terrible and malevolent Overlord of the Vortex. Admirably charging in from stage right, the illustrious and revered Adepti, joined by the might of the renowned traveler from beyond, and the Liyue Qixing. The audience; civilians of the Harbor, dashing around the streets away from the docks, where the rampaging ocean seeks to swallow and destroy. A Harbinger, in his box seat view atop Mount Tianheng, awaiting the arrival of the true hero of the scene: Rex Lapis.
Even from Childe’s distance, the orchestra of terror and fury and determination reaches his senses. His actors dance, they clash and collide with the raging villain, pushing back with all their might. An unexpected obstacle, in the form of the Fatui attempting to sabotage their performance. The protagonists persevere; Osial begins to be pushed back. Childe grits his teeth. Ningguang’s Jade Chamber falls from the sky, reminiscent of the stone spears that previously sealed Osial beneath the waves. There is no sign of Rex Lapis. The skies begin to brighten – the Fatui have been apprehended, and the furious god has been contained.
This isn’t right– this is not his script.
Childe grinds his jaw, fists clenching at his sides. After all his work– all his effort, Rex Lapis did not even have the decency to show up and fight for his people. Childe thinks he should have subdued Lumine– perhaps, then, the Qixing and the Adepti would have failed. But, would they have? He has no way of knowing, he can only move forward. Ragged and exhausted, Childe forces his body to rise. He has tasted defeat after defeat this day, and it tastes bitter on his tongue, drags heavy through his limbs.
He trudges toward the Northland Bank. Regardless, he still has an incomplete mission. With the incriminating presence of the Fatui during the events, there will no doubt be strong repercussions, potentially ending with his expulsion from the Harbor. He must recalibrate, he must plan– likely, mora to aid in disaster relief will not be enough.
The streets of Chihu Rock and Feiyun Slope are mostly deserted. Those who linger pay him no mind, focused entirely on themselves and their loved ones. Ash in his mouth– the anxiety, the fear, the exhaustion of those around him. A plan he never hoped to implement, the consequences of sacrificing the weak, and what has he to show for it? Childe tunes out the feedback from around him. He picks around debris littering the stone streets, and climbs the stairs to the Northland Bank, his aching limbs begging for respite.
When he pushes open the doors to the bank, he has to blink a few times to be sure he is not imagining the sight before him. Stood in the center of the lobby are the unmistakable forms of La Signora and Zhongli. Their eyes are already fixed on Childe when he enters, likely having sensed his arrival. Has Zhongli come to the bank to check on him after the disaster? His heart pangs in his chest at the thought. Though, why is La Signora present, and what has her looking so pleased with herself?
“Lovely of you to join us, youngest,” La Signora drawls as he approaches with caution.
“Signora,” he greets curtly, coming to a stop next to Zhongli. His expression softens when he regards Zhongli, though the other man’s face is inscrutable. “Xiansheng.”
Blue eyes dart accusingly back to La Signora, who looks quite smug. “Why are you here?”
“Why, I am here by Her Majesty’s will, of course.”
Childe’s brows furrow. “On what grounds?” Turning to Zhongli, he grouses, “I don’t know what she’s told you, but try not to believe a word she’s said, Xiansheng.”
La Signora laughs, high and condescending. “Oh, Tartaglia, you truly are naive.”
Childe stiffens, glancing at Zhongli from his peripheral, but the man shows no reaction to the use of his Harbinger title. Childe directs his gaze back to Signora with irritation.
“Would you care to elaborate, or have you come simply to cast aspersions on my character?”
“Hm. While I do enjoy doing so, I also abhor wasting time,” La Signora sighs. “Her Majesty sent me to collect the Geo gnosis.”
Childe tenses in alarm, eyes darting from La Signora to Zhongli, who still does not react or make an attempt to interject.
“Are you quite well?” Childe hisses at La Signora, tilting his head in Zhongli’s direction. What on Teyvat would possess her to bring up such a thing in front of a civilian? And besides that – he already has been assigned the mission, so what is she on about?
“Please,” La Signora says, voice turning impatient. “Have you not figured out that your consultant here is clearly involved?”
Childe’s blood turns cold. “Speak plainly,” he growls.
Rolling her eyes, La Signora continues. “We are all here by the designs of Her Majesty and Rex Lapis. You were sent to cause your particular brand of chaos, and I was sent to collect our prize. Mister Zhongli is here to honor his end of the deal.”
“Your end of the deal?” Childe asks lowly, turning his head to the man standing next to him. Zhongli meets his gaze, expression placid and golden eyes lacking their familiar warmth. It is not he who replies.
“For the gnosis, of course,” La Signora says cheerfully. “Rex Lapis’ contractual obligation to the Tsaritsa, for proving that his nation is capable of protecting itself against annihilation.”
Childe’s gaze does not move from Zhongli’s. “You deceived me.”
Irritated with being ignored, La Signora gripes. “Quit the dramatics, Tartaglia. This has been a successful display of cooperation between Harbingers. We’ve been victorious for our Queen.”
Zhongli– no, Rex Lapis remains silent. Childe turns his eyes to the floor, frustration building, head pounding. All of it was a lie. His body hurts. Rex Lapis is alive. A migraine pulses in his temples. Rex Lapis stands right next to him. Exhaustion tugs sluggishly at his mind. Rex Lapis was never his friend. His nerves feel shot, his defenses frayed, and still, he feels nothing from the god beside him.
“You call this ‘cooperation between Harbingers’,” he says, staring blankly at the tiled floor. “Cooperation involves communication, does it not?”
“Don’t take it to heart, Childe. Think of how highly Her Majesty must think of you for this job,” Signora coos. “A normal Guide would have no chance of being so merciless, so destructive. Our precious, defective Eleventh, however…no risk of pesky Empathy getting in the way.” Childe’s heart twists. Of course, he is defective as a Guide. He knows this, revels in it. But it doesn’t feel like quite the bragging right when it means he failed to see through Zhongli’s deception.
“I would have expected you to be thrilled, honestly,” Signora continues, “since you danced around formalities and pursued the battles you so adore.”
Childe opens his mouth to retort, when both Signora and Zhongli turn their attention to the door again.
“It appears your friends have arrived,” Signora grumbles.
Lumine strides into the lobby of the bank, glancing around warily. Her eyes land on Signora and harden.
“Signora,” she spits.
Childe tunes out their bickering, his mind a whirling torrent. How is it that someone supposedly gifted with insight, with Empathy, could be so easily deceived? So easily pulled into a farce of friendship, of care, of considerations he’s never had before. Him, bonding? How laughable, how pitiable. Failure of a Guide, indeed. As much as the thought infuriates him, Signora is right, he has been naive.
The conversation around him turns to the exchange of the gnosis.
Numbly, he watches Zhongli pull the divinity from his chest, in a brilliant display of golden light, and pass his heart over to Signora’s extended hand.
Lumine expresses disbelief in his willingness to hand over his blessing from Celestia, so Zhongli begins to explain his reasoning. But Childe…
Childe doesn’t care to hear it. Zhongli has offered no excuses to him, given him no reasoning. Not even the courtesy of a greeting. Beside him, Zhongli drones on about the masterful performance he orchestrated, the roles he assigned to those upon his stage. He certainly had Childe dancing in the palm of his hand.
Childe decides he’s heard enough. Her Majesty’s goal has been accomplished, and that’s all that matters in the end. His transformation has weakened him, and he sees no need to linger. He heads for the doors of the bank as Zhongli and Lumine continue talking.
Signora calls out to him. “Tartaglia. I will be leaving shortly for Zapolyarny Palace to seek an audience with Her Majesty.”
He grunts, pushing the doors open. He speaks over his shoulder. “Do as you please. I will come when She calls for me.”
Childe thinks he hears Signora respond with something derisive, but he doesn’t care. Putting one foot in front of the other requires all of his concentration, so he barely processes his journey from the bank to Baiju Guesthouse, but eventually he is standing in his suite. Childe kicks off his boots and tears off his uniform, eyes falling shut before he even registers his head hitting his pillow.
Notes:
Thank you as always to KJ for the beta!
See you guys for the last chapter on Friday :)
Chapter 9: All's Well that Ends
Summary:
“Good, good.” Childe relaxes slightly against his headboard. “Was there anything else, Katya?”
She hesitates for a moment, and Childe waits.
“It is…the consultant, Mister Zhongli. He has inquired about the state of your health.”
Childe’s expression sours. “And I trust that you’ve explained to him that it is none of his business, just like every other time he’s asked?”
He doesn’t get it, honestly. The first time Ekaterina had told him that Zhongli wanted to know how he was doing, he had laughed aloud. Then, he realized she was serious, and just felt confused. If they were finished using one another, what could he gain from information on Childe? What use was there in continuing to act like he cared? Childe’s confusion turned to anger, after that.
“Of course, sir,” Ekaterina nods. “It’s just...perhaps you could send him a note yourself? He does not seem inclined to stop checking, and he visits nearly every other day.”
Childe scoffs. “If he wishes to waste his precious time on such frivolities, then who am I to stop him? Eventually, he will grow bored of asking.”
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In the days following the rise and subsequent downfall of the Overlord of the Vortex, Childe is mostly confined to his bed in the Baiju Guesthouse.
Every nerve and limb screams in agony, but he’s familiar enough by now with his recuperation time to know that as long as he rests for the moment, he should be able to move around with a fair amount of ease by the end of the week. It’s frustrating to be so incapacitated, even more so since it leaves him with too much time to think. Time to agonize over his own foolishness, and the almost physical ache that Zhongli’s deception has left him to contend with.
Ekaterina provides small breaks in the monotony, when she delivers his mail and brings him food and medication.
“The Qixing have delivered their verdict,” she says on her next visit.
Childe glances up curiously from where he’s enjoying his Bamboo Shoot Soup. “Oh?”
She nods, and recites. “‘Though a dragon soars ageless as the mountains, it too must return to dust. This is common knowledge. Gods and Adepti live glorious lives, but both light and shadow have their season. So, too, must they face divinely-appointed trials. Rumors and hearsay abound on the streets that Rex Lapis was murdered. Now, let the truth be revealed. Having been thwarted in his trial, Rex Lapis' soul has recouped the celestial heights. He beseeches the people of Liyue to grieve not, and to not let their hearts be saddened. Nor are they to believe street-borne rumors or indulge in baseless speculation.’”
Slack-jawed, Childe just stares at her incredulously for a moment. “Failing a divine trial? That’s what they’re going with?”
“Evidently,” she replies, though Childe can sense her confusion as well.
“‘Baseless speculation’, hm?” he repeats in a mumble, then addresses Ekaterina again. “What of public opinion of the Fatui?”
“May I speak candidly, sir?”
“Please.”
“Abysmal,” she says. “Though officially we have been absolved of any wrongdoing, popular opinion still blames the Fatui. Agents were witnessed fighting against the Adepti and Qixing during the events.”
Childe sighs. “Of course, that is to be expected. And I’m sure that just because we are not officially being prosecuted, does not mean Ningguang won’t milk us for all we’re worth behind the scenes.”
“Very likely,” Ekaterina agrees.
“We will need to demonstrate responsibility in some fashion,” Childe instructs. “For the agents that were deployed on that night, we will announce that their actions do not reflect the intent of Her Majesty, and are to be punished in Snezhnaya. We will lack presence in the Harbor for a while, but they will need to be put on the next boat home. Hopefully, that will quell some of the animosity.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me, are our donations to relief efforts being accepted?”
Ekaterina nods. “They are, sir.”
“Good, good.” Childe relaxes slightly against his headboard. “Was there anything else, Katya?”
She hesitates for a moment, and Childe waits.
“It is…the consultant, Mister Zhongli. He has inquired about the state of your health.”
Childe’s expression sours. “And I trust that you’ve explained to him that it is none of his business, just like every other time he’s asked?”
He doesn’t get it, honestly. The first time Ekaterina had told him that Zhongli wanted to know how he was doing, he had laughed aloud. Then, he realized she was serious, and just felt confused. If they were finished using one another, what could he gain from information on Childe? What use was there in continuing to act like he cared? Childe’s confusion turned to anger, after that.
“Of course, sir,” Ekaterina nods. “It’s just...perhaps you could send him a note yourself? He does not seem inclined to stop checking, and he visits nearly every other day.”
Childe scoffs. “If he wishes to waste his precious time on such frivolities, then who am I to stop him? Eventually, he will grow bored of asking.”
Ekaterina sighs. “Understood.”
He thanks her for the food as always, and when she leaves he begins working through some of the forms she’s left behind. A vast majority are requests for egregious sums of money in return for damages the Harbor incurred, with Ningguang’s swooping signature on the bottom. He has to admire her boldness, though he doesn’t understand why she hasn’t taken the opportunity to pin the entire mess on the Fatui, or at least on Childe. Perhaps it is specifically so that she can drain him of all of his mora, first.
Musing over the whims of the Qixing can only distract him from thoughts of Zhongli for so long. Childe rubs his temples, sighing. If only Zhongli could act like how Childe expected him to, with everything said and done. If he couldn’t be bothered to check on Childe when he was turning over his gnosis, then what could have possibly changed? Maybe these are simply the incomprehensible fancies of the divine, that he could never hope to understand.
Childe feels the start of a migraine, and attempts to rest.
It seems as though fate must truly be laughing at him, when on Childe’s first day back on duty, his youngest brother appears in Liyue.
“Big brother, big brother!” Teucer calls eagerly, dashing forward and wrapping small arms around his legs.
“T-Teucer?” Childe looks behind the boy with wide, shocked eyes, only to see Lumine standing at the bank’s lobby doors, arms folded over her chest.
“We found him wandering Lingju Pass,” Lumine says. “He was attempting to, ah…befriend a ruin guard. When we approached him, he said he was looking for his brother.”
Childe blanches, crouching down to embrace his brother in a hug. “Teucer, how in Teyvat did you manage to get here?”
“I got on a ship, of course!” the boy chirps, pulling back to smile at Childe with sparkling blue eyes, joy radiating out of him. “I saw one with toys on it so I knew it had to be coming to you.”
“That’s the other thing,” Lumine adds. “He said his brother was a toy seller.”
Childe avoids her incredulous stare. “Ah, well…in any case, thank you for delivering him safely to me.” He directs his attention to Teucer. “And you , you scamp, you can’t just board any ship you please. Imagine the fright you’ve given Mama and Father!”
Teucer looks away guiltily. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I just wanted to see you so bad. You didn’t come home for Krsnik Noc.”
The pang in Childe’s chest echoes Teucer’s guilt, and he sighs. “It’s alright, buddy. I am happy to see you, of course, but you can’t let it happen again.”
Nodding, Teucer clings on more tightly where his hands are gripping Childe’s jacket. Childe’s mouth twists into a grimace; while he wants nothing more than to spoil his baby brother, it’s his first day back at work, and he has a responsibility to do recruit training and debt collecting, which he’s been sorely slacking on. What to do, what to do…
His eyes alight back on Lumine. “Hey, Teucer, why don’t you go introduce yourself to Miss Katya, hm? She’s a good friend of mine.”
Teucer blinks, releasing his hold on Childe to peer around him to where Ekaterina stands at the reception desk, waving a hand at him.
“Oh, okay!” he agrees easily, skipping over to her.
Once he’s far enough away, Childe speaks to Lumine. “I try to keep my younger siblings ignorant to my Fatui affiliations, hence the toy seller facade,” he explains.
She nods, accepting this. “I suppose I can understand that.”
“And, listen,” he continues, “I know we didn’t part on the best terms, but you’re one of the few people I trust to not extort me with my brother.”
Lumine’s face turns flat. “Gee, thanks for the resounding praise of character.”
“Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” he assures, “I only say that because I need to ask you a favor.”
Her expression turns skeptical. “A favor? Really? After everything?”
“A favor that involves me giving you a very significant sum of mora,” he persuades, knowing he’s at least caught Paimon’s attention with the way her eyes widen.
“I’ll hear you out,” Lumine allows.
“Please, watch my brother for the day.”
“What? ” Her voice echoes around the lobby, drawing Ekaterina and Teucer’s questioning looks. Lumine coughs into her hand, and lowers her voice. “Why would you ask me to do that?”
“I have responsibilities to the Fatui that I can’t skip out on today,” Childe explains, regretfully. “I can organize a boat back to Snezhnaya for him in the evening, but for right now, my hands are tied.”
Lumine glowers, eyes flitting between Teucer behind them, and back to Childe. “You’re lucky he’s got better manners than you.”
“He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?” Childe beams.
Lumine sighs. “Whatever. I’ll watch him, but I want the mora up front.”
“Deal!” Childe agrees quickly, and unclasps the pouch from his side to drop into her waiting palm. “If you need more, don’t hesitate to ask Katya.”
“Trust me, I won’t,” Lumine says and then turns a blinding smile in Teucer’s direction. “Teucer! Looks like you and I are gonna be hanging out today,” she calls.
Teucer hurries over to her and Childe. “Oh, really? What about big brother?”
“Ahh, sorry scamp, but I’ve got some work I need to take care of first,” Childe tells him.
Teucer pouts. “But, I wanted to see you.”
“You will, you will,” Childe quickly reassures, “later today, I promise.”
“Pinky promise?”
Childe crouches, wrapping his little finger around Teucer’s, and they both recite;
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.
Teucer finishes with a wide grin, and hugs Childe around the neck before letting him go.
“Alright, big brother, I’ll go with the nice lady and I’ll see you later!”
“I’ll see you later, buddy.” Childe watches him scurry over to Lumine, and Teucer launches into rambling about Mister Cyclops as they walk out of the bank.
Well, at least one crisis has been averted.
He’s proven extremely, painfully wrong a short time later.
Unable to keep Teucer sufficiently entertained in the Harbor, Lumine and Paimon have taken him to Qingxu Pool, where they accidentally run into Childe amidst a debt collection. With Teucer now glued to his side, he is forced to improvise and turn the debt collection into a treasure hunt. Once that song and dance is over, he reluctantly heads to the recruit orientation, Teucer and Lumine in tow. The orientation is painfully awkward, with him relying on his agents to follow along in his impromptu toy seller script. He’s miraculously able to excuse away their training spars as self-defense lessons to his impressionable brother, who yearns to defend their family the way his big brother does. Afterwards, finally, Childe’s work obligations are completed.
After some convincing, Childe manages to get Teucer to agree to go back to Snezhnaya that evening under the condition that Childe takes him to see the fabled Institute for Toy Research. Given that Childe has completely fabricated the existence of such a place in his letters, he’s forced to think on his toes, and guides their group to one of Dottore’s abandoned ruin guard facilities. Lumine expresses hesitation, but after he assures her it’s safe, she acquiesces to their field trip.
Once again, fate laughs at Childe, when, apparently, the factory is not as out of order as he was led to believe. With a herd of reactivated and aggressive ruin guards surrounding them, Childe curses Dottore in his head, and is forced into his Foul Legacy transformation to destroy them all before their group is put in real danger. Thankfully, Teucer remains blissfully ignorant to the severity of the situation with Lumine’s valuable distraction assistance and some influence from Childe’s Empathy suggesting for Teucer to look away at the more inopportune times. However, forcing Childe’s body to accommodate the transformation so soon after the last, means that he crumples shortly after emerging from it.
He’s able to drag himself to privacy, so that Teucer doesn’t have to see his decrepit state. He feels, though, Teucer’s disappointment and sadness when his big brother has disappeared, and the guilt eats at him. Lumine finds him a short while later huddled in a corner of the factory, and he convinces her to take Teucer to Andrei, who he had tasked with organizing Teucer’s return ship. He also hands her the toy he’d commissioned from Granny Shan for Teucer– a stuffed ruin guard, ironically enough– and after Lumine accepts and returns to his brother, Teucer’s excited exclamation of “Mr. Cyclops!” in the distance soothes a part of his weary soul.
By the end of the day, once he has ensured that Teucer has been escorted safely to the docks for his return home, he feels as drained as his bank account has been. On the bright side, he seems to have patched things up with Lumine, to some extent, but on the other hand, he will most certainly be bed ridden once more.
Ekaterina is unimpressed, to say the least, when she knocks on his door the following morning. All he can do is offer her a sheepish smile and a shrug.
“Family first, you know?” he says.
She sighs, setting his food and medication on his dining table. “I know, sir.”
“Any news from the bank? Did any of the recruits mention anything about yesterday’s orientation?”
“The Tianquan has begun to lift her sanctions,” Ekaterina starts, placing his mail next to his food. “Andrei as well as the other Snezhnayan expats are very pleased with this development. The recruits mentioned that orientation seemed…unorthodox, but they were fairly enthusiastic.”
Finally, some good news. And, if Childe isn’t mistaken, the elegant scrawl upon one of the envelopes Ekaterina delivered looks like Tonia’s handwriting. “Excellent!”
“Indeed,” she agrees, and turns to face him. Her expression hardens, and he already knows what she is going to say.
“Mister Zhongli came by asking for you, again.”
Childe grimaces. “When will he give it a rest? It’s been three weeks already.”
“I’m well aware,” Ekaterina replies, curtly.
“Maybe you could simply have Vlad or Nadia escort him out next time? That would surely make a point,” he suggests.
“With all due respect, sir, if the Northland Bank is seen escorting out one of the most esteemed gentlemen in the Harbor, it will only reflect poorly on us.”
Unfortunately, she’s correct. Likely the only way to get Zhongli to cease his visitations will be to confront the man himself. Childe has never considered himself to be a coward, but, when he imagines coming face to face with Zhongli again, his chest constricts and he feels like hiding away. But, needs must.
“I understand, Katya. I’ll talk to him once I’m well.”
“That would be much appreciated, sir,” she bows, and then takes her leave, and Childe is alone once more in his suite.
Tonia’s letter is a pleasant enough distraction, though it seems it was sent prior to Teucer’s disappearing act. He imagines he’ll get another panicked letter within the next few days, and hopefully glean a little more information on just how Teucer managed such a feat. Childe chuckles, too, thinking perhaps he’ll need to write to Pulcinella about the situation, knowing he’d get a kick out of it as well. He’s thinking of what to pen back to Tonia, when he realizes he’s lost a good chunk of his typical letter content.
Many of his letters home from Liyue have consisted of transcribing Zhongli’s stories for his siblings, knowing how much they adore such tales. He would also write about the plays they would attend, the food they would sample, and would often include some trinkets they had purchased together. But right now, Childe has a peculiarly Zhongli-shaped hole in his life. The fact saddens and angers him in equal measure.
Instead of writing about Zhongli, Childe writes about Lumine. He describes his adventure with Teucer, as he’ll likely be asked to in the future anyway, and talks about the Rite of Parting that had passed. Though he hadn’t attended —likely he wouldn’t have been allowed even if he wanted to— he had heard that the send-off for Rex Lapis was beautiful. When he’s done, Childe signs and seals his letter, and puts it to the side to have Ekaterina send it off the following day.
Childe remains bed bound for three more days. After that, he feels that he’s had quite enough of the inside of his suite at the Guesthouse, and drags his protesting body to the Northland Bank mostly out of spite. Even if he can only manage to do paperwork, he can at least complete that in his office without feeling like an invalid. Ekaterina shoots him a judgmental look– not that he can see her eyes behind the mask, but she makes sure that he can feel her opinion– though he ignores it with a cheery wave.
He settles himself into his office chair with a groan, waiting for Ekaterina to deliver his work for the day. He doesn’t need to wait long– within minutes, she knocks on the door and lets herself in.
“Should you not still be recovering at the Guesthouse?” she says, throwing decorum out the window.
“Oh, quit your worrying, Katya, I’m fine,” he waves her off.
“You look like you got mauled by a pack of mitachurls.”
Childe grimaces at the comparison. “That’s quite dramatic. I’m certainly well enough to do paperwork in a chair, I think.”
She sighs with exasperation. “If I catch you trying to go on any debt collections in the next week, I’ll submit a transfer request to Zapolyarny Palace.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“And I’ll request for Pantalone to be my superior.”
Childe pouts. “Now that’s just spiteful. And who says he wouldn’t just send you back to the bank, anyway?”
“Hm. Who knows. I’m willing to take my chances.” She pauses. “Sir.”
“Point made, Katya, thank you.”
She bows, and leaves his office. Really, the insubordination. It’s not as though he could fight right now even if he wanted to – which, actually, he does want to, he just can’t. Shaking his head in frustration, Childe attempts to concentrate on the paperwork Ekaterina left behind.
It isn’t long before even the mundanity of staring at endless amounts of paperwork causes a migraine to brew at the base of his skull. Shifting in his chair hurts, his eyes hurt, and he can feel his abyssal taint crawling beneath his skin. He grumbles, massaging his temples, willing the overwhelming agony to abate even a little. If he proves Ekaterina right on his first day back there will be no living it down.
Childe is wondering if he should request for Ekaterina to pick up some lunch, when he hears a ruckus from the direction of the lobby. As the noise grows alarmingly closer to his office, Childe is hit by a wave of empathic feedback he isn’t expecting. The sudden influx causes his head to pound painfully, and he grits his teeth. Irritation, impatience, stubbornness – all these external feelings flood his weakened defenses, and he groans under their weight. As if that isn’t enough, he hears terse voices from outside his door, and it’s the sound of arguing along with the onslaught of empathic pressure that causes him to snap.
He forces himself up from his chair, and stomps over to his door, baring his teeth.
“By Celestia and the Heavenly Principles, what is with the commotion?” he demands, yanking open his office door. “Why is it that supposedly trained professionals can’t keep their mental wards in check?”
When he sees just who is in front of his door, he freezes.
Childe’s eyes land on Zhongli, who is fixing Ekaterina with an irate stare that he’s never seen the other man wear before.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Ekaterina,” the Sentinel says tersely, and then turns his attention to Childe.
“Master Chi–” Ekaterina is cut off by Zhongli pushing a stunned Childe back into his office, and slamming the door shut behind them.
Childe stumbles back from the shove, jaw slack. He watches Zhongli wave a hand over the door, which rattles from Ekaterina battering at it, a shield of golden light cascading over its surface to reinforce it.
When Zhongli’s eyes meet his, he flinches. Zhongli’s agitation is palpable– it radiates off of him in waves of frustration and irritability, grating on Childe’s sensitive nerves. Childe is wrongfooted– both by Zhongli’s sudden intrusion, and the fact that it doesn’t make sense for him to be able to sense the other’s emotions at all. Zhongli edges toward Childe, who steps back warily, unsure of what to think of the situation.
“Zhongli?”
The man ignores him, striding closer. Childe steps back with every step forward the other man makes, jaw clenching. Is Zhongli looking for a fight? Now, of all times? With Childe’s weakened state, if that’s the Sentinel’s intention, he’ll need to keep distance between them – but when he hits the edge of his desk on his next step back, he realizes he’s been paying too little attention. He glances around the room, trying to identify a plausible escape route, but jolts when Zhongli’s hands bracket the desk on either side of Childe, caging him in.
His eyes flash to Zhongli’s, molten gold swimming with distress that Childe doesn’t understand. Zhongli ducks his head down, then, tucking his nose into the space between Childe’s shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply, making Childe tense. When Zhongli growls, irritation spiking, Childe shivers unintentionally. He raises his hands to Zhongli’s chest in an attempt to push him off, but finds his limbs remain frustratingly weak.
“You are unwell,” Zhongli grumbles in a low, rumbling voice. “Abyssal miasma. I detected traces of it before, of course, but it seemed controlled. Harmless. However, now–” Panic, sudden and sharp, pierces Childe’s mind, and he hisses. “Why is it getting worse?”
Childe blinks rapidly, trying to push away the continued onslaught of frenzied emotions from Zhongli. His abyssal taint? That’s what this is about? Irritation flares in his stomach, and he finally finds the strength to give the Sentinel a solid shove that forces the man to step back.
“Why does it matter to you so much?” Childe demands, harshly. “Have you finally decided you’ve had enough of the abyssal beast in Liyue Harbor?”
Zhongli’s expression pinches, and Childe can feel his confusion. “Abyssal– Childe, that’s not what I am saying at all, I am simply concerned about the influx in miasma–”
“Hah!” A brittle laugh. “Concerned? Were you concerned when my abyssal nature helped you achieve your retirement? Don’t try to lie to me now, Zhongli.”
Frustration wars with sympathy on Zhongli’s face, and it makes Childe angrier.
“What would be a lie, would be to say that I regret my contract for retirement with the Tsaritsa, and so I will not do you that disservice. What is not a lie, however, is that I genuinely feel concern for your wellbeing,” Zhongli says. “Is that so surprising to say? Can you not feel my sincerity?”
Whether he means them to or not, Zhongli’s last words cut deep.
“How should I know what you feel?” Childe snaps. “Clearly, being a Guide has done me no favors in that regard. I could not get a read on you for the majority of our acquaintance, but now I’m supposed to believe that you’re an open book? Why should I assume anything you’re projecting now is real?”
“Before, I was still holding the gnosis, Childe. Your Empathy stood no chance of penetrating my defenses, unless I willed it so, or unless I zoned. And carelessly allowing you in was not a risk that I could take when there was a contract to uphold. I was not maliciously withholding my thoughts and feelings from you–”
“No, just your identity,” Childe scoffs.
Zhongli sighs, helplessly. “Yes. You are correct. However, I no longer hold the gnosis, and this is as honest as I can be.” He places a hand over his chest imploringly. “An adeptus and a god I may remain, Childe, but as a Sentinel, I cannot manufacture emotions.”
Though he’s still irritated, and frustrated, Childe considers this. He glowers at Zhongli, but attempts to parse the feelings still battering at his weakened defenses. Yearning, concern, affection, remorse…these feelings, accompanied by the discomposure of the normally put together man, make it difficult to deny his sincerity. Beyond that, Childe still can’t fathom what Zhongli might gain from exposing a vulnerability like this.
“I don’t understand,” Childe admits finally, once he is calmer. “You obtained the results you wanted. You achieved your ultimate goal of retirement. What use is there in making amends with pawns?” Zhongli flinches, but Childe continues. “You say you’re here because you’re concerned about me. Is this some misplaced sense of guilt for using me? I’m used to that by now, Zhongli. That’s what weapons and Guides are good for, right?”
Childe laughs, mirthlessly. “So, if this is some act of penitence for tricking a pawn you kind of liked, don’t bother. I don’t need it.”
“That isn’t it, Childe.” Zhongli says with some frustration, his eyes searching Childe’s. He opens his mouth again, then hesitates, as though considering his words. When he gathers his resolve, he continues. “To be truthful, I am being selfish. You are correct for accusing me of such, but not in the way that you believe. For three thousand and seven hundred years, I have prioritized the needs of my people. I have molded myself to be what they required of me.”
Zhongli leans forward into Childe’s space, urgently. “But now, I am free from the shackles of my duty to pursue my own wants and desires. Selfishly, I cannot imagine a satisfactory retirement without you in it. Your companionship. That is why I am here, Childe, not out of pity or obligation. If you would allow me, I would like to mend what I have broken.”
Somewhat floored by the other’s earnest admissions, Childe takes a moment to process the words. It isn’t quite an apology, but he doesn’t think he would’ve accepted one in the first place, as they both know it would’ve been insincere. He understands, logically, why Zhongli needed to keep his identity from Childe. The uncertainty of not knowing how much of their time together was an act had been Childe’s main consternation, but with the man now in front of him laying out his intentions and attempting to make amends, the knots of doubt seem to be unravelling in his chest. Is mending their relationship something that Childe wants? His heart kicks up traitorously, and he knows what his answer will be. But, still…
“Tell me, Zhongli,” Childe says, meeting the other man’s imploring gaze with as much steel as he can muster. “That night, you didn’t say a word to me, when you gave the gnosis to Signora. Why? If our friendship meant so much to you, why not address this then?”
Zhongli’s face twists in visible regret. “To hear La Signora speak of you, it was clear that she had certain expectations of your character and the role you would play here. I thought it best to meet those expectations, as to not cause trouble for you or your reputation, which I know you value. I had also assumed I would have ample opportunity to explain things to you personally after she left. Once multiple weeks had gone by without being able to obtain an audience with you, I feared that I was mistaken. It seems obvious, now, that I was.”
Childe laughs, without humor. “No, Xiansheng, you were right.” In hindsight, if Zhongli had allowed them to make a scene in front of Signora, Childe probably would have never lived it down. “And if I hadn’t been bedridden after that fight with Lumine, you might have gotten that opportunity.”
Zhongli nods, patiently, but remains quiet.
“So…alright,” Childe says eventually, relaxing against the desk behind him. “I’ll allow you to make it up to me.”
Zhongli’s eyes brighten, and the immediate waves of joy and happiness that flow from him make Childe crack an involuntary smile.
“I am grateful for the opportunity,” Zhongli says. “And for what it is worth, I can swear to you that I will not betray you again.”
“Careful, Xiansheng,” Childe warns, “those are strong words for the God of Contracts.”
“It does not matter,” Zhongli shakes his head. “Despite no longer serving in that role, I have no issue binding myself to my promise as though it were a contract.”
His earnestness is going to give Childe another headache. “No need, Xiansheng, no need. But I appreciate the offer. You can put your wards back up too, you know.”
“Oh.” Zhongli widens his eyes in realization. “Pardon me. I am still adjusting to the loss of the gnosis. I have had a bit of difficulty in regulating my mental shields without it.”
Childe makes a sound of acknowledgement. So, Zhongli didn’t necessarily intend to overwhelm him with his feelings. “Understandable.”
With Zhongli made aware, the oppressing weight of his empathic feedback lessens quite a bit, and Childe feels like he can at least breathe a little lighter. Now, Zhongli feels like any other Sentinel. Guarded, but not impenetrable. It makes him seem more human.
“Are you truly okay, though, Childe?” Zhongli asks. With some shame, he adds, “You say you were bedridden? I sensed your increased abyssal energy when I entered the bank earlier. In retrospect, I acted quite inappropriately in response, but I was alarmed.”
“That’s what you meant by all that abyssal miasma talk? Yeah, I’m fine.” Childe purses his lips. “Well, I will be fine. I simply used my abyssal transformation back to back. Typically I have more rest in between uses.”
“Ah,” Zhongli relaxes minutely. “As long as you will be alright, that is a relief. I apologize for acting out of turn.”
“It’s fine. We probably wouldn’t have ended up having this conversation if you hadn’t,” Childe says honestly.
“You would have avoided me?” Zhongli interprets.
“Well, yeah. I have been quite cross with you, after all.”
Zhongli nods with a frown. “I understand. That is why I will do my utmost to regain your favor.” His eyes brighten as he remembers, “Ah, I nearly forgot. Initially, when coming here, I intended to invite you to a performance. Miss Yun Jin has finally finished the opera that she had been working on.”
“Oh? That’s exciting,” Childe says eagerly, remembering when Zhongli had first mentioned the project to him months ago. “When will it premiere?”
“On the night after next,” Zhongli tells him. “Would you do me the honor of attending with me?”
Childe chuckles at the formality. “Of course, Xiansheng, just tell me where to get the tickets.”
To Childe’s confusion, Zhongli shakes his head. “No need. I will be able to secure tickets for us without issue.”
For the premiere of an anticipated performance by the renowned Yun-Han Opera Troupe? Childe has his doubts, but Zhongli’s insistence is peculiar enough to stop him from questioning it.
“If you say so.”
There’s a hesitant knock on Childe’s office door, and he realizes that the Geo barrier Zhongli had placed on it has disappeared.
“Hm,” Zhongli says, sniffing the air. “Jade Parcels and Jewelry Soup.”
“Ah, that’ll be Ekaterina with my lunch. I’d better go get that,” Childe says, moving toward the door. Once he pushes off from the desk, however, his body deems it fit to remind him that it is not so fond of movement at the moment. He hisses in pain, one hand bracing his side.
“Childe!” Zhongli rushes over, supporting Childe’s side with his own hand. “Please, have a seat. Allow me to retrieve your meal.”
Childe nearly protests, but a cramp in his calf has him eating the words. “Sure, that would be great.”
With Zhongli pressed against him, escorting him to his desk chair, Childe finds his cheeks flushing. Apparently, over the past several weeks, he’s lost his tolerance to Zhongli’s proximity. The Sentinel collects his food from a wary-looking Ekaterina, who does not leave until Childe shoos her away. The office door clicks shut and Zhongli deposits the take-out bag in front of him.
“You know what would really make things up to me, Xiansheng?” Childe prompts as he removes his servings from the bag.
“What would that be?” Zhongli looks genuinely interested, which makes Childe nearly feel bad for what he’s about to say. Nearly.
“A fight.”
As expected, Zhongli’s expression pinches. “I will not fight you, Childe.”
“Ahhh, come on,” Childe whines, “I was robbed of my promised battle with Rex Lapis, which is the biggest sleight out of all of this.”
With a heavy sigh, Zhongli looks away from him. “I am sorry, Childe. That is just not in the realm of what I can offer you. Especially not with you incapacitated so.”
“So you’re saying when I’m all healed up, you’d consider it?”
Zhongli turns again with a sharp look. “I am saying no such thing.”
“Hmmm.” Childe chooses to ignore that, pulling his chopsticks from his jacket pocket. “I guess we’ll see.”
It looks like Zhongli is going to retort, but then his eyes alight on Childe’s chopsticks, and his jaw clicks shut again, only for a moment.
“You still have them,” he says, eventually.
Childe raises a brow at him, as he picks at the Jade Parcels. “Well, yeah? They’re pretty sturdy, Xiansheng, I don’t believe they’ll crack anytime soon. I’m not so rough with them just because I’m a Harbinger.”
Zhongli blinks in confusion for a moment. “That’s not– hm. Have you finished reading that Guidebook, by chance?”
Oh. In the midst of everything else, Childe had nearly completely forgotten about it. Thinking about it now only brings back his considerations of courting , and so he fights the flush that threatens to rise to his cheeks.
“I skimmed it,” he says vaguely.
Zhongli huffs a laugh. “I see.”
He then glances at the clock on Childe’s wall, and frowns. “I did not realize how late it had gotten. I must return now to the parlor.” Zhongli turns a hopeful look to Childe. “I will see you soon?”
Swallowing his bite, Childe nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Xiansheng.”
“Tomorrow,” Zhongli repeats, a warm smile curving his lips.
Childe is more or less accustomed to seeing Zhongli’s fondness on his face, in the subtle complexities of his expressions, but the pulse of palpable affection that he can feel now from the other man throws him off. It is with warm cheeks that he watches Zhongli depart from his office, and the heat lingers while he finishes the rest of his meal.
Peeling open his eyes the next morning, bleary blue gaze taking in the familiar sight of the canopy atop his bed, Childe seriously considers staying asleep.
The lingering migraine from the day prior has receded, but the rest of his body protests with deep aches and sharp snaps of pain through his nerves. He considers that he may have been foolish after all, dragging himself into work the previous day, if such minor activity has set him this far back.
But then the events that transpired in his office flood back to his mind, and despite the pain, his body feels light. He will get up, and he will haul himself to the bank, and he will attempt to convince Ekaterina to invite Zhongli to lunch in his office. It’s a shame that he won’t be able to surprise Zhongli by showing up to the parlor, but he intends to rest his body as much as possible so that he isn’t quite so exhausted for the following night’s performance.
Heaving himself from the soft blankets and mattress that threaten to hold him captive, Childe rises and begins his morning routine of washing and dressing. Though the process is much slower than he would like, he can feel some of the stiffness fading from his muscles the more he moves around. Deciding to pick up breakfast on the way to the bank, Childe locks his door and stubbornly takes the stairs down to the Guesthouse lobby floor.
When he pushes through the front doors, expecting to be greeted by the dawn’s rise over the Harbor, he does not expect to see Zhongli peering out at the ocean from the edge of the docks several yards before him. Childe deliberates for a moment, wondering if approaching the other man would be intrusive, but then a pang of concern that he could be zoning touches him and he shuffles forward. His worries are assuaged when Zhongli appears to hear his approach, turning to look over his shoulder with a smile.
“Childe, good morning.”
“Morning, Xiansheng,” Childe greets in return, coming to stand next to Zhongli at the docks.
In the warm amber glow of the rising sun, the sea glitters calmly, offering no hint of the calamity that had befallen only a few weeks prior. Even in the early hours of the morning, the gentle spring warmth curls around them, promising pleasant weather for the day. Fishermen are already returning with their hauls, and vendors begin setting up shop along the sides of the wharf, with tired eyes and busy hands. Liyue Harbor thrives, unbroken, unimpeded, resilient. The thought is comforting to Childe.
Childe glances sideways again at Zhongli, only to find golden eyes already fixed on him, glinting in the light of daybreak. The man radiates contentment.
Childe swallows. “So, what brings you here so early?”
“I was waiting for you.”
“Waiting?” For a panicked moment, Childe wonders if they’ve made plans he has forgotten about.
“Since I pass the Guesthouse on my route to the parlor, I thought perhaps we could walk together,” Zhongli elaborates.
“Oh,” Childe says, relieved but mildly flustered. Is this part of making amends? Zhongli has never bothered to do this before. Childe supposes it doesn’t matter. “Sure thing, Xiansheng, can we pick up some food on the way?”
“Of course.”
Leisurely, they move away from the water, and approach one of the food stalls that sells some of the finest steamed buns Childe has had the pleasure of eating. He’ll often pick up a bag or two to bring into the bank with him, to the immense pleasure of his staff. The cook recognizes him as they approach, and nods.
“How many?” he asks, in lieu of a greeting. It’s reassuring, that despite low public opinion, some people have not changed around him.
Childe looks at Zhongli. “Would you like any?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.”
“Two bags today, my friend,” Childe tells the vendor, who nods and starts collecting their order. Mora and food are exchanged, and then Childe and Zhongli are traversing their way up the steps to Feiyun slop, munching on steamed buns.
Zhongli hums, pleased. “Absolutely delightful.”
“Right?” Childe agrees. “They’re my favorite in the Harbor.” He hesitates. “Don’t tell Chef Mao.”
Smiling, Zhongli agrees. “My lips are sealed,” he promises, his arm gently knocking against Childe’s as they walk.
It’s interesting, how quickly they fall back into routine, as though they had not been at odds just the previous day. Like this, strolling down the stone streets of the Harbor, close enough to touch, it’s also laughably easy to picture this in perpetuity. Childe’s traitorous mind wonders what it might feel like to do this every morning. Or, what it might feel like to have more. To wake up with Zhongli in his bed, to have breakfast with him, to walk together to work, to meet again for lunch, and then dinner. Rinse and repeat. It brings a terrible ache to his heart that has nothing to do with the strained muscles of his chest.
“Well, this is me,” Childe announces somewhat lamely as they come to a stop before the stairs leading to the bank. As if Zhongli doesn’t know that.
Zhongli nods, anyway, saying nothing about the obviousness of his statement. “Would you like help carrying up the rest of the buns?”
“Just how incapacitated do you think I am, Xiansheng?” Childe teases with a whine. He takes the second bag from Zhongli’s arms, hefting both in the curve of his elbows. “You’re almost as bad as Katya.”
Zhongli’s lips flicker up in amusement. “Hm. Well, I’ve always thought she seemed sensible.”
Childe pouts for effect, though his mouth wants to smile. “Then perhaps it’s her you should attend tomorrow’s show with.”
Zhongli hums, as if considering this. “Unfortunately, I’ve already promised my second ticket to a particular Snezhnayan rascal, and I am loath to go back on my word.”
“Hmm, quite the bind indeed,” Childe plays along. “Perhaps this lad would sympathize with your plight, and release you from your contract.”
“Perhaps, but as it happens, this rascal is quite a dear friend of mine. I look forward to attending with him very much.” Zhongli’s response has veered into something genuine, less joking, and it unbalances Childe just a bit.
He readjusts his hold on the bags, and glances away from Zhongli’s intense gaze before replying. “He looks forward to attending with you as well.”
Fondness blooms from the Sentinel, and Childe can only take so much without blurting out something nonsensical and incriminating. He clears his throat before such a thing can happen, and dismisses himself.
“I’ll see you later, Xiansheng. Feel free to drop by for lunch, if you like.”
Zhongli inclines his head. “I’ll look forward to lunch, then.”
With a jerky nod, Childe turns and climbs the vermilion steps as quickly as his body will allow. Vlad is at the bank doors to pull one open for him, and he accepts two of the steamed buns gratefully from Childe. Once inside the lobby, Childe can see that he has not been early enough to beat Ekaterina to work, and she stares at him from the reception desk. Though there’s no way she could possibly know that Zhongli had essentially dropped him off, her gaze still feels judgmental.
“Buns,” he says plainly, dropping the bags off in front of her, before beelining to his office.
“Good morning to you too, sir,” she mutters dryly to herself from behind him, but he can hear her digging into the brown bags all the same as his door closes.
By the time the evening of the performance rolls around, Childe is feeling unusually jittery.
It’s not dissimilar to the restless hum of energy that prickles beneath his skin before a fight, though his stomach feels as though it is flipping, and the warmth in his cheeks won’t seem to fade. He knows why he’s so worked up – he’s had far too much time to think and mull over his relationship with Zhongli. While the sting of betrayal cut into their friendship like a blade, the sharp burn has already faded and the wound is beginning to heal over. Childe has never been one to hold a grudge; it takes energy he would much rather use for chasing his ambitions. However, that doesn’t mean that he completely trusts Zhongli.
His flight of fancy where he considered addressing their potential courtship had been all but stomped out by Zhongli’s reveal of being Rex Lapis, but their quick slide back to normalcy has such thoughts fluttering around Childe’s head once more. It’s hardly his fault, since Zhongli has been a near constant presence since their reconciliation. Zhongli had indeed joined him for lunch the previous day, and their close quarters in his office had felt somehow more intimate than even private dining at Xinyue Kiosk or Liuli Pavilion.
Additionally, the Sentinel once again met him outside the Guesthouse this morning, and they grabbed breakfast together while strolling along to work. At noon, like clockwork, Zhongli was knocking on his office door with offerings from Wanmin. Throughout all of this, from the corner of his eye, Childe could also see Zhongli’s aborted movements to reach for him at times, as though unsure if he was still allowed. Childe held his tongue, if only to try and sort out his own feelings first.
And, so, his nerves. Fraying and frustrating, but not something he can conquer with a fight.
Childe locks the door to his office, and walks to the front of the bank, where Zhongli intends to meet him so that they can walk to Heyu Tea House together. He’s grateful that his body seems to be mostly cooperating with him, and he feels much more invigorated than the past couple of days. When Childe slips through the front entrance, he’s greeted by the sight of Zhongli in deep discussion with the night guard, Nadia.
“--and so, if one wished to convey feelings of new romantic attraction, they might choose the Rainbow Rose over a Lakelight Lily, which is more for sentiments of an enduring commitment,” Zhongli explains while Nadia nods vigorously, paying close attention. “Though, neither of those are native to Liyue, so obtaining them may be somewhat difficult.”
When the door clicks behind Childe, Zhongli looks up to meet his gaze with a small smile. “Good evening, Childe.”
Nadia turns as well, giving a small bow. “Good evening, Master Childe.”
“Evening, you two,” Childe returns warmly.
“Are you ready to depart?” Zhongli asks as Childe approaches, and Childe nods.
“Yep,” he says to Zhongli, and then looks to Nadia. “Have a good night.”
“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Nadia, and please do keep me informed on your ventures,” Zhongli requests with a polite dip of his head.
“Thank you, sirs, and I will consider your advice, Mister Zhongli.”
As Childe and Zhongli navigate the stairs, Childe whispers, “What was that about?”
The corner of Zhongli’s mouth twitches upwards. “Miss Nadia has sought advice from me on endeavors of a romantic nature, and so I was sharing with her what I know of the language of flowers.”
Childe blinks in surprise. “Language of flowers? Is that another Pearl Galley thing?”
Zhongli laughs, a deep and rich sound that stirs the churning in Childe’s stomach.
“No, nothing quite so crass. Floriography has been practiced for centuries, as a way of conveying messages and sentiments. Whether it is dangerous or simply difficult to express such things aloud, flowers offer a way to convey those things without words,” Zhongli elaborates.
Childe makes a sound of consideration. “So, feasibly, they could also be used to communicate secret orders in battle?”
“While that would be an unconventional use, yes, I suppose they could,” Zhongli says, amusement in his tone.
“Fascinating. I may just have to look into that myself.”
Their conversation has carried them to the entrance of the teahouse, where Fan Er’ye is collecting tickets for entry. When they are next in the queue, Zhongli pulls out two tickets from his pocket, and Fan Er’ye nods to permit them inside.
Childe’s curiosity niggles at him while they find empty seats towards the back of the venue. “I have to ask, Xiansheng, how is it that you managed to procure our tickets?”
“You needn’t sound so suspicious. I do collect wages from my employer,” Zhongli replies, settling into his seat.
Childe snorts, taking the seat next to him. “Yeah, wages that typically end up at Xigu Antiques.”
Zhongli huffs, though the contentment he emits tells Childe he’s not truly offended. “While I would argue that is not always the case, it is irrelevant in these circumstances anyway. Miss Yun Jin offered me an invitation as thanks for my assistance, and I simply requested that I might bring a plus one.”
“Well, then I am truly honored that the esteemed Mister Zhongli has deemed me worthy of such a gift,” Childe can’t help but tease.
“Rascal,” Zhongli says fondly.
A waiter arrives at their table to ask if they would like tea, and Zhongli orders for them as usual. It’s not much longer before the lights around the teahouse begin to dim, and those at the stage glow brighter. A hush falls over the audience as the first notes of the orchestra rise into the warm evening air.
Childe still isn’t entirely sure what to expect. When Zhongli had initially brought up the play months ago, he had not been at liberty to provide any plot details. By the time the opera was publicly announced, Childe was too deep into his plans and subsequent recovery to look into it. From what he gathered by the art on the display board out front, it will be another drama to do with the Adepti.
His assumption is proven correct as actors take the stage, and the plot unravels. It’s a little bittersweet, to see the familiar costume of Morax dance upon the stage, knowing what he knows now. But the ache is minor, and despite everything, the man is still sitting next to him, essentially sharing a piece of himself. This opera seems to be a continuation of the very first they saw together, where Yun Jin’s story followed the fall of Guili Plains. Now, the plot follows Morax’s journey to becoming Rex Lapis.
Morax designs his first contracts with the Adepti, for their protection of his people. He teaches his people how to create houses, develops the currency of mora. He fights for order, to stay the tides of turbulence, with the Adepti rallied around him. From the earth, he answers the cries of an elemental being of Geo, bestowing sight upon a new protector of Liyue.
Childe doesn’t realize anything is wrong, as engrossed in the story as he is, until the calm aura next to him begins to distort. His brows furrow when he feels the first pang of melancholy that doesn’t belong to himself, but dismisses it as audience reaction. It’s the white hot stab of rage that makes him turn in confusion to his companion.
Zhongli’s eyes are fixed upon the stage, where a portrayal of Skybracer prances valiantly toward his fate. His golden eyes are flickering, pupils dilating then restricting in quick succession, his gloved hands gripping the edge of the table tightly.
“Zhongli?” Childe calls quietly, unsure of what’s going on. Zhongli’s quasi-zones are never so reactionary, but the man’s current body language is volatile.
Zhongli does not react to his call, which is not a good sign. Childe prods shallowly at Zhongli’s consciousness. Reverberations of loathing, anguish, and helplessness echo in his mind, but Childe does not feel the usual response of Zhongli emerging afterward.
Concerned, Childe opens his eyes once more.
On the stage, Morax confronts Osial.
Osial falls, pinned beneath the ocean.
Zhongli’s mouth curls into a grimace, baring sharp fangs that Childe cannot recall ever seeing before. When Zhongli’s flickering eyes begin to glow golden, and the leather of his gloves creaks beneath the strain of his grip, Childe know he needs to do something quickly.
Gentle prodding at Zhongli’s mind proves entirely ineffectual. Gritting his teeth, Childe makes a choice. He pushes further and more insistently against Zhongli’s barriers than he has dared to before, searching for some sort of response. He’s greeted by a whirlwind of turmoil– conflicting emotions that flash too quickly to put a name to them. Childe calls out as forcefully as he can, and – finally, a flutter of response. It’s weak, but it’s something.
Pulling back, he finds Zhongli with his eyes screwed shut, panting heavily, as though in excruciating pain.
“Zhongli,” he calls softly, and agonized eyes peel open to look at him.
“Childe,” Zhongli’s voice is rough, like a rumbling growl. “I must– I need to leave. Now.”
Without hesitation, Childe jumps up from his seat, ignoring the irritated looks that other patrons shoot over their shoulders at him. He slips an arm around Zhongli’s back, pulling him up to stand when the Sentinel seems to be having trouble doing so on his own. With Zhongli pulled against his side, Childe makes for the exit of the teahouse.
Childe breezes by Fan Er’ye and his questioning glance, single-mindedly guiding his companion away from the teahouse, until the floating musical notes are naught but echoes in the distance. Leaning heavily against him, Zhongli’s breath comes in labored drags, his face pinched in obvious discomfort. He’s losing further control of his defenses, as clearer and stronger flashes of feeling pass over Childe, nearly causing him to stumble in their intensity.
“Zhongli,” Childe calls again, settling the Sentinel against the side of a home in a vacant alley. “What’s going on?”
With some difficulty, Zhongli churns out a response. “Not safe,” he grunts. Between pants, he continues, “Need to leave the Harbor.”
“What do you mean?” Childe asks, bewildered. “This is the safest place for you like this. Maybe I should get a heale–”
“No,” Zhongli interrupts, fisting a desperate hand in Childe’s jacket. “You do not understand,” he says, and the growl is back. Molten eyes drag Childe into their mesmerizing intensity.
“Then tell me,” Childe returns, just as stubbornly.
Zhongli’s eyes close, freeing Childe from their spell for the moment. The Sentinel seems to be attempting to gather himself, and Childe wishes he was better equipped to help.
The grip on Childe’s jacket loosens a fraction, and Zhongli speaks, with less difficulty than before, but carrying the same exhaustion. “It can be a heavy burden, Childe, to feel all of Liyue as I do.”
Childe’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
Golden eyes flash open once more, but they do not settle on Childe. When Zhongli speaks, he sounds pained.
“There is a birthday being celebrated in Liuli Pavilion. Thirty-four people are present; one is playing the erhu. In Tianqiu Valley, two geovishap hatchlings wrestle in the den of their slumbering mother. An infant is taking her first steps in her home in Qingce Village.”
Childe’s eyes widen, dread pooling in his gut.
“There are fourteen treasure hoarders mining ore in Mingyun Village. A family of four is requesting a room at Wangshu Inn. At Yaoguang Shoal, a ruin guard lumbers along the shoreline.”
Zhongli’s voice takes on a more desperate tone.
“Azhdaha’s rage leaks into the leylines of Mount Hulao, his spirit restless beyond his seals. Chi’s blood still seeps into the land of Bishui Plain. Osial seethes on the ocean floor, resealed but no less resentful. Gods that I have subdued, compressed and decomposed, now part of the soil; their hatred and malevolence yet lingers and it feels like poison in my blood.”
Zhongli turns his heavy gaze on Childe, and the weariness in his eyes is ancient. “Do you understand? Every strike of an axe against stone, every footstep that falls upon the land, every bell that tolls and string that is strung, I can feel.”
Cracks begin to show in Zhongli’s skin; fissures where scales and golden light peek through, as though he can no longer retain his mortal shape.
Childe inhales, sharply. “You’re zoning. Badly. But I, I don’t—”
“Get me out of the Harbor, Childe,” Zhongli growls, “and then leave. This is erosion and loss of the gnosis at work.”
Time is clearly of the essence, and so Childe doesn’t bother to argue. He loops his arm back around Zhongli’s side, and despite the tenuous grasp he currently has on his energy levels, he activates his Vision to grant them speed. He estimates that the fastest path out of the Harbor would be to cross by the docks towards the path leading to Luhua Pool, and so that is where he leads them. Thankfully, at this time of the evening, they don’t come across many people, and no one who attempts to stop or question them.
By the time Childe is forced to release his grasp of Hydro energy by the limitations of his own body, they have made it past the entry gates of the wharf bridge. Zhongli is looking worse by the moment, composure dropping with every inhuman trait that begins to be revealed. Childe drags them to a secluded area among the cliffs that border the Sea of Clouds, about a mile out from the bridge into the Harbor.
It’s only when Zhongli growls lowly and wrestles away from Childe’s hold that he lets go. The rumbling growl continues as Zhongli sinks into a crouch, trembling hands burying fingers into his hair, obscuring his face in his arms. Unsure, Childe backs away a few steps, but does not leave despite Zhongli’s earlier request.
He stifles a gasp when aureate arcs curve from the crown of Zhongli’s head, forming elegant horns that resemble cor lapis. The leather of Zhongli’s gloves makes a startling ripping sound, and falls away in tatters from large onyx hands ending in sharp claws. The tearing of cloth does not stop, as Zhongli’s form begins to expand in size where he is hunched over in apparent agony. A bright flash of light forces Childe to close his eyes, and when he blinks them open again, his concern and fascination only grows.
Zhongli’s hands drop from where they had been buried in the strands of his dark hair. His face tilts up, and his pupils have shrunk into narrow slits where they sit in molten gold. The distinctive flare of red beneath his eyes looks more pronounced than ever, bright and vibrant like blood. Zhongli rises from his crouch slowly, straightening to a height at least three heads taller than he had been previously. Glowing lines of Geo energy trace down from his neck to his shoulders, now visible in the flowing robes of white that swathe this form. The patterns of light continue down both arms until they reach the backs of charcoal hands, which clench into fists at his sides.
The agitated flicker of something large behind Zhongli catches Childe’s attention next, and he realizes that a dark tail has materialized from the base of the other’s spine. A plume of golden fur rests at the tip, and the spine is punctuated by peaks of hard keratin. Zhongli’s next growl makes Childe’s attention snap back to his face, where his lips have curled back to bare his sharp fangs.
Belatedly, Childe realizes this is a warning.
It’s by mercy of his ingrained training that he manages to dodge Zhongli’s first strike. Childe yelps and stumbles out of the way of sharp extended claws when the Sentinel lunges toward him, throwing himself quickly into a defensive position.
“Zhongli!” Childe calls, pivoting out of the way of another strike, but the eyes that flash at him hold no shred of recognition.
Zhongli calls his spear to his hand, and Childe realizes he may actually be in some level of danger.
“Ah,” he says, parrying a downwards strike with the flat edge of his Hydro sword. “Not a zone. You’re Berserking.”
Zhongli offers no verbal response, retaliating with a flurry of fluid jabs and swipes that Childe struggles to avoid. Even in a Berserker state, Zhongli’s every movement is fluid and graceful, a testament to his years of battle.
Childe laughs, a shallow cut ripping open along the side of his cheek. “Sheesh, Xiansheng, I wanted to fight you, but–” Childe leaps to avoid the stele that erupts from the ground beneath his feet, landing a few paces away. “Couldn’t you have at least waited until I was back in my prime?”
Zhongli’s eyes narrow, and flash gold. In the next moment, Childe is scrambling away from the impending impact of a large Geo construct that threatens to flatten him. Panting from exertion, Childe feels his frustration mount. Irritation with the limits of his recuperating body, and with the situation itself gnaws at his nerves. If he’s unable to subdue Zhongli here, what chaos would come next?
He’s given no space to breathe or time to strategize. Zhongli’s attacks are as efficient as they are lethal, and it takes all of Childe’s effort simply to deflect them. He’s given no quarter, shown no vulnerabilities in the way Zhongli comes for him. Childe swaps his Hydro swords out for a glaive, attempting to meet Zhongli’s strike for strike. Every clash of their weapons sends reverberations down his sore arms, and he grits his teeth in a sharp smile. It is agony but it is also exhilarating . How many can say they have had the opportunity to oppose a raging deity?
Drawing upon his Delusion, Childe attempts to strike at Zhongli with Electro. The heat of the volatile element zings over his skin, making the air smell of ozone when it collides with Zhongli’s weapon. A pulse of Geo neutralizes the energy, and Childe is forced to leap back to avoid Zhongli’s next slash. A Geo constructed hand veers toward him, and he shatters it into slivers of stone with a burst of concentrated Hydro. In the moment his attention has been taken by the construct, though, Zhongli takes the opportunity to lunge for him once more with a sweeping strike of his polearm.
Childe grunts as the hit lands soundly across his stomach, sending him careening backwards into one of the cliff faces. His head swims for a moment from the impact, and his eyes clear just in time to see another Geo construct flying towards his head. He ducks and rolls so the Geo spear embeds itself in the cliff face, the impact sending spiderweb cracks through the wall of stone. Childe’s energy is too close to depleted to create very solid constructs of his own, and so he settles for lobbing concentrated bursts of elemental energy at Zhongli to try and buy himself some time.
Zhongli bats away the majority of his attempts, and the ones he misses simply detonate against his jade shield, inflicting no damage at all. Childe’s chest heaves, his limbs tremble, blood oozes from several gashes upon his person. He wishes that he could utilize the Foul Legacy. As things are, however, the abyssal energy within him barely responds to his call, and his body would simply crumple under the strain if he tried.
Calling his bow, Childe changes tactics and sends a volley of arrows at Zhongli, hoping to distract the Sentinel long enough for Childe to potentially get away. If he can get even a few moments to himself to think, to plan– Zhongli begins to slash at the arrows, not expecting them to burst as he hits them. Childe congratulates himself on his idea of imbuing them with Hydro energy, and darts into a fissure in the cliff. Light shines from the other end, promising an exit, and Childe forces speed into his stride as he nears it.
A grin alights upon his face when he steps out into the moonlight, but it quickly falls when he sees Zhongli standing forebodingly just a yard away. Childe’s mouth twists into a grimace, realizing the Sentinel must have sensed his attempted escape. He pivots to try and dash in the other direction, but a well-timed stele emerging from the ground causes him to trip. Childe’s eyes widen as he falls backwards, watching Zhongli lurch toward him, clawed hand extended.
Landing heavily on his back, Childe grunts, but he doesn’t have the chance to roll into a defensive stance because Zhongli pins him to the ground. One clawed hand grips at Childe’s throat, pinpricks of blood rising from where his golden fingers dig into the skin. Zhongli straddles Childe’s hips, his heavy weight too difficult to buck off. Leaning forward with a feral snarl, Zhongli draws his free arm back, clearly preparing his final strike.
Childe only has one more chance.
Concentrating the last dregs of his energy, Childe grits his teeth, and lurches against Zhongli’s restraining hand with his last boost of elemental energy. It unbalances Zhongli only slightly, but it’s enough for Childe to do what he needs to. With force, he knocks his forehead against Zhongli’s, skin to skin, slamming his mind into the Sentinel’s.
With the tattered state of Zhongli’s consciousness, it isn’t difficult to push all the way through. Jagged edges of regret, sorrow, and rage make up the outer layers, and Childe brushes over the rugged peaks of despair with a presence as gentle as he can manage. The further he pushes into Zhongli’s mind, the more forceful the raging emotions are. They scrape against him, clawing and desperate, clamoring for an outlet and overwhelming their host. Childe tries to soothe the turbulent psyche, surprised when his projections of calm and serenity seem to actually temper the raging storm.
In the midst of it all, Childe can sense the core of Zhongli’s soul. Bright as the midday sun- searingly beautiful in the light and warmth it exudes. Around it, wisps of darker influences curl around it almost protectively, like thorns of pure distress and agony, turning it into a vulnerable, writhing thing, restless and lost to turmoil. When he draws near, it lashes out like a wounded animal, with gnashing fangs composed of despair, longing, loathing, and desperation. Intrinsically, Childe senses what he needs to do. He embeds himself like an anchor within the tides of Zhongli’s mind, wrapping his Empathy around the volatile core like a warm embrace. He feels the phantom pain of a bite sink into him, with confusion and distrust, but Childe channels reassurances into the connection between them. Sympathy, understanding, fondness – feelings he’s never attempted to cast come easily to him now.
Hesitantly, the teeth withdraw, and the aggression begins to abate. Childe continues to soothe Zhongli through their connection. From where he’s anchored himself, he gets flashes of memories, glimpses of scenes and emotions that Zhongli has been carrying with him, heavy in his soul. He witnesses an ancient Liyue, plagued by the destruction of karmic debt and malevolent gods. He sees treasured companions killed in the line of duty, or subdued by his own hands. He watches his people, strong in the face of adversity, learning to adapt despite the circumstances. He feels pride, he feels sorrow, he feels love.
Childe realizes that the love isn’t Zhongli’s alone. The love for this land, for the people of Liyue, it’s something that Childe can recognize within himself as well. Perhaps not to the same extent, and not paternal in the manner of Zhongli’s love, but it is present all the same.
The love that he feels for Zhongli, though, that is all his own.
Something in their connection shifts with the realization. Childe allows himself what he’s denied for a very long time. He focuses on the warmth of the affection within his own chest, and feeds it into their connection. Zhongli’s mind begins to quiet, to settle down.
Finally, he feels a responding pulse. The sensation does not carry words, but it feels like Zhongli is calling back to him. It can only mean that Zhongli’s awareness is returning.
Hopeful, Childe begins to withdraw from Zhongli’s inner consciousness, sliding his Empathy back into place within his own mind. It’s disorienting for a moment, dizzying in a way that feels as though he’s left a piece of himself behind. When he’s able to center himself back in his body, the familiarity of his aches and pains coming back to him, he realizes that Zhongli is still on top of him.
Childe’s eyes open to the glittering night sky above them. He blinks, and attempts to glance down at where Zhongli has collapsed against him, but his vision is obstructed by dark hair. Belatedly, he registers that the Sentinel is nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and he fights back a shiver when a warm tongue laves over the oddly sore skin of his throat. The sting that follows the soothing gesture jolts him into speaking.
“Did you bite me?”
Zhongli stiffens. Radiating shame, he pulls away from Childe’s neck, and awkwardly shuffles off of him. Despite the guilt written in the lines of Zhongli’s face, Childe is glad to see that the other man is back to normal. The adeptal traits from earlier have vanished, leaving him looking remarkably human, and the familiar fondness has returned to his eyes when he gazes at Childe.
“I do apologize for that,” he says when they are both seated, facing one another. “I was not in my right mind at the time, but I do understand that is a flimsy excuse. I will take no offense should you wish to annul our relationship given the base and inappropriate nature of my actions. I fervently hope that you believe me when I say I never intended to do so in such a – a boorish manner, nor was it my intent to tie you to me unwillingly. Given that it is merely a fledgling half-bond, given enough time it should wither without repercussion. Additionally, I–”
“Zhongli,” Childe cuts off his rambling. “Have we been courting?”
Zhongli’s expression twists, and Childe can feel an echo of his perplexed confusion.
“I…have been attempting to court you, yes.”
Childe’s mouth drops open for a moment, and then he’s throwing his head back in laughter. A tension he didn’t even realize he has been carrying eases from his shoulders, replaced instead by relief and joy. Zhongli, however, looks affronted and offended by his peals of laughter.
“Are you mocking me?” Zhongli’s face falls. “Do you not share my feelings? I had thought–”
Childe sobers quickly when Zhongli’s disappointment hits him.
“No, no, Zhongli, listen–” Childe strips off his gloves, aware of the golden eyes tracking his movements. He reaches forward to cradle the Sentinel’s face in his hands with a smile. More easily than he ever thought possible, he shares his adoration and relief with Zhongli, who settles under his touch. “I do,” Childe urges, “of course I do. Do you honestly think I would have bothered to pull you from your Berserk if I didn’t?”
“You did do that, didn’t you,” Zhongli hums, leaning into Childe’s touch with an adoring smile. “The only Guide in millennia able to accomplish such a feat. You truly are a marvel.”
Childe flushes at the honest praise, and pulls his hands from Zhongli’s face when the other man smirks in response.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m pretty great,” Childe grumbles, slipping his gloves back on.
Zhongli chuckles, the warmth of the sound sinking into Childe’s bones.
“Still,” Zhongli’s expression becomes serious. “I regret that this occurred in such a way, especially as I am trying to make amends. I would have preferred a chance to make my intentions clear. We may continue courting, should you be open to it, while allowing this half-bond to deteriorate in the meantime. When, and if, we decide to bond, it should be when we are ready.”
Childe makes a thoughtful sound, looking down at his hands. “What exactly does a half-bond entail? It seems like you can’t sense me, but I can feel you.”
It’s hard to describe what it feels like; it isn’t like filtering through projected emotions, it’s something that he can just intrinsically sense.
“You are correct. In a completed bond, we would both have awareness of one another. However,” Zhongli grimaces with another pang of guilt, “since it was I who attempted to establish a bond, only I made myself vulnerable to it.”
Childe taps a finger against his knee, considering. “And what if we didn’t let it deteriorate?”
“Childe?”
Childe raises his head to meet Zhongli’s questioning stare. “What if we completed it?”
Zhongi inhales, pupils dilating. Childe isn’t expecting the rush of heat the suggestion ignites in the other man.
“You wish to bond with me?” Zhongli clarifies, voice low.
Childe draws his lower lip between his teeth, nodding. “We’re compatible,” he reasons, “something that I never really thought was possible, let alone something I would want.”
“Childe, compatibility alone does not make this a good idea.”
“No, you’re right,” Childe agrees, “but…”
But it’s not only about that. Zhongli doesn’t wish to subdue him, to change him into something he’s not. Zhongli encourages him, and praises his strength. Zhongli makes him even bolder than he’s ever been, and makes him feel things he didn’t think were meant for him. With Zhongli, he thinks a bond would feel more like an asset than a prison sentence.
“I want your heart,” Childe says simply. “That’s my selfish request. You offered the Tsaritsa your Celestial heart, so let me have what remains.”
“I think I would give you anything, should you ask it of me,” Zhongli replies, bringing one of his hands up to hold Childe’s jaw, his thumb brushing over the dried cut on his cheek.
“Are you sure?” Childe challenges, leaning toward him. The change in position forces Zhongli’s thumb to dig into his skin, reopening the wound. “Is it wise for an ex-archon to be so vulnerable to a Fatui Harbinger?”
Zhongli withdraws his hand, not breaking their eye contact. He brings his thumb to his lips, stained red by Childe’s blood, and cleans it with a swipe of his tongue.
“You are severely underestimating the power you already have over me,” Zhongli rumbles.
Childe swallows, heat suffusing his cheeks and stirring low in his belly. “You are a sentimental fool,” he accuses.
“Perhaps,” Zhongli admits, leaning closer, eyes falling half lidded. Barely an inch of space remains between them, and the ghost of his breath brushes Childe’s face when he speaks. “But I think that after all these years, I am entitled to my foolish desires.”
Zhongli kisses him.
Hesitantly, at first, as though to allow Childe a chance to back out. A chaste press of lips against lips, tentative and sweet, full of affection and fondness. Childe’s eyes flutter shut, and he meets Zhongli’s press eagerly. He drags his tongue over Zhongli’s bottom lip, and that’s when things change. Zhongli surges forward with a growl, sliding one hand into Childe’s hair, cushioning the impact of him pressing the other into the cliff face behind him. Unintentionally, Childe whimpers, and Zhongli’s tongue takes the opportunity to sweep between his lips and into his mouth.
A dizzying rush of feeling clouds Childe’s mind, and he cannot parse which belong to him and which are Zhongli’s. Desire , thick and cloying, feels like syrup in his veins. Affection, adoration, longing – an intoxicating mixture that eradicates his rational thought. Zhongli crowds him against the rock, rising up on his knees to loom over Childe, tasting his tongue and the back of his teeth with vigor. Childe jerks his head to the side, panting for air, and the fingers in his hair tighten. Zhongli’s other hand takes his chin, turning him back to face the Sentinel. Blearily, Childe opens his eyes, fascinated by the way Zhongli’s pupils have swallowed up the rest of his iris. Zhongli kisses him again, once, twice, three more times, the last one drawn out and lingering. Tenderness, devotion, indulgence. They part with a wet sound, allowing Childe another chance to catch his breath.
Lips press against the corner of his mouth, to the side of his jaw, trailing a hot line down his throat. Childe sighs, bringing his arms up to wrap around Zhongli’s shoulders. The Sentinel’s mouth presses over the aching ring of his bite, and Childe keens, jolting in his hold.
Zhongli draws back, though Childe can sense his reluctance to do so.
“As partial as I am to this turn of events,” he says, words strained, “I would hesitate to bond you on the ground like some sort of beast.”
Grappling for his senses, Childe tries to remember why that would be a bad idea. He must say something to indicate as much, because Zhongli chuckles while helping him to stand.
“I would prefer to spoil you like the treasure you are.”
Childe grimaces at the saccharine comparison, and he opens his mouth to argue, but looking at Zhongli brings him pause. Though the man has shifted back to his human size, his clothes have not survived the ordeal very well. The clasps on his jacket have broken, hanging loosely at his sides, and the seams of his sleeves have burst in multiple places. His gloves are nowhere in sight, and ochre hands still pulse with Geo light where his tattered sleeves don’t fall. His trousers are split at the sides near his shoes, which are the only things that seem to have remained intact.
A glance down at himself affirms what Childe already knows, which is that his uniform is ripped and torn in several places from their fight, and blood stains the fabric in multiple spots. They can’t possibly hope to walk through the Harbor without immediately catching Millelith attention.
“Zhongli, we can’t go back into the Harbor like this.” He wracks his brain, trying to think of a solution. Perhaps there’s a way he can get a message to one of his agents to discreetly bring new clothes, but at this late hour it might be tricky.
“Ah,” Zhongli says, as though he has also just realized their dilemma. “Not to worry, I believe I have a solution.”
Childe glances at him curiously. Zhongli takes one of Childe’s hands within his own, and Childe’s about to retort that he doesn’t think holding hands will divert attention from their state of dress, but then the world flips. Once the nauseating and dizzying sensation ebbs, Childe blinks open his eyes, stiff and clenching Zhongli’s hand in his hold. The world around him is unfamiliar, his eyes darting about his misty surroundings as alarm starts to grow.
“Apologies, I should have warned you,” Zhongli says from beside him, squeezing his hand in reassurance.
“What just happened?” Childe asks, looking at Zhongli. The other man’s calm demeanor is the only reason he hasn’t shifted into a defensive stance. “Where are we?”
“I have transported us to my adeptal abode,” Zhongli explains. “It is a pocket dimension of sorts of my own design. We will be safe and undisturbed here.”
Raising his eyebrows, Childe looks around again. Sprawling greenery dotted with yellow sandbearer trees and red bushes stretches out before them, with the rise of a mountain peak in the distance. Rolling fog obscures his vision at certain points, and he wonders if that indicates the end of the realm or if more exists past it. To their side, several yards away, sits a large and opulent manor, not dissimilar from the homes in Yujing Terrace. Green eaves rise up several stories, stretching into a pink and yellow sky.
“Huh. Adeptal tricks?” Childe asks, rather impressed.
“The term you are looking for is Adeptal Arts,” Zhongli corrects gently. He tugs on their joined hands lighty, moving toward the house. “While I would be delighted to show you the extent of my realm later on, I would like to take you inside now, should you be amenable.”
Childe’s head fills with possibilities of what they could do inside , and his face flushes. “Right. Sure, of course. Lead the way, Xiansheng.”
Zhongli doesn’t comment on the red hue of his face, but the amusement and hunger Childe can feel from him says enough. Zhongli separates their hands only to open the ornate lattice door and usher Childe through. Childe whistles, eyeing the interior. While the carvings in the wood of the ceilings are surely impressive, so too are the shelves upon shelves of antiques and artifacts. Vases and statues of varying size line the space, artfully placed along the walls beneath exquisitely crafted sconces. Decorative carpet stretches beneath their feet, luxurious and thick, and upon the farthest wall hangs a tapestry depicting the exalted Adepti and Rex Lapis. Somehow, the space is full without seeming cluttered, everything having a specific order and place.
“Is this a dragon’s hoard?” he teases as Zhongli presses his palm insistently between his shoulder blades, guiding him to the next room.
“As fond of jokes as ever,” Zhongli sighs, “and yet misguided in your assertions. Dragons in Liyue are revered as wise and noble heralds of prosperity and good fortune, not malevolent creatures hoarding wealth among themselves, as in other nations. What I have is merely an appreciative collection of my people’s skills from over the millennia.”
Childe makes a sound of acknowledgement, though he’s still amused. Zhongli can say what he wants, but Childe knows a treasure hoard when he sees one.
The hallway leads them to a kitchen, where Zhongli pauses. “Would you care for some tea?”
Despite the relative calm that’s fallen between them, if Zhongli stops to make tea now, Childe thinks he may vibrate out of his skin. “Maybe later,” he says.
Zhongli nods, and continues down the hall, picking up their thread of conversation. “Additionally, Rex Lapis’ divine form is not simply a dragon. The Exuvia is a celestial cross between a dragon and a qilin.”
Childe snorts. “It’s kind of funny hearing you speak about yourself like that.”
“Oh. I suppose it is a force of habit, now,” Zhongli says thoughtfully.
They approach a winding set of stairs, and Childe frowns. His legs have held up so far, but he cannot deny that they still ache terribly. He isn’t about to give into weakness now, though, and so he stubbornly puts one foot before the other. About five steps up, and his knee buckles. Blue eyes fly open wide as he careens toward the ground, but then a firm arm wraps around his waist and hauls him upright. Zhongli holds him tightly to his side, and looks at Childe with concern.
“Are you alright?”
“Haha, my fault Xiansheng,” Childe tries to laugh off. “How clumsy of me.”
Zhongli’s frown only deepens, and his hand against Childe’s waist tightens. “You are still injured and recuperating from your previous battle. I apologize that it slipped my mind.”
“It’s really no big dea– hey, Zhongli!” Childe inhales sharply as Zhongli decides to sweep him fully up and into his arms on the staircase. “Put me down, this is completely unnecessary.”
Zhongli ignores his protests, continuing his way up the stairs. “I have no doubt in your capabilities, but did I not say that I wish to spoil you?”
“I am a Harbinger, I do not need to be spoiled,” Childe grouses, too comfortable to truly put up a fight.
“And yet I hope you will allow me this indulgence all the same.”
Childe sighs, settling into the cradle of Zhongli’s arms. If he truly wished to, he could make Zhongli drop him, but doing so would feel petty. And besides, it feels rather novel to be cared for in such a way.
The journey up the stairs is short lived, and soon Zhongli is pushing open the door to a large and lavish bedroom. The space is furnished in much the same way as the rest of the home, tastefully eclectic with rich ornamentation. Zhongli carefully deposits Childe on the massive bed that sits against the side wall.
“I will run you a bath, unless you would prefer to simply rest?”
Though the bed beneath him is soft and luxurious enough to rival laying on a cloud, Childe looks at Zhongli incredulously all the same.
“Did we not come here with a purpose?”
Surprisingly, a red hue suffuses Zhongli’s cheeks at the reminder. “Travelling here has cooled my head. You are injured, and weary. I do not wish to exacerbate your condition.”
Childe scoffs. “I have a couple scrapes, Xiansheng, give me some credit here. It’s not as though I’m mortally wounded.”
“But, your abyssal transformation–”
“Will make me tired for a few days, with a few aches and pains, sure, but I’m hardly helpless.”
Zhongli frowns, unconvinced.
“Listen,” Childe sighs, “if you’ve decided you don’t want to bond, you can tell me. But don’t hold back on my account.”
The responding flare of indignance that comes from Zhongli soothes Childe’s concerns that he’d changed his mind.
“Do not take my caution as reluctance,” Zhongli growls, stroking fingers down the side of Childe’s face. “I only fear that once we begin, I will not be capable of being gentle.”
Heat flares in Childe’s gut, and he wets his lower lip with his tongue. Golden eyes track the movement predatorily. “Like I said, don’t hold back on my account.”
A deep rumble sounds from Zhongli’s chest, but the hand falls from Childe’s face as he makes an effort to collect himself.
“A bath,” Zhongli says, more to himself than to Childe. “And then we may proceed.”
Impatient, Childe opens his mouth to protest. “But–”
“When I scent you,” Zhongli interrupts, “I want to be the only scent besides your own that lingers upon your skin.”
Childe’s jaw clicks shut, and he nods. Zhongli crosses the room to what is presumably the en suite bathroom, and disappears behind the door. Childe can hear the running of water, and the rustling sound of clothes being shed. With nothing else to do while he waits, he closes his eyes and focuses inwards, centering himself. Familiar mental exercises calm the racing of his thoughts, and he finds that he’s better able to concentrate on the faint whisper of warmth where his half-bond to Zhongli sits. If he focuses on it, he can get brief impressions of the other’s current state, and the serenity and contentment he picks up on helps to settle himself.
Childe opens his eyes when he hears the soft padding of feet on the floor, and he turns his head to look at Zhongli. The Sentinel has traded out his ruined clothes for a silky robe that drapes appealingly over his broad shoulders and the jut of his solid chest. Dark hair has been released from its tie, and falls over his shoulders in loose sections. Childe traces the dip of the collarbone left revealed by the top of the robe, until Zhongli draws his attention to his face with a chuckle.
“The bath is ready,” Zhongli says when Childe meets his eyes.
Childe shuffles up from his prone position, and allows Zhongli to help pull him up from the bed. The Sentinel wraps his arm around Childe’s side once more as they walk to the bathroom, and Childe allows it though he no longer thinks it is necessary. Steam greets his face the moment they step beyond the door, and Childe’s jaw nearly drops at the size of the tub within. The bathing facilities he had in his suite were ostentatious, but Zhongli’s are beyond even that. His tub, if it could be called that, looks more like a small pool, likely able to fit ten grown men within.
“I can join you, unless you would prefer that I wait,” Zhongli says, pulling him from his thoughts.
“No, that’s fine.” Childe replies, and begins the process of unclasping his uniform. He’s never been particularly shy about his body, and Zhongli will see all of him eventually anyway.
Zhongli makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, and Childe can hear the silk sliding from his shoulders. He forces himself not to look, and to instead focus on his trembling fingers that are struggling with the many buckles of his uniform. He jolts when warm arms circle around his waist, deft golden fingers slipping his belt from its buckle and unwinding it from around his hips with care. Considerate hands place his Vision on the bathroom counter gently, rolling up the dark leather of his belt to sit beside it.
“I can do it,” Childe grumbles without bite.
Warm lips press to the side of his neck as the hands return to leisurely unclasp his burgundy shirt, slipping beneath his chest holster to loosen that as well.
“Please?” Zhongli breathes against his skin.
Childe doesn’t reply, but allows the wandering hands to slowly strip him. Lingering caresses follow the removal of fabric and accessories, each item placed with care upon the countertop. Fingers trail along the inside of his wrist, two of them slipping under the leather of his glove. They continue to glide upon his palm, dragging the glove off as they go, and then they repeat the action on the other hand. By the time Childe is down to his underwear, his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin.
Zhongli circles around him, then, his warmth leaving the length of Childe’s back and neck. He is beautiful, standing naked before Childe, divine and ethereal in a way that only an adeptus could be. Ochre scales trail from his hips down the lines of his legs in a similar fashion to his shoulders and arms, intersected by the same glowing lines of Geo energy forming patterns in his skin. His body is toned but not overtly muscular, though Childe already knows the strength that lies beneath his deceptive physique. Zhongli’s hair trails like ribbons of silk over his chest, the dark brown fading into amber at the ends.
With an ache to touch him, Childe reaches out, but before he can make contact, Zhongli is sliding to his knees. Reverently, he dips his thumbs into the waistband of Childe’s undergarments, and glances up beneath dark lashes to seek Childe’s approval. Childe nods, once, settling his hands back at his sides. The fabric is pulled down, down, down, and Zhongli places a sweet kiss to his thigh, and then to his knee, as he helps Childe step out of them. With a last touch of lips to Childe’s calf, Zhongli rises from the floor, setting aside the garment with one hand and taking one of Childe’s with the other.
Childe follows him into the bath quietly, and when Zhongli opens his arms in invitation, Childe settles down with his back to Zhongli’s chest. They simply enjoy the warmth for a while, the comfort of skin to skin and relaxation. Childe echoes the contentment that he feels from Zhongli, not trying to Guide him but just to affirm that he feels the same. Zhongli’s arms wrap around him, his lips pressed to a shoulder, and when he pulls away he reaches for the soap. It must be unscented, because even when the suds trail over his body and lather his hands, Childe cannot detect any smell.
The water becomes murky with the remnants of blood and dirt that they shed, and as Childe watches it drain away he feels grateful for Zhongli’s suggestion to bathe. They rinse and then step out from the tub, and Zhongli passes one of his fluffy towels to Childe so that they can dry. With a happy sigh, Childe scrubs the towel through his hair, causing the auburn strands to stick out in every direction. Zhongli clicks his tongue, lifting a hand to pet through the damp mess, attempting to tame it into its usual style, making Childe laugh.
He then catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and the obvious red welt that sits between his neck and shoulder. Idly, Childe lifts a hand to trace his fingers over the bite, relishing the slight sting of it. The twinge of pain reignites the heat in his belly. Coming to stand behind him, Zhongli takes Childe’s hand, lifting it from the bite so that he can soothe his own lips over the inflamed skin. Golden eyes flicker up to meet Childe’s in the mirror.
“Shall we continue?” Murmured against his skin.
A nod, and they make their way back to the bed. Zhongli sits upon the edge, beckoning Childe over to him until he is standing between the Sentinel’s legs. With strong arms, Zhongli drags Childe atop him on the bed to straddle his hips, his hands anchoring him at his lower back.
“You are stunning,” Zhongli praises reverently, trailing kisses over the network of scars decorating Childe’s chest.
Childe’s lips twist, and his hands flex where they sit on Zhongli’s shoulders. He makes a complicated noise in his throat in lieu of a response.
“Your prowess, your ambition, your durability; it is all written here upon your skin,” Zhongli continues, lips dancing over his torso. “My exquisite warrior.”
Pulling his lower lip between his teeth, Childe bites down, unsure of how to handle the words that make him feel so restless and the noise that wants to spill from his throat. When Zhongli sees this, he hums, and in a fluid movement he flips them so that Childe falls to his back on the center of the bed.
“You need not remain silent,” Zhongli suggests, looming over him. “I would quite like to hear you, in truth.”
Childe’s lips tug down. “What would you have me say?”
Zhongli smiles at his confusion. “I did not mean your words, though please, do let me know if there is anything you do not like.”
Then, he swoops down to nuzzle his cheek against Childe’s, dragging down to the corner of his jaw. Zhongli trails his lips and nose along the column of Childe’s throat, inhaling as he goes. A pleased rumble kicks up from the Sentinel’s chest, as he continues to inhale Childe’s scent and spread his own over the Guide’s skin. Instinctively, Childe tilts his head back to bare his neck, and his fingers curl into the thick duvet beneath him. Zhongli reponds eagerly with more nipping kisses beneath Childe’s jaw and over his racing pulse. Zhongli’s hands are not idle either; they caress down Childe’s ribcage to the top of his hips, his thumbs moving in small circles over the jutting bone.
While he may not have the enhanced senses of a Sentinel, Childe enjoys Zhongli’s scent, the comforting tones of sandalwood and amber that he picks up on every once in a while. He finds, as Zhongli continues his ministrations of nuzzling against him, that he likes the scent of them together even more. From their fledgeling connection, Childe can feel Zhongli’s satisfaction growing while his hunger mounts. His own anticipation burns in his stomach, with every pass of teeth or tongue over his neck and shoulders.
Eventually, the chaste lingering presses of lips turn to sharp nips and the suction of skin between teeth. Childe gasps when Zhongli tugs his earlobe between his teeth, and jolts with a moan when fangs sink into his collarbone. The Sentinel continues in a meandering path down Childe’s torso. He licks a hot line down the center of his chest before biting down on his pectoral, swirling his tongue around the nipple in a way that has Childe arching off the bed. He sucks hard, drawing a keen from Childe’s throat, soothing the abused flesh after with a light swipe of his tongue.
One of Childe’s hands winds up in Zhongli’s hair, grasping desperately at the dark strands as the Sentinel turns the same attention to the other side of his chest, until both nipples are red and sore from his attention.
“Enough, enough,” Childe urges breathlessly, tugging Zhongli’s head away from his chest.
Zhongli growls at the redirection, and retaliates with a sharp bite to Childe’s bicep.
Childe gasps, half aroused and half incredulous.
“Hey,” he chides, “you’re the one who told me to tell you.”
Grumbling, Zhongli kisses the stinging wound. “You are correct, I apologize. You are just so…” Zhongli trails off, running his lips in pecks down the length of Childe’s forearm, until he presses one last lingering kiss to his wrist, golden eyes flickering up to Childe’s, “...tantalizing.”
Childe swallows hard, the heat between his legs growing more and more insistent. The feedback from Zhongli, who is equally aroused, does not help. It only serves to make the restless hunger feel more all-consuming, like sparks of Electro dancing beneath his skin.
Dropping Childe’s hand with a kiss to his knuckles, Zhongli turns his attention to the Guide’s navel. His tongue swirls in the dip of it, making Childe jerk with the confusingly ticklish sensation. He leaves biting kisses at the jut of Childe’s hip bones, sucking at the skin until it is red and bruised from his lips. When Zhongli moves further down, Childe spreads his legs instinctively. To reward the gesture, Zhongli presses wet kisses to the insides of his thighs, trailing up to the crease of his groin. Childe groans, bucking up uselessly towards the mouth above him, trying to encourage the attention where he wants it most.
Denying the jerks of Childe’s hips, Zhongli pins them down with his hands, claws digging slightly into the skin. He breathes in deeply, where Childe’s scent is the strongest, a throaty growl replacing his earlier purrs. He presses his face against the soft flesh, sinking his teeth into the upper inside of Childe’s thigh, pulling a whine and a shudder from the Guide. Zhongli laps at the blood that beads from the punctures, while Childe trembles below him, one hand back to tugging at his hair and his lips moving mindlessly.
“Please, please, please,” Childe urges desperately, hips straining beneath Zhongli’s hands.
Zhongli takes mercy on his pleading companion, moving up between his thighs and taking his hot length into the cradle of his hand. Childe gasps at the touch, tossing his head back against the duvet with an arch of his spine. Zhongli drags his tongue from the base to the crown of Childe’s cock, pausing at the top to slip the tip of his tongue into the slit. He’s rewarded by a full-body shudder and a high pitched keen. Sucking lightly at the glans, Zhongli teases the head of the cock with his tongue, allowing his adeptal traits to come out a bit so that the length of it extends.
“Wha– that, huh?” Childe pants with breathless confusion when Zhongli wraps his tongue down the full length of Childe’s cock. He forgets all about his puzzlement when Zhongli corkscrews his tongue and sucks the cock into the back of his throat and makes him cry out. Childe’s hand fists the hair beneath its fingers, not tugging but simply searching for an anchor amidst the onslaught of pleasure. His chest heaves, too swept away by the tides of heat to do more than simply hang on while Zhongli moves up and down on the length of him.
He makes the mistake of looking down, only to be greeted by the golden glint of Zhongli’s molten eyes, his nose buried against Childe’s pelvis, having taken him to the hilt. Zhongli sucks while maintaining his gaze, and Childe’s eyes roll into the back of his head, hips jerking helplessly. Childe spills down Zhongli’s throat, the Sentinel swallowing his seed eagerly, waiting until the cock in his mouth begins to go soft before pulling off with a wet pop.
Childe groans, desire still flaring in the pit of his belly at the display and the echo of Zhongli’s own arousal, but his cock stays uselessly soft. Zhongli licks his lips, and then turns his hungry mouth to Childe’s thighs once more, sucking and biting at the reddened skin. He works his way back up Childe’s body, licking over sore nipples and the bites over his collarbone and throat, until he brushes his lips over Childe’s. Their mouths join with passion, Zhongli wasting no time before plunging his tongue to the back of Childe’s throat. Childe moans, muffled by the press of their lips, brows furrowing at the odd sensation and the taste of himself in his mouth. He responds as best he can, moving his tongue in tandem with Zhongli’s, sucking the long appendage, which pulls a groan from the Sentinel.
When Zhongli pushes even more insistently into Childe’s mouth, Childe can feel the sharp tips of his fangs nicking his sore lips. Blood pools into the join of their mouths, which Zhongli chases eagerly with his tongue. His head beginning to feel light, Childe wrenches his face to the side to forcefully part them so that he may draw in some breath. His chest heaves, and Zhongli distracts himself by layering the bites already littering Childe’s neck with kisses and nips, as though re-enforcing his claim.
Twitching against his thigh, Childe’s cock makes a valiant attempt at hardening, though it’s not quite successful. Childe’s hands trail from the backs of Zhongli’s shoulders, down the solid line of Zhongli’s spine, admiring the change in texture from scale to skin. He turns his head, interrupting the bruise Zhongli had been working on against his shoulder, and brings one of his hands to Zhongli’s chin to bring his face back to Childe’s. Curiously, Zhongli meets his eyes.
“Yes, my heart?”
Even after all they’ve done so far, Childe still flushes at the words.
“I want to…” Childe considers how to phrase what he wants, but the concept seems too nebulous to verbalize. He wants to feel Zhongli, in every way that it is possible to feel another person.
Instead of continuing to speak, Childe pulls Zhongli’s face closer to his, but slightly lower, so that he can leave a kiss on his forehead, beneath the curtain of his hair. He cranes his neck to leave a kiss beneath an eye, where the stroke of vermilion marks his skin. Lower still, to kiss the side of his cheek, and then the curve of his jaw. Pushing up onto his elbows, Childe guides Zhongli to sit back on his heels so that Childe can kneel on the bed as well. Confused, but curious, Zhongli watches him, allows him to lean towards Zhongli and press a fleeting kiss to his lips.
Zhongli chases his lips when he pulls away, causing Childe to smirk, but he will not be distracted. He tastes Zhongli’s skin for himself, the salty tang of it a delight to his tongue. He nips his way under Zhongli’s jawline, to right beneath his chin, and feels a surge of pride with the other man’s responding groan. Feeling a possessive sort of fervor, Childe bites down the side of Zhongli’s neck, granting him a necklace of bruises to complement the other jewelry he has bought for the man. When he’s satisfied there, he turns his attention to the junction of Zhongli’s throat and shoulders, where dark scales and skin join together. He drags his tongue over the surface of it, prompting a faint purr to rumble out of Zhongli’s chest. The scales are smooth, but not hard, and there’s a certain amount of give to them.
In the next second, Childe bites down hard. Zhongli growls, then, tensing beneath his teeth, but Childe locks his jaw into the flesh. To his credit, Zhongli makes no move to remove Childe, but the Guide can feel the Sentinel’s muscles stiffening where he’s pressed to his body. A probe into their connection shows no anger on Zhongli’s end–instead, only an overwhelming surge of desire. Childe removes his mouth from Zhongli’s skin, licking over the sluggishly bleeding wound with satisfaction.
A clawed hand tangles in the back of his hair, drawing his head back to look into Zhongli’s eyes. The man looks hungry, and strained, as though he sits upon a precipice that he is barely holding back from.
“Childe,” he rumbles, “my mate, my heart. You tempt me so.”
Childe cannot deny that the last two names cause a flutter in his stomach, but the first…
“Ajax,” he corrects, before he can think twice about it. If they are to bond, to become a pair, his name will be the least intimate thing between them.
Zhongli tilts his head to the side. “Ajax?”
“The name that my family calls me.”
Golden eyes widen in realization, and then Zhongli is pushing Ajax back down against the bed. “Ajax, mine, my love,” Zhongli growls between urgent kisses down the line of his body, “my partner, my chosen. I will treasure that which you have bestowed upon me.”
“It- it’s just a name,” Ajax argues weakly, overwhelmed by the strength of Zhongli’s ardor.
Zhongli settles between Ajax’s thighs again, but this time he lifts the other’s knees to drape over his shoulders. “Please,” he says, “allow me to demonstrate my appreciation.”
Ajax wonders if he’s planning to suck him off again, but then Zhongli’s head dips down and there's a wet and warm swipe over the ring of his hole. He gasps, bucking in Zhongli’s hold.
“Zhongli,” he cries. “You can just, just use your fingers!”
The tip of the elongated tongue dips gently past the ring of muscle, and Zhongli hums before withdrawing. “Do you dislike it?”
“W-well, no, but–”
“I would like to taste you, then,” Zhongli interrupts, and then plunges his tongue slightly further into Ajax’s entrance. The Guide pants, hands fisting the duvet, eyes clenched shut in bliss. Zhongli sucks lightly on Ajax’s rim, while he works the end of his tongue in and out of the other man. It isn’t long before the full length of Zhongli’s tongue is thrusting into Ajax, dripping wet at the join of them. The filthy squelching makes Ajax blush just as much as the faint grazes over his prostate, and he can’t help the choked noises that push out of him.
“Zhongli, ah, ah,” he keens as the man begins to focus on hitting his prostate with each thrust inward.
The Sentinel hums delightedly as though he is enjoying a decadent meal, slurping noisily at the loosened ring of muscle. Ajax’s cock is once again hard and leaking, jerking against his stomach with each pleased jolt of his hips. When Zhongli removes a hand from one of Ajax’s thighs to press two fingers to his perineum, Ajax moans loudly, and kicks against the other man’s back.
“I’m gonna – Zhongli–” he pants urgently, and Zhongli gets the message, pulling back and dropping the stimulation.
He allows Ajax a few moments to gather his wits, shuffling to one side of the bed to rustle around in one of the bedside drawers. When he climbs back over to Ajax, a small bottle of oil rests in his hand. Ajax raises a questioning brow at Zhongli when he eyes the bottle, laying disheveled atop the blankets.
“It is intended to relax stiff muscles,” Zhongli explains. At Ajax’s roguish grin, he seems to realize the implication. “Rascal. You know what I mean.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Ajax agrees, laying loose-limbed despite his arousal. “But my interpretation’s not inaccurate.”
Zhongli only huffs in amusement, and re-settles between Ajax’s parted thighs. He pours some of the scentless oil into his palm, and rests the bottle near his knees, rubbing the substance between his hands and coating his fingers. He uses a hand to pull one of Ajax’s cheeks to the side, and Ajax flushes when he can feel his still-dripping hole being exposed with the movement. Zhongli rumbles with appreciation, and slips one of his fingers into the loosened rim. Ajax notes idly that Zhongli must have willed away his claws, because even when he has three fingers thrusting inside of Ajax, there are no concerning flashes of pain.
Zhongli spreads his fingers wide, testing the give of the muscle, before sliding in a fourth. There’s a slight burn with this addition, and Ajax hisses while he tries to make himself relax. Zhongli pets down his side with his free hand, and then gives Ajax’s erection a few pumps to distract from the stretch. It works; and soon enough Ajax is bucking his hips back against those fingers for more.
“Ah, ah, ah–” Ajax gasps out, tossing his head back with an arch of his spine. “I- I’m ready,” he pleads between breaths.
Zhongli makes a low grumbling sound, and withdraws his fingers. Ajax hears the cap of the oil bottle opening again over the rushing of blood in his ears, and anticipation burns in his blood. He glances down to watch Zhongli slick up his cock, feeling somewhat regretful that he hadn’t offered to taste him. Zhongli’s cock is long and dark in the same manner of his arms and legs, gold lines of geo tracing around the base and making the heft of it appear like a work of art. Ajax salivates for how badly he wants it inside of him.
Hoping it may encourage Zhongli to move faster, Ajax hooks one leg behind Zhongli’s waist and pulls. With a disapproving glare in Ajax’s direction, Zhongli does not budge, only moving to grasp Ajax’s ankle and bring the offending limb to his face. Ajax can’t help his smile at the wave of irritation, but then Zhongli nips a sharp bite to the side of his calf in retaliation, before dropping the leg.
“Patience,” he chides. “I am trying to ensure I do not hurt you.”
Ajax huffs with impatience, calf stinging. “You already warned me about not being gentle, Xiansheng, but I’m not seeing it. I think your teeth have hurt me more than your dick is going to.”
Zhongli hums thoughtfully, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock. “Is that so?”
“Yeah, I mean I’m getting bored over h–” The rest of Ajax’s sentence is cut off by a yelp, when Zhongli grabs Ajax’s hips and hikes them up, nearly folding him in half.
“Well, I would hate to disappoint,” Zhongli growls, pushing Ajax’s knees down toward his chest. Ajax flushes at the vulnerable position, but his mind soon blanks when Zhongli swiftly lines up with his entrance and slides in, in one harsh thrust.
“Oh,” Ajax gasps, body jerking at the force of his entry.
He sees Zhongli’s lips curl into a smirk above him, before his eyes roll back at the quick succession of deep thrusts the man pounds into him. In his foggy mind, the only things he can process are the fast shocks of pleasure that shoot up his spine with each hard ram against his prostate, and the responding flare of pleasure that Zhongli feels from the warm clench of his body. Somehow, Zhongli picks up even more speed, leaning down further into the mating press he’s locked Ajax into.
“Ajax,” he growls, dragging his teeth along Ajax’s jaw.
“Zhongli– oh, Celestia–” Childe whines in reply, his hands tearing through the cover of the duvet tangled in his fingers.
Zhongli’s cock carves deep and hard into the core of Ajax, making it feel like a piece of him may remain embedded even after they are done. Ajax clings to that thought, clenching down desperately, as if it will convince Zhongli to remain inside him forever. Zhongli groans at the tightening of the hole around his cock, and his hips twitch helplessly for a moment. He lays insistent presses of his lips to any of Ajax’s skin that he can reach– his calves, his chest, his face– and his fingers grip hard into the other’s thighs.
“Mine,” Zhongli growls, sinking fangs into pliant flesh.
“Yes,” Ajax cries, “yours, Zhongli– ”
The thrusts change to a slower but deeper pace, each slap of his hips against Ajax’s rear causing the bed to shake and creak. When Zhongli feels his peak approaching, he releases one of Ajax’s thighs to wrap one hand in his hair. The Guide’s eyes fly open, and Zhongli leans down further until they are chest to chest, his hips rolling languidly into the other. The Sentinel presses his lips to the first bite he’d inflicted on the other, and guides Ajax’s mouth to press against his own mark upon Zhongli.
Though Ajax’s mind feels dizzy with pleasure, his body reacts instinctively to the position. When Zhongli’s sharp teeth pierce once more through his skin, Ajax reciprocates eagerly, latching onto his chosen. His hands come up from the duvet to claw at the Sentinel’s back, and finally, he opens his mind. With their fledgling connection, it’s easy enough to find Zhongli, a beacon of warmth and light that calls to him. He wraps himself around Zhongli’s presence, and he feels the Sentinel respond in kind.
Suddenly, something snaps into place, and all he knows is bliss. From every direction, it’s unending pleasure, the presence of something divine and celestial. Ajax cannot tell how long he stays floating in his mind, riding the high of unyielding ecstasy, before he starts to feel his own body again. Even when he comes back to the press of flesh on flesh, he cannot tell where he ends and Zhongli begins. Zhongli still thrusts into him, mindlessly, growling against his throat– but as much as he can feel the shocks of pleasure that zap through his synapses, so too can he feel the slick heat of his own body, caressing and clenching down. Zhongli’s pleasure becomes his own, and the Sentinel must feel it too, with the way he loses control of his movements. It’s a constant feedback loop of desire, euphoria, affection, possession, and Ajax feels wet trails streaking down his cheeks.
Blearily, he forces open his eyes, drawing back from Zhongli’s neck. Zhongli pulls back as well to knock his forehead against Ajax’s, before cleaning the tear tracks from his cheeks with his tongue. Their lips lock together, the salty tang of Ajax’s tears shared between them. Zhongli’s thrusts stutter, and Ajax can feel that the Sentinel is close. One of Zhongli’s hands travels between them to stroke at Ajax’s dripping cock, causing Ajax to keen at the dual sensations. Ajax cannot tell who between them spills first, but the blinding ecstasy of their shared orgasms leaves him floating long after they come.
It could be hours or minutes later when Ajax begins his descent from the clouds of bliss, regaining awareness of his body. There’s a languid looseness to all of his limbs, and a buzz of warm satisfaction beneath his skin. Zhongli lays to his side, one of his arms laying across Ajax’s waist, his rumbling purr vibrating against Ajax’s shoulder. For a moment, Ajax simply marinates in the feelings of contentment and affection that he and Zhongli share.
And then, a flash of realization. Zhongli’s purr cuts off, as the other man shifts in concern.
“Ajax? Are you alright?”
Ajax can feel the other’s worry for him, sharper and more clearly than before.
“Are we…” He stops, then starts again. “Did we…complete the bond?”
Zhongli’s concern melts into fondness, and he pulls Ajax closer in his arms. “Yes, my heart. The bond took.”
“Oh,” Ajax breathes, in wonder. It worked. A joyful elation rises in his chest, and a smile curls at his lips. He closes his eyes, and focuses on his affection for Zhongli.
Next to him, Zhongli chuckles, amusement fluttering between their bond.
“I love you, too,” he whispers against Ajax’s shoulder.
Ajax turns his head to press a kiss to Zhongli’s nose. “Sap,” he teases.
Zhongli nips at him in retaliation, and Ajax just laughs. “Ack, you really have a thing for biting, don’t you,” he whines. “Katya’s going to think I was attacked by rifthounds.”
Unmoved, Zhongli snorts. “They will have healed by the time you return to work. Well,” he pauses, thoughtfully, “all but the bonding bite, anyway.”
Incredulous, Ajax rolls over to face him. “Uh, Zhongli, I don’t have crazy adeptus healing like you do. These won’t have faded by tomorrow.”
“Ah,” Zhongli says, then clamps his mouth shut. Ajax can feel that he’s hiding something, though, by virtue of their fresh bond. He glares at the Sentinel.
“Zhongli. Spit it out.”
“Well, it’s not very simple to explain,” Zhongli says vaguely.
“Try.”
“Bondings between mortal and divine pairs can be…unpredictable,” he says. “Oftentimes the lifespan of the mortal will be extended to somewhat match that of their partner, or vice versa. I have even heard of physical manifestations of change, as well.” As Ajax’s eyes grow wider and wider eagerly, Zhongli hurries to continue. “That is not a guarantee that will happen, however.”
“Spoil sport,” Ajax grumbles with a frown. “So I’ll definitely still have these at work tomorrow anyway.”
“Right,” Zhongli says, hesitantly, “that would be the other thing.”
At Ajax’s expectant stare, he sighs.
“Newly bonded pairs should not be separated for several days after their bond is established,” he says. “Were you…not aware of this?”
Ajax’s lips twist. He really should have paid attention more when Instructor Svetlana was rambling on and on about bonding. “No. Why?”
“Because the connection is fresh, it is also temperamental. It will take time to settle. If we separate, we risk hurting ourselves or one another,” Zhongli explains patiently.
“Okay. How close do we have to be?” Ajax isn’t necessarily adverse to sticking close, but he’d like to know the specifics.
Zhongli thinks. “Within the same building, definitely, but within the same room is preferable.”
“And you’re not just making this up to keep me locked away with you?” Ajax squints at him, mostly teasing.
Zhongli laughs. “I promise, it is true.”
Ajax sighs, rolling onto his back. He supposes he’s on something of a vacation, then.
“Well, I’ll need to tell Katya at some point tomorrow that I’ll need a few days off. I guess you can come with me, though I know she’s going to be ridiculously smug about the whole thing.”
“Oh?” Zhongli prompts, and Ajax feels his curiosity.
“Yeah. She mentioned that people have thought we’ve been courting for ages, apparently. She said I smelled like you,” he recalls.
“Hmm, how curious,” Zhongli replies, but his smug satisfaction is rolling off of him in waves. Ajax turns his head to glare.
“You were scenting me, weren’t you?”
“I did say I have been attempting to court you, Ajax,” Zhongli reminds him nonchalantly.
“Ugh. I wish I had realized. Though,” Ajax considers, “probably would have made the whole gnosis thing worse, had I known.”
Guilt flows through the bond, and Ajax is quick to respond with soothing comfort.
“Hey, no need for that. We’ve talked about it.”
“I know,” Zhongli says, pulling Ajax’s hand into his. “Though I think it may take some time for that wound to completely heal.” He presses a kiss to Ajax’s knuckles. “I am still going to make it up to you, qīn'ài de .”
“Oh!” Ajax says excitedly, “I know that one. I read it in that book of customs you gave me.”
Amused, Zhongli’s lips tick up. “Did you?”
“Yeah. Turns out you just have layers of sap, I guess.”
Zhongli laughs. “So I do. Does that mean that you also read about the chopsticks?”
Ajax’s expression pinches, confused by Zhongli’s hopefulness.
“Chopsticks? What do they have to do with anything?”
“Ah, nothing, do not concern yourself with it,” Zhongli says, but his disappointment is obvious. Ajax is skeptical, but he supposes he will just have to grab that book when he and Zhongli drop by his work so he can piece things together.
“Hm. Well, anyway, since you mentioned making up to me…”
“Yes?”
Ajax pushing up to a sitting position excitedly. “Now you really have to fight me!”
“Ajax.”
“Come on, I kept up with you well enough when I was incapacitated,” he whines, “there’s no reason not to spar with me when I’m fully healed!”
Zhongli rolls so that his back is to Ajax. “I do not wish to.”
Ajax pouts, but then grins with mischief.
“Are you sure?” He asks, leaning over Zhongli’s shoulder to speak lowly into his ear. “Because you seemed to get pretty excited after you put me in my place,” Ajax drawls, “bond-bit me and everything…”
Ajax laughs when Zhongli growls and flips over to push him to the bed, pinning his wrists down on the shredded duvet. “Rascal,” he accuses, biting nipping kisses down his throat, but it’s not a denial.
The two of them settle and speak for a while longer, before the excitement of a fresh bond fades enough to allow Ajax’s exhaustion to return. He yawns a handful of times, and Zhongli brings him to the bathroom once more so that they can both clean up. The ruined blankets are shoved off the bed once they have bathed, though Zhongli has surplus enough to suffice. When they are curled together beneath the covers in the darkness, Ajax feels a new trepidation.
“What’s wrong?” Zhongli asks.
Ah. Ajax is going to need to get used to Zhongli being able to sense such things from their bond.
“I…have trouble sleeping, sometimes,” Ajax replies, though that’s barely the half of it. “I get night terrors. Memories of the Abyss. I’m used to them by now, but, ah. Well it’s embarrassing to admit, but…I tend to accidentally project them.”
Ajax waits for Zhongli’s response, and the other man rubs a soothing hand along his back, offering understanding and comfort through their bond.
“I see. I am sorry that you have suffered so.”
“I would offer to leave so that I don’t affect you, but, with the bond…”
Zhongli’s hand stops moving. “Why on earth would you leave?”
Ajax’s brows pinch together. “So that I don’t project night terrors onto you?”
“Ajax, I am no stranger to night terrors. I would rather be present to comfort you after, in any case,” Zhongli tells him, resuming the stroking between his shoulder blades. “And, as they say, a burden shared is a burden halved.”
Ajax is doubtful, but Zhongli’s sincerity rings true through the bond, so he doesn’t bother to argue. There’s not much to be done about it, anyway. “Alright.”
Despite Ajax’s concerns, it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep. It doesn’t take long for him to
Fall.
Fall,
Fall.
Hit the ground and push up on skinned knees; desperation a fuel as much as the pain lancing through his body. Claws, sharp and dripping in toxin, ripping toward him–
But he is stronger. He is the bigger beast.
Ajax slashes and tears, teeth glinting in a too wide smile, but the creatures keep coming.
They keep coming, and they keep coming, and they are overwhelming him until his Empathy and his elemental energy and all the strength in his muscles runs dry.
He bares his teeth regardless; he will go down fighting.
At the next flicker of a presence, Ajax spins, only his rusted short sword in hand.
He blinks–surprised, when a hand of gold stays his blade. He looks up, warily.
Warmth. Affection. Light. It bleeds out into the surrounding darkness, the everlasting night of the Abyss. It chases away the howls and the shrieking cries of those that would hunt him. And all that is left is–
“Xiansheng.”
Zhongli stands before him, with a smile. Ajax is no longer looking up at him, but meeting his eyes at the same height.
“Ajax,” the man calls back.
Ajax panics, then, and glances around hurriedly. If Zhongli stays here, he’ll be corrupted too. It won’t be long before the creatures return, and then–
“Ajax,” the man repeats. “Please do not fret. We are alright.”
“You can’t say that, Zhongli,” Ajax says frantically, “you don’t know–”
“This is a dream, Ajax.” Zhongli approaches him, wrapping a tentative hand around Ajax’s trembling palm. “I have you.”
“You–” Ajax glances down at their intertwined fingers. “Huh.”
Comfort, solace, reassurance– they all flood between their connection.
That’s right, they are…bonded. Ajax is no longer in the Abyss.
“There we are,” Zhongli says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, in a way Ajax has always found charming. “Now, why don’t you sit with me? We can have some tea, and you can tell me about Miss Tonia’s last letter.”
As Zhongli tugs on Ajax’s hand, pulling him forward, the scene changes. The light bleeds into the familiar sight of Ajax’s sitting room in his Guesthouse suite, with tea set out on the low table in front of his sofa. Quietly, he takes a seat next to Zhongli, who pours them each a cup. Ajax can feel the warmth of the cup when it sits in his hand, and he looks from the steaming tea into Zhongli’s patient eyes. He opens his mouth.
“Well, you see,” he starts. “She recently got into a tiff with her friend…”
-
–
Ajax blinks awake, eyes fixed upon an unfamiliar wooden ceiling.
He hears soft breaths close to his ear, and he tilts his head to the side. Zhongli lays next to him, head tucked against Ajax’s shoulder, and his arm splayed over Ajax’s chest. One of his legs tangles with Ajax’s beneath the covers, and his breathing is steady and slow. Ajax remembers the dream, and he remembers it fracturing, becoming something new, but he does not remember how it ended. He supposes it doesn’t matter, because in the grand scheme of things, it seems like his night terrors are not going to drive a wedge into his bond with Zhongli.
As if summoned by Ajax’s thoughts of him, Zhongli stirs awake, tightening his hold on his partner as his eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” Zhongli murmurs, pressing a kiss to Ajax’s shoulder.
Ajax smiles. “Good morning, zolotse.”
Zhongli grumbles something unintelligible, allowing his eyes to slip back shut. Ajax is amused, but he’s never been one to lounge in bed once he’s awake, and his body feels surprisingly spry, given the previous day. He shuffles the blankets off of him, and makes to slip out of the bed, but there’s a warning growl and arms that tighten around him as he tries to move away.
“Xiansheng, quit clinging, I’ll go make us breakfast.”
Another incomprehensible grumble.
Ajax lifts a brow. “Do you not have food here?”
Golden eyes blink open in an irritated scowl. “Stay.”
Ajax snorts. “I can’t lay around like a lazy dragon, sorry. But feel free to join me when you’re awake.”
Zhongli’s irritation and discontent hiss at Ajax through their bond like the agitation of a disgruntled cat. It’s endearing more than anything, and so Ajax pays him no mind and manages to pry himself out of Zhongli’s hold and out of the bed.
Since the only clothes he has are tattered, Ajax makes do with Zhongli’s discarded robe from the previous evening, wrapping it around himself loosely. He manages the stairs fairly easily, and locates the kitchen a short while later. Thankfully, Zhongli does happen to have various ingredients in his pantry, enough for Ajax to at least make a simple congee. Humming to himself, he sets a pan of water on the stove, as well as the kettle for tea.
While waiting for the pot to boil, he rinses the rice and selects some other toppings from the pantry on a whim – selecting pickled radish and Jueyun Chili oil. He adds the rice to the pot on the stove, stirring it in, when he feels Zhongli’s approach. Strong arms wrap around his waist, and Zhongli’s chin settles on his shoulder.
“You look divine in my robe,” Zhongli rumbles, eyeing the congee with interest.
“Flatterer,” Ajax retorts, then sets the spoon aside. “Nice of you to join me. If we were Fatui foot soldiers, the Squad Sergeant would have dumped ice water on your head by now.”
“Then I am grateful that I am not a Fatui foot soldier,” Zhongli says blithely. Then, “It was lonely in bed without you.”
Zhongli unwraps his arms from around Ajax to move the kettle from the stove, and sets about brewing the tea. Now that Zhongli is no longer behind him, Ajax can see that he’s slipped into another elegant robe from his wardrobe.
“Well, we have the rest of the day to be stuck together,” Ajax chirps. “And don’t forget, I need to stop by the bank. Also, if we’re going back to your place in Yujing Terrace or here, I’m going to need clothes from my suite.”
“Mm. I have no preference. If it is more convenient, we can return to the Guesthouse.”
“Excellent.”
And with that settled, the two enjoy their breakfast of congee and Yunlan White Tea, which Zhongli insists compliments Ajax’s chosen toppings the best. Conveniently, Zhongli’s abode is connected to his home in Yujing Terrace, and so when they step out of the indicated door, they wind up in his living room. A quick glance out of Zhongli’s window shows that it’s somewhere around midday, and Ekaterina has already likely checked for Ajax at the Guesthouse. Borrowing a simple shirt and pair of trousers of Zhongli’s, the two make their way to the Guesthouse so that Ajax can change, and then head to the Northland Bank.
Just as Ajax expected, as soon as he and Zhongli stroll into the bank lobby, Ekaterina looks smug. Her placid demeanor does not change, but the self-satisfaction rolls off of her in waves.
“Master Childe, Mister Zhongli,” she greets, “did you enjoy the opera?”
“It was a wonderful evening, Miss Ekaterina, thank you for asking,” Zhongli replies, blissfully ignorant.
“I’m sure it was, sir,” she hums. “I did visit Master Childe’s accommodations this morning, but he wasn’t there…” She lets the insinuation trail off, and Ajax grimaces.
“Listen, Katya,” he interjects, before Zhongli can say anything else incriminating. “I’m taking a few vacation days. Gonna grab some stuff from my office and then go. If anything urgent comes from Zapolyarny Palace, you can deliver it to my suite.”
Though her mask obscures her eyes, Ajax can feel the burn of her stare on his neck.
“Of course, sir,” she says, knowingly. “Enjoy your time off.”
He nods stiffly, and darts into his office, grabbing a few letters and the Customs and Etiquette Guidebook for good measure. He rejoins Zhongli in the lobby, and as they push through the bank doors, Ekaterina calls out.
“Congratulations, by the way.”
The doors shut heavily behind them.
“She is lucky I haven’t demoted her for insubordination,” Ajax grouses as they walk down the stairs.
“I thought she was perfectly pleasant,” Zhongli returns.
Ajax sighs, but drops the subject. He reminds Zhongli that he should also inform his employer about his necessary time off, and after a short trip to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Zhongli seems more sympathetic about his plight with Ekaterina. Hu Tao had gasped and cheered the moment they had walked in the doors, and the relentless teasing for the five total minutes they were there had even Ajax’s head spinning. Regardless, she is happy for them, and they both find themselves with the next several days off.
Typically, Ajax might want to roam around, or perhaps get a bit of exercise in, however…right now, his nerves are rubbed raw from being around other people, and his instincts demand him to return home with Zhongli. The Sentinel seems to be in the same boat, from what Ajax can sense from the bond, so they only linger at the market long enough to pick up some food, and then they retreat to the Guesthouse.
The following two and a half days are spent talking, and reading, and rolling around the bed– and just about every surface– in Ajax’s suite. It’s difficult to describe, but they both can tell when the bond has settled fully into place. It feels as innate as using a limb for them to navigate the bond, and even when they are apart it feels as though they are together, a constant warm presence within their minds. They test their bond slowly, first spending only an hour apart, before increasing to several hours, and then the entirety of a work day.
When Ajax can feel himself becoming frustrated at work, he feels Zhongli trying to soothe him through the bond. If he feels Zhongli drifting into melancholy and reminiscence, he will Guide him back to the present. Depending on the time of day, he may even show up at the Funeral Parlor with takeout as a pleasant distraction.
They spend most of their nights together, but not all. Their nights apart make Ajax wary at first, thinking about the return of his night terrors, but their bond allows Zhongli to stay connected with his dreams even from a distance. Life carries on as normal, and on some days, Ajax nearly forgets that he’s become a bonded Guide at all. The reactions of folks in the Harbor vary, though most seem to have assumed their bonding was imminent.
Ajax runs into the Tianquan one morning when he is leaving from Zhongli’s house and she is stepping out of Yuehai Pavilion, and other than a glance at his throat and a subtle quirk of her lips, she says nothing. However, the following day, Ekaterina recites with some confusion that all embargos on Snezhnaya have been lifted, and the Millelith no longer lurk outside their doors. He hears later about her project to reconstruct the Jade Chamber, which Lumine has somehow gotten roped into. The traveler seems to have no inkling about bonds or the nuances of Sentinels and Guides in society, but she is congratulatory nonetheless when Zhongli reveals the news.
Zhongli and Ajax’s biggest hurdle comes in the form of Ajax being recalled to Snezhnaya.
La Signora has been slain, and the Harbingers are to gather for her memorial. Ajax is not sure how long his presence will be required, or if he will be redeployed to Liyue afterward. He and Zhongli have never attempted such a distance and such a length of time, but he has to trust that things will be okay. Though he can tell that Zhongli also has some wariness over the situation, the Sentinel does his best to be supportive and encouraging of Ajax’s time away.
Beyond the potential strain on him and Zhongli, Ajax has to confront the knowledge that the other Harbingers, as well as the Tsaritsa, are going to sense his bond. Pulcinella will likely judge silently in that way of his, but Ajax is not truly concerned that he will have a poor opinion. The thoughts of any of the other Harbingers mean little, but he does not look forward to any of them attempting to exploit something they misconstrue as a weakness.
(When he says as much to Zhongli, the Sentinel simply says that he would like to see them try, with an amused little grin. Truthfully, the thought of his colleagues trying to harm Zhongli is an entertaining one, until he considers that Zhongli would technically be engaging them in a fight before Ajax, and then he’s back to irritation.)
The Tsaritsa…Ajax is not sure what she will think, but he finds that her opinion matters most of all, beyond that of his family’s. He respects her a great amount, and hopes that she will not mistake his bond as a weakness.
(Zhongli assures him that he believes the Tsaritsa will be quite pleased, in actuality. Ajax does not understand his confidence, but it is comforting.)
His family, he is truthfully quite excited to tell. He hasn’t mentioned anything in his letters to Tonia, but knowing what a romantic his little sister has become over the years, he’s sure her reaction will be satisfying. He supposes he managed to find that prince, after all. A part of him wishes he was bringing Zhongli along with him, if only to introduce his Sentinel to the people he cares most about, but there will be another time for that. If things work out, he’s hoping that Zhongli will be able to attend their next Krsnik Noc celebration.
The night before his ship departs, he spends the evening in Zhongli’s home in Yujing Terrace.
Their kisses are tender, their touches seek and caress, and their bond anchors them amidst the storm of their feelings. Zhongli undresses him like unwrapping a present. He presses his lips to every bared expanse of skin, and runs his fingers over every scar, as though trying to memorize the patterns of Ajax’s body. He fingers Ajax open slowly, reverently, their mouths barely brushing, simply breathing one another’s air. Zhongli takes Ajax gently, leisurely, drawing out languid moans and pleasured gasps.
Ajax is not idle in his reciprocation; he devotes himself to worshipping Zhongli’s body. Lips press to scales and patterns of golden energy, they glide over every dip and curve. Ajax takes Zhongli into his mouth, swallows him down until he reaches completion.
Surprisingly, Zhongli is the first to fall asleep between them, but Ajax’s mind still whirs with anticipation for his travel. Eventually, his restlessness mounts to frustration, and so he digs through his bag to pull out the Customs and Etiquette Guidebook, hoping the pages may bore him enough to drag him to sleep.
He finds the section he had been avoiding, on courtship rituals and marriage, and thinks idly that even if it is dull, perhaps he’ll be able to surprise Zhongli with something from here. As he turns the pages, the wider his eyes get, as he reads through the subsection titled; ‘Marriage Motifs and Symbolism: Dragons and Phoenixes’. By the time he puts the book down, most of the bedside candle has been burned through, and his mind spins with wondering if his ‘I’m bonded ’ announcement will need to be an ‘I’m engaged’ announcement.
The following morning, he wakes up late.
He dashes around Zhongli’s home, making sure all of his luggage is in order. Zhongli waits patiently in the kitchen, offering him bites of food and sips of tea in between tasks. The boat isn’t likely to leave without the Harbinger it’s intended for, but it’s a deeply ingrained aversion to being late that keeps him rushing.
Ajax entirely forgets about the book and about the chopsticks, until he’s at the docks, and Zhongli is helping him get his bags and souvenir crates on board. The captain calls out his departure announcement, and then the two are finally faced with saying their goodbyes on the docks.
“I will miss you terribly, my heart,” Zhongli says, running a gloved finger beneath the curve of Ajax’s jaw.
“Mm, you say that now, but I’ll write so often you’ll tire of hearing from me,” Ajax jests.
“Simply impossible,” Zhongli refutes. “Until you rejoin me here in Liyue, my body and soul shall long for the heart that has left them.”
Ajax grimaces, but the words fill his chest with an overwhelming affection.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll miss you too, Xiansheng.”
Zhongli clutches his hands as the foghorn bellows, wincing at the sound. “Promise me, you will return as soon as you are able?”
A soft smile curls Ajax’s lips. “Of course, zolotse,” he says, pressing a kiss to Zhongli’s lips. Zhongli sinks his fingers into Ajax’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening their kiss. Their mouths move together, until they have to part for air, and Ajax pants into the space between their lips. The foghorn blows once more as a warning, and Ajax squeezes Zhongli’s hands, before dropping them.
“And when I return, you owe me an explanation for those betrothal chopsticks,” he whispers, laughing at the poleaxed look that spreads over Zhongli’s face.
Ajax skips onto the ship, smirk wide across his face, and indicates to the captain that he is ready for departure. Through their bond, Ajax can feel Zhongli’s embarrassment, trepidation, but also his vast fondness. Ajax’s smirk softens into a gentle smile, dropping one hand into his pocket to idly wrap his fingers around a jade Rex Lapis statuette, stroking over the smooth surface. He then wanders to the railing of the ship as it pulls away from the docks, waving to Zhongli, who stands sentinel in the place where Ajax left him. Zhongli lifts his hand in return, love, longing, devotion, and Ajax knows innately that neither of them look away until they are both indistinguishable from the horizon.
Unwaveringly, even when he hits the icy waters of Snezhnaya, their bond glows warm within him.
Notes:
WE DID IT....the end....thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and kudos and comment.
It's been really really wonderful to hear all of your thoughts and speculations! I played with the idea of a Sentinel/Guide AU for a while bc it's such a favored trope of mine, and this G4G event gave me the perfect excuse to finally write it, even if I went a bit overkill at 150k lol. So thank you, to Moondance_r, for giving me the kick to write this! It was so so so fun.
Thank you, as well, to my betas KJ and Mika who helped this mess be coherent lol.
If you like, you can find me on twitter , or send me a gimmick on strawpage! Much love to all of you 🩵
Chapter 10: Coda
Summary:
“Hey, old man,” he greets as Pulcinella steps back to allow him to exit the pew.
They fall into step walking down the aisle of the cathedral towards the exit, Pulcinella’s cane clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. Childe eyes the draping banners that sway soundlessly in the frigid air of the cathedral, muted colors honoring the crest of Signora’s lineage. The cathedral itself is a thing of cold beauty. Rising from the ground in white marble and stone, a dome of stained glass rests overtop the center of the sanctuary, casting brilliant echoes of tinted light across the floor and walls.
The sound of Pulcinella’s voice pulls Childe from his musings. “It is good to see you, my boy.”
The other Harbinger’s voice is laced with a familiar warmth, but his shrewd eyes meet Childe’s in a way that indicates he intends to have a more in depth conversation once they are in private. It’s not as though Childe expected otherwise, and he isn’t overly worried, but it doesn’t stop a slight itch of nerves down his spine. It seems that even after all these years, Childe still doesn’t wish to disappoint the Sentinel.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
La Signora’s memorial feels as arbitrary as it does performative.
Of all the Harbingers, likely the only ones who are at all saddened by the loss of the Fair Lady are Pierro, Columbina, and Arlecchino. The Tsaritsa Herself remains absent from the whole affair, locked away in Her throne room with Her grief over losing a daughter. As a result, Pierro is the one who gathers the Harbingers together and leads the ceremony, sparing a handful of respectful words for their comrade’s passing.
As to be expected within a room full of posturing Sentinels, the Harbingers cannot help but thrust pointed barbs at one another, even with a casket of ice laid out before them.
“Merely half a day?” Pantalone interjects with some amusement, when Pulcinella declares all work to halt for half a day in mourning. “People say the Northland Bank’s true currencies are blood and tears, but Mayor, even speaking as a banker, that sounds a little unconscionable.”
Pulcinella slides a pointed look in Pantalone’s direction, clearly irritated despite their usual good standing with one another. “Should the progress of Her Majesty’s cause stop entirely for the duration of Her grief, or would that not make Signora’s sacrifice in vain? No, of course she would wish for us to continue on in her honor. You, as well as I, know that the momentum of time and mora does not stop because of a life lost.”
A flicker of indignation, and Pantalone opens his mouth once more, only to be cut off by the sharp reprimand of Arlecchino from across the room.
“Rosalyne died in a foreign land, but you heartless businessmen and dignitaries, always with a convenient excuse to remain in the comfort of your homeland,” she snaps impatiently. “You couldn’t hope to understand. So, why don’t you keep your mouth shut?” Red-accented eyes flash from Pulcinella to where another form sits among the pews of the cathedral with intention. “We don’t want to make the children cry.”
Turning slightly, Pulcinella’s eyes narrow into a glare at Arlecchino for her clear barb at both his integrity, and at his relationship with their youngest. Before he can respond to her incendiary words, Childe sighs and interrupts.
“Hey, c’mon now.” Both sets of eyes swivel to him, and even with his shields erected, the tension between them is palpable and full of irritated derision. “Even I don’t think this is the right time or place for a fight.”
He doesn’t bother trying to calm them down with the influence of his Empathy; he’s not their Guide and they wouldn’t be appreciative of such efforts besides, even if he was skilled at such a maneuver. But, he does wish that his colleagues could quell their instinct-driven posturing so that this whole time-waste of an affair could be concluded, and he can be freed from the headache-inducing pressure of being surrounded by aggravated Sentinels.
Arlecchino simply crosses her arms over her chest and turns away from both him and Pulcinella, while the shorter man sighs and nods to Childe. “Quite right, my boy. We have digressed.”
Sandrone scoffs in response from her corner, but as she is known for her particularly abrasive personality, no one pays it any particular mind. Instead, Capitano attempts to redirect their thread of conversation in a more productive direction.
“Though her methods tarnished her honor, Lohefalter’s sacrifice is a great pity. Her loss shall not hinder our progress,” he says. “Dottore, what of Scaramouche and the gnosis from Inazuma?”
Ah, of course. The other tenuous situation in the room, made more obvious by the stark absence of the Sixth Harbinger. Contact with Scaramouche seems to have been lost since Signora’s passing in Inazuma, and it is he who carries the Electro gnosis. Only Dottore seems to have any inkling as to the other Harbinger’s plans.
But, Childe has no particular interest in those proceedings, as he has not been tasked with anything regarding the Electro gnosis, and so he mostly tunes out Dottore’s followup response and the short discussion thereafter. Instead, he allows his eyes to slip shut, and focuses inward on the comforting and unwavering presence of his bond with Zhongli within his core. He can feel Zhongli respond to his gentle prod to their bond, inquisitive and concerned. Childe fights to keep an incriminating smile from his face, lest he draw any of his nosy colleagues’ attention, and sends a wave of reassurance back down the line. Zhongli’s affection radiates through their connection, and it helps to settle the buzz of restlessness that he hadn’t even noticed crawling over his skin.
When Childe refocuses on the proceeding of events around him, Pierro is speaking once more, dismissing the Harbingers from their brief gathering.
“In the name of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, we will seize authority from the gods,” he concludes with resolution, and the rest of the Harbingers echo his sentiment.
With the dismissal, the Harbingers split.
Pierro joins Columbina where she sits vigil over Signora’s empty casket; humming the notes of an unfamiliar melody, somber and reverent. Pantalone has meandered over to Dottore for discussion, and Pulcinella’s trajectory clearly indicates that he intends to join Childe. Sandrone and Capitano sweep quietly out of the cathedral, and Arlecchino strides down the aisle clearly intending to do the same, though she does eye Childe curiously as she passes, making the hair rise on the back of his neck. None of the Harbingers have said anything to him outright about his new bond, though that is likely due to lack of crossing paths rather than them not noticing. Childe himself had only arrived in the Capital the night prior, and after the arduous journey of a week’s worth of sailing as well as the unfamiliar strain to his bond, Childe had quickly found his private quarters within Zapolyarny Palace and gone to bed. There had been no time to debrief with the Tsaritsa, or even with Pulcinella.
Standing from his pew, Childe stretches his arms over his head, relieving his body of the tension of sitting for longer than he typically likes. When he turns to the side, Pulcinella waits patiently at the end of the pew, both hands resting upon the handle of his cane. Swallowing, a swoop of anticipation in his gut, Childe makes his way over to the Sentinel.
“Hey, old man,” he greets as Pulcinella steps back to allow him to exit the pew.
They fall into step walking down the aisle of the cathedral towards the exit, Pulcinella’s cane clicking rhythmically on the stone floor. Childe eyes the draping banners that sway soundlessly in the frigid air of the cathedral, muted colors honoring the crest of Signora’s lineage. The cathedral itself is a thing of cold beauty. Rising from the ground in white marble and stone, a dome of stained glass rests overtop the center of the sanctuary, casting brilliant echoes of tinted light across the floor and walls.
The sound of Pulcinella’s voice pulls Childe from his musings. “It is good to see you, my boy.”
The other Harbinger’s voice is laced with a familiar warmth, but his shrewd eyes meet Childe’s in a way that indicates he intends to have a more in depth conversation once they are in private. It’s not as though Childe expected otherwise, and he isn’t overly worried, but it doesn’t stop a slight itch of nerves down his spine. It seems that even after all these years, Childe still doesn’t wish to disappoint the Sentinel.
A soft touch of calm flows into Childe from the bond, likely from Zhongli sensing his mild discomfort, and it helps once again to center the Guide. It’s almost ironic, Childe thinks with some humor, that the Sentinel ends up soothing the Guide most often through their connection.
A gust of bitterly cold air greets the two Harbingers as they push open the heavy doors of the cathedral. Childe sighs, eyes fluttering shut, smiling into the frigid wind, as though it is a loving caress from the Tsaritsa Herself. From beside him he hears an irritated huff, and he glances over to see Pulcinella tugging the furred lining of his jacket more tightly around his chin. Childe says nothing, but Pulcinella glances over and catches the amused tilt to his lips.
“Laugh if you want, young man,” Pulcinella grouses, “but when you get to my age, the cold will sink right into your old bones as well.”
Childe opens his mouth to snark that he could never hope to see Pulcinella’s ancient age, but, as Zhongli’s words about bonds with Adepti ring in his head, he realizes that may not be so true anymore. Lifting a brow at his companion’s hesitant silence, Pulcinella ushers them in the direction of the carriages awaiting the Harbingers.
“If you’ve nothing to say, then let’s hurry and get back to the Palace. Like I said earlier; Teyvat does not stop moving because of a minor inconvenience.”
Though Childe feels that their colleague’s passing does not quite fall under the umbrella of a ‘minor inconvenience’, he is well accustomed to Pulcinella’s pragmatic view of the world, and so follows along obediently to one of the awaiting carriages rather than nitpicking. Much like any official transport or hired hand of Her Majesty, the carriages are ostentatious and well-kept. Beautifully groomed stallions with thick coats as white as Snezhnayan frost and graced with layers of gilded finery head the fronts of the carriages, some flicking their silky tails or stomping their manicured hooves in impatience. The carriages are made of carefully carved wood, painted in shades of silvers and reds with more gilded accents, and they sparkle beneath the muted sunlight peeking from the gray sky.
“Afternoon, good sir,” Pulcinella greets the driver to the carriage they approach. The driver in the front of the carriage nods in acknowledgement, though the motion is nearly lost within the bundling of his Palace uniform and the scarves and blankets he wears. “To Zapolyarny Palace, if you will.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Childe follows Pulcinella into the carriage, settling into the seat across from the Sentinel. Plush blankets have been provided for those riding, and a small Pyro-infused lamp anchored to the wall of the carriage emits enough heat to negate the icy chill. Though Childe fixes his gaze outside one of the carriage’s windows as it stutters into motion, the skin of his neck prickles under Pulcinella’s unwavering stare. Pulcinella makes an exaggerated show of clearing his throat. Childe watches the snowflakes melt on the glass pane of the window with feigned interest.
“So,” Pulcinella starts, allowing his tone to trail off pointedly.
Childe turns his head to regard the man, but says nothing. If Pulcinella has something to say, then Childe will wait for him to say it, but it doesn’t mean he is looking forward to the ensuing conversation and whatever prejudices may follow.
There’s a familiar pinch to the bridge of Pulcinella’s eyebrows that indicates a particular brand of irritation Childe hasn’t seen directed his way since he was a recruit. “Tell me, how was Liyue?” the man asks anyway, keeping his tone pleasant.
“It was fine. Hot. We succeeded with obtaining the gnosis, as you know. I did write to you,” Childe says, as though implying the question is redundant.
Pulcinella sighs. “Yes, you did, exactly twice. Once to extol the wonders of Liyuen operas and orchestras with such a level of vigor I nearly thought you may request a citizenship transfer. Then, once to tell me of your brother’s stowaway adventure. Which, I must admit, entertained me greatly as much as it concerned me. I nearly stationed a guard outside your home but your mother wouldn’t have it.”
Childe snorts, a clear visual of his mama stubbornly refusing what she would consider extraneous Fatui influence. “That sounds like Mama.”
“Quite. But it seems as though your father gave young Teucer quite the stern talking to, so I doubt there will be a repeat so soon.”
A sigh. Childe can only imagine the headache that Teucer’s disappearance gave his father, who likely thought his troublesome sons ended with Ajax. “That sounds like Father.”
“But it seems as though you were determined to upstage your brother.”
Childe’s brows furrow in confusion, though Pulcinella’s eyes glitter with teasing amusement. “It is just so curious to find, now that you have returned, that my ‘Empathically Sterile’ protégé has once again defied expectations.”
Ah. So this is how he wants to bring it up.
Childe sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat, blue eyes tracing out towards the snowy landscape once more. “Well, you know me,” he says, “always keeping you on your toes, old man.”
“That barely scratches the surface of it,” Pulcinella grumbles, but good-naturedly. From Childe’s peripheral, he can see the man tilt his head, expression considering.
“I know that to catch your attention, they must be extraordinary. And they must keep you on your toes, as well.”
Somewhat taken aback at the uncharacteristic praise, Childe blinks and turns widened eyes to Pulcinella. The man’s mustache does not completely obscure the upwards curve to his lips.
“I–well, yes, he’s…good.” Childe says, haltingly.
A raise of a silver eyebrow. “Is good’ enough to catch the attention of Tartaglia, the Eleventh of Her Majesty’s Harbingers?”
Childe laughs, then, and allows himself to relax, smiling as he leans back into his seat. “He’s incredible, sir.”
Childe pictures Zhongli, then, beautiful and powerful and always ready to share his seemingly infinite knowledge. Always ready to listen, and to learn, approaching all of life with a charming curiosity. Quick with his wit, and coy with his misdirections, able to amuse himself in any conversation. There is no doubt that the man keeps Childe on his toes.
“And, did you know that half of my gifts to the kids were his ideas? If they knew, they might choose him as their new favorite!”
“Ah,” Pulcinella nods sagely, “so that’s the real reason. You simply needed to find a partner who would spoil your siblings rotten just as much as you do.”
Childe tilts his head to mock-glare at Pulcinella. “As if you have room to talk.”
Pulcinella sniffs. “I do not know what you are implying.”
“Tonia wrote that for Krsnik Noc this year, you bought the family their own sleigh.”
“Morepesok is so far from the main town, it was only practical.”
“And that you let Anthon and Teucer bully your driver into a sled race.”
“...There’s nothing wrong with festive merriment.”
Childe snorts, shaking his head. “Well, in any case, sure. Of course it’s important to me to prioritize my little stars.”
“And what of your own goals?”
The momentum of the sleigh slows, approaching a stop, and outside of the window, Zapolyarny Palace’s regal domes come into view. Neither man makes a move to disembark from the sleigh, however.
“Don’t worry, Pulcinella,” Childe smiles. “I still intend to have the gods and all of Teyvat lay at my feet.”
A scoff. “Ambitious brat.”
But there is a fondness to Pulcinella’s expression, and some of the tension relaxes from the man’s shoulders at the reassurance.
Upon exiting the sleigh, the two make their way towards the Inner Palace. A sort of comforting nostalgia fills Childe’s chest as they nod to the Fatui guards at the doors and step inside, the familiar icy splendor of the Palace greeting Childe’s eyes like an old friend. He typically feels this way when returning from his longer missions, though Liyue has been his longest venture away from Snezhnaya thus far, and so the feeling is a bit more poignant. As a child, he’d never considered that these frigid halls could ever feel as much like home as his family’s house in Morepesok, yet there’s an undeniable fondness for them all the same. Pulcinella is quiet, perhaps a bit contemplative as they walk side by side down the halls of the Palace towards their private quarters. His presence, too, is comforting to Childe in its own way.
They reach the doors to Childe’s quarters first, and Childe nods to the guard before turning to address Pulcinella.
“I expect that Pierro will be issuing reassignments over the next few days,” Pulcinella says when their gazes meet. “Given recent events. I imagine you wish to visit Morepesok while you are in Snezhnaya, so simply take that into consideration for your plans.”
Childe expected about the same. With Scaramouche unreachable, Signora’s agents all needing reassignment or a new reporting Harbinger, and the conclusion of his mission in Liyue, he assumed the Tsaritsa would have a new objective for him. While he hopes that he’ll be able to spend time with his family, the likelihood is that he may only have a few days before he needs to leave once more.
He nods to Pulcinella. “I will, thank you.”
“Right. Well, I would advise you to get some rest, though I doubt you possess the ability,” Pulcinella says, lightheartedly. “I will be in my quarters should you like to grab dinner in the city, later.”
“Sure,” Childe agrees with a smile, and he watches for a moment as Pulcinella walks away toward his own rooms, cane clicking against the floor.
Slipping one hand into the pocket of his coat, Childe pulls out his pocketwatch and unlocks his door with the silver key attached to its chain. It clicks open, and he slides inside, letting it latch behind him quietly. Shrugging off his white outer coat, he hangs it next to the door and slips out of his boots. Having fallen into bed shortly after arriving at the Palace the previous evening, he hasn’t had much time at all to tend to his luggage, and so it sits in the same spot his agents left it, beneath one of the arching windows of his main room, overlooking a courtyard. Childe regards the luggage for a moment, wondering if there’s any point to unpacking if he’s to leave so soon. The housekeeping of the Palace have kept his quarters clean and tidy, and his closets should still hold clothes that he can wear for the time being to avoid digging through his bags.
Dismissing the notion of unpacking, Childe instead veers toward the large writing desk that sits adjacent to the fireplace, pressed to the wall beneath another one of the windows. It is an exquisitely carved piece of furniture, made from varnished yumemiru wood sourced from Inazuma and purchased from Pulcinella’s favorite furnishings store in the Capital. Along the sides and edges of the desk are swooping patterns of sakura petals and maple leaves, curving in whimsical arches over and around kitsune in various poses. He is sure that there is a meaning to the art carved into it that he is ignorant to, since he had simply purchased the desk thinking the design was nice, but he wonders idly if Zhongli would be able to offer some insight.
Settling into the similarly carved chair and shifting closer to the desk’s surface, Childe smiles to himself imagining Zhongli scrutinizing his desk with the same attentive care he admires antiques in the market. Would Zhongli praise the craftsmanship of such a piece? Or, would he identify some mark or indication that the desk is a replica or imitation? Would he trail careful fingers over the ridges at the sides, caress the whorls of the wood, while intense golden eyes rake over every knot and swirl—
Ah. Childe is getting carried away.
Clearing his throat, Childe wills away the heat that has risen to his cheeks, attempting to focus on the task at hand: letter writing.
While he and Zhongli have found that their bond links their consciousnesses on most nights, allowing them to communicate in their dreamscape, their memories of these meetings upon waking tend to be incomplete and vague, much like any other dream. While it has helped during Childe’s voyage to feel a bit closer to Zhongli, it’s no replacement for actually conversing with the Sentinel. So, Childe pulls out a stack of parchment and his inkwell and pen, and thinks of where to start.
He’s gotten as far as writing “Dear Hey Xiansheng,” when a gentle icy breeze brushes past his cheek. Glancing up, he sees a glowing construct of Cryo in the shape of a dove fluttering its wings. With every sweep of its icy feathers, glimmering whispers of frost fall from it like snow, though the flakes dissolve before they meet the surface of his desk. A summons from the Tsaritsa.
“Alright, then,” he whispers, though the construct cannot hear him. He stands from the desk and strides toward his door, slipping his coat and boots back on.
The dove follows him from his quarters and down the long hallways of the Palace, hovering over his shoulder, the soft fluttering of its wings accompanying the click of his shoes against the floor. Childe greets the palace-hands and agents that he passes, until finally, he stands outside the large and foreboding doors of the Tsaritsa’s throne room. The dove construct at his shoulder flies ahead, slipping through the icy barrier of the doors as though they did not exist at all. Childe is not made to wait long, however, as the Fatui guards in front step aside a moment later, and the large doors begin their slow sweep outward.
While the entirety of Zapolyarny Palace has a permanent chill hanging through the halls, the throne room holds a different level of chill altogether. Stepping in through the threshold feels like diving into a lake of ice, prompting an instinctive inhale from the shock of its frigidity. Childe, long used to the harsh bite of the Tsaritsa’s frost, simply smiles as the cold air settles over him, and the doors behind him swing shut. Her Majesty is resplendent as always, perched upon Her throne as though a statue of glimmering ice. Her Cryo construct flutters beside Her head, before She dismisses it into a plume of frost with two fingers, and beckons for Childe to approach the dais with the same sweep of Her hand.
Being within the presence of the Tsaritsa never inspires any less reverence within Childe, even as long as he has been serving Her. Where Zhongli’s aura as an archon had felt like a dense rock barrier around his consciousness, the Tsaritsa’s feels like a sheet of fragile ice. Translucent enough to sense the vague notions of her feelings, but in a cold and detached sort of way. There is love, always, always love; her love for all of Snezhnaya. But, unlike the warmth and radiance of Zhongli’s love for Liyue, the Tsaritsa’s is tinged by an air of melancholy and sorrow.
As he approaches her throne, Childe feels Her cool touch against his mind. Gauging, perhaps, evaluating. He has nothing to hide, of course, though it would be a foolish endeavor to try and keep anything from Her omniscient gaze. When Childe stands but a foot away from the dais, he drops into a respectful kneel on one knee, gaze cast to the floor.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, cold with the frost of Her presence.
“My Eleventh,” She responds, Her melodic voice curling around the words with a maternal fondness. “Rise; I wish to see you.”
Childe obeys, rising from his kneel to stand at his full height, and he looks up to finally meet Her eyes. He’s unprepared, when their gazes meet, for the flash of grief and longing that course through his synapses quick as a lightning strike. He stiffens, reflexively, and then forces himself to relax. The Tsaritsa’s delicate lips curl the slightest bit upwards, into a rueful smile.
“Some children of frost may fall in the pursuit of our ambitions. Of that, I am well aware. And yet, this frozen heart of mine aches all the same. You will have to forgive me, Tartaglia.”
She still grieves, it seems, for the loss of Signora. Even with Her icy exterior, his Queen possesses a soft soul. “There is nothing to forgive, Your Majesty.”
She simply hums for a moment, the sound tinkling and light, and Her eyes, iridescent and faceted like glittering jewels, trace over his face.
“No, there isn’t.”
Childe is confused, and then She continues. “Your ambition still burns as brightly as the day I made you my own. Your contract with Rex Lapis has not, and will not, change this aspect of yourself. Ever unpredictable you are, my raging storm, and yet your loyalty is unwavering.”
Childe’s throat feels dry, and his pulse races. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
“I anticipated an exemplary performance from you in Liyue, though you continue to exceed my expectations. Well done, Tartaglia.”
Childe’s head nearly feels light, with the rush of his relief and elation. While he hadn’t expected Her to be displeased with his bond, he hadn’t particularly expected Her blessing either.
He bows his head to hide the flush on his cheeks. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Childe thinks that he hears a soft huff of laughter from Her, but he dares not lift his face. He jolts, minutely, when long fingers card gently through his hair.
“Go, my Eleventh. My will shall call on you soon.”
Dropping into a full bow, Childe murmurs a farewell, and leaves the throne room.
His head is still buzzing with his racing thoughts as the heavy doors close once more behind him, so he nearly doesn’t notice the other presence in the hall. A short distance away, Dottore stands under the archway of one of the Palace’s long halls, head tilted to the side as he regards Childe with a slight frown. Childe says nothing, but his expression pinches slightly, body tensing, always wary around this particular Sentinel.
The tension breaks a moment later, when Dottore scoffs and mutters “Spiteful,” before continuing on his way down the hall. Childe doesn’t dwell on the odd behavior, brushing it off and continuing on his way to Pulcinella’s quarters. His nerves are too alight at the moment for him to be able to sit and attempt to pen any letters, though he is looking forward to informing Zhongli about his meeting with the Tsaritsa. In the meantime, hopefully the old man will be amenable to an early dinner.
When Childe returns to his quarters later that evening, he finds a summons from Pierro resting innocuously upon his desk.
It sits on top of his earlier failed attempt at writing, nearly mocking in its elegant envelope and his title scrawled in crisp script across the front. With a sigh, Childe fashions his Hydro into a small blade, slicing into the offensively decorative envelope with the flourish. Pierro’s summons is brief and to the point, only giving Childe a time and nothing else. It’s not as though further information is needed; the purpose is obvious and Pierro is not the type to take an audience outside of his office. Glancing at his pocketwatch, Childe finds that he has only thirty minutes until their intended meeting time.
He changes out his thick outer coat for something a bit lighter, since while the interior of the Palace is cold, it is nowhere near as hauntingly frigid as the outdoors. Childe wraps a crimson scarf around his throat, inhaling instinctively as his eyes flutter shut, and his shoulders relax. Zhongli’s familiar sandalwood and amber scent still clings to the fabric, comforting Childe even without the other man’s presence. It smells of Zhongli and the incense he favors, and if Childe concentrates hard enough he thinks he can detect traces of violetgrass as well. A picture of Liyue Harbor blooms in his mind’s eye, and his fingers reflexively clench in the scarf where they hold it to his nose.
He hasn’t exactly gotten to a point where he misses the Harbor, yet, but he feels an undeniable pang of fondness for what he has temporarily left behind. He does miss Zhongli, then, with a brief flash of longing. Though dinners with Pulcinella are pleasant and enjoyable, what he wouldn’t give to be able to take Zhongli out to a nice restaurant in the Capital. To show off the culinary delights of his homeland, to eagerly watch as his lover samples Childe’s favorite dishes and to hear Zhongli describe his delight in the expansion of his palate as Childe knows he would do. Childe breathes a soft laugh, imagining the curiosity and eagerness that would alight in Zhongli’s eyes as they browse the shops of the Capital; no doubt the Sentinel would enter nearly every store. And Childe would be more than content to treat him to whatever he wished.
As if sensing that Childe is thinking of him, Zhongli calls out through their bond, gently tugging at Childe’s attention. When the two are in closer proximity, their connection more clearly relays their thoughts and emotions to one another. While not quite words, there’s an innate understanding of the intention coming through. From this distance, Childe finds that the relay of intention is more muted, more vague. He can identify the notion of the sentiments, and he can tell when Zhongli has a surge of a particularly strong feeling, but beyond that the bond is simply a source of warm reassurance at his core.
Childe answers Zhongli’s call with his own, and their connection pulses with affection. Since their bonding, the Sentinel has not slipped into another zone. There are times where he will get lost in his recollections, or a particularly strong sweep of grief will grab him, but thus far their bond seems to be preventing him from falling into anything deeper. Zhongli attempted to describe it to Childe once. He had said that even when he enters the darkest parts of his mind, when his memories begin to feel like thickets of thorns around him, Childe’s presence shines above like the gentle guiding light of the moon.
While Childe can’t completely grasp the sentiment, not being a Sentinel at risk of zoning, he does understand to an extent. Their bond, to him, is like a constantly burning ember, or a ray of light from the sun. Warm, bright, and fuel to his ambitions.
Sighing, Childe drops his grip on his scarf, and checks the time once more. He jolts when he realizes twenty minutes have passed, and he only has ten left to get to Pierro’s office– and Pierro will consider him late, regardless, if he does not make it there in five.
“Drat,” Childe hisses, and rushes out of the door to his quarters. Idly, as he takes long strides down the halls of the Palace, he wonders if Zhongli’s penchant for daydreaming is rubbing off on him through the bond.
Due to Pierro’s responsibilities to Her Majesty, his office space is located in a tower adjacent to Her throne room. Childe breezes by the towering doors to the throne room, nodding to the guards who salute him, and passes through the archway leading to the tower’s stairs. He takes the spiraling stairs two at a time, until he is finally standing outside of Pierro’s office. No guard stands watch, mostly since no one would be so foolish as to bother the Director of the Harbingers without dire reason, unless they wished to meet an unfortunate end.
With two minutes to spare, Childe raps thrice upon the imposing wooden door. As expected, the latch to the door audibly unlocks, and the imposing door groans under its own weight as it begins to swing open. Once enough space is provided, Childe steps past the door and into the room. In the center of the space, beneath a dome of glass creating a skylight nearly as impressive as that in the throne room, Pierro sits at his desk. The Sentinel does not look at or acknowledge Childe, scrawling away at the parchment in front of him as the Guide approaches. After the heavy door has closed behind Childe, the only sounds in the room are the scratching of Pierro’s pen over his paper, and the crackling of the fireplace to their left side.
Since Childe knows not to rush the other man, and because he feels much too fidgety to take a seat in either of the plush chairs across from Pierro’s desk, he instead meanders quietly over to the fireplace. While the light of day has faded into the inky blanket of night, the skylight above their heads still glimmers beautifully with the light of the stars and moon, casting a soft ethereal glow over the room. With the additional glow of the fireplace, and the sconces hung tastefully on the walls, the office does not lack light.
Above the mantle of the fireplace, two impressive blades are mounted to the wall, and it is these that draw Childe’s gaze. He has noticed them in passing, when he has made other brief visits to Pierro’s office, though he has not had the time to admire them before. They are clearly used, battle-worn with notched edges and various scratches along their surfaces, but it is also obvious that they are regularly cleaned and cared for. Their hilts bear beautiful designs that are unfamiliar to Childe, with symbols and patterns he can’t place with any nation he is familiar with–
Pierro clears his throat and Childe tears his gaze away from the mesmerizing weapons, and quietly approaches the desk once more. Still unwilling to sit, he stops a handful of feet away from the desk, meeting Pierro’s intense gaze.
“Tartaglia, your reassignment has been decided.”
This was expected.
“With efforts to reach Scaramouche thus far unsuccessful, you are to set sail to Inazuma for reconnaissance.”
Childe can’t help the way his brows furrow. He had been under the impression that Dottore was in communication with the Sixth.
Despite saying nothing, Pierro seems to grasp his confusion, for he continues. “It is imperative to get eyes on the Sixth and ensure he has not been compromised. Her Majesty has need of the Second elsewhere, and additionally, feels that your,” he pauses, “skillset may be well suited to tracking an elusive subject.”
His skillset as what? A guard dog? Is he expected to nip at the Sixth’s heels until he flees home to Snezhnaya— ah, no. Pierro expects him to make use of his Empathy. If it wouldn’t be seen as insubordination, Childe would heave an aggrieved sigh for the amount of headaches this Inazuma mission is sure to inspire.
Instead, he nods, hoping his grimace isn’t obvious. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent,” Pierro responds, and once again Childe loses his attention as the man begins writing on a new piece of parchment. “Then, you will be expected to depart two weeks from tonight.” Childe’s heart sinks for the short time he will have to see his family. “Travel arrangements will fall to you.”
Childe bows with another, “Yes, sir,” and then he is dismissed. He is so lost in his thoughts on his way from Pierro’s office back to his rooms, that he barely recalls the journey. While the expediency of his mission makes sense, since the status of the Electro gnosis is in flux, he cannot help but be disappointed that he will hardly be able to see his family for long at all. Typically between missions he will have a few months to do as he pleases before his next assignment, and while he doesn’t usually spend that much time in Morepesok, he does like to see his family for a few weeks at a time. With the brief span of time Childe does have, if he wants to see both his family and Zhongli before he heads to Inazuma, he will only be able to spend a handful of days with each of them.
Back in his quarters, Childe deliberates for a moment, and then sits down at his desk to work on his letter. As this may be the only letter Zhongli gets from him before he departs for Liyue, he will explain his time constraints and give vague information about his reassignment. He does, of course, also make sure to mention Her Majesty’s surprising level of support, though Zhongli had not seemed particularly concerned.
Though the letter isn’t necessarily his best work, Childe thinks it will do the job, and so he folds it to get the words out of his sight before he decides he hates it and needs to restart from scratch. He tucks the folded letter into a crisp envelope, and sets it to the side of the desk to hand off to an agent in the morning for delivery. Rising from his desk, Childe eyes the ink stains on the side of his dominant hand, and frowns. He’d forgotten that the ink he had, here, was a gift from Pulcinella. Pulcinella had a fondness for a very particular brand of ink from Fontaine that, while it wrote smoothly and glimmered appealingly on parchment, also dried very slowly, so it smudged and left unfortunate stains on one’s hands or clothes if they were not careful.
While he hadn’t seen smudges on his letter, his hands had somehow become an inky mess. Resigning to an evening bath, Childe trudges to his en suite bathroom. The ritual of disrobing is habitual, unremarkable in the familiarity of slipping out of each article of clothing and every accessory placed to the side. It isn’t until he is naked, bare skin before his mirror in the flickering light of the wall sconce. Here, he lifts his right hand, and traces over the same ridge of scar tissue that his eyes are drawn to. There is a phantom tenderness to the bonding bite that still causes him to shiver, now all silvery skin and raised flesh, as healed as it will ever be.
The scar at the base of his throat now joins the rest of his battle stories, and he is equally as proud of it as he is the others. The other lighter marks that Zhongli left upon his skin have long since faded, little love notes written across the canvas of his body in blooms of pink and red. His calloused fingers trace over where he remembers the most prominent of them being, and if he closes his eyes, and presses hard, he can nearly imagine the ache of them.
With a little reverent sigh, Childe turns away from the mirror, and focuses on running his bath. The soaps and oils that sit upon his shelves are brands that he no longer typically uses. During his stay in Liyue, with his curiosity and Zhongli’s guidance, he discovered an entirely new hygiene regimen. The products that had replaced his previous ones all had herbs sourced locally in Liyue, and they all felt much gentler on his skin. Unfortunately, procuring excess hadn’t crossed his mind before leaving, and so he will have to put up with what he has in Snezhnaya until he’s able to stock up in Liyue.
Though the bath leaves him clean, Childe is perturbed that his scent feels wrong. It’s something he doubts would have bothered him before bonding, but he has noticed recently that things of this nature seem to trigger his instincts. With some frustration at his own restlessness, Childe dresses in his night clothes quickly and then stalks out of the bathroom and over to his desk to grab the scarf he had discarded there. With the soft fabric wrapped loosely around his throat, he feels his body relax, surrounded by familiar scents.
He hopes, over time, he will become less sensitive to this sort of thing as the bond continues to settle. It would hardly do for the Eleventh Harbinger to give the impression of a frantic, anxious Guide when away from his Sentinel. Just the thought makes him want to bare his teeth at an imaginary enemy, daring them to mock him for his instincts. Alas- this will surely be just a phase. If he could overcome his Abyssal instincts as a teenager, these pesky Guide-bond instincts will be easy as pie.
With that thought, Childe puts out the lights in his room, and settles into his bed. The soft cradle of its luxurious furs and pillows welcomes him, and draws him into an easy slumber.
“My love.” A flash of fondness.
“Mmm?” Childe blearily pulls open his eyes, turning his head to regard the one calling for him.
His movement has the unfortunate effect of dislodging the hand petting through his hair, but he trades it off to be greeted by Zhongli’s radiant smile as he turns to look at him. In this dreamscape, they are in Zhongi’s sitting room in his home in Yujing Terrace, with Zhongli sitting on the couch and Childe laying across it, his head in Zhongli’s lap.
The Sentinel chuckles, likely feeling Childe’s disappointment, and lowers his hand once more, gently swiping a thumb beneath Childe’s right eye. “You seem exhausted. Have you been busy stirring up trouble?”
Though Zhongli takes a light tone, Childe can feel his concern through their bond, and so he cracks a reassuring smile. “You know me, Xiansheng, of course I am.”
He thinks for a minute, then frowns. “Actually, I didn’t think I would see you tonight. Shouldn’t you be awake by now?”
Due to the time difference, while it is still late evening in Snezhnaya, it would be early morning in Liyue. Since Childe had headed to bed rather late after his meeting with Pierro, he hadn’t expected he would see Zhongli at all.
Zhongli hums, his hand moving to stroke tenderly over Childe’s temple, then over the shell of his ear and into his hair, and Childe can’t help but to close his eyes and lean into the touch, radiating contentment.
“I am practising the human art of a ‘nap’,” Zhongli says breezily.
One of Childe’s eyes peels open to stare dubiously at him. “Those are usually done in the afternoon, you know. And on days that people don’t have work.”
“Hm,” Zhongli says, as though contemplating this newfound knowledge, “I will have to take this into consideration for my next attempt.”
Closing his eye again, Childe snorts. “Silly dragon,” he mutters, shifting so that he lays on his side with his face buried into the soft robe over Zhongli’s stomach. It’s sweet of Zhongli to want to see him, and he doubts Hu Tao will mind. With his nose pressed into the silky fabric, Childe inhales deeply, filling his lungs with sandalwood and amber. Though the senses of the dreamscape only pull from his memories and are not real, it soothes him all the same.
“Perhaps so,” Zhongli agrees easily, “but always your silly dragon.”
Childe hides his flush by keeping his face pressed against Zhongli’s stomach, idly grateful that he can’t suffocate in this dream. His reply is muffled. “And a corny one. Tonia will love you.”
With this positioning, Childe can feel the laughter that vibrates in Zhongli’s abdomen, as much as he can feel the other man’s amusement through their bond. “Well, as long as I continue to hold her brother’s affection, I cannot say that I mind.”
They are quiet for a moment, simply soaking up one another’s presence. It’s a shame, Childe thinks, that he will forget so much of this upon waking. But, that reminds him–
“I wrote you a letter,” Childe says, rolling again so that he can be clearly heard.
“Oh?” Zhongli inquires with intrigue, golden eyes lighting up.
“Mhmm, I’ll send it out tomorrow, so I think it’ll get to you in a week. I’ll be in Liyue for a little bit before my next mission.”
The corners of Zhongli’s eyes crinkle with his pleased smile, and despite all they have already been through, Childe feels his heart palpitate. “I will be delighted to see you. The days have felt like centuries since you departed.”
Childe lifts one of his hands to tuck a strand of Zhongli’s hair behind an ear with a crooked smile. “You miss me that much?”
Zhongli catches his hand before it can fall back to his side, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. “Every second of every day, my heart.”
Childe lets his fingers slide beneath Zhongli’s jaw as the man releases his hand, and gently guides him forward, until he’s leaning over Childe, the long locks of his hair brushing teasingly over Childe’s face. Childe pushes up to cross the last bit of distance, eyes fluttering shut as their lips meet. Zhongli’s hand slips behind Childe’s neck to support his head, fingers tangling in auburn hair as they kiss leisurely, soaking in one another’s affection.
When they part and settle back down, their discussion falls to Childe’s plans to see his family, and his enthusiasm to present the remainder of his gifts from Liyue. They speak of Liyue, of the latest gossip in the Harbor, and Hu Tao’s latest marketing gimmicks.
Eventually, the dream fades into a soft haze as the light of morning falls across Snezhnaya.
Childe is just stepping out of his bathroom, refreshed and ready for the day, when he hears an insistent knocking pounding away at his door.
Curiously, wondering why the guards wouldn’t have stopped such a thing, especially at such an early hour, Childe meanders through his sitting area and to his door. With some amusement, as he draws closer, he can pick up the sound of Pulcinella’s voice, muttering heatedly to himself on the other side. Well, he supposes that explains why the guards haven’t intervened.
Swinging open the door, Childe is met by the sight of Pulcinella glowering at him, but before he can greet the Sentinel or invite him inside, the man is already striding past Childe and into his rooms. Bemused, Childe closes the door behind him, and turns to find Pulcinella standing before his fireplace, watching him. The man is clearly agitated, and his fingers drum across the top of his cane where it is held in front of him.
“Good morning?” Childe tries.
“Perhaps for someone else, it might be,” Pulcinella retorts immediately. “When were you planning on telling me the identity of your bond partner?”
Perplexed, Childe can only choke out a “Pardon? ”
“Or was your intention to gallivant away to Morepesok with me none the wiser, until the Tsaritsa Herself deigned to tell me?”
“Tell you–what? ” Child splutters.
“Oh, I believe Her words were along the lines of, ‘I suppose we can expect to see more of Rex Lapis in the near future.’ And when I dared to ask if this was due to Her Glorious Ambitions, She denied and said, ‘His archaic sensibilities will demand he seek the blessings of the Eleventh’s family.’”
“What? ” Childe can’t help but repeat, voice pitched high in his incredulousness.
“I was just as surprised as you, given that this was to be a strategic planning meeting with myself, Pantalone, and Pierro,” Pulcinella grumbles. “She has gone from melancholy to what seems like making wedding preparations in Her head.”
“But we’re not even–” engaged, Childe wants to say, but the somewhat hysterical voice in his head reminding him of the chopsticks has him clamping his jaw shut. Until he has an actual conversation with Zhongli, he lives with only slight plausible deniability.
Pulcinella notices his hesitation, and his brow furrows. “Which brings me to my point, again,” he says with irritation, shifting his cane up in his hand to jab the handle against Childe’s chest. “Why did you leave out the information that your Sentinel is the Geo Archon?”
“Ex-Geo Archon,” Childe mutters petulantly, “He’s retir–ow, ow! ”
With one hand shoving away the cane’s handle that Pulcinella has begun hitting him with, Childe continues defensively, “It just didn’t seem pertinent, alright?”
Though Pulcinella allows his cane to touch the ground once more, with Childe’s wary eyes tracking the movement, the Sentinel seems possibly even more incensed.
“Not pertinent? Not pertinent? Having met your parents I’d assumed you’d been raised with more sense than air, but perhaps I was mistaken!”
“Ouch,” Childe sighs. “Listen, you might not believe me but it’s true. Since that isn’t the name or title that I met him under, and it isn’t the identity I… developed feelings for, it isn’t the identity I thought of when describing him to you.”
Pulcinella’s brows pinch in confusion. “How do you mean?”
Childe offers a helpless smile. “It’s a bit complicated, and at the end of the day I do still want you to like him.” He pauses, considering. “I guess you could think of it like Tartaglia and Ajax. He has different names as well. Right now, he is living as the mortal man Zhongli, and that’s who I am bonded to.”
“But he is still Morax.”
“Sure, as much as I am still Tartaglia when I visit my family.”
Zhongli is Morax, yes, and he is Exuvia and Rex Lapis and the God of Contracts. While all of that is attractive, sure, it isn’t what initially drew Childe to him. And likewise, while Zhongli may have known Childe’s identity as Tartaglia from the start, he took the time to get to know Ajax in a way nearly no one has.
Pulcinella’s expression still seems dubious, but he settles his hands back on top of his cane. “That sounds absurd. But I suppose you would attract a partner as eccentric as yourself.”
Childe laughs. “Sure.”
“Are you planning to tell your parents?”
Ah. Childe sobers, considering his imminent plans to travel to Morepesok. While only his father will instinctively know what has changed, he knows that the man won’t press for more information, or tell his mother if he does not wish to discuss it.
“I plan to tell them I’m bonded, yes.”
“But not his identity,” Pulcinella infers.
Childe shakes his head. “It would do nothing but worry them. When they meet Zhongli, they can draw their own conclusions.”
Pulcinella hums, but makes no further comment on his choice. “And when do you plan to depart?”
Presumably, Pierro has shared that Childe is to travel to Inazuma in two weeks’ time. “I’ve requested a sleigh to leave at midday for Morepesok. I’ll stay there for three days before my ship leaves for Liyue.”
“I see.” Pulcinella then taps his cane once on the ground, and moves to walk around Childe towards the door. “Be well, and give your family my regards.”
“I will,” Childe nods. “See you, old man.”
Pulcinella slips back out from the room, and Childe is left to contend with his luggage and making sure he has anything extra packed that he will need from now through his stay in Inazuma. There is no fanfare when it is time for him to depart; he simply leaves instructions for the housekeeping staff that will tend to his quarters, and then assists the agents moving his luggage and crates of gifts into the sleigh. Having passed along his letter to Zhongli earlier that morning, Childe has wrapped up all he needs to in Zapolyarny Palace, and so he climbs into the awaiting sleigh and settles in for the day’s journey to Morepesok.
“Big brother! Big brother! Big brother!”
Childe has barely stepped foot on the ground before a small body is barreling into him, wrapping small but tight arms around his waist. Childe laughs, extending a hand out behind him to catch himself on the side of the sleigh, his other arm curling around Teucer’s shoulders. His youngest brother had been entertaining himself with his toys in the front yard of the house when Childe’s sleigh had pulled up, and so the young boy had been bouncing on his feet by the time the sleigh’s door had swung open.
Likely drawn by the ruckus, the front door of the house swings open and Tonia peeks her head out, eyes searching for Teucer and then alighting on the brothers’ embrace. Childe waves with the hand he’d been steadying himself with, and her face lights up into a wide smile. He can hear her yell “Ajax is home! ” into the house, before stumbling into her pair of boots at the front door so that she can dash across the snowy yard to join them.
“Hey there, princess,” he greets warmly as he extends his arm to wrap her into a hug as well, and as he’s squeezing them, he feels a third presence that could only be Anthon trod up to his side.
“No fair,” Anthon whines, “I was doing homework and couldn’t run out as fast. I want a hug!”
Laughing again, Childe gently guides Tonia back and peels Teucer from his waist, so that he can address the other boy with open arms. “Of course, big brother has hugs for you all!”
With a shy grin, Anthon darts forward and crashes just as enthusiastically into Childe’s chest as his siblings had, arms wrapping tightly around his back. Unwilling to be left out, Teucer and Tonia giggle and put their arms around the two of them as well, squeezing tightly. In a moment of mischievousness, Childe pulls his arms from around Anthon, and scoops all three of his siblings into an embrace, lifting them into the air.
“I missed you all so much!” he exclaims as Tonia and Anthon laugh, and Teucer shrieks happily. He sets them down on the ground gently, and they disentangle, and when Childe glances up he can see the silhouette of his mother leaning against the threshold. He waves to her, and sees her lift a hand to wave back, and then he is ushering the children in the direction of the front door.
“Go on, get inside before you all get sick. Tonia and Anthon, don’t think I didn’t notice you’re not dressed properly.” Tonia makes a sound of resigned annoyance, though Anthon looks shame-faced.
“Celestia forbid we stand outside for, like, three seconds,” Tonia grumbles, though she does guide Teucer and Anthon back towards the house with her.
Again, Childe can only laugh, endeared by her sass more than anything. “That’s right. I’ll be in soon, anyway, and you can complain about all the gifts I got you.”
He notices a particular skip to her step, after that, and Teucer and Anthon gasp with excitement as the three of them step into the house. Fond smile still on his face, Childe turns to the driver, who by now has unloaded most of the crates and luggage.
“Ah, sorry about that, I did intend to help.”
The man waves him off. “Do not concern yourself, Lord Harbinger, it was no trouble at all.”
Childe still offers the man a hefty tip for his services, and bids him farewell as the sleigh departs for Zapolyarny Palace once more.
Picking up his first bag, Childe notices that his siblings have once again exited the house, though now they are all noticeably more bundled up.
“I told them they could help you with your luggage,” his mother calls from the front door.
It certainly makes faster work of moving everything inside, though it is nearly disorienting that even Teucer is now of the age to be able to assist him with such things. Once everything has been stacked inside the front door, and the boys have been instructed to take the personal baggage up to Childe’s room, he finally gets the chance to properly greet his mother.
“Mama,” he says fondly as she walks over to him, dropping a kiss on either cheek.
“Yasha,” she returns with affection, leaning back from their embrace to eye him up and down. Her warm hands cradle his cheeks, flooding his senses with her worry and her love, her thumbs rubbing insistently over the arc of his cheekbone. “You are frozen solid,” she says with disapproval, “come, warm up, dinner is still on the stove.”
“Yes, Mama,” he laughs, and lets himself be dragged to the kitchen once he’s shucked off his coat and boots. He notices, with a small spark of happiness, that she has been able to meet his eyes.
By the time he’s settled into a chair at the table, the kids have finished moving his luggage, and crowd around him in the kitchen. He savors his mother’s cooking while Teucer animatedly shows him his latest drawings (most of Mister Cyclops, of course) and asks about the Nice Lady and her Floating Toy.
“They’re doing good,” Childe reassures around a mouthful of stew. He’s pretty sure they are, anyway. The last he’d heard, Lumine had been headed for Inazuma, so perhaps they will cross paths once more.
Teucer then proudly shows Childe the ruin guard toy that he’d had Lumine give to him, and spectacularly, the thing looks as though it’s been mauled by rifthounds. “Thank you for the toy, big brother! I love it so so much!”
“Wow,” Childe says, somewhat shocked. One of the limbs is missing entirely, while two others appear to be barely hanging on by threads. Stuffing is coming out in multiple places, and there are multiple stains of dubious origin all over its body. “I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it so much, buddy.”
“He takes that thing everywhere,” Tonia pipes up, glancing over from where she’s completing her school work at the table.
“And he refuses to let me stitch it up,” Childe hears his mother lament from where she is storing the rest of the food.
“Mister Cyclops is perfect the way he is,” Teucer argues, hugging the toy to his chest defensively.
With a smile, Childe ruffles Teucer’s hair. “You should let Mama help you care for your toys, Teucer, that way they will last longer.”
Teucer pouts, looking down at his prize. “Maybe. If you say so.”
“I do,” Childe nods sagely, “and as a toy salesman expert, I know what I’m talking about.”
Tonia rolls her eyes, but Childe ignores it.
“Oh!” Teucer exclaims. “You’re right.” He then looks over at their mother, extending one hand with the toy. “Mama, you can fix him now.”
Their mother shoots a pointed look at Childe, who shrugs helplessly, and she takes the toy from Teucer. “You must be patient, but I will work on it,” she says.
“Okay!” Teucer chirps.
With Childe now fished with his meal, he takes his dishes to the sink and washes them for his mother, who thanks him with a squeeze to his shoulder.
“Alright, who wants to open gifts?” Childe prompts, heading towards the front room.
“Me!” exclaim both Teucer and Anthon, and Tonia is quick to pack up her study materials to follow them out.
The three children settle on the rug in front of the fireplace, while Childe drags over the first of the crates, prying it open with his Hydro. The first things he pulls out are large stuffed animals, similar to the prizes Hu Tao had won during Lanternrite.
“Woah!” Teucer says, and Tonia’s eyes light up with a little gasp.
“You guys can choose which you like,” Childe says, laying the three stuffed animals on the floor. He points to the teal-colored feline. “This is a xuanwen beast; they’re native to Chenyu Vale in Liyue. They are pretty ferocious, like the rishboland tigers in Sumeru, but this guy’s pretty cute.”
Next, he gestures to the blue and yellow stag. “This is an Adeptus; his name was Skybracer, and he was a super brave and strong friend of Rex Lapis.” The children ooh and ahh.
Lastly, Childe sets a hand on the head of the last stuffed animal, his lips quirked into a self-amused smile. “And this right here is the Exuvia. This is the Celestial form of Rex Lapis, that he assumed when he descended to Liyue each year to present his divine predictions.”
“It doesn’t look very Celestial,” Anthon remarks with a raised brow.
“Yeah,” Teucer agrees, pointing to the Skybracer plush. “That guy looks way more cool.”
“Maybe!” Childe interjects, though he is inwardly amused. “But remember, appearances can be deceiving. This was the Archon of Liyue.”
“I guess,” Anthon says, doubtfully.
“Well, I want the cool guy,” Teucer declares, still pointing to the Skybracer toy.
“Then I’ll take the green one,” Anthon announces.
Childe looks to Tonia with a raised brow, wondering if she’ll have any objections to getting the Exuvia toy. Instead, her gaze upon the brown and gold plush looks fond.
“I think he’s cute,” she says, and happily takes it into her lap.
“Hm,” Childe says, “I thought you might like him.”
He doesn’t elaborate at her questioning look, instead going back to the crate to pull out the next items. More kites for all three of them, some beautiful stationary and hair accessories for Tonia, a Millelith toy set for Teucer, and a strategy game for Anthon. The siblings are all admiring their new treasures when the front door opens quietly, and Childe doesn’t need to turn around to know that his father has returned home.
“Father!” Teucer shouts excitedly, rising from the floor to bound over to the man. “Look what big brother Ajax got for me!”
“Oh?” comes the familiar gruff voice, along with the sound of rustling cloth as he hangs up his coat and steps out of his boots.
Childe does turn to watch the man crouch down on stiff knees to look at the Skybracer plush that Teucer shoves at him.
“Welcome home, Papa,” Tonia greets without moving from her spot, and Anthon echoes her greeting.
Their father looks up from his spot with Teucer, one hand settled on the boy’s shoulder while the boy points out how he got the ‘coolest and most interesting toy ’, opening his mouth presumably to return his other children’s greeting when his eyes fall upon Childe.
“Ajax,” he says with some surprise.
“Hey,” Childe returns with a small wave, before rising to his feet and walking over to Teucer and his father. He extends a hand to the Sentinel, who takes the offered help gratefully as he rises from his crouch with a groan. Before releasing Childe’s hand, he pulls his son in for a one-armed hug, giving his back two firm pats before pulling away. The look he shares with Childe afterward is complicated, if fond, and so Childe turns to the side to ruffle Teucer’s hair and call out to the other siblings.
“Why don’t you all take your new things to your rooms? You don’t want to leave a mess for Mama.”
Obediently, the three kids begin collecting their things and head off to their room, the older two likely understanding that the adults want some privacy.
Once they’re gone, Childe looks to his father with a small frown. “How are the headaches?”
If the Sentinel couldn’t sense Childe’s presence before entering the house, it means his senses are dulling further, and could be a worrying progression of his neuropathy.
The man sighs and waves Childe off as if his concerns are bothersome, lumbering over to the fireplace to take a seat in one of the sofas. “They’re fine,” he says, “this is just what it’s like to get old.”
Additionally, it doesn’t seem like he’s realized that Childe is bonded at all. The Guide frowns deeper. “Hm. Have you tried the medication I sent?”
“Oh,” the man does brighten at that, “yes. It’s quite nice, thank you, son.”
Childe takes a seat across from his father, and assumes that’s about all he’ll get out of the man about it. He’ll need to ask his mother if they need more, before he leaves. “Of course.”
Having heard the entrance of his father, Childe’s mother walks out to the living room with a plate of food in her hand, which she hands to her husband in his seat.
“Thank you, zolotse,” he says gratefully, while she lowers herself into another one of the seats. Then, to Childe, “How long are you staying this time?”
“Only three days,” Childe says, and his mother clicks her tongue.
“That’s hardly any time at all,” she criticizes. “You know, your older brothers and sister still come to visit us every few weeks, not to mention the holidays.”
Childe smiles somewhat helplessly at her, not sure what to say since it isn’t as though he wants to be away from them for such long stretches of time.
“And is he supposed to say that to Her Majesty?” his father comes to his unexpected defense, speaking between mouthfuls of food.
His mother sighs. “Of course not, but how is a mother not to worry? At least Pulcinella stops by to keep us up to date.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Childe laughs, “I appreciate the concern. If it helps at all, I should be able to make it to Krsnik Noc next year.”
Narrowing her eyes, Childe’s mother points a finger at him. “There is something you’re not telling me, Yasha.”
Blinking in surprise, his movements stop, and that’s when he realizes he’s been picking at the fabric of his trousers.
“Ah, I can’t get anything past you, Mama,” he teases, and he notices his father also looking at him with interest.
She says nothing, but raises her brow, and Childe continues. “There’s also someone I’d like to bring with me, if I can,” he says, then rushes to add, “not Pulcinella. Though I’m sure he’ll be here anyway. It’s someone that I met in Liyue.”
“And you are serious about your relationship with this person?” his mother prompts.
“Yeah,” Childe nods, then pauses in thought. “Well, technically speaking, he is my Sentinel.”
Both Childe and his mother jolt when a spoon clatters against porcelain, and Childe’s father devolves into an intense hacking fit, thumping his fist over his chest.
“Father?” “Lyubimiy! ” Childe and his mother exclaim in unison, but the man waves his hand, indicating that he is alright.
When he calms and settles back against his chair once more, he levels Childe with a searching look. “You said…your Sentinel?”
Childe doesn’t shy away from his intense stare. “I did.”
“And this man, he is not Fatui?”
“No.”
Childe’s father appears to contemplate this for a moment, then, haltingly, “So, then this is…you wanted to…”
Childe understands instantly what his father is trying to confirm. Even after Childe’s presentation as a Guide, his father had tried to allow him as much freedom and leniency as he was able, until he couldn’t anymore. It seems that his conscription still weighs on his father, no matter how much Childe thinks it worked in his favor in the end.
“I wanted to bond with him, yes.”
His father’s shoulders lose a bit of their tension, and he nods. “Okay.”
Childe’s mother, who has been carefully watching the exchange, softly chimes in. “Yes, of course, we would be happy for you to bring him along.” She meets his eyes with a smile, holds his gaze for far longer than she has been comfortable doing since he was fourteen. “Oh, my Yasha. All grown up, aren’t you?”
Though the words spark some complicated emotions within Childe’s chest, he returns his mother’s smile. “I guess so, Mama.” For his own comfort, he attempts to steer the conversation in a different direction. “And, believe me, you’re going to adore Zhongli. He’s lovely, so smart, and–”
“Oh, Mister Zhongli from your letters?” his mother interrupts.
Faltering, Childe processes for a moment, and then remembers just how much he’d written about the Sentinel in his letters to Tonia prior to All That Unpleasantness with Osial. “...Yes.”
His mother laughs, then, and even his father cracks a smile. “Well, then, it’s no wonder.”
Cheeks flushing, Childe retorts, “Mama? What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shares a secret look with his father, and they both look much too entertained for Childe’s comfort.
“What would you say, lyubimiy? Was it every letter, or every other letter, Tonia would read to us about all of the wonderful things in Liyue that Mister Zhongli would show Ajax?”
“Hm,” Childe’s father appears to think deeply, “maybe every other. In the other letters, it would be stories about Liyue.”
“Oh, that is true. You know,” she turns to address Childe now, “I think that Tonia must have the gift of premonition. She would read your letters to us, and then say, ‘Zhongli this, Zhongli that, big brother couldn’t talk about him any more than this if they were married'! She will surely be happy when you tell her.”
Face still burning, Childe feels out of his depth. While it was one thing for his agents who saw him everyday to have assumptions about his relationship with Zhongli, how obvious must he have been if even his family could tell through his monthly letters? Last to know about the gnosis, and last to know about his own feelings; his pride as a Guide continues to take hits. Oh, well.
“He’s excited to meet all of you as well,” Childe says simply.
After their good-natured teasing dies down, they talk a bit about the affairs of the village, and changes in town. Childe’s father dismisses himself to head to bed shortly after, and his mother follows suit. Before heading to bed himself, Childe tosses the empty crates outside to be chopped into kindling later, and then stops by his siblings’ rooms. With Childe’s older siblings officially moved out, and living close enough to not require a room when they visit, all three younger siblings now have their own rooms rather than sharing.
Now, he gathers his little stars into one room, in his own bed, and reads to them like he used to. Even though Tonia has just started her teenage years, she still indulges him, and occasionally even takes over the story. They fall asleep like that, piled atop one another in a warm bundle on their brother’s bed, elbows and knees and torsos pressed together in an incoherent tangle.
When Childe’s eyes fall shut in his bed, and he wakes in his dream, he is surprised to find that the scene is set in his childhood bedroom, including his siblings still comatose on top of him. The only indication that he is in a dream and not still awake is the presence of Zhongli, sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing fondly at Childe.
“Taking a ‘nap’ again?” Childe teases with a smile.
Zhongli huffs a laugh, but shakes his head. “No. The sun has not yet risen here.”
Childe hums, then pats the last empty bit of space on the bed, next to where Anthon is splayed over Childe’s left side. “Lay down, then.”
“I did not wish to disturb anyone,” Zhongli says, but he rearranges himself to lay on his side facing Childe, a gentle hand resting over Anthon’s shoulder.
Tonia has monopoly of Childe’s right side, and Teucer is sprawled over his legs and hips, but none of the children seem at all aware of the conversation going on around them. Childe attributes it to the weird pseudo-reality of their bond dreams.
“I asked my parents about bringing you home for Krsnik Noc. As I thought, they’re fine with it.”
Zhongli looks pleased. “I will have to start searching for a suitable gift to bring.”
Childe’s shoulders shake with his laugh. “It’s still several months away, Xiansheng, you don’t need to start worrying about that now. Besides, you don’t have to get them anything.”
Zhongli looks offended at the very suggestion of arriving empty-handed. “Nonsense. But do not worry, I will find something worthy.”
Childe has no doubt that he will. Though it’s unnecessary, Zhongli’s determination to present his family with a gift warms his heart.
The thought has him come to a realization. “Then, should I do the same for the Adepti?”
Zhongli’s fond look melts into surprise. “The Adepti?”
“Yeah,” Childe says, carefully maneuvering so that he can lay on his side facing Zhongli without disrupting the children. “They’re like your family, right? So when I meet them, I should bring a gift, too?” A pause. “That is, assuming, they are not partial to duels of honor.”
At Zhongli’s flat look in response, Childe presumes that’s off the table. Hmph.
“While I appreciate your enthusiasm to reciprocate, I must implore you not to attempt to duel any of the Adepti.”
“Yeah, yeah, I figured.”
“But, we can discuss such an arrangement when you are in Liyue. We wouldn’t want to lose any details to the cloudiness of the dreamscape,” Zhongli says, though between the two of them, he typically seems to recall the majority of their dream meetings.
Childe agrees, and settles further into his pillows, soaking up the warmth and comfort that surrounds him. Being home and around his family is no longer the exhausting experience that it used to be, but Childe still finds himself tired from a long day of travel and excitement. Zhongli seems to sense this, lifting his hand from Anthon’s shoulder to stroke over the side of Childe’s face.
“Rest, qīn ài de. Allow me to tell you the story of Tao Dou and the Eight Adepts. It is something Hu Tao and I discussed yesterday, as the matter pertains to her ancestors and the establishment of the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.”
With an inquisitive sound, Childe encourages Zhongli to continue.
“At one time, Tao Dou was a large tree that stood on the summit of a divine mountain. According to legend, it was said that the realm of the dead was behind Tao Dou, and that if one committed grave sins in life, they would not be able to pass beyond the tree and into the afterlife. Even today, in places like Chenyu Vale, it is considered an insult…”
Despite his genuine curiosity, the lull of Zhongli’s baritone has Childe’s eyes drifting shut.
“...and so, when Tao Dou disrupted the boundary between life and death, the Eight Adepts worked together to subdue him. To do so, they utilized a little known ritual called the Seven-and-Eight-Gates Method. In order to accomplish this, they had to…”
Slowly, Childe nods off entirely.
The next morning, with his siblings none the wiser of the dreamscape, he will feel slightly guilty for falling asleep during one of Zhongli’s stories, even if that was the man’s intention. The haziness of the dream means that he doesn’t recall even the parts he was awake for, though, only that the Sentinel had started the tale at all.
It is alright though, he thinks, since after all, they will have the rest of their lives to share stories with one another.
Notes:
Hi 🤓
I'd had a few people asking about an epilogue, and I wasn't initially really thinking about it, but then I sat down the other day and this all poured out haha. I have a lot of love for this story and universe, and I really really appreciate everyone who's enjoyed it alongside me and who have offered such kind words! Thank you all!
And, thanks x10 to KJ for the beta ❤️
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