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Chapter Text

It had only been four days since a certain Harbinger entered Liyue Harbour to carry out the mission concerning the Geo Archon's gnosis and he already had to face the first obstacle on his task.

His subordinates had warned him beforehand, on multiple occasions even, about Liyue's blazing sun, but as a native Snezhnayan (and someone too proud for his own good), he hadn't really expected it to be this unbearable. Seriously, he shouldn’t have brushed it off…

What Liyue's people described as a ‘comfortable breeze’, he perceived as arid air. He was starting to believe what Anthon said. Maybe Liyuens really were made out of rock, how else could they be so unaffected by the heat? At least a sweat drop or anything really, to prove their humanity.

Today was so unbearable, he couldn't do the paperwork correctly, even if he had never particularly enjoyed it. The weather was slowing him down too much. Pathetic, he smiled wryly as sweat gathered by his eyebrow, the pen in his hand long forgotten. A Harbinger getting defeated by something as trivial as weather.

His decline of pace didn’t go unnoticed by his subordinates. When Ekaterina had dropped by his office to hand him some documents and saw his miserable state, she suggested that he should take a walk around Guili Plains to cool down a bit.

“The last thing we want is villagers complaining about your… more energetic tendencies, my lord, so if you want to fight some monsters, now would be the best time. I’ll also have to ask you to refrain from fighting during the night. We don’t want you jeopardising your image from the very beginning.” She’d told him as he stood up, her face not betraying her sarcastic tone.

“Rude, but true. Well then.” He’d smiled as he made his way towards the area Ekaterina had marked on his map. He probably should demand more respect from his subordinates, but he’d been working with Ekaterina for so long now, all the protocols and pleasantries other Harbingers fawned in were useless, superficial.

By the time he arrived—after slaying some monsters of course, he couldn’t go on too long without the feeling of his blade cutting through something breathing—the sun had lowered its guard and an orange hue overtook the sky. He approached the shore, half a mind to jump into the water after all that sweating and to let the tides drift him away from all the world’s trouble. If only he could stop hearing this distant melody which rang in his ears, escape those responsibilities that followed him to every place.

But he would never be able to escape, because he rivalled fate itself. He was well aware of the lies this innocent world hid, of eyes from surreal dimensions watching, of how he would never be free, how sweet, little Ajax wouldn't ever—

A breath, two, and Childe only realised that he took off his shoes and socks after the somewhat warm ocean water had met his bare feet and he let out a long sigh. He shouldn't let his thoughts wander too much unless he wanted to think about endless darkness, darkness that stretched, all-encompassing darkness —

A blue shell caught his eye. Childe crouched and picked it up, a small him reverberating through his chest. A simple pattern that adorned the shell’s smooth surface with almost wavelike rings, a star connecting the spirals in the middle.

Quite pretty. Nothing too special or grandiose, but its distant call held faint echoes of the waves, almost a whisper from the very depths of the seas themselves. He looked over his shoulder. No one. Hmm, regardless of its simplicity, it was somewhat captivating. Maybe because it reminded me of Anthon’s eyes, he mused, his eyebrows fighting against the urge to crease. His siblings…

Wait, no, he couldn’t get distracted now. He also should probably stand up, he can’t allow melancholy to fill him now, nor to let anyone see him hunched over like some little kid. Standing up, the ginger eyed the shell still clutched in his hand.

It probably would be alright. The fields were entirely barren, save for a few historians he’d encountered at the beginning of his trip, not to mention that Ekaterina had freed him from the diplomatic hellhole that was him taking over Northland Bank for the duration of his mission. As for the mission… he needn’t rush things; not only did he currently not have a foolproof plan with other substitutes, but the rite of  descension was months away anyway. Childe had plenty of time to think of the best way to challenge Rex Lapis and steal his Gnosis.

Anyway, the shell. His siblings would surely appreciate it. The younger ones at least. Not that he could fault the older ones. No matter. Just thinking about the smiles that would giddily stretch across Teucer’s, Anthon’s and Tonia’s faces once they glimpsed a present was enough to evoke a bubbly feeling in his chest.

So focus on that feeling Childe did as he lazily splashed the water with his feet, a sheen of sweat highlighting the red that spread across his body while the hydro he commanded formed a basket behind him. Whenever a conch caught his eye, he flicked his hand, a wave adding them to the crate which held his boots.

Once he’d reached the end of the shoreline, Childe turned around, watching some islands in the far distance, behind whom a big mountain stood. Well, if his memory served him right—begrudgingly, the Regrator made him memorize most of Liyue’s map. Something about being meticulous, not that Tartaglia listened—the sandbars over there would be Yaoguang Shoal.

Still, he took out his map and checked. The last thing he wanted was to get lost.

Some of his agents were positioned there, and according them hardly anyone lingered around that area. And judging by the setting sun, his agents weren’t there either, having already gone back to the Harbor. Shame, he would’ve liked to talk to them.

Tucking his map into his inventory, Tartaglia faced the bridge again, a contemplative hum passing past his lips. There was a bridge in the far distance, but if he just swam from here, it would probably take less time to round the entire route just to get to the shoal. Eh, the water was going to get colder anyway, so it’ll probably refresh him, not to mention that he hadn’t swam in a long time. Snezhnayan waters were pretty cold after all.

Childe’s drenched clothes created a puddle underneath him and he couldn’t hide his smile. Soggy clothes in Snezhnaya often meant instead illness, and no one wanted to be sick in that weather. “Well, I guess that’s one of the better things Liyue has to offer,” he whispered, the sound of his voice gliding across the barren fields, falling on deaf ears.

Struggling out of his boots, the diplomat focused on the hydro particles within the water, pulling them out before dissipating them into thin air. See, as good as new.

Since he seemingly was the only one on the shoal, he opted to simply idle around and kill a few Hillichurls here and there, a content laugh bubbling out of his chest whenever they tried to hit him.

He’d been picking up a shell once again in peace, only for a voice, which was deep and thus most likely belonged to a man, to interrupt him, sending shivers down his point.

“Excuse me,” the voice spoke up, making Childe’s skin prickle. He hadn’t notice the man. At all.

Slowly, he straightened up, his shoulders tense. His elementary mastery was pretty good, and he honed it as a skill to detect any movement at open sea. So how could he not—

Tartaglia turned around, already wary, to see a brunette man, the tips of his hair turning into a lighter shade of brown. Immediately, blue eyes met golden brown, and oh, what a fascinating color those eyes were indeed. Their colour was that of the ore, if he remembered correctly, Cor Lapis, a most striking mineral. Yes, he was aware that Liyue was the city of mora and that gold thrives through it like a river through a mountain, but Childe didn’t know that the people themselves had amber eyes. Was this normal? He hadn’t really noticed.

Yet this man did, and he also had quite the defined jawline. The way he held himself—shoulders upright, not with tension, but with grace—the clothes he wore, it all gave off the impression of a dignified nobleman. If only this was how some of the Snezhnayan nobility dressed. A shame.

There was a thick ring on his thumb, indicating that he’s an archer, but judging by his physique, he seemed more like a spear or sword user. A great sword maybe? No, doesn’t seem like it…

Then, the man stirred and cleared his throat, which snapped Childe out of his thoughts, and successfully aided in making him cringe to Snezhnaya and back. Shit, that was embarrassing.

“How can I help you, sir?” He cleared his throat, trying to look as composed as the man in front of him.

“Hello. I have recognised you as the diplomat that came four days ago, am I right?” The other asked, only the faintest flicker of a smile on his face.

The dread churning inside of him still hadn’t abated just yet; the only ones here were him and the brunette and he was already suspecting that there was more about the man than met the eye, considering he hadn’t noticed the other at all.

“Yes, that would be me. You can call me Childe. The night sky is quite beautiful, but the hours are getting late. May I ask what a gentleman such as yourself is doing here?” The ginger instead walked up to the other with a practice smile, a pleasant lilt to his voice. Here, as composed as ever.

The brunette though, did not notice the underlying question, presumably ignorant to the weirdness of the situations if the quirk of his lips was of any indication.

“As you said, it is a fine evening night, so I thought to myself that a stroll would be nice, where I happened to come across you.” He explained. “The shell you’ve been collecting is called a starconch. You seem rather mesmerized by them. If you’d like we could walk back to Liyue Harbor, assuming that you have no other plans, while I tell you about the shells more in depth? I could also give you some attractions you might want to see. What do you think?” The man offered with a straight voice.

Never mind, not as composed as ever. That really caught Childe off guard, but he couldn't help the amused smile on his face. Wasn't this all too sudden? Going for a walk with a strange man whom he only had met just now? Although the man seemed genuine about the offer, the circumstances were screaming in big, bold letters that it's a trap.

If Tartaglia was being honest, he had always liked chaos, had always embraced the danger of the unknown. Before joining the Fatui he had always dreamed of becoming an adventurer. But that was before his fall into endless darkness that swallowed, swallowed with all its capacity, swallowed endles—

“Oh, so you’re offering to be my tourist guide for tonight? I appreciate the offer, but don’t you think this is a bit… how shall I put it… weird, sir? I don’t even know your name, you know?” The Harbinger winked, a small effort to seem amiable. Maybe this man could be of some help for him or prove to be interesting. Who knows, maybe even both.

“Ah, where are my manners. And you’re absolutely right, your wariness is well placed.” The man's cheeks turned slightly pink before he added, "I apologise, I should have introduced myself earlier. I'm Zhongli and I work as a funeral consultant for Wangsheng Funeral Palour. I hope we get along well in the future."

Childe halted looking at the man more intently now. Wangsheng, Wangsheng… it sounded familiar… where did he hear it from?

“Oh! You mentioned Wangsheng Funeral Palour just now, right?” Realisation dawned on Childe as he started catching up with the slightly taller man up ahead. “Do you happen to be the consultant who’s going to negotiate the deal between the Parlor and the Fatui?”

“Yes, that would be me. And you, Mr. Childe, are one of the Fatui Harbingers, is my assumption correct?” A small nod answered his question, so Zhongli responded in kind. Strangely, the consultant didn’t seem too worried about the fact that he was standing in front of a Harbinger. Approached him willingly, in fact.

So this is who he is going to work with according to script the Jester allowed him to set... Might as well take advantage of the situation, huh?

“Well Mister Zhongli, you didn't have to seek me out right now,  if you wanted to discuss something work-related , but I have a feeling we’ll get along splendidly!” Childe chirped looking at the other man who raised one eyebrow in amusement, the corners of his lips tilting upwards ever so slightly.

"Rest assured, it is nothing work related. But I already mentioned that, didn't I? I simply wanted to inform you about the starconches."

“Oh sorry, missed that.”

“So…”

As they dawdled around, Childe felt a bit excited. Zhongli gave off some semblance of power, his appearance almost specious. He had an inkling that this man might right next to him is going to unveil a lot of surprises along the way. But there also was an opposing feeling, that this precise man or the suprises he would bring along are going to somehow result in a crack... He couldn't quite tell. Regardless, he was sure that the brunette posed quite the interesting character, no matter his role in the grander play.

But it was unlike Childe to just trust anybody on their first meeting.

Yet, he didn't care. His thoughts have always been more of the... dark kind ... to put it in a way. He could ignore these dark whispers, just this once and actually listen to his heart, far away from the frozen land. It couldn't hurt, just once. It wouldn't hurt. How could it hurt when it felt good (to finally, carelessly talk to a kindred soul, share endless tales and listen to experience far more different than his)?

Tired .  

He was so tired. He overused his delusion and Foul Legacy.

Betrayed . 

He betrayed the Liyuens, shattering that innocent façade he built on these lands, exactly like the script he’d spent so many times rewriting required him to.. But he didn't care. After all it was what her Majesty had ordered and as long as they were on the same side, he'd comply. He released Osial in just six month, much less than the time Dottore had estimated for him to do so.

But... ah, he still failed, didn’t he?

Failed . He released Osial but Morax didn't show up. The Geo Archon left his people to fight the sea god themselves, for whatever reason. There was no Morax, no Gnosis, no big fight that he had looked forward to. His script was completely ruined, ink smeared across pages, the stage instructions only a fool’s dream. Now, when the stage was falling apart, the only thing he could do was improvise.

He was admittedly struggling to walk through the empty streets of Liyue, but albeit still walking!

Fighting his way up the crimson stairs to Northland Bank was harder than he thought it'd be, and when he opened the doors he almost collapsed, but that's alright because now he finally was allowed to—

And dumbstruck for the umpteenth time Childe was today, because no, the agent who’d called him back here vanished, replaced by two figures staring daggers at each other. Figures he knew, that is.

Seeing Signora definitely struck a nerve somewhere, but standing next to her was... Zhongli? 

They were talking about something, Signora seeming too smug for it to be something positive, until the eighth Harbinger decided to turn to him and grace with him a cruel smile. Its edges sharp, sharper than any sword the Damselette held, gaze like that of the Doctor when observing potential ‘test subjects’, a glint in her eyes that matched the Captain’s meticulous demeanor on the battlefield. Accurate, yet brutal.

Childe's exhausted demeanor instantly faded, getting replaced by the tension that came with Tartaglia's dull glare.

“Seems like you finally arrived.” Sneered Signora, but he paid her no heed and turned questioningly to Zhongli. Though the latter appeared to be avoiding him, his gaze fiscated on the ground in front of his feet. Great. What the fuck is going on now?

Signora, who by now noticed Tartaglia staring at the other questionably, explained. “The Lord of Geo over there was very happy with your performance. Well done, you completed your mission successfully.”

“Haha, thanks, I’m pretty sure I failed my mission and—“ He laughed dryly, until he didn’t.

What. What Lord of Geo? There were only three people in this hall, and he was pretty sure that neither him nor Signora were geo users, much less Archons. That only left… No. that wasn’t possible. Tartaglia’s blood ran cold. But it very much was, a voice whispered back.

Relishing in his confusion, Signora continued, “You were the perfect pawn. Wreaking havoc among the city like this... I'd say we both had our fun in this cooperation, mhm?”

In this moment, the Traveler and their companion barged in, the guide letting out a loud squeal. "Childe... and Signora?!"

They talked about something but he wasn't really listening, being more in his own bubble.

Tired.

He was tired of always being the fool. Tired of—

“ That which though seeketh is now bestowed onto thee for my promise is as solid as stone.”

Betrayed.

Zhong—, or was it Morax now, betrayed his trust, tore it apart. Betrayed their friendship. Yes, he betrayed the entirety of Liyue because he had to, but what reason did Zhongli have to even befriend him, when from the very beginning he knew he would—

"Come Childe, let's go request a meeting with her Royal Majesty."

Failed.

He failed in so many things, he realised. He had failed to detect the danger emitting from the God since their very first meeting. No, that wouldn’t be true now, wouldn’t it?

He’d noticed, but the naive boy chose to trust the oh so polite consultant. He also had failed as Tartaglia, his only truth. How could he, Tartaglia, Tsaritsa's Vanguard ever have lowered his guard and trusted someone, so blindly?

After some not-so-friendly banter with Signora, he left the bank without even glancing Vlad's way, who called out to him.

He was shaking, the aftermath of overusing his Foul Legacy, not to mention with the raw ugly truth that his ‘friend’ had been toying with him the whole time, all left him neurotic.

Tartaglia staggered through the now seemingly endless prison called Liyue.

He could only think of honeyed eyes as he tried to get back to his apartment. Those amber eyes. It was precisely them who lead to his failure. He was mesmerized by them, pulled in like insects drawn to the tree sap, not knowing that once they’d gotten too close there simply was no going back.

The same could be applied to him, he had gotten too close those eyes and in return they devoured him, froze him in time to never move again, to never be free, to never be able to—

The Harbinger only dared to collapse once he made it into the confines of his apartment, which he double checked to be locked. The abyss continued sucking all power out of him, not relenting. He fell to his knees then chest with a thud, knocking the air out of himself. He couldn't breathe, wouldn't breathe, didn't want to breathe. How pathetic was he to have fallen for those lies, how utterly wretched and wor—

His vision blurred and his breathing only got worse and he couldn’t concentrate at all, and—

So he mustered up all his remaining energy and formed a little hydro dagger, because he needed to snap out of this, lest the abyss fracture his soul any more than it already did. It was the only way he knew, the only way it would make the feeling if drowning stop. The only way he wouldn't loose himself to endless cacophonies of agony and pain and—

He slit his hand, a small yet deep cut that allowed him to breathe. A red so beautiful flowed down his hand, as dark as the red eyeliner the ‘consultant’ sometimes switched to instead of the orange one. It kept bleeding, his skin cut apart to reveal smaller masses that climbed to each other as blood flowed between them, and it kept bleeding.

As engrossed as he was, he didn’t notice the dagger nearing his hand again until he hissed and dissipated the liquid. It was supposed to calm him, snap him out of his stubbor. Nonetheless, everything was so loud, his ears rang, his heart pounded so hard, it hurt, he was Ajax again, and—

A deep breath and Childe’s glossy eyes blinked towards his bedroom door. Plain, barren. He turned his back and simply stared at the wooden decorated ceiling.

It wasn’t surprising, the fact that the hem of his sleeve was now dropping blood. The ginger was opposed to bleeding out, so he stood up, eyeing his wound to retrieve his medical kit.

Sloppily, he bandaged his hand in a way that would keep it together and trudged to his bedroom, only bothering to take off his outermost layer of clothing. By tomorrow, the wound would be crusty. Heh, no one was here to care anyway.

Unceremoniously he lay down in bed listening to the Abyss’s vicious whispers, because instead of dying and becoming their vessel, he survived. Fuck them anyway. And the Gods too. All except the Tsaritsa. Specifically the one of contracts with voice like honey over gravel, smooth yet grounded and gaze like amber warm I’m colour, but cold in reality.

Somewhere, in the far distance, he could hear the Void’s echo, accompanied by a twisted melody. There was only one verse he could make out, but it was enough.

A̶̛̜͔̲̖̯̺̙͜f̸̧̹͚̝̙͚̫̿̀́̈́̕t̵̡̻̼́̃͛͊ĕ̷̛̦̾̚͝r̴̤͒͌̓̉̉̓̚ ̷̢̣̜̈́͂̌̀͆͠a̸̢̨̘͓̣̻̜̩̥̎̃̕͝l̵̘̄l̴̤̜̣̫̇͆̋̚͝…̸̡̜̬͚̺͚̜͚̗̇̈́̈́̇̊̾̄y̵̨̘͚̮͖̋͂͛̆̃̿̕o̶̧̰͔̟̦̰̭̺͐̅̀͛͑̅͘͘u̴̳͆̃͊̚’̵̧̰̥̹̹͉̬̯̮̃̅̓̊̉͋̿͘̕l̶̦̭͚͓̰̺̣̋̀̌̆͌͠͝͠ͅl̴̡͓̣̮̬͆̓͝ ̴̗̳̒̓̽̓̀̏́͘͘a̵͍̘̩̦͔̭̲͐̈́͝l̶̢̮̯͙̾̑̈͛̌͝ͅͅw̸̧̢͍̥̥͖͓̝̌̀̆̔̓͘ą̵̛̦͉̮͚͕̙̓̽̌̀͌̋͠y̵͙̰͈͐s̴͚̥͒͗̂̆̑̚͝͠ ̶͈̙̬̖͇͉̳͑́̒̈́b̶̨̝̗̹̝̟̤̙͍̾̇̈́̀̕ë̵̖̯̦́̿̋ ̵̫̱̦̻̿͋̇̌́͘t̶̨̠̯͕̼̽̂͛̍̃̑̒̅̓͜h̵̢̳͍̰̃͗͑̍̾̚͜ȅ̶͎̰̝̖̦̬͉͔͈̂͗̍͑́̃̉̕ ̸̢̨̥̘͉̝͙̍̒͂̂͝A̴͚̭͈̺͎̱̠͂̾̏͗̾͐b̵̤̟͎̰̻̥̖̳̾͆̈̀̀̀̅͘͝y̶͙̥̙͙̞̮̝̩̏͂̐̈́̊̔̈̍ͅṡ̸̢̛͖͇̯̬̹̘̤͑̋͘͜s̷̖͐͋͝ ̷̛̙̝̄͛̚͝ŝ̸̫̙̣̾̂̀î̷̹̮̬̓̓͐͘n̸̜̈̇̒͘͝n̸̛̝̘͈̼̩͎͊͗̍̒ế̸̡̧͈̤͚̬͎̽̆̓͆̓̚ṟ̴̔̅͂͝͠

Chapter Text

One month and two days have elapsed since Childe found out that he was merely a pawn in the cunning game the chess players were entertaining themselves with. Not a horse, not a rock, simply a pawn to later be sacrificed. What irked him the most was how Zhong-, mind him it was Morax now, referred to him as an ‘eavesdropping colleague’. Eavesdropping, he said ! As if he wasn’t the one who was observing him the whole time, calculating his every move, watching from nearby. Regardless, as if he’d ever go near, let alone approach the Fair Lady willingly.

It also wasn’t Childe who first approached Morax. Morax, the cruel joke of a human he was, approached him first, caught him off guard and made him pay for it. He was the first to talk to him, the first to initiate a friendship with Tartaglia out of all people. 

But he trampled crumbled whatever they had and trampled all over it.

Morax approached him first, but not with the desire to genuinely befriend him. Every move of his was calculated, coldly executed and decided from the start.

But who in their right mind would try to befriend Tartaglia ?

Tartaglia, the battle driven maniac, who’s often mistaken for a blood thirsty cannibal.( Once he finds out whoever spread that rumour, he’ll- )

Tartaglia, who’s been on the battlefield since 14. ( He never wanted to enter the Fatui, he’d rather-)

Tartaglia, who is only viewed as an inhuman killing machine, a war weapon ( He never meant to kill anyone. He only wanted to live, he was so terrified back then, but no one understood, no one helped him control it. No one - )

He was really pathetic, huh ? If only that had been new knowledge.

Morax, the oh so great Morax, manipulated Childe with a promise of a friendship. How could’ve been so blinded by a simple, saccharine lie ? He was supposed to be the clever, polite and knowledgeable diplomat, who made sure no one noticed something was amiss, that bombinating promise of chaos and bad omen. But, he was still so disappointedly naive.It's not faultless to question if he was qualified to be a Harbinger.

But that didn’t mean he was weak. He was aware that he wasn’t weak in the slightest. Childe was only a facade carefully woven by Tartaglia and Tartaglia only belonged to a part of a bigger picture, or more accurately a visualisation. As for the one illustrating…

Sighing, he pushed his chair back from his desk, hearing Ekaterina call him from downstairs. “Katya, I’m coming.” 

He seriously needed a distraction to distance himself from the situation. Ironically, just a second later, he got an impromptu visit from a loud pixie, their travel companion and an excited “Big Brother ! I found you !”

Childe was still feeling bitter about the fact that he couldn’t send Teucer back personally and Traveler's condolences didn’t make him feel particularly better, but the thought is what matters. Nonetheless, he was grateful that they were still willing to stick around him. The hurt ginger bid them goodbye and after voicing their concerns regarding his health they left him slumped on the ground. 

Seriously, he’s one of Snezhnaya’s best warriors and a meticulous leader, regardless of the fact that he prefers fighting alone. Who so they think he is, a child to be doted on ? Anyway, even if he wanted to rest his busy schedule wouldn’t allow him to. 

But truth be told, his exhaustion was wearing him down and he was feeling a bit lightheaded. It was justifiable, he recklessly used Foul Legacy twice in the same month without fully recovering from his first transformation.

He got up from where he had hid from Teucer and gave himself a minute to think about his next course of action. It quickly became clear that he didn’t want to go to the bustling streets of Liyue harbour. “Everyone hates me now and I don’t necessarily want to walk through the streets while it’s rush hour……Not to mention trying to shuffle my through the overcrowded streets, that would just be painful.” Childe muttered to no one particularly, making him seem like he lost his mind as he made his way to the dungeon exit.

The symptoms haven’t spiked up yet, and they couldn’t be worse than the last time. He could still walk, so he would force himself to walk until he collapses, because he has to compensate for using that abysmal power. And if he doesn’t…

“No, not now.” He reaffirms himself sternly as the headache from exiting the dungeon stays and doesn’t waver. The buzzing under his skin and the throbbing of his head infuriate him more and the Sinner’s shrill voices whispering, screaming, crying and wailing in his head as they reveal crude truth drive him mad, waiting for him to become one of them, to swallow him, to drown him in endless darkness, darkness ,darkne-

Frankly, the only option that’s available where he doesn’t go crazy is to walk. He pulled out the map he had stored in his inventory and tried to connect with the portable waypoint he positioned in Guili Plains some time ago.

( Dottore gave each Harbinger ten specimen of them and emphasised on the fact that they’re of utmost importance, because they manipulate the Ley Lines and something else he didn’t bother listening to, and should only be used in certain situations. But how was the Doctor supposed to know when each Harbinger uses them ? )

As he teleported there he could feel a certain dizziness and vertigo engulf him, but he opted to start walking. It has been a while since he visited Yaoguang Shoal and there was a feeling bubbling in his chest that he couldn't quite name. Maybe longing ? Or nostalgia ? He couldn’t tell.

But he found that, as he crossed the bridge, the feeling subdued and a more empty and numb feeling settled instead. It was as if that bubbly feeling was never there to begin with, maybe because his humanity was suddenly stripped away from him. He couldn’t have possibly felt any positive emotions, because abyssal creatures couldn’t, wouldn’t and shouldn’t-

Seems like the symptoms are finally starting to appear. Surprisingly, by the time he crossed the broken half of the bridge, he wasn’t coughing blood from organ failure nor was he panting like a kicked dog by the time he crossed the broken half of the bridge.

So he walked. He walked until the sun lay low, the sky ablaze with orange and red hues stretching for miles and miles. He walked until the humid, warm ocean breeze kissed his feverish face. The wind took as much warmth as he could offer and gave nothing in return, leaving behind a cold body. He subconsciously walked to where his journey in Liyue started. To where he met him for the first time.

Childe regained some of his energy after sitting underneath the lone sandbearer tree. He should be happy, because unlike last time there was no intruder. ( He remembers golden eyes, a low voice, a fond smile accompanied by a closer distance, casual chatter- )
Only when the sun set for good and the stars were high in the sky did he get up to walk back to Liyue. “The rush hour should be over,” he thought absentmindedly, shuffling to get his things.

As he walked through Guili Plains, the youngster got a sudden sense of deja vu. This was basically the same path he walked when he first came to Liyue, or rather met Morax, but reversed. Silly parallels.

He started hiking his way to the top of the cliff, some sort of buoyancy kept pushing his tired body forward.

Everything was fine, as it should have been, until the sick man heard a shocked “Childe ?” from behind him. He knew that voice well, very well. Or so he thought. He once enjoyed listening to him rant but not anymore. Right now, he was terrified. 

Terrified ? 

Of what ?

Morax speaking to him and putting him under some Adepti spell and wiggle himself right back into Childe’s life ?

He doesn’t know when, but Zhongli comes closer, closer, closer and he still has his back turned on him.

Checkmate, if the other wanted to murder him, he’d be able to swiftly.

”Childe i didn’t expect you to be here. I’ve been meaning to talk to you but hadn’t found the proper time. The Traveler also asked me to monitor your health when I’m free, which makes me notice how…tired…you look. Are you sure you’re… fine ?” 

The wince in Zhongli’s voice was obvious but Childe didn’t listen to any of his monologue, his shoulders hunched to his ears, his posture rigid. He felt like a fly trapped in Amber, to never be able to fly again.

Just as Zhongli was about to pat Childe’s shoulder, something the Harbinger used to do often, Childe broke out of his daze and turned around, giving the other volatile glance, before dashing down the path. 

If one were to be more descriptive, they’d use the word ‘limping’ instead of ‘dashing’.

Ignoring the repeated shouts of “Childe ! Childe halt !”, the man in question continued dragging his body further. He truly exhausted himself like he planned to. How was he supposed to know that would turn out as a disadvantage for him ?

Normally, he’d fight any foe, but as he trudged into a Hilichurl’s camp, he found himself avoiding them or occasionally ripping through them, leaving behind screams of agony and Zhongli’s echoing voice in his wake.

The next moment a sturdy hand grabbed him, “Listen !” The voice tried to tell him but the voices of the Abyss were louder. 

He was confused , lethargic and probably lost his direction orientation, because now he couldn’t  tell, wasn’t aware where he headed.

The whispers, screams, voices were urging him on, to run and not look back, so he did.When T̷̛̹ȁ̴̕͜ȓ̴̻t̸̖̥̋͝a̶̬̤̒g̸͓͗l̸̘̙͒i̸̬͌ǎ̶̢AjaxChilde finally thought he escaped, he slipped.

Belatedly, he noticed that he arrived at the end of the cliff. Only then did he snap out of his anxious state and realise what was currently happening. It was too late though. There wasn’t anything he could hold on to, expect a tree four meters above the ground, which means he might crash ( and what a glorious sight that would be  ), but it was worth a try.

Tartaglia was about to twist his body mid-air to have a better chance of catching that branch, when someone grabbed his knee.

It was all too sudden. One moment he’s falling, the other he’s getting yanked upwards like a damn doll. 

“You really ought to be more careful, you shouldn’t have endangered yourself like this by running.” was the only thing Zhongli said as he propped Childe up, not unlike how the Marionette does with her puppets.

He sounded a bit hurt, but Childe couldn’t see his reaction. The adrenaline left his body and his vision was getting blurry, with black dots adorning it. He could feel his pulse everywhere at once and he felt his face boiling. The abyssal voices-

Huh……They’re quiet ? Too quiet. Eerily quiet.

The last thing Childe registered was his body slumping forward and a hand hastily reaching to touch his forehead.

Chapter Text

Upon meeting a giant narwhal and falling into endless darkness, he wanders. He sees what resembles a river—as red as blood and black as tar, the colours creating an emulsion-like effect. Multiple agonised sounds echoed right above its surface, all of varying volumes. A muffled scream, a pained cry, a loud howl, a too high-pitched shrill that reverberates through the very ground.

It’s tormenting, inhuman, and he’s terrified. He wants to get out of this place, go back to the nonexistent crack of which through he fell, hug his parents and never come back again. But the narwhal’s phantom, the one that cushioned his fall, urges him forward, forcing him to explore the endless darkness.

Realising that he’s not moving, it manifests beneath him in the form of a shadow—shadows? He’s not sure, it’s so huge in comparison to him, he felt like a drop in the ocean—and pushes him towards the ‘river’, which upon closer inspection, has toxins hovering on it in dusty waves. Luckily, he manages to come to a stop before he gets pushed inside the liquid by the shadow. No way is he listening to it anymore, did it want him dead?

He turns around to leave—or to put it in better words, find a way to leave—the aroma dizzying him. But then he finds himself surrounded by little, slim-eyed creatures, their teeth as sharp as razors while their faces… They were molten.

Suddenly, the ground quakes, and he covers his mouth in an attempt not to scream. The monsters rise into the air and move in what he can only suppose is an ostentatious dance. That is, until they suddenly manipulate the rotten liquid to their will, and the riverbed becomes visible.

Even with his ears covered, the cries, screams, howls, and sobs become deafening, the cacophony pulsating through his very bones.

There's no escape. He wildly looks around, desperately, but his eyes meet absolutely nothing. Yet the shadow beneath him dashes away, parting the crowd, leaving him in the center. Not even ten seconds later, he follows suit, his ears still covered. As they run, the phantom morphs into his own shadow again, taunting and mocking him. If only you had listened and jumped into the river,  it sneers.

Unfortunately, it doesn't shut up.

He decides to ignore it too.

But no matter how much he runs, the tenebrosity only stretches farther, all-engulfing, until he only perceives the shadow underneath him and the endless, bleak, suffocating darkness.

Left and right, darkness. Up and down, darkness. Forward, darkness. Behind him, dark- 

No, not darkness. A spiral, a worn-out staircase.

He has no time to consider his next action, no time to think. The molten monsters are quick on their feet and hot on his heels. Without blinking, he climbs up the stairs faster than he's ever had, his breath coming out in short huffs, ones he tries to keep measured. 

But no. Something is wrong. There aren't any footsteps that follow him up.

Momentarily, he stills, catching his breath once he thinks he's at a safe distance. He's just about to start running again, but decides to fleetingly glance at them. They're just standing there, at the foot of the stairs, absolutely still. 

For some reason, the shadow whines, and he turns to properly take a look. It's enough to freeze him in his place.

To his horror, the stairs are collapsing, leaving not the slightest of debris behind--as if they were nonexistent to begin with, only a fragment of his imagination.

So he runs again, panting heavily as he does.

Once he reaches the end, a big door towers over him, the number two carved into it. Pushing it open, he slumps down against it, just to calm himself.

But of course, the dumb shadow won't let him.

He doesn’t have a good feeling for what’s to come.

He runs ‘up’—he’s not sure, the gravity, the consistency, the atmosphere and coherence are all different in this place, and he’s not sure, he really isn't , if he’s even alive—fourteen floors, surely over thousands of steps.

The monsters of the second and third floors are of the same nature, if only for their appearance. While the first breed only harasses you in your dreams, draining your life force—so he's been told by the narhwal's shadow, he couldn't sleep in such... dire circumstances—the other was more malicious. It actively leapt for his chest to attempt and gauge out your eyes and lungs to feast on them.

The fourth floor is occupied by human-like creatures—same habits, same everything—except for their appearance. Not only are they pitch-black, but they also have long, bloody teeth, with which they pierced through some sort of purple flesh. Incessantly, they would chant something about a leader in a foreign language, repeating its name like a mantra.

They are easy to bypass, since he snuck away while they were chanting.

The fifth floor is a combination of all the monsters one would read about in children's books. Ghosts, spirits, undead, pure dead, whatever the mind can think of and whatever a pen can jot down. Passing this isn’t easy. He only manages with the cries of the shadow and insistent, sweet but sinister voices that slowly take root in his head.

Although the environment of the sixth floor is noticeably darker than the rest, with a twinge of humidity and coldness, that isn't really what froze him in his tracks, deaf to the voices screeching. The inhabitants are... For a loss of words, horrifying. They have skulls of deers, some places covered by strings of muscles, whereas their abdomen was a giant, mangled piece, the neck only covered by black fur. He clenches his mouth shut as he passes this floor.

Astoundingly, the seventh floor is different. Multiple old women, who wore clothes stereotypically Inazuman, with grizzly, gray hair and an abysmal, hunched-back posture fill the place. They attack him with sharp, long nails, whispering their rotten delusions into his ears. How sweet you'd look as I cut your body parts apart , one giggles. Fufu, he'd look better with his intestines spilling and his eyes poked out , the other chuckled.

Once he escapes that floor, he vomites so hard, it actually felt like his organs sloshed out.

 As he enters the eight floor, he heaves a sigh of relief. Out of exhaustion, he climbed ‘up’ the stairs with only two steps keeping him away from the edge. But it’s alright, because he made it, and now an icy breeze and fog greet him, revealing occupants of yet another territory. He wants to slump down right then and there, admire the eight-legged, sturdy horses, but their equestrians don't allow it. Of course, they don’t. Their swords? As sharp as obsidian blades, yet as robust as a shashka. Their gazes? As deadly as a dagger’s tip, their aura petrifying. 

The shadow forces him up and drags him across the chamber.

On the ninth floor, he thinks he found peace in this void, and his probably not so alive body sags, only to tense up a mere, measly second later. The ground he’s walking on is an octopus, the air he’s breathing is acid.

At least he didn't loose his father's dagger. That's his only comfort.

The tenth and eleventh floors are a blur. He distantly becomes conscious of rows upon rows of discarded syringes and clothes, and the only thing etched into his mind are vials, accompanied by a siren’s (?) song.

By the time he reaches the twelfth floor, he’s convinced that he’s actually dead. The temperature has grown two times colder than in Snezhnaya, keeping his surely decaying and bruised body mummified. Or maybe it’s just his body temperature that has sunk, he doesn’t know. It’s also likely that a few of his organs have ceased to function since he’s thrown up more times than he can count, the consistency of the vomit getting thinner every time and the red colour turning into a white, foamy tinge. 

He can still feel the bites from the old witches, the kicks from the horses, the slimy, solid hold of the octopus trying to drown him, the fracture he got from running up the stairs, the syringe stuck in his shoulder that he still hasn’t dared to take out. The whispers—now promising a peaceful death where they munch at his corpse so he’s never truly die—comforting him are the only thing that’s keeping him alive, alongside this damned persistence of the narwhal urging him deeper, as if it would scolded if it doesn’t get him to this certain somewhere.

It has been two days, he just wants to lay down, eat, and rest, and if possible, in Snezhnaya.

But, of course, that’s only a far away dream.

The last three monsters he meets are bone chilling. A chained-up wolf, on the thirteenth floor who called himself Fenrir and seemed to harbour an enormous amount of hatred; so strong, it manifested into the icy, rigid, infertile land around him. It reminds him a bit of the Tsaritsa, Snesnaya's own queen.

He’s never going to see Snezhnaya again. What a shame…

On the fourteenth floor lies a snake, who frightened him so much he partially stopped breathing, even after everything he had experienced in this damned shithole. Lovely place, the shadows correct him. Miraculously, the snake lets him go while hissing something about the heavens being overthrown.

The last creature, on the fifteenth floor—whose stairs prickled away way too fast for him not to force his body to sprint—is outright grotesque and terrible-looking, making it hard to be afraid and not just outright disgusted. When he arrived, it seemed to be nipping on some white tree, the smell of human decay accompanying this layer.

Once the red dragon notices him, it starts sneering, blowing out fire from its nostrils. It is ready to attack him at any moment.

Tired, he gives it a try and tells it he just wants to leave.

Surprisingly, the dragon smiles, his earlier defensive stance melting away, body now relaxed as it leans onto his arms in a sluggish manner—teeth ugly—and replies that everything comes at a price. When asked what the price would be, it simply turns its face and says, 

“You’ll give up your tranquility, your peacefulness, your calmness. You’ll become the epitome of chaos, the eye of the storm, stirring up trouble wherever your two feet tread. Easy enough for someone who witnessed this world and wishes to leave, do you not agree?”

He just wants to get out, so he numbly nods, feeling his neck cracking as he does. Even as the narwhal shrieks. Even as the voices turn from sweet to scornful.

What this mythical creature doesn’t tell him is that the door doesn’t lead to the ‘outside’ world he’s known all his life, like he thought it would. No, it leads to a place far worse, a place destroyed and forever stranded.

The dragon can’t help the grin forming on its face as the boy finally touches the first light he’s seen in three days, the hope radiating off of his bruised face, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

Leaving. He was finally leaving, he couldn’t believe it. He could talk to his mom whenever he felt down, and go ice fishing with his dad as he tells him stories and they around a poor attempt at a fire against the cruel winter winds. He’ll finally appreciate Alek tutoring him advanced parabola without whining, could  goof around with brother Alan in the snow. He also wants to cook new recipes and explore forests and waterfalls with sister Anastasia like they usually do, could hug Antonia so tight she wouldn’t be able to breathe in between laughter, could read Anthon as many books and fairy tales as he desires, could—

There’s a door in front of him. And he’s finally free, free to regain his freedom.

So he reaches out to the door with a broken hand and watches with hopeful eyes as the light engulfs him. 

He’s free, he survived. He was wrong, he’d see Snezhnaya again. He’d see vast lands covered by snow, white canvas decorated by gray clouds, high mountains with ice-cold rivers, white forest with bears, wolves, foxes. He’d see the sunlight again, he’d look up at the sun hidden behind the clouds and never complain about the lack of it again. He’d do so many things, he can’t currently count, but first he’d be greeted by gentle snowfall and white, white, white.

He finally feels his feet landing on the ground, and the dizziness admittedly lasts longer than it should have. But it’s alright, because now he was free, free to roam the world he’s always loved, regardless of the dreams that’ll haunt him for the rest of his humble days. 

He takes a few blind steps, his vision not accustomed to light yet, but dread immediately fills his stomach. There’s no gentle crunch of snow, and when he blinks a few times, everything starts to hurt. He’s not greeted by snowfall and there's no white in sight.

Red and black collide for dominance as his vision finally settles. He’s not in Snezhnaya. He’s on some broken path and confused, but not surprised, because after a minute, everything dawns onto him. He was tricked. Not lied to, no, because that wench actually had told the truth. He said he’d get him out, but not where. Not in the world he grew in that always fascinated him.

Suddenly, he falls to his knees, all the exhaustion from the past days weighing him down like the world’s heaviest shackles as anger, resentment, rage, and frustration all boil in him, ripping an agonised scream from his throat.

Why? What would that monster even gain from this? Why?

He clutches the few last remaining grass blades on the ground and plucks them out, letting an infuriated growl escape his throat as he repeatedly punches the ground with his already bruised knuckles, causing the swelling to become more severe. He doesn’t stop screaming either, his shrill voice the only thing that could be heard in the vicinity.

Absentmindedly, he notes that the narhwal and voices couldn’t be heard anymore.

His body flinches every time his ragged hands hit the ground, but he’s too out of it to care. How could he have fallen for that? They even warned him, for fuck’s sake!

He yells one final time, a guttural and ugly thing, and stops completely. Stills. His knuckles start bleeding, and his throat becomes sore very quickly since he hasn’t drunken anything the last three days. Actually, the only thing he has done was constant running.

He feels his anger, resentment, rage all cave in and turn into something way more vulnerable. Despair starts pulling at his heartstring. His rigid body and clenched jaw sag, and sadness, sorrow, and pain wash over him, like a violent wave that hits a ship in a storm.

Trying to hold back the tears only makes them stream harder down his face as he wails and weeps, his body uncontrollably shaking with each shuddering sob. Breathing has also become harder because every shudder shakes him to his core and he couldn’t stop them.

Standing up proves to be quite hard, because whenever he opens his eyes, all he could see was destruction, and that reminds him that he isn’t in Snezhnaya but in some long deserted land, and that only makes him sob harder.

Finally, he somewhat pulls himself together and searches for a pillar he could lean on, so that his already mangled hands won’t have to suffer anymore. 

When he spots one, he half-walks, half-drags his body there before he collapses and pulls his knees to his chest. His older brother always told him to not bottle things up, and maybe it’s time to listen to him. Damn, he misses him.

Tears continue to streak down his face, silently, but soon he notices Hillichurls alongside with soldiers roaming around the area. He doesn’t know how they got here, but he’s thankful that they haven’t noticed him yet—which won’t last long if he doesn’t move. And he really doesn’t want to become their target—not when they’re so aggressive.

He is tired, and he doesn’t want to move. Even if he wanted to, his body wouldn’t. Maybe he really shouldn’t, what if they catch him?

But there’s no chance of him surviving, he knows that. He knows, it’s not normal to have blue hands, he does. He’s aware his body is already dead, he’s aware. He knows, he shouldn’t have run off with his father’s dagger in the first place, and that there’s no one to blame except him, he understands.

He grips his arms tighter around himself, shaking. The monsters are getting ever closer, the glint in the soldiers eyes ever brighter as they notice him from another platform.

Shit. Ok, it’s another platform, they won’t be arriving anytime soon, he tries to reassure himself as he cowers further. It’s over.

But he’s selfish, and he’s human, and he wants to survive. It’s idiotic to even think there’s a glimmer of hope—hope that’d push him on--but he’s human and he wants to survive no matter what the cost. It’s a primal feeling or instinct, he doesn’t know, but it evokes enough fear within him for him to be actually determined to fight for his life, to carve his way through this hell, and that’s why he stands up.

He couldn’t give up now, not after surviving all of that. If he does, that would be suicidal. For now, suicide isn’t the way, right? It’s frowned upon in Snezhnaya, so he probably shouldn’t—although he thinks it’s a quiet, dull cruelty. He’d sin before he dies, and he doesn’t want to make an irreversible decision he’d regret. Yes, he needs to get moving.

Not to mention he wants to live. He wants to survive, see his family again, he wants to live.

Propping himself up as quietly as he could manage to not attract attention, he slowly starts walking away, putting pressure on his now dainty form to feel a bit grounded. He’s going to make it out alive, he knows it. He doesn’t. He just has to press on. Just a little. Only a little more—

A short stretch later, a ball of black foul materialises in front of him, and before he can even look up at the palace that’s come into view now that he turned the corner, the ball of rotting energy forcefully enters his ribcage and worms its way into his heart, leaving him absolutely breathless.

At first, he feels better. His mangled arms turn back to normal, like how they were before he fell. His swollen cheek isn’t anymore and he feels so much better. His exhaustion dissolves alongside his wounds away, his emotions get soothed. He feels normal again, mentally and physically.

Yet it doesn’t take him long to start screaming, wailing, and weeping even louder than last time, inhumane. The energy hums in delight as it kills him from the inside, and the voices are back, with the narwhal hiding in his shadow at last.

The voices are cackling in amusement and entertainment as he clutches his head, trying to shield himself from the sinister thoughts that suddenly flood his mind. The light in his eyes is now fully extinguished. Two deep voices are particularly deep and loud, welcoming him as their new ‘Sinner’, as he descends into hysterics and madness.

Childe woke up, cold sweat and a thick blanket covering him. He grabs it harder.

Although he always had those types of dreams whenever he used Foul Legacy they never quite mirrored what actually happened. 

Not as close as this one. They forced him to walk down the memory lane. An unpleasant one, a reminder of the abyss, of who he belonged to.

When his breathing evened and he propped himself, he realised that he was lying on a foreign bed, its big mattress veiled by soft, silky sheets. The bed was huge, it could fit him and all three of his younger siblings. How he missed them.

Well, this obviously wasn’t his apartment, that much he figured. Occasionally, as a side effect, his memory would be fuzzed too, which wasn’t doing him a favour…

So where was he? Uncertain, Childe scrutinised the room some more. The main aesthetic was brown, beige, and gold, and he blanked for a moment. A ten out of ten for tidiness, but that’s not important. 

It reminded him of… Never mind. Scanning the room some more, his eyes landed on a cabinet full of trinkets next to the wardrobe. A trinket caught his eye, and his mouth parted lightly in recognition.

Oh, so I was right all along, he smiles bitterly. This is Morax’s room, his mind concluded for him.

“But how did I get here?” Childe voiced out, confusion brewing in his head.

Maybe he should get something to drink first? His throat ached and his voice was pretty hoarse.

Just as he was about to remove the blanket, memories of the recent events finally come back, and it didn’t take long to connect the dots.

He sat there for a few seconds before the severity of the situation tugged him down to bed. The first thing he felt, was unsurprisingly, embarrassment, as he hid his face in his hands. His neck and ears turned a pale shade of red, heat slowly crawling up his cheeks.

“Oh…Why did I do that…” Childe whispered, a frown marring his face as he let out a frustrated sigh. He combed a finger through his hair. That was even more pointless than using Foul Legacy against the Traveler.

Whatever was bound to happen—a conversation, one that he wasn’t looking forward to—he completely brought it upon himself. He clenched his fists into his lap. All of this because he was emotional. Great.

“Now I owe him something too…Tsaritsa, lend me some strength.”

Quick plan, he’ll go up to Morax, apologise for the inconvenience, and get out as soon as possible. Yeah, sounded solid! Childe mentally patted himself for finding an exit out of one of the most embarrassing and avoidable situations he found himself in. Almost as embarrassing as—

Ok, now isn’t the time.

After he glanced around the room one final time, he flexed limbs, stood up and wobbled his way to the door, his legs feeling somewhat numb. The former Archom must’ve given him some really heavy painkillers.

Childe was about to grasp the door handle when he hesitated. Something was amiss he, but he didn’t know what exact—

Ultimately, it occurred to him.

Frantically, the Harbinger reached for his belt, but not even his belt was perched on his waist. He turned his head to the nightstand, but he couldn’t spot anything there either.

Where the hell were his vision and delusion.

He took in a breath, calming himself down. He’ll just focus on the insidious humming of his vision and the noxious fizzling of his delusion. Childe knew that they were nearby, of that he was sure, yet that didn’t ease his restlessness. He had to get them back, especially his delusion.

Once it became clear that they weren’t in the bedroom, he headed to the door and clutched the door handle, turning it down.

Childe wasn’t thinking of getting into an altercation, especially not now that his own body felt like shit, for a lack of words—the fight that he could’ve had with Morax though, that he still mourned. A shame, really. He stepped out of the doorframe, and by now the Archon must’ve noticed that he was awake, judging by the rustling somewhere down the hall.

Shutting his eyes for a moment to calm his forming headache, he sighed again, moving.

Man, he just wanted to get out of—

Caught in his own small world, he bumped into Zhongli with force that sent them both staggering a few steps. And of course, since Childe loved to embarrass himself and highlight why the Fatui are called that for a reason, he unconsciously punched the other’s chest out of instinct not even a second later.

Shortly after, he found his arm aching and his vision distorted.

What the actual fuck. This man was made out of rocks.

“Childe.” A deep, worried voice came from in front of him.

Oh.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he actually wanted more than to just to get out of here, when in reality, he wanted to talk to the other. But the overwhelming urge to fight him was stronger, like an icy storm that settled over frozen sea, obscuring it.

Although he knew beforehand who’d be standing opposing him, Childe still couldn’t help the clenching of his fist.

He set his face back to his default smile, smoothing his expression over. “Hello,” Childe greeted.

It was a relief, really. ZhongliMorax didn’t change, which made it easier to cling onto his rational—maybe irrational?—grudge, a rope threaded by anger and something more profound.

If I act politely, Zhong… Morax might get the wrong impression of me forgiving him, Childe narrowed his eyes. Neutrality it was.

Childe sighed wearily, for the umpteenth time, meeting golden eyes. This was all very conflicting.

“Morax-”

“Childe,”

Silence. This certainly was more awkward than intended. Well, it was going to be the first time they’ll talk probably after the former handed in his Gnosis. Could he be blamed?

The Harbinger cleared his throat and gestured, “You go ahead.”  The consultant nodded before he replied, “I’m glad that you’re finally awake, Childe.” A transient expression flitted across his face before he continued, “Nevertheless, you should rest some more. After all, you’ve used… that power… twice in one month. It’s destructive and must’ve put quite a toll on you. Please go lay down again, I’ll be coming back shortly with some food. You must be starving.” Just like that, he turned around to excuse himself.

He really never changes, Childe smiled bitterly. Talk about being vague. Coming and ordering, just as he pleases with that stoic stature. And…

Zhongli might’ve attempted to mask it, but Childe caught it nonetheless. The instance where the former Archon’s face soured when he mentioned ‘that power’, the thinly veiled disgust, the two words that were spat out with venom lacing them.

However, that didn’t bother him. What did was the possibility of Morax knowing exactly what that power was. He could, to some extent, hide the truth from Her Majesty—of course not the fact that it was abyssal, that was something as implicit as the Director’s origins. Someone other than them who truly knows what the Foul Legacy is……The thought alone made him neurotic.

“Wait,” Zhongli stopped in his tracks, so Childe continued, “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Zhongli, but I must insist.” The Adeptus now fully turned back, giving Childe his attention. “How many days have I been out for? Besides, you needn’t worry about me, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.“

Funny, how although he was used to talking in an extravagant and pretentious manner in Snezhnaya, even the smallest semblance to it now felt wrong, like pieces of puzzles that didn’t fit.

“Besides, I don’t particularly enjoy talking to liars who don’t value me much.” He jabbed. Ah, much better. Some of the tension that had coiled inside him dispersed. Morax’s pupils now became slits, his eye twitching. Too bad for him, his irritation only acted as fuel to Childe’s amusement.

While he certainly wasn’t able to imitate the Knave’s pragmatic nature, nor the Mayor’s calculating approach, ZhongliMorax’s minuscule reactions that varied across the stretch of the silence, finally concluded by a cluck of his tongue, was the sweet taste of provocation coming to fruition.

“To answer your question,” he eyed him up and down multiple times—quite disrespectful if you asked Childe, “you’ve been unconscious for around three days, almost four now.”

Just as he was about to offer his valuable commentary and pester the other to let him leave, Zhongli interrupted, crossing his arms. “In the meantime, I’ve contacted the Tsaritsa.”

Childe gawked. This wasn’t even him getting a taste of his own medicine, this was him splashing Zhongli with water and getting hit by a tsunami as a consequence.

Finally, he found his voice, and exclaimed rather loudly for someone who just had woken up, “Are you out of your mind? Why would you contact the Tsaritsa?! What the hell does She have to do with anything?”

He didn’t notice his accent getting thicker and thicker by the second. 

“It’s not diplomatic talk, it’s alright—“

“Alright? Of course it is, it’s always that with you.” Tartaglia laughed, gripping the doorframe. “What happened to lying low and living a normal life? Or does Rex Lapis not know that not just any mortal could dream to talk to Her?” He sneered, anger evident in the way he clenched his jaw, biting down more words he wanted to spit out.

Childe knew that this chance at life mattered greatly to Zhongli, anyone who saw him talk as he handed his Gnosis did. So, maybe, bringing it up would rattle him, even if just a but.

Morax simply sighed, lowering his eyes. “Calm down and just let me speak, would you?”

“…Fine, be my guest.”

Now, if Morax told Her Majesty that he had overused not only his Delusion, but also his abyssal powers, he’d be in some trouble. It wasn’t that She forbade him to use it or anything—quite the opposite actually. Under certain circumstances every Harbinger was allowed to pursue their own agenda, regardless if it aligned with Hers.

Although that never stopped Her from voicing her thoughts on the matter—sometimes with support, though in his case, mostly concern. Whether it was him resorting to use Foul Legacy, or Signora unleashing the Crimson Witch, She always offered commentary.

But now that another god—an Archon from a different nation, no less—had written to Her…

She wasn’t going to let him off easy—perhaps even confine him to no missions, as She’d done once before. ‘Strategic reassignment’, as the jester liked to call it.

Zhongli sighed, having detected a slightly nervous look on Childe’s face, and took a step back.

“It’s nothing that will impact you negatively.” He reassured the ginger as he grabbed him by the shoulders, whirled him around, and gently shoved him into the room. “Your Archon simply asked me for a favour and I agreed. Now sit.” He patiently constructed.

Damn him, everything really always went as he wished. Why did he have to complicate such a mundane situation?

”I’ll be right back, understood?” Even if it was meant to be an order, Morax glanced down at him as if asking permission, so Childe nodded numbly. “Bring me a glass of water, while you’re at it.” He muttered
After he left the room, the youngster huffed, annoyed. He leant back until he fully lay down in bed, his eyes blinking rapidly, his breathing dragging out. The comfortable bed and the blanket that was so warm only worsened his longing for sleep. As if he hadn’t slept for three days straight.

Just for a few minutes.

Yeah, he needed the energy to… deal with the idiot.

Chapter Text

“I trust you’ve had a nice rest ?” Childe jolted awake. Trying and failing to construct two hydro daggers, he looked around, confused, his eyes bleary. Huh ? Why couldn’t he…

Oh right.

He scowled, remembering that Zhongli took his vision and delusion. His fiddling probably made him look funnier than he already did; red eyes and unkempt hair making him look silly.“At ease, I apologise . I didn’t mean to startle you.” Childe turns to Zhongli, who took a seat on the stool next to the bed and pulled the beige bedside table closer, all while holding the fancy-looking tray. 

After he set down the tray, he reached for one of the square cups. “Here.” Zhongli instructed gently, handing him the steaming cup, his hands still lingering as if scared that the diplomat might accidentally drop it. 

Childe simply grasped it and took a sip to spare his sore throat. Looks deceive and he should know, but he didn’t think that the drink would be so bitter it could kill him. Glancing at the man by his side, the other seemingly unphased as he drank, a small smile plastered on his face. The scene seemed almost too serene.

“Are we even drinking the same thing ?”

Zhongli shook his head and started explaining, “I’m drinking osmanthus tea, while you’re drinking a herbal tea made of Kuding and Qingxin. While Kuding is a particularly bitter-tasting infusion that can help with headaches, tinnitus, and detoxification, Qingxin acts like Giseng by boosting the immune system by stimulating the production of white blood cells. Not to mention, it effectively reduces fatigue and increases your energy levels in a more natural way than caffeine.” Zhongli gave him a pointed, disapproving look before disclosing their cultural significance, metaphorical usages, their sell rates in the market, and even comparing the two herbs.

Normally, he wouldn’t have minded his rambling much; the man was a walking encyclopedia and had to somehow share his knowledge. Listening to him reminded him of the kid he was before, the kid who so eagerly listened to everything and anything as he sat by the fireplace, astonished by the world’s tales. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t do this anymore; it’s just that it’s become less exciting, which wasn’t the case when he listened to Zhongli.

Yet Childe was growing increasingly restless. Curiosity was killing him, not unlike the way the Abyss does every night. What did they discuss ? And just what is this favour Zhongli mentioned before ? It’s very likely that it has something to do with me…Scratch that; it probably does. He would’ve let me go otherwise.

His thoughts were interrupted by Zhongli clearing his throat. “Seems like I talked too much again. I’m deeply apologetic, I still haven’t fully grasped the value of time yet. I should show you the letter now, I suppose…” The last part was quiet, almost as if he was hoping not to be heard.

Childe held out his hand expectantly, watching Zhongli’s eyes narrow and his pupils turn into slits, just like a serpent, which admittedly startled him. The Adeptus’ back was also rigid, his shoulders almost touching his ears. His whole posture suggested that he hoped for Childe to forget about the letter.

What kind of logic is that…The letter is the only reason I’m sitting here to begin with. Surely he didn’t think I’d forget this fast ?

The Harbinger eyed the consultant skeptically, who avoided looking at him. He had never seen Zhongli of all people this nervous, and it somehow put him on edge ( How bad is the content of the letter for even Zhongli to be this worried ?), yet he didn’t relent.

This was a letter sent by Her Majesty, the highest acknowledged authority, and deity of Snezhnaya, making it mandatory to read and respond within an appropriate timespan. Unless you wanted to anger Her, of course.

The room was filled with an unsettling energy, but not the malice, hostile kind. It was more of the nervous, uneasy atmosphere, which left you restless and jittery.

Just as Childe opened his mouth, Zhongli sighed, frustrated, running his fingers through his fingers through his hair. He reached for a pocket inside his vest and took out a neat envelope, stamped with royal blue wax.

“I got carried away, sorry. You should have the right to read it too,” whispered Zhongli as he gave Childe the envelope he so persistently wanted to keep. He seemed nothing like his usual self; his words became curter, his expression clipped.

“Thank you, Mister Zhongli. Now,”

Turning his attention to the carefully trimmed wax stamp, he removed the lettercase and pulled out the woven paper decorated by Her Majesty’s elegant handwriting. Surprisingly, the paper was worn out and slightly crumpled as if someone clutched it desperately, yet not hard enough to ruin it.

Casting a look at Zhongli, he noticed the other gulping hard and once again found his eyes roaming everywhere but his face.

It was weird, why was he so nervous ? Their deal had gone well, and they left off on somewhat good terms. So what has the Tsaritsa written that made the Geo Archon so agitated ? Unless She threatened to reveal his actual identity, which She per contract vowed not to, he couldn’t think of a reason for the wreck sitting beside him.

After the diplomat quietly observed him for a while, he glanced at the letter in his hands, then back at the other, and calmly asked, “Do you have anything to tell me before I read the letter ?”

Zhongli’s reaction was immediate. His unfocused eyes snapped to Childe before he blurted out, “No, I-” And just as abruptly as he started, he stopped, halting. He pursed his lips and drew his eyebrows together, a rather troubled expression crossing his features as he seemingly debated something absentmindedly. He closed and opened his mouth a few times, not unlike a gaping fish.

“I…I actually do. Pardon me, it’s just rather…” he drew in a breath, his bangs covering his eyes, before he continued,“…unnerving. I’m actually not supposed to tell you this. No, actually, I’m not allowed to tell you this. So, please be mindful when you report this to your superiors.” Childe’s lips stretched into a thin line, but he nonetheless indicated the other to continue, despite his brittleness.

“There was originally a first part to the letter, addressed only to me, explaining in great detail the true meaning of the contents of the following letter. The Tsaritsa wished for them to be burned, so I obliged by following her instructions. But She also requested for you to remain clueless about not only its contents, but also its existence in its entirety. In conclusion, She wished for you to not suspect a deeper meaning nor look into this contract. Her aim was to pass it off as a simple political alliance, one that would offer strategic advantages.”

He halted for a moment to give Childe some time to think, then carried on,“Yet I do not necessarily agree with her second plea. I do not desire any secrets, which could potentially cause animosity to linger between us.” Zhongli lowers his gaze with something akin to guilt, but levelled their gazes again before calmly kept talking,“As for why she requested you not to read it… Ah, how should I phrase it…” He frowned, trying and failing to find the right words to express himself, only to find himself cut off by Childe, who had a fake, practiced look of tranquility ornamenting his face.

“You don’t need to explain anything. It’s not like anyone bothered to explain the whole ‘I’m actually Morax in disguise, surprise !’ fiasco, so you needn’t strain yourself over this.” He rebuked before turning to the letter.

Childe would never admit it, but he was a tad bit touched by the God’s earlier confession. A little part of him- the naive, dumb, minuscule part hiding in a corner of his heart- was hoping that Zhongli meant what he said. That Morax truly enjoyed talking and being with him, that he didn’t only talk to him because he had to monitor and supervise his every step. 

But as he said, he would never admit it, hence the harsh words that made Zhongli grimace slightly.

From what he said, I can conclude that it’s a political alliance…But what would the Tsaritsa benefit from this ? And didn’t Morax say that his latest contract was to end all contracts ? So why would he accept ? This doesn’t make any sense.

“Now.” Childe announced with finality, ignoring Zhongli’s small “please don’t freak out”, before casting his eyes on the paper.

Dear Morax,

or is it Zhongli now ? Whatever you prefer. I once again would like to thank you for your cooperation on our recent contract. It proceeded as planned and resulted in a mutual advantage, and that’s why you have my word—the second part of our contract shall be fulfilled once I reach my goal, and this commitment will be honoured promptly.

I’ll address this letter to both you and my eleventh in order to ensure all relevant parties will be informed.

There’s a change of plans in my grand scheme, Tartaglia.

From now on, you are to stay at Zhongli’s residence during the intervals between your missions. While this decision is not irreversible, it would be much preferred since I’ve discussed this matter with the Director already. I am aware that you may find this especially absurd, Tartaglia, and wonder about the reason for my sudden interference. Unfortunately, I am unable to disclose further details at the time.

Given the circumstances of Liyue’s trial, it won’t be feasible for Tartaglia to stay in the nation of contracts without orchestrating the outrage and confusion of the common population, given the rumours that the Tianquan has spread about the release of the Overlord of the Vortex.

To avoid suspicion, I’ll present both of you the following options:

1. Adoption ( Zhongli adopts Tartaglia )

2. You both get married ( contractual )

Let me be more precise. I don’t recommend the first choice, given that while we may know that you, Morax, are well above 6000 years old, to the mortal eye you only appear to be a bit older than my eleventh. It would be weird for an adult to adopt another who was seemingly barely younger than him. Although I am not aware of any law that prohibits thus in Liyuen, if you choose this option, you are free to.

Whilst the second choice is the more intimate, I am of the opinion that it’s the ideal one. No resident would suspect a stay too long, and more importantly, Tartaglia would also be able to attain Liyuen citizenship, meaning he can’t get banned as easily as a foreigner from the country.

Despite the fact that I considered making you, Tartaglia, work at the Northland bank, I concluded that these trifling matters needn’t be dealt by a Harbinger, not to mention that you’re needed for your missions all across Teyvat—not just Liyue. If everything goes smoothly, you won’t need to stay at Zhongli’s for too long anyway, since it’s only for the time in between your missions that you’re sojourning at his place.

Both of you are allowed to act however you wish; however, please be mindful in public spaces.

Should you have any additional suggestions, I would be pleased to hear them. I am looking forward to our alliance.

Kindly ensure that a response is delivered within the next five days.

PS: Tartaglia, if you happen to have a vacation while staying at Zhongli’s, you’re free to traverse wherever you desire, he won’t stop you, will you, Zhongli ?

Sincerely, 

Barnabas, Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya.

Oh…

Oh ! 

Wait, what the actual fuck ?!

Holy. Cow. What the heck did he just read ? Adopted ? MARRIED ?

Shit, I’m seriously getting married off, fuck.

Someone needed to stop Childe from marching out of this house and running straight to the harbour to dissolve into hydro in the grandiose and wide ocean to never reappear again or turning into helium and hiding underneath the earth’s graceful crust. He can’t believe what he just read, this surely is fabricated, this can’t be real—

“Childe, are you alright ? You turned very pale.” Zhongli stood up from the stool he was sitting on  and moved closer, attempting to do whatever Morax-typical thing he always does; however, the man in question slid down the big headboard, slowly but steadily.

“Wait, let me process this, holy shit. So whatever you and Her Majesty conversed about, had Her convinced it’d be a great idea for me to ma- …live with you ?”

Zhongli didn’t reply, opting to simply avoid his eyes with the same guilty look.

“So, I basically have to return to this damned house every time after a mission, the exception being the vacations, huh ? Zhongli, Morax, whoever you are, you screwed up big time ! Thank you, Mister-all-knowing, now my whole schedule got messed up.” Childe knew that he should have lost his composure, nor should he have snapped and snarled at someone who could easily kill him in an instant with his pinky if he so wished, but he was too agitated by the situation.

Zhongli sighed for the umpteenth time, his eyes still glued to the ground as he scrambled for the right words.

“I’m also deeply troubled by making the decision. Given the Fatui’s current political disadvantage, nothing I could think of would satisfy your Archon, and I’m… ah… incredibly sorry for putting you in a situation you never wanted to end up in.” Gone was the wise, confident, and distinguished consultant, replaced by a more honest, sensitive version. Yet he was still Zhongli.

His eyes brimmed with determination—although Childe wasn’t sure why and for what reason—as he finally looked straight into the eyes of the slouching person on the bed for what felt like the first time in eternity. It was strangely comforting.

“If you hadn’t woken up today, I would’ve been forced to make the decision on my own. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to make the right one. Because without your consent, any choice would’ve been the wrong one.” The consultant’s eyes softened, but they remained unyielding. 

Unyielding, because no matter how helpless, powerless, uncertain he may be, he’d never give up nor cave in. Morax was just as stubborn as his element, and he would be able to find a way, because that’s just how he is, and sometimes Childe used to find himself fascinated by this quality yet equally vigilant. If Zhongli wanted to make Childe somehow forgive him, he’d be able to, even if it were to take him years, for the Harbinger was just as stubborn as the mountains the Adeptus used to carve.

But that’s beside the point.

Childe propped himself up and scooted closer to the edge for a bit closure the other may offer. “This is unbelievable. Are you sure this wasn’t a fake letter send by one of the Harbingers as a joke ? You know, maybe the Doctor decided it was funny to test the geo Archon ?” Zhongli grimaced and shook his head slowly, straightening his back in contrast to the youngster who just slouched even more, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“If you were in a more lucid state, you would’ve noticed the letter radiating a cryo energy so dense, that it could’ve only possibly been the Tsaritsa.”

“Oh.”

A headache was brewing, he knew it. All the sun rays lightening up the room were suddenly too bright, blindingly so, the blanket was emitting a scorching heat, unbearably so. He buried his face in his palms, because the cold, rigid darkness would make everything better. Better in really twisted way, better in a way that the scorching heat would be nothing in comparison to the shrill screams and the blinding light would make him feel grateful, because if you’re blind, you won’t be able to see the horrors lurking in the corners of your very own room, behind the eyes of your enemies, in your acquaintance’s heart, in-

Okay, he should evaluate their choices. He might loose his mind other wise.

“Adoption is out of question. I still have parents who wouldn’t be very enthusiastic to discover that their son was adopted.” But they wouldn’t oppose me disappearing from their lives either. He thought bitterly. Despite never admitting it out loud, I always have known how much of a burden I am to them. And their faces whenever they see me, the guilt… It’s obvious.

The older man nodded and waited for the youngster to continue, a rather awkward silence lingering in the air.

“From the way Her Majesty phrased it, it’s quite obvious that she prefers the second option more, which also happens to be the only other alternative. Great, right ?”

The dignified consultant was back, because when Tartaglia removed his arms from his face, and his eyes adjusted to the light, Zhongli’s chin was resting on his hand in a pensive position, as he mulled over the current suggestions serenely.

“If it’s fine with you…” Zhongli began, and Childe observed every little detail intently. The way his back straightened even more, the way his back straightened even more, the way his eyes as well as the tips of his hair flickered a golden glamour, the way every words was pronounced with precision, because he wanted him to clearly understand, the way-

“Let’s get married.”

And this proposition was all it took to make the eleventh Harbinger, the Vanguard, a stunned, disoriented fool. His eyes comically widened and he must’ve looked like a fish from how many times he opened and reclosed his mouth. 

“…Come again ?” His throat was extremely parched, his breath hitched.

“Let’s get married… If you’re fine with it, that is. I could talk to the Tsaritsa…” Zhongli went on about something, but Childe wasn’t listening. He felt so, so dizzy, and the world felt like it was spinning, although he was sitting on the bed.

Right. He has nothing to worry about. This was highly professional. No hard feelings, absolute nothingness. He wasn’t going to think about the fact that he was going to live with the person who betrayed him, and couldn’t literally care less. About how that person was now sitting in front of him, propo-

“-ilde. Childe !” He was shaken by his shoulders as two hands held onto them tightly, a resonant voice demanding his attention. “It’s absolutely fine if you don’t agree. I shouldn’t—”

“No, no, you misunderstood. I…I was taken aback, ‘is all. We can… get married… just fine.” Childe quickly interrupted Zhongli, ignoring the way he grimaced, tugging at his sleeve to be able to see his expression. Zhongli was obviously startled by their sudden, close proximity, his ponytail flowing down his left shoulder and tickling Tartaglia’s cheek. 

He moved away instantly, taking in a shuddering breath and a step back; his ears were tinted red, likely from embarrassment.

It’s not like the diplomat was in a better state—just a moment ago he felt the consultant’s breath on his forehead—his cheeks were equally rose, his pale face glistened with a sheen of sweat, and everything was so hot, hot, hot—

A few tense moments later, Zhongli cleared his throat,“I should get to writing the response, so it reaches Barnabas within the agreed timespan. Do you require anything else ?” asked Zhongli as he headed to the door.

Childe was about to decline, but a rumble of his stomach answered him. The Adeptus’ expression darkened, and he almost scowled.

“How could I have forgotten ? Pardon me, I’ll quickly cook you something to eat. You can’t rest properly with an empty stomach.” With that, he turned around, leaving no room for protest.

The Harbinger could now positively be compared to a deflated balloon. His head felt so heavy, so he sank into the mattress. 

He was marrying the damned geo Archon. The reason ? A letter sent by said Archon to his queen. He was marrying Morax. Does he even mean anything to the god ? He was marrying Zhongli. A persona as fake as that vision he carries around. He was marrying a person who fooled him yet gave him twice as much hope and joy altogether. Someone he used to be ecstatic to face in a battle, wanted to, but now he dreaded every drawn-out interaction of theirs. He couldn’t trust him again; he wouldn’t, he absolutely shouldn’t.

He didn’t know, how should he act now ? This was very unpredictable; there was no script he could follow, no mask he could cower behind.

AjaxTartaglia’s heart was pounding hard, and he clutched the bedsheets as he covered himself wholly with the fluffy duvet. It seems the Tsaritsa has the upper hand in this contract… she practically ordered him around in that letter. But Zhongli didn’t seem to mind it much. Would he have reacted differently if She hadn’t sent him the first part ? This contract… what is it truly about ?

Gradually, he descended into a realm where only bitter truths exist, only reality; no sweet, honey-dripping lies that lead you on, only to push you into the depths of the Abyss. 

Or is it reality now ?

Could it really be reality or is it just a point of view of somebody ?

Slowly, he drifted to sleep, his eyes heavy.

Chapter Text

This must’ve been one of the most, if not most, outrageous contracts Morax ever made in his entire godhood.

It was for a good cause and supported by rational reasons, he reasoned again and again, trying to persuade himself.

Yes, he isn’t an individual who would renege on any promises or contracts, nor would he in the future. Yet, it didn’t make the situation he found himself in any less troubling or more pleasing.

It has been three days since Childe collapsed, Zhongli mused to himself, walking through the golden lit halls of his humble home.

What’s the best way to inform him of these perturbing news without him going, as Xinyan would say, bonkers ? He already loathes me, I don’t need him hating me even more than he does, he sighed sombrely. The consultant was also aware that the reason for Childe’s disappearance the past month was because he was avoiding him.

It’s understandable that he’d be this hurt, even angry with him. He probably misinterpreted his actions, twisted them in his closed-off sanctuary where only he and his thoughts had a say.

Initially, Zhongli approached the Harbinger out of wariness, but he admittedly and unexpectedly grew to enjoy the youngster’s company.

A deviation from the plan he shouldn’t have ignored.

Yet the Tsaritsa’s messenger had him preoccupied too much to simply care.

His smiles are as gentle as the delicate cascades of droplets when he wants them to be, but as sharp as the kindjals he hides in his outfit. Although he presents himself in a cheerful, optimistic manner that immediately makes you lower your guard, there has always been a more cynical, pessimistic edge to his speeches, an occasional breach in the mask he so carefully glued together, molded its margins. Though he may work for the Fatui, he is still somewhat naive compared to his colleagues. No, actually, not naive; he wasn’t as gullible as his coworkers made him out to be—maybe magnanimity is more appropriate, for his generosity blinds his judgment. Not to mention that, normally, working with an organisation such as the Fatui and holding such a high position means fully embracing its norms and agreeing with its tactics and strategies, yet Childe didn’t really seem too interested in the Fatui’s ever-lasting schemes. In fact, you could almost say he dislikes their approach to certain matters, although not enough to betray them.

To make a long story short, ‘Childe’ was a paradox.

Zhongli liked enigmas, and ‘Childe’ was the most interesting one he’d met in the past decades, one he’d like to unravel. Describing him as an enigmatic character, though, would simply be superficial.

The consultant only realised that he was standing in front of his bedroom’s door when the sound of movement from inside snapped him out of his thoughts, anchoring him to reality.

He’s awake, what a relief…, thought the Adeptus as he reached for the door handle with a small smile on his face. But before he even grasped it, the handle moved, and a second later the door was swung open, so he simply evaded. Just as he caught a glimpse of ginger hair, a force crashed into him, then punched him with power that could have sent a mortal flying the opposite direction.

The Adeptus didn’t even waver. Unfortunately for Childe, he was an immortal and he also wasn’t one of the most durable Archons for nothing.

Stepping back to get a better look at the other, the orange mass was back in his perspective, bangs covering his face.

Childe was in front of him, awake, albeit still rather…pale, and Zhongli couldn’t help the wave of relief that passed through him as he let out a small huff. He wouldn’t have to make the decision on his own, wouldn’t have to see the diplomat’s face contort with anger and fury; wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes when his face sours, then eventually turns into that apathetic, indifferent expression, as his eyes hold that same unsettling, vacant gaze of recognition and acceptance.

Zhongli merely didn’t want to risk loosing what was left of Childe’s trust and limited patience. 

“Childe.” He started calmly, to draw his attention and ground the other to some extent, yet he couldn’t help the hint of worry that seeped into his words. For safety measures, he kept a distance between them, in case Childe lashed out ( which was unlikely, given how tired he seemed—flushed skin, half-lidded eyes, dark circles beneath them ).

It took the Harbinger a few seconds to respond, his bleary eyes blinking slowly as if to latch onto the sobriety of the words. The consultant took a deep breath. He could wait.

He was always able to wait, no matter how long the period may be. He could, would and has once—even when the green leaves turned brown and withered, even when the waterfall that was once right in front of him crumbled and retreaded several meters back, even as the coral reefs grew endlessly in the cloud sea— He has as much time as hydrogen has influence over the vast expanse of these lands.

“Morax-”

“You-”

Truly, the immortal has not felt so awkward for the last few decades. Although he was about to reassure the other and tell him to take his time, he interrupted him and probably made things worse.

Great.

Childe seemed to recover faster, clearing his throat, gesturing him to continue with a whispered, “You go ahead first.”

And if finally hearing his voice wasn’t an alleviation for what’s to come, for what he would be about to tell him, he would’ve-

“I’m glad that you’re finally awake, frie-” before Zhongli could finish uttering the word, he swallowed it, because now it felt like the wrong thing to say, inappropriate after what he had done to him recently.

He gulped down the sour bile that surged in his throat, the acid corroding any emotion he might’ve shown on his face as he proceeded, “Nevertheless, you should rest some more. After all, you have used that power twice in one month.” 

The god really couldn’t help the bitterness creeping its way into his demeanour when talking about that cursed power. It’s the reason many of his followers, friends , people he considered his family perished. The reason why Lihue was shrouded by ruins ( even if some battles were unalterable or of his own doing ), why many entities went extinct, why-

“It’s destructive and must’ve put quite the toll on you. Please go lay down again, I’ll be coming shortly back. You must be starving, let me cook something.”

After successfully convincing Childe to return to the bedroom, he headed to the kitchen to make something for them to eat.

It disheartened him to a modicum—That to Tartaglia, he’s nothing more than another person in his fleeting life—that he wasn’t considered his friend anymore.

And shit, if that didn’t make the situation even more complicated.

By all that’s holy, he’s never felt this ashamed his entire life. He couldn’t Childe in the eyes, but he also couldn’t look away.

Over 6000 years, and now is the first time he acted this out of character. Composure be damned, he never felt so guilty before, not even when he betrayed his friend. 

This was his punishment, he supposed—watching Tartaglia’s face gradually paling the further down his eyes darted down the slightly wrinkled letter—for not abiding his own words ( last contract, he said ).

Yes, this was not a contract, it was a favour, he reassured himself for the umpteenth time. Barnabas just needed help. It is not as complicated as I make it out to be.

But, oh, it was.

It was, because now he’s responsible for the person sitting adjacent to him. He was once Morax, Rex Lapis, Liyue’s former Archon—he has always had an influence over other’s premises, but it felt more passive compared to…this. This felt like he was actively ruining the other, more tangible, more vulnerable.

As Liyue’s governor, he has had a certain, direct connection to the land and its inhabitants. He loved them both equally, cared for them, and built them a system that they could follow for decades to come with no worries, all so that he could retire.

But this—marriage, adoption—was completely different. His and Childe’s fates would be forever intervened, chained together. Whatever he did, it’d reflect on the youngster and could literally ruin him. He could burden him, make his life arduous, yet he also had a chance to help him, free him—the entire purpose of this contra- favour.

He stared at the youngster’s frozen form and then it occurred to him. It dawned upon him, like the sun beams shining through the dense, dim canopy of a foggy forest, the glade guiding lost travellers.

Zhongli cared about Childe—however that was not what he realised, for he already was aware of that. If he wanted to make the Harbinger’s life easier, didn’t want to burden him too much, he’d have to be his usual self.

Calm, calculating, composed.

He’d have to support him gently, serenly and keep his level-headedness, equanimity. Instantly, a wave of emotions crashed onto him with the power of a tornado current, and Zhongli felt so much better already—all while the diplomat was still staring at the papers in his hands.

There was an urge, a desire that affected him profoundly and a surge of determination pushed him as he finally looked at Tartaglia with confidence.

The ancient lord felt like spilling the things that weighted him down, settled on his heart, so he did. He was honest, tried demonstrating that he’s not a burden, that he’s someone who can be trusted. Admitting that he doesn’t want to lie to him ever again if not utmost necessary. Uncovering the thinly veiled dread he was feeling, only for him to declare with determination that this wasn’t just some trivial matter, that it was something important to him.

Childe’s face didn’t reveal much, except for the softening of the edges if his eyes near the end of Zhongli’s very…poignant…speech, his face adorning a contemplating look.

They discussed the letter some more, and Zhongli, with all the calmness he mustered up, proposed, “Let’s get married.”

The older man spoke with equanimity and eloquence, because he wasn’t sure that, if the youngster didn’t hear him, he would be able to repeat what he just said—didn’t know if he was able to.

Luckily, his hopefully-still-friend seemed to hear him, because his breath hitched, his ears turned red, until what concerned him the most happened.

His expression changed from a flustered to a more dissociative expression in a heartbeat. His face paled and his shoulders sagged, his eyes fixated on his knees, but not quite here. A faint tremor was running through his body and soon his pupils constricted, as if he saw something that scared him.

The immortal caught it; the moment the mortal’s eyes darkened just a bit more than natural by a gradient, a violet, reddish glow devoured by ocean depths, that are his eyes.

Fortunately, he snapped out of it, still looking pale. When the consultant inquired about his well-being, the diplomat simply brushed it off with a scoff, insisting he was fine.

Before Zhongli could dispute anything the other claimed, a whistling sound from the kitchen interrupted him. He excused himself then, still somewhat worried, and made his to the kitchen with the tea tray he had brought for them alongside the letter, both drinks gone cold.

Adjusting the the temperature of the stove for the noodles to just simmer, the consultant headed to his kitchen counter, where the remaining ingredients were, with a sigh. He was making some Dragon Beard Noodles, a dish that was nutritious, yet easy and quick to make.

It was obvious that Childe wasn’t very pleased with the outcome. His expressions proved such—One moment he carried one of melancholy, the other moment detached, physically present but not mentally—somewhat like a dissociation of some kind. 

Is this possibly one of the consequences the Tsaritsa warned me about ?, Zhongli pondered to himself as he cut some mushrooms into small pieces, watchful not to not cut himself or stain his gloves—they meant much to him.

The sun was slowly sinking, its rays setting the world ablaze with golden and yellow beams, the consultant’s kitchen not excluded. He has always appreciated the light, for it always symbolised hope and brought with it new beginnings, unburdened by chains or expectations.

Taking a sharper knife, he cut some ham and two fowls with precision, while also keeping an eye on the softening noodles. They relaxed after a while, losing their early rigidness, which made them look eligible. Heading to his stove, this time with the other ingredients ready, he added the chopped mushrooms first, after two minutes the fowl, and finally the ham.

He took a seat by the windowsill, watching the streets booming with people and families; some donned a delighted expression while the others donned a more dissatisfied one, a sight which he had grown accustomed to. 

After letting the soup simmer for several minutes, the cook turned off the stove and carried the pot to the sink, pouring the soup into the two mediocre bowls he had put there beforehand. Then he arranged the meat pieces and mushrooms more orderly, just to look a bit better, before finally topping the dish with a sprinkle of salt.

This should do…hopefully, that is, he thought to himself on his way to his bedroom with the bowls, pills against headaches and antidotes 

Opening the door to his room with his elbow, the Adeptus blinked at the sight projected in front of him.

The Dusk meekly intermingled with the sky, sheltered by the high, stranded pillars of Liyue, as light filtered softly through the windows. It reflected everywhere except Childe’s resting place, a dark spot within a bright environment, a dot on a white sheet—prominent and out of place.

Zhongli didn’t think much of it and brushed it off, considering his friend was lying innocently underneath the duvet which covered his frame wholly, the leisure a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere.

“Hey,” Zhongli addressed the other firmly, enough for him to wake up without having to be touched. “It wouldn’t do if you went to sleep with an empty stomach; your blood sugar levels would drop and you might suffer from the worsening of your already existing symptomsd.”

Since the other didn’t seem to react at all, Zhongli put aside the tray and lightly tapped him on the shoulders, waiting for any reaction.

The other’s breath became less relaxed, his idly lying hands twitching and his eyelids opened sluggishly, as if he had forced them to.

“Mhm…I’m half asleep, but what…do you need ?” He yawned in middle of his sentence, obviously still tired, making no effort whatsoever to lift himself up.

“I’ve prepared some Dragon Beard Noodles, so please, do sit up, for it would make eating remarkably easier.” Turning to the two bowls filled to the rim, he took one and waited for Childe to sit up.

With silence that couldn’t be filled, the same tense atmosphere returned, every creaking sound, every breath, every pained grunt was audible.

“Thank you.” Childe offered these two curt words as he took the bowl and provided spoon before digging in. An ephemeral look of relief swept over the diplomat’s face as he spotted the spoon instead of the ‘damned chopsticks’, and the consultant couldn’t help his face lighten up with mirth at the somewhat childish, silly act.

“About the letter to the Tsaritsa,” the ex-Archon started, ignoring the other choking to save him the embarrassment and not hurt his pride, before continuing, “Do you mind if I were to write it, or would you prefer to do so in solitude ?”

Tartaglia didn’t reply immediately, electing to take a few spoonfuls from the soup and fixating his gaze on the bowl, his eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought. Finally, he sighed, “You. Could…you please take care of it ? Writing the letter to Her Majesty ?”

His voice held uncertainty and a prickliness Zhongli wasn’t used to. Tense shoulders, held breath, clenched jaw—he looked as if he was preparing for a political debate. The consultant really wished he could reach out to him, tell him it’s alright, that he shouldn’t be ashamed of something he didn’t have a say in to begin with. He really wanted-

“If you wish so, then of course.”

By the time he had eaten most of his food, Childe had barely gotten to half of the bowl; and he doubted they were warm anymore.

“Thank you.” Empty words with no real gratitude behind them hung in the air again, the diplomat running his thumb along the rim with no intentions to eat anymore, until he probably deemed the atmosphere too stifling.

“The food was delicious. Thanks.” The Harbinger held out the bowl for the consultant to take, tone aloof. The older man was left staring at it, dumbfounded, and this time his eyebrows were the ones drawn together, his mouth an upside down crescent moon.

“Are you sure ? Should I reheat them for you-” Before Zhongli could finish however, Tartaglia interrupted him with a quick, “I’m fine, I’ll pass.”

His tone was dismissive, so the senior recognised it as his cue to leave, taking the bowls with him.

“Don’t forget to take the medicine.” With that, he opened the door, taking a step out, before the other’s voice stopped him.

“Uh…One last thing before you go,” He announced hesitantly as the older man twirled around, giving him his attention.

“It just randomly occurred me, but where are you going to sleep ? Actually, where have you slept the past three days ?”

Oh, so he was worried ? Seems like he still doesn’t completely detest me. That’s reassuring

“You needn’t worry about such trifling matters. Just focus on getting better.”

“That doesn't answer my question at all.” The junior lips were stretched into a line, clearly displeased.

”Apologies. My study or my apartment at the Funeral Parlor.”

“Are you serious ? Don’t you have a guest room I could use or something ?” Tartaglia snorted incredulously.

“Although I do, I fear it is not the most suitable place for anyone to reside in at the moment, because-”

“It’s cluttered with trinkets ?”

“It is, indeed, cluttered with trinkets.”

Childe stared at him with clear annoyance, his arms crossed, but before he could retort, Zhongli quickly exited the room, paying him no heed.

“We can discuss this once I finish the…dishes. Get some rest.”

It’s Childe, his hopefully-still-friend, there was no need to feel this guilty or on edge. Seriously, he’s making too much of a big deal out of a situation that’s actually harmless.

“Apologies for leaving you alone. Hopefully, I haven’t fuelled your ire, have I ?” He attempted to joke to lighten up the mood, yet Childe’s eyes immediately drifted to him as soon as he entered, clouded and impenetrable, more so than usual.

“Where are you sleeping tonight ?”

“Straightforward, are we ? Well, I was planning in my study, but if you’re more comfortable—”

The warrior sneered, the bark probably clawing its way out of throat. 

“Listen, I can literally sleep on a tree branch or on a bench during a snowstorm , if you’re worried that I’m uncomfortable sleeping on a small bed, then you’re mistaken. And also, I was under the impression that you couldn’t care less, considering you kept me in the shadows for so long.” His eyes narrowed, an indistinct, indigo flare setting them aflame, his voice dripping with anger.

“You could’ve cared back in Northland Bank, tell me who you actually were without humiliating me and making me the fool !” He was furious, that much Zhongli knew.

Why did his mood change so abruptly ? At this rate, he might tire himself out again…How to de-escalate the situation…

“Should we annul the agreement ?”

Catch him off guard.

Tartaglia’s head snapped to him, eyes comically wide, and mouth slightly agape. Before the Harbinger even uttered a single syllable, the god already knew what his answer would be.

“What ? O-Of course, not !”

He’d have to push him. Just a little.

“Why not ? You seem rather unsatisfied. I do not accept contracts where one party isn’t content with the regulations.” Calmly, he approached the bed, taking a seat on the stool, lightly tapping his fingers on his knees.

“Just…Just don’t.” There was an underlying urgency, each word rambled out faster than the last one.

“I must ask again. Why not ?”

Just a little more.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier, I was a jerk—but don’t annul the contract, I’ll get into serious trouble.” Tartaglia almost pleaded, voice strained, eyes oscillating, breath unstable, before he trailed off, “So, please don’t break it off.”

“Ok.”

“I’m even willing to- Wait, what ?” He looked up, so shocked that he ended up choking on his own saliva.

“Take it easy. I was never planning to anyway.” Zhongli stood up and shrugged, heading towards the far end of the big room to light up the traditional lamp on the desk, then turn off the ceiling lamp, the small night lamp he turned on prior the only thing making his small smile of victory visible.

Childe squinted his eyes to make out the outline of the slowly approaching shape in the now suddenly dark room.” 

The immortal drifted effortlessly through the dark chamber, like an alligator stalking its prey on the  murky surface of a swamp at night.

The God had to smirk when the little scoundrel squealed as he got eased onto the bed, two resilient hands on his shoulders guiding him down with delicate touches. His eyes widened, but the rascal didn’t retaliate. He just let himself be pushed back, staring at the offender.

Luckily, he can’t see me clearly, he would’ve slapped me otherwise.

“Get some sleep, Childe. Anyone would be worn out after using such corrosive powers within a short period of time repeatedly.”

He whispered in a lulling voice as not to aggravate the other by appearing too demanding or overbearing and partially to distract him about the fact that he had lied about annulling the contract to get him to calm down.

“How old do you think I am, five ? It’s only 9pm…Hey, where are you going ?” the Harbinger complained, watching as Zhongli turned around, striding towards the door.

“I’m leaving you alone, have a good night.”

“Uh, wait…hold on a second,” He breathed out, barely audible, but the other caught on and stopped in his tracks.

“Can you stay ? I mean, can we talk a bit ?” Again, his voice was quiet, his eyes glancing everywhere except on Zhongli, and he was surely fidgeting with his hands underneath the blanket.

The Adeptus eyes radiated a dim glow as he surveyed the youngster for a few seconds, before sighing.

“Alright if that is what you wish for. I’ll just have to fetch a few necessities for the letter.”

“You’re writing it now ? But, yes, go.”

Having retrieved some papers, his fountain pen, ( it would not be appropriate to write the reply using a brush—the Liyuen characters are too cursive and fluent compared to the common language ) an envelope and other essentials, he made his way back through the dark hallways with a giddy feeling, taking two steps at a time.

He’s still willing to talk…That’s great !

“I’m back.”

As soon as he entered the room, Zhongli’s eyes flitted to Childe, who was lying on his side and facing the door.

“Oh…ugh…hi,” He sat up with a small grunt, the duvet sliding off his chest to reveal a white turtleneck.

“Should I turn on the lights, or would you prefer them off ?” He asked as he headed towards the desk tucked in the corner, the little lamp lightening up the space around it, yet not bright enough to reach the man lying on the bed.

“Nah, this is just fine.” The man in question yawned, making himself comfortable by propping himself up and arranging the pillows around him like a fortress, meant to protect its owner.

“So, what do you want to talk about ?” The consultant asked, readying his writing equipment.

“What exactly will you write in that letter ?”

“I’ll reply by merely saying that you woke up and consented to us choosing the second option. I assume that I won’t need to write more than one page.” The ex-Archon responded, eyes on the letter as he wrote down the addressee.

“Oh, that’s…reasonable.”

“Give me a second; this part needs utmost concentration,” Biting down on his tongue, he carefully wrote down the introduction of the letter, one hand clenched around the pen to try and control the pressure by which he applied the ink, the other hand holding the paper in place.

The silence stretched on for a while, the only sounds echoing through the room being their controlled breathing, the nip scratching against the paper, and the flame of the lamp flaring every now and them.

“I apologise. Now,” Zhongli exhaled and turned around, his arm draped across the chair’s top rail, and just stared at Childe.

“W-What ? This is quite unnerving, Mr Unaware. Especially when your eyes are glowing…” The latter muttered, his nose and eyebrows wrinkled, as he lets himself be swallowed by the duvet, the sight rather funny.

“Well, you said you wanted to talk about something, so I expected you to broach the subject.” He turned around, to save the other from his ‘unnerving’ eyes and focus on the letter once again.

“Say, is it even necessary for you to sleep ? I mean, you’re an immortal—they surely got a different kind of sleep schedule, right ?”

“Good point. While it differs from creature to creature, for me personally, it is not indispensable. I can survive just as well without sleeping for very long periods of time , but how should I put it,” the Adeptus drummed his finger on the wood desk, humming lightly, before elaborating, “It’s like a warm shower. Humans can very well survive from washing in just cold water, but I believe that they definitely find more comfort in showering with lukewarm water, do they not ?”

“Always have an analogy ready, don’t you ? But in the end, I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be a true fan of literature if I didn’t.”

“That’s literally not how it works.”

“Is that so ?”

“Hey, question.” Childe perked up from underneath the duvet, his face slightly covered by it, reminding the consultant of an orange cat.

“Ask away.”

“Where’s my outfit ? Not to mention, when and how did you change me into different clothes ?”

“These are two questions, but I shall answer them both,” Ignoring the junior burning several holes through his back, the senior explained, “After one and a half days passed, and I realised that you likely were not to wake up anytime soon, I took notice of all the small weapons you had sewed into your outfit that must’ve burdened you. I took your outfit off you using Adeptus arts to make you rest more comfortably and changed you into the turtleneck and sweatpants using the same technique reversed. Your outfit is currently hanged on the laundry line.”

“You’re telling me there are arts for something as insignificant as changing clothes ?”

“You might find yourself fairly surprised by the less martial Adeptus arts.” Zhongli chuckled, low and vibrant, before announcing, “I’m almost finished with the letter…I’ll just have to tuck it into the envelope and deliver it. I’m sure it will arrive right on time.”

At that, the sheets rustled, so the consultant turned around to see his friend now sitting cross-legged, while slightly leaning forward “How do you ensure that the letter arrives on time ? Transporting manufactured goods from Snezhnaya to Liyue and vice versa takes up to four weeks, and even a Harbinger, who is provided with transportation means of a higher quality, needs two weeks at the very least to travel between the two nations,” the Harbinger elucidated this by creating small hydro mimics of people, ships, small rivers—basically a mini harbour, silver blue glistening in the darkness—then let all of his creations dissipate into thin air with a flick of his fingers. “It baffles me, that’s it.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the elemental lines, not to be confused with the Ley Lines, woven into the earth. They also work as a network between those talented enough to manipulate them and are much faster when it comes to shipping especially lightweight things such as letters, gifts and things like this.” A wave of nostalgia washed over the immortal, like the morning tide over the share as the sun rose—gentle, but quick to go. “Before the calamity, the Archons used to communicate through sending letters with help of these lines.” He added, for old times sake.

Tartaglia curtly hummed as Zhongli folded the letter and slipped it into  the envelope shortly after. “Anything else you’d like to converse about ?”

“Well…uh…how do I say this,” the diplomat took in a sharp breath, so the consultant looked over his shoulder to check what was wrong. The first thing he noted was, that the other was bundled underneath the duvet again, his knees pulled to his chest and chin resting on them. The second thing was, that his cheeks were tinted rosy and he was nibbling down on his lip, as if… embarrassed ?

Is he really alright-

“Do you have a story ? Like can you tell me one ?” 

The Adeptus didn’t reply for a while, too stupefied to answer, and took a good minute to just stare. It was obvious that this was causing the youngster discomfort, because a moment a moment later he mumbled, “Hey, stop it ! The glowing of your eyes intensified, it looks as if you might eat me any moment. Forget what I said, goodnight !” His voice filled the quiet room, also snapping the older man out of his stupor, who scratched his cheeks at the thud that echoed when the former’s head hit the pillows with resolution.

“I beg your pardon, I was just taken aback. Considering how tense you were, I assumed that the matter was quite serious. So, what kind of story would you like to hear ?” The sovereign indulged, to ease the atmosphere he himself had created. “Would you like a more serious story, or a more lighthearted one ?”

“…Anything would do.” The youngster answered from underneath the bundle, clearly still embarrassed.

“Give me a second, I’ll start shortly,” assured the raconteur before blowing out the lamp and advancing towards the empty stool adjacent to the bed.

“May I have a seat ?” He asked out of politeness, less he make the other uncomfortable by his looming presence.

“Mr. Zhongli, this is literally your house. You could kick me out and I wouldn’t have a right to retort.” The envoy snorted, with no real malice whatsoever, turning to face the latter.

“I see no reason to do so. And even if I did, I would not blatantly ‘kick you out’ as you phrased it.” Zhongli insisted as he now sat on the edge of the bed, huffing at the absurdity of such a scenario.

“Before you start the story, one thing,” Childe whispered, drawing his attention. “This means nothing. I still haven’t forgiven you, so don’t think that we’re friends or anything, got it ?” His head was partly resting on his palm and pillow, eyebrows furrowed and mouth bent slightly downwards, making him appear less annoyed than he’d assumably like.

“Is that so ?” The God knew that he shouldn’t taunt the Harbinger unless he wanted to incite his wrath, yet he couldn’t help the corners of his lips quirking up, and the dim glow of his eyes brightening.

“Yes, it is. And don’t take it for anything el-”

“Anyway, I’ve found a most befitting story,” The junior quickly shut his mouth waiting for the raconteur to begin his story. 

                                      This is a tale of two friends,

The ex-Archon rose to his feet, the soft, golden luminosity of his hair and eyes a stark difference of the void.

One of them a messenger from the heavens, the other a dragon from the bedrock,

He held up one of his glove-clad hands, for geo to shine through and illustrate a picture of the two beings, one taking a human shape, the other a small geo-ball.

The messenger met the dragon while he was embarked on a mission in the high, yet lonely mountains of Liyue,

The figure Zhongli created was now walking, the grass and trees depicted behind it shaking from the force of the wind.

Whenever the messenger took a walk there, a remote voice seeped out of a crack in the earth, attracting him to come, and search for it,

The illustration grew even bigger, and now the man was shown kneeling down multiple times in different locations, the shared factor for them all being cracks.

The voice was said to be sometimes sad and song like, while other times it was loud and thunderous,

The golden man still hadn’t found the source of the voice, but when it sang again, it drew him in, told him to come. So he stood up and headed to it, a distinct goal that he was following.

He searched here and there, until finally, he was able to unearth a creature who’d become one of his dearest friends and strongest allies,

Now the earth underneath the man’s feet was portrayed, showing all the different entities hiding from the sunlight, yet one stood out the most—the one the man had thrusted his spear into the ground for, a small ball curled into itself that was as bright as the sun.

It is alleged, that most of the geo ancient life forms that live beneath Liyue are blind, not having seen the sunlight for so long, and the dragon the messenger unearthed was one such being,

The messenger in the visualisation now held the little being in his arms, the small entity wiggling its body as the wind seemed to get gentler.

Upon hearing the specimens wish for freedom and a vision, the messenger granted him those by allowing him to evolve into a gigantic dragon and giving him light, with which he was supposed to traverse the world,

Evolving, the small vishap now turned the dragon of vishaps, all while the messenger wafted in front of him, eager to witness his ascent and flourish. Drifting to his eyes, he finally gave the dragon what he promised—light that lit up the illustration so bright, it was blinding.

With a contract in place, to protect and save those who they encounter like they saved each other, and a threat of eternal darkness should the situation arise where the contract is broken, they ventured, smiled and even laughed while exploring the now no longer lonely mountains of Liyue,

Facets of events where the two feast, laugh, fight and rest are strewn around all the room, like broken glass of a mirror. One shard is eye catching in particular—the two are sitting by a riverbank alongside a few others, the heavenly messenger lying on the grass with the dragon next to him and both have their eyes closed as others fawn over them.

But alas, war does not indiscriminate between anyone, for the dragon was fatally wounded with wounds that could not be salvaged—not even by his friend,

A battlefield is displayed, the two friends fighting next to each other as they always have. But this time, an enemy even more treacherous than time has upped its game and decided to target the messenger’s friend, a black sword slashing the vishaps arm and chest. The strike itself was not deadly, yet the poison that it carried made it the most lethal.

The geo being quickly became aware of this once the fight dragged on, and fled to a remote and isolated pit to preserve the people and friends he had sworn to protect from the inevitable—an eruption caused by the poison corroding his body,

The geo mimic of the dragon now fled the battlefield, the messenger looking on as he leaves, a breach in their contract. And although the mimic of the messenger is faceless, instead of anger or betrayal of being left alone in a battle, it was clear that he was worried for his friend.

Concerned about his friend, the paradisiacal deity quickly finished off his enemy with the support of his other partners, and rushed to his friends side following the trail of his thunderous footsteps,

The man was ruthless, killing the serpent that had harmed his friend and led him to flee as quickly as possible, before sprinting with panic visible in his posture.

Although he had finally found his friend, the sight that welcomed him was cruel. His friend, helpless, lay on the ground incapacitated. Upon sighting him, the dragon lifted its head asking him to come closer,

Staggering forward, the messenger looked nothing like he did earlier. He was heartbroken and wallowing in despair with every step he took, because seeing his friend up close, in the state he was in, was more than gut wrenching. Nonetheless, he stepped closer, the air getting thicker and denser as he advanced, before he became to a halt right in front of the dragon lord.

 “Listen, my friend,” the dragon looked into the eyes of the deity who gave him life and was soon about to witness his death, his voice lowering to a small murmur, “I might succumb to my injuries at any time—we both now how perilous the opposing force is. I can already feel my body corroding. Do not allow any humans to enter. I… don’t desire to break our contract…” The geo life form’s eyes had started to dim,

The reptile was curling up into itself the more it talked, not unlike how the messenger had first found him. The illustration was now frozen on one shot—the messenger patting the creatures forehead.

“Now is not the time to talk about the contract. In comparison to your life, it means nothing to me, so hang in there,” The messenger had pleaded, voice hoarse, and eyes filled with more sorrow than ever. “You’re not just a friend to me. You’re my kin, family and backbone—loosing you would be like not being able to fight again.” After hearing those words, the dragon closed its eyes, a comfort to him. Realising that he was unconscious, the deity had decided to give his friend an immense part of his energy to stop the corrosion, an attempt… that had failed,

Panicked was the best way to describe the figure in the illumination. He was pacing up and down the pit, searching for anything that could be of use, but he found nothing. Then, he walks up to his friend, and suddenly, an explosion of light lit up the pit in the visualisation and even the room, until that energy started flowing in one direct line that—a line to the dragons heart.

After a while, to the messengers relief, the vishap woke up, eyes still dim, as he chuckled. To his dismay however, his friend had lectured and reprimanded him as soon as his consciousness returned, saying that it is reckless and irresponsible to break the vow to a contract he himself set up long, long ago,

The mimics of the two were now sitting next to each other, like how they did at the river, the only difference now that one of them might actually die and leave everything behind, and the other might go back to being lonely.

In the last counted minutes of his consciousness, the dragon made the other promise; promise him that if he lost his mind and attacked innocents, his friend will ensure that he would wind up getting imprisoned and shackled in the place he hailed from. Once the promise was intact, the injured being went into a state of deep slumber,

The dragon’s body all but relaxed, and the man’s shoulders visibly sagged, sliding down to sit next to his fallen friend. For what might be the last time, he let his body relax as he leaned onto his friend’s frame, patting his now slumbering form.

Ever since, months had passed, yet the dragon’s condition wasn’t improving at all and showed no signs of getting better any time soon. Quite the opposite, actually; he started sleeping for longer periods of time, had trouble recognising faces—even lashed out on one of the Adepti who came to check up on once. The messenger, by now, had exhausted all his options. For him, this was a dead end,

The pictures changed, squares of the man hovering above Zhongli's palm, doing all kind of occupations to just save his friend—reading books as a pile of other dozen is positioned next to him, consulting with others around a round table, visiting his feeble friend once or twice. The last image was of him lying on the grass by the river, the exact same place as he had last time with so many people, yet this time he was alone, only a shadow of a woman stood behind him.

At last, the dragon reached his breaking point. The corrosion had all but eroded his sanity and memories, and his body became more frail as the time went on. When some hoarders trespassed the region and damaged one of the Ley Lines while digging for gold, he snapped, ripping them apart and making ostentatious show of them by leaving their bodies for the hounds,

When the messenger arrived and tried to stop his friend after witnessing what happened, the corroded geo mass ambushed him, almost harming him in the process,

Bloody puddles represented by dark golden portions were everywhere. The dragon turned around, and as soon as he locked eyes with the approaching shape of the messenger,  he unleashed a savage assault, sending rocks tumbling from the sky with ferocious speed. The friend moved through them with an uncanny, fluid grace, as if that was something he did everyday, a grandiose dance of evasive manoeuvring amid the battlefield. 

Eventually, the deity had to make a crucial decision— attack or deflect ? He couldn’t just keep on like this, either he would tire or the monster’s self-control vanish completely, and he’d force his hands on the people he swore to protect. So, with a shaky breath, the defender raised his spear and started an onslaught himself, raising pillars from the ground around the enormous beast,

The pillars the messenger said must’ve been as long as Qingyun Peak, for when Zhongli presented them being created through the golden geo lines, the faceless messenger became naught but a point, and even his friend went from being the biggest thing in the pit to turning into a small rice cake.

With regret and anguish, the deity dragged the dragon all the way from the pit to a branch of the world tree, the other wailing and screaming in madness, not being able to recognise the person he once considered his closest friend. Upon their arrival at the branch, the messenger released his friend, in hope to be able to talk some sense in him, but it was all futile, for he struck the moment he was released,

Chains swathed the monster, the pillars inching closer until they constricted him and he was trapped, a prison he’d seen thousands of times, yet never thought he’d ever be the one within—not that he remembered. With brute force, the one who had gifted him light stripped it away just as easily as he then dragged him on the dirt for miles upon miles.

With the help of other friends, the messenger was finally able to seal the dragon, yet he didn’t feel any sense of satisfaction nor fulfilment—all he felt was the regret and frustration welling up inside him, even though he fulfilled the contract flawlessly,

Underneath a great tree was the man depicted, gaze downcast as he etched some final wishes into a rock, leaving it as a memorial there, hoping that it could compensate them not being able to probably bid their goodbye’s for the final time.

Centuries had passed since that eventful day, yet the memory of it and the memories he shared with his friend prior to the tragedy were seared into his mind, as if they happened yesterday,

Underneath a great tree was the man depicted, gazing up into the clear sky while enjoying a cup of tea, a serene scene where the wind gently wafted.

Centuries had passed, but there still was someone who was willing to set off on a journey with him, whenever they were free, even mostly initiating them. That day, the messenger’s friend, who was an outlander, and his partner sought him out regarding a matter of stone, 

Three figures were walking alongside each other on a harbour, the tallest being the messenger, the other two his friends. They were approaching a man, whose presence resembled one of the predecessors the messenger befriended.

Together, they embarked on to a quest to find the miners, the messenger reminded of his old friend, as they traveled everywhere in order to achieve their goal; at last ending up inside a cave near the place where the dragon was sealed by the deity himself,

Facets of memories are displayed, of them travelling together, meeting for the first time with the fourth person that joined them and resembled his old friends, warding off the corrupt miners.

Just as they thought that their journey ended—having found the miners in the cave— did a trial start, the miner’s corruption turning into contaminated mist and permeating the messenger’s shield,

A small fight of golden geo lines played out, the darkest geo to penetrating the lighter one, signifying the corruption seeping into the shield.

The messenger recognised just who he was standing with when the man who they were accompanying all the way here blocked the aura who had turned into a small girl, their collision breaking the nearby seal he had set up all those centuries ago,

There was a whirlwind to be observed when the two clashing forces crashed into each other and got all of the party sucked in, spitting them out in a domain the immortal was familiar to.

Lo and behold, for the friends that had fought each other all those years ago reunited, although one of them, the dragon, was split in two—his physical form, crazed and savage, and his consciousness, benevolent and kind.

After a confrontation between the two sides of the dragon, the benevolent consciousness gave the messenger his blessings and support, as he always had, to defeat his physical form and seal it for eons to come, without the other’s knowledge. Only did he step forward when the heroes had defeated the ‘villain’, readying himself for one conversation,

The corrupted side screamed, shouted and howled, clenching its fists and repeatedly reminding the benevolent side that the messenger he was standing next to was the one who betrayed ‘them’, sealed ‘them’, and had forsaken ‘them’. It didn’t yield nor cede, voicing its hostility and antipathy towards the humans and most importantly, his once greatest friend, comparing them all to worthless insects. Although it didn’t need to voice it hatred, for it was apparent by the extreme lengths it went to to get revenge and the black aura only growing even denser as its lifespan grew fickle. The other fragment though, didn’t waver either, as resilient as mountain rock against a snowstorm. It corrected the misunderstandings the other had and testified to the things that actually happened, a last attempt to soothe the other’s contempt in its last moments.  

The fragment recited one piece of a poem from a book his friend liked to read centuries ago before the corrupted side of him started roaring, succumbing after hearing the final words his other side had to offer; that ‘their’ fate was an inevitable misfortune. Turning around to face his old friend and companions, he was met with sorrowful expressions, for they knew his time would be up in a matter of minutes. “Let’s talk outside,” was the only thing the messenger offered before turning on his heals and heading out of the domain,

The four of them stood motionless outside the cave, yet the conversation they were having only involved the two ancient friends.

They talked, about the past, the present, and the upcoming  future for which they had fought so hard for. When the imaginary bell ringed, signalling that their time was up, the immortal found that he didn't even have enough time to tell the other that which he desired to do,

The two were facing each other, one of them with a smile brighter than the sky, the other with an expression as somber as a barren desert of the Mare Jivari. 

 The messenger offered one last smile to his dissipating friend, kin, and the one whom he gifted light,                                

Even the white, pure aura, displayed by a light golden geo, started to dissolve.

                        “If it is fated, my friend… we will meet again.”

 “What do you think ?” Zhongli asked as he let his creations dissolve, taking a seat on the stool next to the bed. “Was it so boring that you’re almost asleep now, despite having had so much energy just fifteen minutes ago ?”

Childe clicked his tongue at the jestful accusation, then replied with a small sigh, “No, it’s just…S’rry, didn’t mean to yawn. Am jus’ surprised with the effort you put in, is all. So, first of all wow,” he started, stifling a yawn with his hand, giving up on looking proper now. “I didn’t expect you to actually show me the story through sketches from geo energy… The fact that the figures and mimics moved too… I wasn’t aware you could make a small animation with elemental energy.” He huffed, trying to keep his half-lidded eyes open.

Unexpectedly, the drowsy man stared right into the conscious man’s eyes with gravity, which should’ve been impossible considering Zhongli’s eyes and hair weren’t glowing anymore, nor did any moonlight shine through the windows, since all curtains were closed.

“I also found this story incredibly sad,” Childe muttered to him with held breath, making the situation even more eerie than it already was.

“I agree. I’ll assume you feel bad for the dragon, right ?” The consultant required carefully, for the sake of giving the situation some normalcy.

“Him too, yes. But I had an easier time sympathising with the messenger.”

“Oh ? Why is that ?” He shouldn’t have asked

“‘Cause I know him personally, y’know…”

“Pardon ?”

“Must’ve been hard and tough for you, messenger.” The Harbinger’s arm which he was lying on was replaced by a pillow, his other palm resting flatly on the bed sheets.

“…How did you find out ? I never mentioned any names or described any places whatsoever, and even the illustrated people were faceless, or had different haircuts,” the Adeptus all but rambled, the grip on his knee tightening alongside the muscles of his jaw.

“Picture where you were at river. It was a real picture. Your feelings so strong they projected onto the illustration ?”

“To think that’s how I messed up… I even changed a few facts for the narrative not to appear too real.” He coughed out a laugh, the tension slowly leaving his body, albeit a bit too slowly.

“You alrigh’ ?” 

“Yes, thank you for inquiring. I think you should rest, you can’t even keep your eyes open.”

“Am totally fine… you’re the one acting… all sad.” He mumbled, tiredness catching up on him, his hand, which lay flatly curling into itself.

The consultant stood up and observed the diplomat for a few seconds, then left the room with a small, “Sleep well.” 

The creaking sound of the door accompanied him throughout the hallway, and only when he made it to his living room, did he allow himself to slump into the comfort of his couch.

Covering his eyes with his palm, he let out his first genuinely sincere wish in a long time.

Please, don’t end up like him. Don’t share the same fate as Azhdaha.

Chapter Text

Light.

Light was the first thing he became aware of, small strands of it poking through the wenge curtains, the gleam that caught onto dust crafting an idyllic and lustrous image. It was as beautiful as the doves encased in ice, forever frozen amidst the Damselette‘s gardens.

Then came his senses. First, he caught the sound of warbling birds, a melodious symphony that wafted throughout the room. Next, his leisurely resting hands started twitching as he forced his body up, stretching once he got into a sitting position. Finally, his lips stretched as a yawn escaped them, his eyes fluttering open although the heaviness of sleep still clung to them. 

Stretching one final time, he pulled the comfortable blanket off, halting as he did. There were some things the murky depths of his mind offered that conflicted him like never befor, urgedhimtoact. The loudest one of them screeched at him repeatedly, determined.

You need to fight Morax. Today.

Childe really didn’t like admitting it, but he knew that he was wavering. Yes, he was still angry; yes, he was still hurt by the betrayal (although he’d never acknowledge that he was hurt, because that would mean he had cared to begin with), but was he still furious to the point he wanted to spill some of the God’s blood as he first had? Did he just accept it after hearing Zhongli’s sincere words yesterday, or had he known from the start that staying livid would only make him the jester and hypocrite?

Hypocrite, because while Zhongli had betrayed him, he was just as ready to even drown the city in order to lure Morax out, endangering all those lives even if he had known that the once-guarding deity would come in the face of real danger.

Most importantly, would he even have the chance to fight the other after they get freaking married?

(Genuinely, Tartaglia still didn’t want to do it, found it burdensome and impractical, but he’d never be able to contradict The Tsaritsa and her conspiracies, lest he wanted to be shunned by everyone.)

Not to mention, one of his biggest desires was to spar with the Archon long before he knew who he actually was, and that still didn’t change. He still wanted to fight Morax, one of the two remaining original archons. He still wanted to cross blades with him, still wanted to draw a tiny amount of blood from the other. Still yearned to be pushed past his limit to the extent that the feared Vanguard of the Fatui would look like an insignificant, worthless bug clutching on to a leaf amidst a storm. But most importantly, still needed to scream at the God, and ask him why, just why? Why did he have to delude him into a solace of friendship, stringing him along like the Marionette does with her broken puppets until she finally disposes of them?

Did he think so little of Childe as an individual, or does the ignorant fool simply appear to understand humans very well when he actually doesn’t?

Whatever his answer was, the angrier part of Tartaglia would ensure his mark was left—whether it may be by smearing his bloody and bruised palm along the divine being’s chest, the red stain of mortal filth on his pristine attire turning into the brown of a rotten apple, just like their friendship did. He might even try to cause the other abyssal corruption and turn him into the thing he loathed and fought for centuries, an amusing scenario indeed.

Or be it by showing the God just how shameless he could be on the battlefield, because even if he was gravely injured and unable to continue fighting, he’d taunt the other so bad that he would get so tired of him to the extent of striking him down, until all of his muscles ached so bad that he wouldn’t be able to get up again.

Ohhh, and what if, he, by some turn of events, turned out on top? A stab or cut surely wouldn’t kill an Adeptus, right? But a stab wouldn’t be as exhilarating as a cut, wouldn’t it… Would his arm, together with all his veins grow back on the spot, or would the Archon be rendered vulner—

“Childe, good morning. Are you alright? You’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed without moving for quite some time.” A voice from the man leaning on the doorframe irritably interrupted his stream of thoughts, hereby putting an end to the Harbinger’s violent imaginations.

“Good morning to you too. I’m fine, as you can probably see.” The younger man replied, almost a grumble, as he stood up and headed towards the door, the other having already stepped back.

“I just wanted to tell you that breakfast is ready. I apologise if I disturbed you,” the consultant said, already walking down the corridor and heading towards the kitchen, stopping when the youngster cleared his throat and turned around.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower? I’m sure I don’t smell very great after all that sweating.” Childe asked, the latter part of his speech muttered to himself. 

“Yes, of course, just let me go fetch your clothes; the bathroom is at the very end of the corridor to the left.” 

Watching as Zhongli disappeared behind the turn of the hallway, Childe traipsed the opposing way to the bathroom, opening the door with a small click.

The bathroom was quite spacious, if the big window that was halfway concealed by a bamboo folding screen was of any indication. It was encompassed by creamy and honeyed white colours, giving it a calming essence. To his left stood a shower enclosed by glass, and behind it was an oval bathtub. Across from them were two sinks underneath a stacked mirror cabinet, with the toilet tucked into the corner.

Huh. Quite fancy.

Where would he get the money from, considering he always ‘forgot’ his Mora?

“Childe, your clothes.” The other spoke up, holding a bundle of neatly folded clothes in his hands as he extended them forward.

The ginger sheepishly turned and took them, a quiet thank you escaping his lips.

“While it’s none of my business,” the consultant started, grabbing the diplomat’s attention, before continuing,“it would be better if you don’t take a cold bath. You’re still sick,” he reasoned, his facial expression a neutral one.

So the diplomat responded with an equally neutral answer, nodding, when he remembered to ask. “Uhh, do you mind if I use a towel?” He glanced at the other. Not everyone was comfortable sharing their towels, and if Zhongli said no, he’d have to walk around like a soggy cat…

“Of course, they are in the cabinet underneath the sink.” He gave them a pointed look, and Childe followed his gaze to make sure he didn’t open the wrong one.

“Thank you, again.” The youngster huffed, entering the bathroom and closing the door with a small clack.

He took off his clothes, heaving a small sigh as the fabric slid off his body and the crisp air came into contact with his now undressed form. The clothes discarded into the basket next to the sinks, he stared into his own reflection. Hollow eyes, a pale face, chapped lips, and dainty fingers that reached for them mirrored his actions. 

He wasn’t looking as great, but it’s fine! He probably did not smell too bad. Taking a small whiff of himself, he almost retched.

Slithering behind the glass, the man turned on the shower.

If I had been Zhongli, I would’ve kicked myself out of his house two days ago. 

Fifteen much-needed minutes later, after he finished dressing, he went out of the humid bathroom. Standing there for a few seconds, his nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled deeply, a scent so inviting wafting through the air. It was alluring and sweet all the same, tempting his every step towards it until he trespassed into the god’s luminous living room. The source of the scent lay innocently on a sturdy-looking wooden table, a small variety of different servings organised on it, each dish looking more appealing than the other.

“Woah, that’s quite the feast you’ve prepared,” Childe mused, sitting on one side of the beige, sectional couch adorned with autumn coloured pillows. The man who had been quietly sipping his tea on the burgundy armchair looked up, offering a minuscule smile that made the edges of his eyes softer.

“Oh, hello. I wouldn’t call it a feast, but it is something, yes.” Zhongli nodded, seemingly satisfied by his work, considering that small smile was still plastered on his face and hadn’t been wiped off the moment he glimpsed at Tartaglia.

“Well, I suppose we should dig in then, the food isn’t going to eat itself.” He was so hungry, he could’ve challenged Paimon to an eating competition and still win.

They continued to eat in silence for a while, the Harbinger having trouble with the chopsticks here and there, earning a small glance from the Adeptus every time.

“Does the food suit your tastes?” The older inquired, munching on a fried radish ball.

Swallowing the piece he so carefully guided to his mouth, the ginger replied, “It’s quite savoury. Especially the Crystal Shrimp.” He popped another piece into his mouth, giving a thumbs up. Yes, even if Childe was a bit disappointed by the consultant, he could still appreciate his cooking.

“That’s a relief. If you need anything else, do tell me,” encouraged Zhongli, his voice as gentle as the winds that caressed the Anemo Archon’s lands, yet as steady as the mountain ranges scattered across Liyue, but not prodding nor insistent; just an offer that he can acquiesce to if he wished and decline if he didn’t.

Just as he was about to decline, he shut it his mouth. Maybe it was his chance now…

“Actually, there is something I wanted to ask you.” Childe slowly lowered his chopsticks and put them on the table, his movements stiff as he bit the inside of his cheek, a frown pulling his eyebrows together, turning his expression a tad darker than usual.

Finally, the words he had been contemplating the entire morning, rolling off his tongue until they felt right tumbled out of his mouth in a mix of nervous anticipation and dread, “I’m not signing the marriage contract.” The Archon almost spat out the tea he’d refilled, a small gasp escaping his lips and his jaw hung open, not expecting to breach the topic this early in the morning. 

“Wha-”

Before he could protest, however, the younger man raised his hands, interrupting him, “Wait, you need to listen to what I have to say.

“What I meant to say is, I’m not signing the papers if we don’t fight,” he choked out and looked down, the latter’s golden eyes boring into him as his tense form leaned back into the armchair, the slightest crease on his forehead visible.

“...Are you aware of the consequences that your actions hold? The Tsaritsa won’t be happy, and I’m sure you only accepted this arrangement to evade her scorn.” His eyes stared into Childe’s own, a myriad of questions hanging between them, like a thread pulled so tight that it might snap. Tartaglia’s face reddened as he tried to stifle the cough that was forcing itself out of his throat. The underlying meaning of his words was crystal clear.

Would you be able to take responsibility?

“So you’re saying that you’re declining? Don’t you think that you owe me some kind of apology?” The best thing he could do was keep dodging the Archon’s questions and distract him. Narrowed blue eyes now glared into the other’s, which were daring him to say something.

“No, that’s not what I said, you misunderstand me. Also, refrain from changing the topi—”

“I’ll forgive you, no matter the outcome,” Childe insisted, breathing out. “We will go back to being friends. This is the perfect opportunity for you to prove that you weren’t just using me.” Now, his voice was clearer, bolder, more resolute, but the heat from his cheeks didn’t dissipate, nor did the loud thumping of his heart.

“You are willing to just forgive me like this?” Zhongli repeated, lifting his eyebrows in an all-knowing, skeptical way. Although there wasn’t the faintest glint of a smirk on his face, he looked like he might start laughing in a mocking manner any second.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” The ginger grinned and leaned forward, prompting the brunette to retort.

After what sounded like a measured sigh, the Adeptus stood up, picked up a few plates, and made a beeline to the door. “If that’s what you wish for, then it shall be arranged.”

Tartaglia sat there for a couple milliseconds, glancing between the dishes on the table and the retreating figure of Zhongli, leaping to his feet the moment he registered what he said. Stacking as many plates as he managed, he skid to the consultant with almost childlike glee.

He agreed!

“You agreed? You’ll fight me? Hey, there’s no backing out!” The Harbinger caught up to the other, circling around him in small hops.

“No, I won’t fight you. I’ll spar with you.”

“Same thing! So when are we sparring? Now? Today? Tomorrow?” Childe couldn’t help the elated giggle when he imagined himself crossing blades with the Geo fucking Archon, his fantasies of the morning finally blossoming into reality. And he’d finally be able to drop the petty act; it was getting a bit exhausting to look angry all the time...

Zhongli snapped him out of momentary bliss, warning him.“Childe, don’t drop the plates; you’ll hurt yourself,” as he observed the small bounce in his steps.

“Ah, sorry. Got ahead of myself there.”

Following the older man into the kitchen, he set the plates by the sink before halting and looking around, his eyes momentarily blanking, an eyebrow shooting up behind his bangs.

“A mora for your thoughts?” poked the brunette, his long, silky ponytail flowing behind him as he took the plates and started washing them, his back now turned to the ginger.

The latter merely hummed, taking a seat at the nearby table. “I’ve only now come to realise that your entire house looks different from what I had in memory. It was way more cramped the last time you'd invited me over.” Zhongli didn’t grace the other with an answer, his focus on the plates. “Are we even in the same house?”

“You’re right, that was my apartment above the funeral parlour, where I stay when I have to work overtime.”

“Oh, so you didn’t think me worthy enough to even invite me to your actual abode?” The Harbinger snorted, tracing his fingers along the rectangular pattern of the table, but his words held no real malice, only the faintest traces of disappointment. Yet Zhongli ignored him, completely focused on drying the plates with a small towel and putting them in their respective drawers with his back to Childe, irritating the other further.

Finally, he sighed. “You misunderstand, again; that was not my intention.” Nodding his head towards a window, prompting the other to follow suit. “Take a look for yourself and you might get what I mean.”

At that, the ginger headed towards the window of the one-story house, yanking it open with a flick of his hand to lean out.

He was met with wind, cold yet comforting wind. It tousled his hair gently, tiny wisps stroking his reddening cheeks, taking his breath with it as it swept away and over the highlands. The sight was immaculate; the afterglow of the Liyuean sunrise was spread across the whole harbour, covering it like a translucent, glistening veil. The city was bustling, small clay-like figurines each attending to their matters; the kids were running around without a care in the world, the fishers were napping by the docks, merchants and Millelith alike were roaming around the space.

The steps of Zhongli could be heard advancing towards him leisurely, his arms coming to rest on the windowsill with a relaxed smile, a stark contrast to the man’s usually stoic face. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Childe didn’t reply immediately, leaning out a bit more and gasping when a harsh breeze blew by, forcing his eyes shut, only retreating back when the former tugged at his sleeves, firmly yet not forcefully.

Tartaglia stared at him with wide eyes, the latter's chin now resting on his joined hands, an almost smug grin fixed on his face as he gazed back into lazuli eyes.

They stayed like this for a few seconds, the window still hung ajar, letting the wind sneakily ruffle their hair, until the diplomat burst out into incredulous laughter, almost doubling over. “I can’t believe this! Your house is literally facing Bubu Pharmacy and Yuhai Pavilion! Have you be living on Mt. Tianheng's plateau the whole time?Everything’s getting more unbelievable by the second. Are you this isn’t some cruel plan to get back at me?”

This must’ve been the fifth time he asked this question within the span of the two days—not even two full days, one and a half—he’s been awake, and assuming that, by the fact that Zhongli’s face morphed back into his usual, neutral expression, he was starting to irritate him, even if the consultant's face gave no indication.

“I really apologise, but no, it isn’t. And I doubt I’d resort to such measures, no matter how angry I might be.”

Getting that it’d better for Childe to shut up, they maintained the silence. That is, until Zhongli looked at the clock and his eyes almost left their sockets

“I’m afraid I’ll have to talk to Director Hu for me to be able to organise our spar without any issues. I’m certain that you’d also like to talk to your own subordinates, Childe.” He stated, the words being spoken over his shoulders as he slipped into his shoes hastily. “Oh, and it might also be a good idea for you to pack your belongings; it’d make moving in easier. If it’s too arduous, then don’t proceed; I’ll help you after I’m done discussing things with the Director.”

Childe stared at the ground uncomfortably at the mention of moving in, his lips stretching into a thin line, but as soon as he made that expression, it disappeared. He looked up with a smile plastered to his face, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure, then I suppose I’ll see you later?”

“Yes, let’s meet by Northland Bank later, around noon.” 

The sick man simply nodded, watching as the other slipped away.

This was going to be a long day, he just knew it. But at least he’d get the fight he so desperately desired.

Walking through a dim, wide corridor, the consultant stopped in front of a mahogany door, the word ‘Director’ etched onto it. Knocking once, twice, thrice, he waited for the cheerful “Enter!” that would echo throughout the place, a certain giddiness that would be carried by the wind accompanied by childish joy that did not fit the workplace’s atmosphere at all.

Soon enough, the world did get chirped from behind the doors, alongside a slight shuffle and footsteps that paced around the room.

“Director Hu, good morning.”

“Oh, if it isn’t my favourite consultant!” Hu Tao twirled around, a grin spreading across her face as she set the various documents she’d held down on her desk and plopped down into her chair. She reached for the, presumably, coffee mug and eyed Zhongli, who had long since closed the door and now stood across from her, hands folded behind his back in a show of habit. “What are you doing here so early in the morning, mhm? Your shift starts in one hour and thrity minutes; go catch up on some sleep or something.”

His cheeky boss regarded the papers in front of her, decidedly shooing him off with a flick of her wrist, whilst the other held the mug she was sipping on.

He sighed, rounding the ebony table in front of the desk, and took a seat on the velvet red armchair. Here goes nothing. “Director,” he glanced at the girl scribbling angry lines down on paper, paying him no heed. Typical. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for a few days off.” At that she perked up, her motions stopping altogether. 

“And why, pray tell, does my most trusted consultant suddenly want a vacation? Oh, whatever shall I do without my dearest compatriot?” She protracted, slumping on her chair’s arms, one of her legs raised high in the air while the sole of her other foot rested on her desk. Her right arm covered her eyes, and with her left one, she made unruly gestures. She was probably trying to overwhelm him.

He, in fact, was not overwhelmed at all.

“Director, I’m your only consultant.” 

As expected, Hu Tao was, as a matter of fact, not amused by his (very veracious) statement. She flung her feet up, pulling them back to sit criss-cross on that poor chair. Grabbing small, crumpled paper balls (where did she even get them from?), Hu Tao tossed them at him, but Zhongli caught them all too easily and threw them in the nearby bin. 

“First rude,” she pouted, an expression that would’ve been cute on her if she hadn’t just attempted to assassinate him with paper bullets. “Secondly, hit me. Why do you need a few days off? Are you fine?” A momentary look of worry flashed through her eyes, but she professionally waved it off by adding,“If you suddenly die, what colour would you like your casket to be?”

All semblance of gratefulness vanished from Zhongli’s expression, making Hu Tao giggle upon looking at his deadpan expression.

He rolled his eyes. She snickered, sipping on her coffee.

It felt awkward to so openly admit that, yes, he’s going to be wed within the next dozen hours, when not even a week ago he was racking his brain thinking about how to approach his now soon-to-be-husband. Regardless, he let out a small huff through his nose, saying unfamiliar words that for some reason weren’t as uncomfortable as he thought them to be. “I’m getting married. I hope you understand—”

“But Mr. Zhongli… what am I supposed to—EXCUSE ME, WHAT?” The girl started choking on her coffee, her hands flailing to her tight collar as uncontrollable coughs spilling out of her lips. Her consultant immediately stood up, advancing towards her to pat her back gently.

“Tissue… Zhong-, ugh, hand me a tissue.” She rasped as she buckled over. Luckily for her, Zhongli reached across the table, grabbed a fistful of them, and handed them over, all while rubbing soothing circles across her back. Once she calmed down however, she instantly started to interrogate him, spurting question after question, along the lines of:

Who is the lucky person? 

Is it a she? A he?

When did you even start going out?

How is it possible that a rockhead like you met someone before I did?

Zhongli, stop ignoring me!

He let her babble on for two more minutes, her pigtails flapping around as she bounced in her seat, before a sudden, Ah! (coming from Hu Tao, it couldn’t have possibly been a good sign), resounded and she stilled.

Retreating to the seat across her desk, he watched her piece the puzzles together, the gears in her head moving. It also gave him a second to think about Childe’s proposal.

Finally, her fist met her palm, her eyes widening with recognition, before she muttered something under her breath.

“Come again?” He tilted his head, because even after her lips had moved twice, he couldn’t catch her imperceptible murmuring.

“The Snezhnayan! Mr. Childe, you’re marrying him right?” The girl burst out, and now it was the consultant’s turn to start coughing.

“Wha—”

“It makes so much sense now!” Her eyes lit up, and Zhongli knew that if he didn’t interfere, she’d go on a lengthy rant to prove her point.

“Director Hu, don’t you believe this to be a violation of my priva—”

“That explains why you gifted him those dragon phoenix chopsticks. But don’t you think that it’s a bit unfair for you to make him pay for his own dowry? What kind of partner are you?”

“Director, the chopsticks meant no—”

“So the reason you’ve been so slow at work is because you were pining, huh? You were so preoccupied thinking about your prince-charming partner,” she giggled. It’s funny, the way she was even happier about this marriage than Childe.

Hu Tao continued to tease him for a few more minutes, pointing things out the God himself hadn’t noticed. At first he was compelled to stop her, but then he realised that it would actually not hurt. If someone found so much meaning in actions that held completely different motivations, it might make their marriage a whole lot more convincing, and no one would question it. 

The advantages clearly outweighed the disadvantages. They wouldn’t really have to act in public if Hu Tao were to spread the word for them. He wouldn’t have to see the way Childe’s lips turned downwards, clearly uncomfortable, he- 

“So,” his boss burst him out of his small bubble, evoking him to look at her. "Leave granted! I'll give you one week of paid leave. This is my gift to you, so make most of it!" Zhongli's frowned. One week was (in their case) too much, and not to mention...

"Director Hu, while you have my utmost gratefulness, I doubt you could run the parlour all by yourself, don't you think?"

"Eh, don't worry! I'll just ask Chongyun to help me," she replied, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. "It's not like he's been successful at exorcising anything as of lately."

With the reassurance that, no, Hu Tao wasn't going to burn down the funeral parlour or do something that might harm her during his absence, Zhongli stood up, waving her goodbye with a small "Take care."

"Hey Zhongli, one final question."

"Mhm, what is it?"

"When exactly are you getting married? Takes a lot of time and energy, you know."

He faltered slightly. He himself wasn't sure when exactly they were getting married...

"...Today evening. We'll be registering our marriage by then."

Hu Tao audibly gasped, looking more offended than ever. "You rockhead! You're supposed to wield Geo, not have a brain of stone ! What are you idiot still doing here? Off with you!" She screeched, and he had to make an effort not to break into a smile as she led him out like some sort of convict and shut the door behind him with a loud Thud!

Well. At least it went well?

"Katya! I almost missed you," the Harbinger greeted his division's main strategist and commander of their intelligence network, a grin on his face. Once they came to Liyue, he told her to take it easy after she'd injured her leg in a prior mission, hence why he assigned her as receptionist. Now, she sat at her desk, the main hall crowded with customers.

The moment she glanced up, she heaved a sigh, yet the usual smile that her face adorned was nowhere to be seen. “Master Childe,” she began, her lips turned down. “I was so fucking worried. Are you hurt anywhere?” She hissed.

Abandoning the deposit slips, she stood up and rounded her desk. Childe leaned onto it, listening to fast steps approaching him until they stopped, his subordinate facing him directly. She reached out to touch his shoulder, anything that might make him start talking, but she hesitated and bit her lip as she spotted a few onlookers.

By sheer luck, the clock on the wall struck 11:00. The clock was actually broken, ringing two hours earlier than it should, but Ekaterina took advantage of its chirping. Telling the patrons that, very unfortunately, it was lunch break and that it was time for them to get the fuck out with a straight face (not explicitly) must've been pretty exhausting. After making quick work of the customers and chewing those out who refused to leave, she turned to Childe with a huff, clearly annoyed.

“So, Katya,” he grinned, the smile spreading across his face. “Did you know you’re one of the few people who can swear in front of a Harbinger, lie to our customers and then gaslight them into thinking you’re in the right and then get away with it?”

The woman in-question didn’t look half as amused as he did, replying with a small ‘I’m aware’. “You still didn’t tell me what happened.”

“Always so eager to start business, are we?”

“Master Childe, please,” She pressed, her tone urgent. “Not even a week ago, Mr. Zhongli came in, looking on edge. When I asked him what’s wrong, he pulled me into a corner and handed me an envelope. It had Her Majesty’s stamp on it.” The receptionist sucked in a breath, the memory clearly making her shudder. 

The Harbinger’s eyes instantly narrowed at the mention of the Tsaritsa. “What did it say? And did Zhongli do anything suspicious?”

“Well,” Ekaterina put a pensive thumb to her chin and crossed her arms, then went on,“while it bore Her Majesty’s stamp, there were multiple different papers all directed . But…the first thing my letter said was to just trust the consultant and leave you in his care. I was also tasked with preparing various documents, such as your travel papers, your residency permit and the certificate of no impediment to marriage. As for Mr. Zhongli, he had a grim look on his face but said nothing.”

Aha. At least now he knew that this really wasn’t some revenge plot.

His subordinate softly scoffed. “It almost sounds like you’re getting married. No offence, but the notion itself is laughable…”

“That’s because I am. I’m not settling down, but I’m getting married.”

He watched as shock spread across Katya’s face like a contagious disease, only for her to let out a choked cough.

“Surely not?”

“Surely yes.”

“My Lord, this is not funny…” 

“Yes, I’m aware that someone getting married is serious.”

She winced at his tone, her shoulders slumping like the stem of a withered flower, while in contrast his stiffened.

“Do you mind me asking how the actual fuck you got yourself in this situation? No, scratch that, who are you marry—” Ekaterina exclaimed in disbelief, but quickly shut her mouth once she figured it out on her own, the realisation as harsh as the Snezhnayan wind. “Is it Mr. Zhongli?”

Childe simply nodded.

He ended up telling her everything, and even if it was summarised, Archons, did it feel great.

“Here, your keys. Sir, you can always talk to me, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you Katya, I appreciate it.”

Ekaterina didn’t respond, for her boss simply ambled his way to the giant doors and disappeared behind them.

Once he arrived at his apartment, he sauntered into his barren room absentmindedly, and started packing his sparse belongings. Childe didn’t bring much with him for this mission, nor did he have much property to begin with—he was a Harbinger, which meant he’d have to be ready to give up everything within a heartbeat; whether it was his possessions or life.

Just as he zipped his bag and thought himself to have finished, a small, customised oak box, its edges laced with gold caught his attention.

Oh.

His eyes widened, yet he reached for it nonetheless—among all of the gifts Zhongli had gave him, these were the only ones he couldn’t get himself to throw away, even if Childe was the one who paid for them.

Nonetheless, they were, in some way, serving as a reassurance and reminder of the good time the diplomat had, even if it all turned out to be a farce in the end. The smallest hint of a smile crept up his cheeks; he’d remembered how Zhongli had shied away from Xiangling’s prying gaze that burnt holes into his back with the intensity of fifty suns, the way Chef Mao had heartily laughed so loud everyone’s gazes turned to him, the way Zhongli had cleared his throat and handed him the chopsticks with mirth crinkling his eyes, the way—

Well, he obviously wasn’t ready to part with them yet. Sliding on his butt to the single bag that lay on the ground, he tried to fit in the box that just was refusing to be packed into the rectangular confines.

Oh, great, now what…

Eyeing his trouser’s pockets, he supposed that they’d have to do as he tucked in the box that, somehow, miraculously fit.

One less thing to worry about. Great!

Standing up and dusting off his sore butt (from all that sitting around, no other reason), he looked at the clock hung on the wall, hopeful, and—

He still had over thirty minutes. Magnificent!

“Oh, Childe. I’ve been waiting for you,” Zhongli said as he approached the other, a pleasant lilt to his voice present.

“Ah, my bad. But you didn’t wait for too long, right?” Childe half-stammered, because as soon as he finished talking, the consultant had grabbed his wrist, pulling him away from Northland Bank—and what became obvious after they passed a few blocks—towards Yujing Terrace

Is he trying to get me assassinated?

“Uh , Zhongli…I’m pretty sure you’re aware that the Qixing would love for me to disappear off the Liyuen soil and would grasp any chance to do so, right?” He chuckled awkwardly, hoping that the older man would just turn around and not cause them diplomatic issues where he and the Qixing play cat and mouse, subsequently get forever banned from Liyue and sent back to the glorious homeland. 

The God seemingly had other plans though, because after sparing him a quick glance, he kept climbing the stairs at a fast pace.

Upon arriving at the (thankfully) barren terrace, Zhongli sat him down on the bench, then swiftly took a seat in front of him. A stone table separated them, a tea-set perched on it. It looked…unique—with the angular, square teacups and everything. But its most prominent aspect was its aura…it was so warm, borderline scorching, but the warmth was so, so familiar, so enticing.

It’s quite the nice tea set; one that the warrior would’ve been able to admire if he wasn’t on the brink of tackling the consultant in front of him.

“Zhongli,” Childe exhaled, surprised by how calm he sounded. “We’re here to fight, not drink tea, right?”

Silence. Then, a huffed tsk, barely audible, tumbled from the Adeptus’ lips. “Always so impatient, aren’t we? Yes, worry not, we’re here to spar,” he chided, reaching for the teapot’s handle. “Have you ever been to the Traveler’s Serentia pot?”

“You mean that realm?” He tilted his head, watching as the other’s fingers twitched. “I was invited, but I didn’t have the chance to go, so no. Ah wait,” his gaze snapped to the pot, like a child’s eyes might lock onto glimmering toys. “I’ll just go ahead and assume this is also some independent realm?”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum, the glaze lily perking up ever so slightly. “Almost, but the realm’s subsistence can wait for later. For now, put your hand on top of mine.”

He obliged, the current of pure electricity running through his very blood, charging every single heartbeat with warmongering zeal rendering his body to quivering mess, each shiver filled with anticipation.

He was going to fight the Geo Archon, gods, he was finally going to fight him, get lost in that addicting battle frenzy, gods—

The glove Zhongli wore did not sustain the heat of his palm, a crippling sensation that made the Harbinger squirm even more as a remote part of his brain yearned to find something as warm as the being in front of him and curl into it all day, all night, for eternity.

Gods did he want to leech off that warmth until the Adeptus was stripped of it completely, left with the vanity of a divine  corpse, yet also wanted to pull away as soon as possible, because how could he, the one who was stripped of his own mundane warmth in the cruelest way ever—

“You’ll feel nauseous and might experience a wave of vertigo, but it’ll be fine,“ said Zhongli, his low voice a soothing balm for the cacophony that is his mind. “For the next moments, just focus on my hand.”

And with that, the world was abridged, the brightness dulling everything into a blank, white clouds. Momentarily, he caught sight of a pair of crows descending onto old, worn branches. Then a third came hurtling down next to them, until the world was turned into naught but grey shades.

Grey turned into white, white into yellowish-gold, gold into muted blue blended with orange, and Childe stubbornly blinked his eyes open.

“Are you alright?” Came the muffled voice adjacent to him, making him tense his muscles as to not sway.

“Ahaha, yes, don’t worry…” he suppressed a gurgling sound, reassuring, “It’s almost the same as using a teleport waypoint, so it’s fine!”

Since his vision had cleared, he was finally able to depict this dimension in a lucid picture—and what a beautiful picture it made.

Lush, green grass covered the entirety of the ground, trees he couldn’t identify stood scattered across the map, peaks as high as Mt. Hulao stretched far and wide as the sun shone unto them. If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he’d  certainly be able to marvel at the chiselled mansion that acted as a barrier between verdant grass and pale brown, concealing the gentle ebbing waves behind. Right in front of him, on a willow tree, sat three innocuous crows accompanied by squirrels, who stared into his very—

“Childe, you know how to use teleport waypoints?” Zhongli inquired, surprise evident by the way his upturned eyes widened ever so slightly, the arms that normally would’ve been clasped behind his back hung limply by his side.

The ginger shrugged, the waning cold that nipped at his fingertips near gone. “It’s not the same as the ones the Traveler uses, but I suppose so, yeah.” He didn’t need to know that Dottore was the one who made them. “Since we’re on the topic, would you mind if I placed one near your home? Wouldn’t want to walk up Mt. Tianheng after work, every day, you know?”

“Ah, of course. Then, we ought to start.” And with that, he strode towards an open field, barren of the verdant grass, a smooth stone surface. It’s pretty big, the length elongating roughly a hundred meters if he had to guess, as for the width…it was enough for him to unleash his . Childe stalked up to the other, almost falling in step with him when he became aware of the inconspicuous box still in his pocket. While drowned in the wave of excitement, he’d completely forgotten to take them out.

Oh, oops.

It’d be a bit (more than a bit) embarrassing for the other to find out how he still clung to the pieces of wood, so he ran back to the tree where he first opened his eyes, covered the box with a few uncannily big leaves, and ran back to Zhongli who was regarding him with a patient posture, as if they weren’t about to clash their weapons.

“We still need to establish some rules.” He puffed out a laugh as he watched the Harbinger eagerly put some place between them, blue eyes staring expectantly, while he flexed his arms.

“How about this, both of us suggest two rules, and if the four rules don’t suffice… we’ll see.” The ginger grinned, a nod from the brunet urging him to continue. “Okay, so I’ll start,” he said, a thoughtful hum escaping, a hand placed to his chin. Then, “first things first, we can use two types of weapons. Secondly, since me forgiving you will happen anyway, the winner gets to make one request of the failing party, no questions asked.”

The God’s eyes glinted dangerously when he heard the second condition, much like a caracal's ears snapping to attention. A moment passed, thick with tension, and Childe’s grin almost faltered. Almost, that is, because the older man proceeded to snort. Zhongli, ever the gentleman, the knowledgeable consultant, was snorting at him. Pantalone might as well stop being the money greedy loan shark he is.

“That request; it can be anything ?”

“Yes, anything. If that still isn’t good enough, then we can double it.” The Harbinger shrugged. Damn, why was the Adeptus so hard to please?

“I doubt that’d be necessary.” He mused, the edges of his smile a tad bit too sharp, his eyes just a bit brighter. “As for the rules… we’ll stop when the first blood is drawn.” Zhongli halted, waiting for any opposition. Met with unspoken agreement, he continues, “for the second rule, you’re not allowed allowed to use your…abyssal powers, and as soon as I see any blisters form, you’ll stop using your delusion too.”

Tartaglia’s jaw tightened almost immediately. “Hey, don’t you think limiting my delusion usage is unfair? Come on, where’s the fun in that!”

“If you’d like, you can also limit the usage of my powers.” Morax shrugged, materialising his polearm with a flick of his wrist from the very bedrock.

“You’re no fun.” The soldier scoffed, clearly irritated, yet summoned his own bow and catalyst nevertheless. “What, am I not worthy of Rex Lapis’ full power?” He questioned, begrudgingly realising that the Archon only drew his spear.

“The polearm on its own is simply more convenient to use,” he dismissed, eyes sharp.

For an eerie moment, it was only Zhongli, the almost oppressive tension, and Tartaglia, already wading into the gradually deepening waters that lead to a whirlpool somewhere far in the distance.

“Hey, Zhongli? Don’t you dare hold back; I might be a mortal, but I’m not made of glass.”

His ankles were submerged in water, the cooling sensation inviting him further in.

“Rest assured, I would never think of dishonoring my opponent by underestimating them, especially one as tenacious as you.”

With a hollow laugh, Childe surged forward, sharp blades gripped tightly, the soles of his boots coated with hydro.

At first, they only exchanged a couple of blows—the Harbinger deftly attacked with hasty movements, while the consultant blocked every one with ease, occasionally evading them and trying to knock out Childe with the polearm’s end, which the ginger eagerly dodged, putting distance between them, only to come back to participate in that desperate dance of their weapons.

“Enough with the warm-up, don’t you think?” Connecting his two blades, he swung his glaive in a wide arch to aim for Zhongli’s arm, only for the other to disappear in a flurry of lances the moment his spear would’ve lodged.

“Wha-” A harsh kick to his side that he noticed a second to late sent him skidding across the field, the hand that flew to his side to counter the impact now clutching the hydro spear lodged into the stone.

“I must commend you, most wouldn’t have been to discern where I’d aim, much less sustain the force of it and remain standing,” he praised, eyeing Childe’s buzzing form. “Most impressive indeed.”

“Oho, praise from the almighty Lord of Contracts? Well, I’m quite honoured.” He was beyond honoured, actually. Tartaglia was facing him, Morax, Rex Lapis, the very one who built Liyue Harbour.

His heart had never beaten so hard in his life, the excitement was making his blood sing, his hands shake, his mind ebb, his heart pound. It was the most alive he felt in a while, and he wanted to bask in that fulfillment as much as a man whose feet burned from the hot, ever-stretching sand yearned for water.

Within the passing of seconds he’d lunged forward, although still kept the man at a distance as he showered him with hydro-infused arrows, forcing Zhongli to finally raise his shield as more arrows whizzed by his ears.

What Childe didn’t expect, however, was the stele construct that sprung from the ground with abnormal speed, breaking his bowstring and halting the wave he was about to gleefully propel through the air and towards the consultant’s impeccable shield.

As abruptly as the construct went up, it vanished, replaced by the one who willed it to life kicking his polearm at him. The Harbinger moved to the side, a crazed grin stretching across his face as the swings only got faster and sturdier and he was forced to ditch his broken bow in order to dislodge the catalyst that was hung on his belt, only for the God to swing his polearm in a diagonal half-moon, this time forcing the ginger to retreat instead of dodging directly.

“Haha, getting serious, aren’t we?” He breathlessly giggled, firing three vortex waves meant to cut, which were stopped by a geo wall. Crouching, he made sure that his boots were still coated in hydro as he dashed forward, once, twice.

While rounding the construct, Childe certainly didn’t think that Zhongli would ram into his ribs as soon as he did.

His knees were now submerged in saltwater that nipped at his scars.

He felt himself stagger from the blunt force, breath completely knocked out.

It excited him to no end, watching the warrior god’s impeccable footwork as he fought. The smooth way he’d twist his body and then land right back into a balanced stance as he thrust his weapon forward to inflict pain, to draw blood. His corrupted blood.

After a barrage and some maneuvers the Adeptus went through, Tartaglia could finally identify a pattern behind those relentless attacks. It seemed like he was trying to sweep him off his feet.

Unfortunately for him, the ginger had never been a down-to-earth guy, preferring the agile movement that barely let his heels touch the ground.

So when Zhongli manipulated the earth beneath his feet, he didn’t resist. He didn’t dart away when the mass flung him into the air, high enough to break—he simply surrendered, the air whipping past his ears.

Unbeknownst to the older man, that was exactly what he’d been anticipating. With a sharp twist, he forced his body into an inverted position and stretched his arms in a way that had Zhongli facing his catalyst. Unlike the constant grin plastered to Childe’s face, his lungs were still aching from overexertion, reminding him that he was still very much sick.

“Thanks, Zhongli!”

And with that, he sent a cloudburst of blades and arrows alike, the riptide effect rendering his surroundings to a blur. The Harbinger wasn’t even sure if he’d hit the other or not—if not, he’d have to up his game, that’s for sure. And he needed to find a way to suppress the bubbling rasps threatening to constrict his throat.

Gravity pulled him down again, but before he could even land, the consultant appeared in front of him with inhuman speed. Within a blink of an eye, he’d thrusted the the butt’s end of his polearm into Childe again, triggering a wheezing fit.

He was waist-deep into the sea, the accelerating currents now dragging him in deeper.

From the second he’d gotten to recover, he noticed that the riptide effect was, in fact applied.

He’d just need to slash the other, and everything would turn to his advantage.

However, muscle memory set in as soon as the other started attacking, because the God was everywhere. He was behind him, on his left and right side, simultaneously over and under him, in front of him—every single attack was all-encompassing.

“That attack earlier was quite impressive… You must be tired, such a large-scale assault is sure to take up a chunk of your stamina.”

A swing that almost grazed his cheek, a leg that nearly tripped him.

“Unfortunately though, by continuing you will only make this more taxing for yourself.”

His voice was low and aloof, while his eyebrows were scrunched, and he seemed like the omnipotent, scintillating deity he was.

It made a shudder run through Childe.

But it also exhilarated him to no end.

It meant Zhongli was taking this seriously,—the way he was attacking him like his life depended on it confirmed it—he was taking him seriously.

Suddenly, columns, big, golden columns rose from the ground, encasing them both from the waning sun.

Seconds later, the Harbinger was about to be pinned and have the spear plunged into him.

Luckily, he didn’t. With his feet still coated with hydro, he easily slipped away, even if his back had to pay the price by hitting the floor with full force.

Presented with the opportunity to be on the offensive again, he rolled to his side and kicked the Archon’s ankles, only to be taken aback.

“Fuck- Do you have legs of stone?” He hissed as he put space between them, forming his glaive to repeatedly send hydrosprauts in the other’s direction to keep the distance.

The only thing that poked out of the water was his head, the spiralling stream now sucking him ever closer into the whirlpool.

The latter chuckled lightly and put up his shield, giving Childe some time to think.

To his dismay, the riptide mark already dissipated, a missed opportunity. Not to mention, the floor he’d been trying so hard to wet was dry, because, while he didnt expect them to stay in place, the nearest puddle was probably around thirty—

Zhongli bolted forward, resuming the pace he’d set earlier.

“What, enjoying… hah… our little dispute?”

“I can’t say that I’m not. But I’m clearly doing something wrong if you’re still able to think.”

Oh, damn it.

He knew he wouldn’t last long; not with the way his chest was heaving and a chill ran through his body, the dry coughs stuck at the end of his throat, and the man in front of him who would probably wrap up their spar, regardless if Tartaglia was satisfied or not.

Once they neared the columns where the immortal was probably planning on cornering him, he twirled around, delivered a powerful kick enough to send said other crashing into the steles and dashed to the other end.

With a small pant, he put up his own shield, allowing himself to be enshrouded by every singly hydro drop he could sense.

He needed to focus.

Welcoming the humidity, he manifested a narwhal that was slightly bigger than the one he usually summoned and unleashed him.

Zhongli, who’d recovered by then, stilled and his hold on his polearm slackened as he took in the sight of the voyager drifting through the air.

Sadly, he still possessed ungodly speed, and thus teleported (or Childe started getting delirious, he couldn’t tell) next to him the moment the manifestation hit the ground, unleashing a wave.

Although landing a hit on the consultant hadn’t been his first priority, it’d have still been nice.

He was swallowed by the whirlpool, only to be spat out and left gasping for air, before it pulled him down again. Throughout it all, he didn’t protest, letting the ocean do as it wished.

“Childe, that attack of yours… if only it was faster, you’d…” The ex-Archon’s eyes twinkled with unspoken potential, the closest thing to amazement the Harbinger ever saw on his face.

A dry laugh left his lips.

“You won’t be as appreciative of it once you find out why I used it.”

Zhongli’s head snapped to him the moment he felt electricity sizzle through the air—but it was too late.

Using the columns the god had constructed, he sprinted throughout the closed place, never touching the ground as he sent electric, crescent moons slashing into the ground.

He’d have a chance to win like that—unlike the Zhongli, he wasn’t about to get his brain fried, and by the looks of it, the overwhelming amount of electro-charged reactions across the field had managed to break his shield, singeing the end of his slacks and coat.

At least, that was the plan.

When a stele suddenly poked out from the construct itself, Childe tripped to the ground, near Zhongli.

Fuck.

Trying to get up, he choked upon being tormented to the same torture he’d put the other through.

Although he was used to the reaction by now, the fact that whenever he moved it intensified by tenfold didn’t help.

Slowly, he could feel the other approach him, and when he looked up, a cocky grin spread on his face, the god surprisingly mirrored his expression.

“Well, how unfortunate for you. Childe, did you seriously think I wouldn’t be able to manipulate the constructs I summoned myself?” He looked slightly amused, and despite the fact that he did have a point, the ginger would’ve really liked to do nothing more than wipe off that smug grin. “But it might’ve worked on somebody else. I’ve never quite experienced an electro-charged reaction this intense.” He regarded the man kneeling in front of him before pulling his spear again, crystallizing the ground with a wave of geo and annulling the reaction.

“Do you yield?” The spear was now pointed at his neck, with the brunet staring down at him intently.

And while his heart was beating wildly at the prospect of Zhongli just slicing his neck, did Childe ever mention that he liked his ego getting stroked by strong individuals (anyone really, as longs as they weren’t being sycophants)?

How could he just give up after being praised like that?

“Hmmm,” he pulled a thoughtful finger to his chin. “What if I said no?”

“No?” Zhongli raised his eyebrow, but other than that, nothing really.

“No.” Childe grinned back at him with innocence that he did not possess.

“No, it is then.” He sighed and then turned away, leaving the dumbfounded man behind him.

Wait, what?

As he stood to question him, he stiffened immediately. He couldn’t move—more specifically, he couldn’t move his legs. When he glanced down at them, they were only solidified, luckily not turned to rock.

Still, what.

“Since you seem so adamant on continuing, I’ll indulge you.” The god cast him a look then turned around.

That’s sweet and all, but could you unfreeze me? , was what he wanted to say, but instead he just numbly nodded like an idiot.

“Good. Childe, you have twenty seconds, if you don’t yield during that time, I’ll make you regret it.”

What the…

“What? Why would I-“ As soon as he opened his mouth, he clamped it shut, because the earth was shaking, the wind was raking, and the skies were caving in as a huge, brown-golden meteor split them open. It looked magnificent.

Regardless, what the fuck.

Had he not realised that it was heading him, he would’ve marvelled at its size and artistically pleasing design, but alas, when you’re about to get crushed by a meteorite the size of your apartment, you won’t have the opportunity to.

“Childe, fifteen seconds.” With a flick of his wrist, the meteor sped up its descend, now falling considerably faster.

What.the.fuck.

“You- Zhongli! At least unbind my legs!” He activated his delusion again, helplessly thrashing against the stone securing his legs, but soon stopped. It was futile.

Twelve,

Shit, he should just slice through it, even if it meant breaking around fifty physic laws.

Nine,

The sound that echoed across the fields made his head whip up, and sure enough, the meteor was right above the columns. Fuck it, at this point he was considering using Foul Legacy, rules be all damned.

Six,

Materialising only his abyssal glaive from electro and hydro sparkles that dance around him, he not only became acoustically aware of how close the thing was, but also how Zhongli’s eyes snapped to him.

Three,

The meteor was barely a fraction away, yet even more distracting was the warmth that suddenly evolved around him.

Two-

A hand clutched his wrist tightly and pulled him away, the stone that’d caged him long dissipated. He was yanked so hard he tripped and hit the other’s solid frame backwards, his head connecting with a shoulder. The abyssal glaive was also knocked out of his hold, then dissolved.

With the gentlest of pressures that one could apply with a weapon that killed hundreds of gods, Zhongli grazed Childe’s cheek from where he was standing next to him, drawing a bit of blood.

“We said we’d stop at the first blood,” The consultant probably tried not to fume, but shit, Childe could feel his breath fanning out on his earlobe in a way that indicated otherwise.

“Childe,” he turned him by the shoulders, grabbing him so hard his knuckles turned white.

Molten pools of gold stared right back into his, and they were furious. Childe never had the dishonour of being on the receiving end of Zhongli’s negative emotions, and even then, they never felt as intense as now—pebbles were literally rising from the ground!

“You— I can’t believe you!” The consultant snapped, the anger solidifying as he slightly shook the Harbinger. “Do you not have any sense of self-preservation? Do you know how dangerous that was?” He took a shaky breath, likely to calm himself, but with the way his voice rose with every syllable it was not working. “What were you planning on doing? Slicing through it? Childe, please, think.”

Shame filled him, not only because he’d managed to make Zhongli so enraged, but also because he broke a rule in the presence of the God of Contracts. He’d drowned himself in the pleasure of battle, the thrill of being pushed over the edge so much, that he hadn’t noticed the figure above water, still waiting for him anxiously.

“I wanted you to give up so I wouldn’t have to actually hurt you. I just wanted you to yield.” Zhongli’s voice was raw around the edges as his bruising hold on Childe slackened. Then, in a much quieter tone, “I didn’t want to hurt my friend, Childe. Why can’t you for once swallow your pride and admit what you really want?”

Ah, now coupled with searing guilt, the shame that settled into his gut really wanted to make him slap himself. Zhongli wasn’t angry because he wasted his time fighting this annoying mortal, who didn’t even compare to a drop of the Adeptus power, and who also happened to be him. No, he was angry because he cared, and what Childe’d done was selfish and reckless.

Everything had turned black, he couldn’t breathe, he was disoriented, yet the currents were relentlessly pulling him down.

“…I’m sorry,” Childe murmured, his gaze downcast. He felt like a child all over again, when his mom would berate him for venturing out into a snowstorm and returned sick, not heeding her warnings.

That seemed to alleviate some of the consultant's agitation, because the anger in his eyes softened into concern, the ironclad hold on his shoulder loosened, his hands now roaming all over his body.

“Uh, Zhongli?” The younger man stuttered as his hopefully now friend repeatedly applied pressure all across his torso, his palms lingering around his pectorals, making the tips of his ears go red.

“What are you doing?” He’d moved on to his shoulders, his fingers now gliding down his biceps.

Zhongli’s eyes snapped to him, momentarily confused, before awareness dawned on him and he finally stepped back. “Checking for internal bleeding…”

“Can’t we do that inside?” The diplomat laughed at the absurdity of the man in front of him, pointing to the mansion in the distance.

“Oh, of course,” the brunette replied but showed no sign of movement as he stared at the ginger with something akin to anticipation.

The latter who’d started trekking towards the structure stopped, turning around to face the other with a smile curling his lips. “Also, Zhongli. We’re even now. Naturally, I’d still like to talk, but… You get what I mean, don’t you?”

With a small huff, the former approached him, also smiling. “Certainly. But first, let me have a look at those bruises.”

“Z-Zhongli! Are you trying to choke me?”

“Mhm, looks good.” Said man nodded to himself, satisfied by his handiwork as he stepped back. The  entirety of the ginger’s abdomen, who was sat on a lavish chair, was covered in light bruises that couldn’t possibly compare to the marks battle has left on him—not that the soldier let him see them; he’d insisted that Zhongli turn away while he tended to himself. Who was he to disagree?

After applying some green salve that smelled strongly, the ginger asked the brunette to wrap the whole bruising to prevent from the ointment to smear his shirt.

“Keep the ice pack in place or I’ll bandage it to your chest for the following twenty minutes.” Childe visibly shuddered at the threat, more from the cold than anything, muttering something along the lines of ‘cruel man’.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when a hand took his palm which he’d cut about a month ago and started tending silently to it, while the Childe watched Zhongli. He took three wound closure strips before pinching his cut shut, gently pressed the strips along the wound to secure it, then applied some salve that was a maroon brown but changed into an orange when rubbed, and finally put a sterile plaster pad.

Turning to his cheek, he did the same thing with twice as much care, still quiet.

During the entire procedure, Childe observed Zhongli, blue eyes widening at every little contact, and how silly he must sound, because he found it all comforting; the touch, the company even without words, the warmth, the deity himself.

“Now,”  the consultant announced, snapping the diplomat’s eyes to him and out of his little stupor. “I think it’s about time you  stayed true to your promise.”

“Ah, definitely. Two requests, whatever you wish for.” Childe winked, but he was slightly nervous. He’d practically broken the rules by summoning his abyssal glaive, and with how paramount rules were to Zhongli…

Well, if the god was mad, he certainly didn’t show it.

The other clicked his tongue, staring back at him like he’d grown two heads. “Think again. Would you really just let me do anything with you?” He urged the latter to use his brain again.

Alright, now that Zhongli had so kindly spelled it out for him…

But his feverish and weary mind, with the adrenaline had fading, only managed a crooked, tired smile. “I suppose as long as it doesn’t publicly affect the Tsaritsa, the Fatui, or also preferably my notorious reputation, it’s fine,” he slurred slightly.

Once again, the consultants face turned into a complicated expression, but soon enough he found himself sighing as he tried not to drag a hand down his face.

“Right. Just-“ Zhongli clearly looked uncomfortable and Childe wanted to  ask what was wrong yet kept quiet as he stared up at the man standing in front of him. “Just put the ice bag away for a second.” After the ginger obliged, he went on. “Close your eyes and take in deep breaths and don’t open them before I say so.”

He frowned, and the temptation to open his eyes and defy the deity sprung forward, but he ignored it.

A palm, free of the leather it usually adorned, nestled beneath his bangs, and the next thing that was whispered into his ears sent shudders through his body.

“This is my first request. Consider this the wrath of the rock for breaking one of the rules earlier.”

He was fucking fucked.

But he brought it upon himself so he just gulped, his heart beating erratically against his ribs. Absentmindedly, he heard a sharp intake of breath, only for the room to quake violently and overwhelmingly fill with geo.

A moment, two, and his jaw alongside his neck felt like they were cramping. A third, fourth, and his limbs felt cold from the inside as they hung limply. A fifth, sixth, and he couldn’t breathe as lightheaded as he was feeling. A seventh, an eighth and he couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe -

His hand flew to Zhongli’s forearm positioned on his shoulder to keep hold of him and he clutched it, hard, as he felt chains tangle around his heart and squeeze the worn muscle, pumping out all blood, thus making him hyper-conscious of every suffocating, painful sensation that surged throughout his body as the shackles tightened, unbearably so.

Voices, high pitched and loud and broken all screamed at him in his mind, the cacophony trying to settle its grip around him with thorns and roses, so terrifyingly beautiful as it was. They screamed at him, told him to fight, to attack, but he was so, so tired, and so, so spent.

Light shone so bright from the other’s palm he could feel it reflect in his eyes, lazuli blue now a golden hue. Childe really shouldn’t, not with the way gravity felt ten times its usual magnitude, but against better judgement he glanced up, facing burning, fierce eyes. In the amber of those eyes, faintly, the geo symbol pulsed.

Dizziness crashed on him like the unrelenting ocean tides and he could feel his brain turn to mush as his hold on the other slackened—the muscles that’d flexed under his grip felt distant, the looming figure that the Geo Archon cut seemed small, the pure, intense golden eyes of which he’d caught a glance when he retched forward were now as insignificant as dust.

The whirlpool finally spat him out, yet instead of any sort of reassurance he collided with the ocean’s floor with concerning speed, the stone knocking all resemblance of consciousness out of him.

Sometime after the Harbinger so pathetically plunged into the land of delirious and disoriented people, his mind seemingly detached from his body, and for a short instance he could see his body hunched over, clutching the god’s arm desperately as the other looked down from where he stood in front of him, the geo symbol hovering above the ginger’s forehead where the other’s palm glowed. Geo particles densely danced through the air and a strong shockwave emitted by the immortal sent him right back into his body though.

Each pant that left his chest made breathing hurt more until he finally relented and lay his head on the other’s arm. Zhongli didn’t move away though—he simply stayed there, hand patting his shoulder soothingly while the other lightly massaged his temples.

Heaving, Childe forced his head up, dreading the nausea that was determined to overtake him, and once he did…

…He felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was like he went into cardiac arrest, but the ugly consequences never caught up to him, leaving him shaking like a leaf admits the rain. Soon enough, the warm touch that was anchoring him the whole time vanished, and the younger man was left staring at the immortal with deep breaths.

“You…Zhongli, what did you do?” He slumped back into the chair--his voice embarrassingly hoarse--wishing it’d swallow him like the abyss did.

The older man just stared at him with something akin to sadness lacing his eyes as he sighed. “I diminished some of the abyss’ influence.” Since Childe looked at him like he’d grown two heads, so he rephrased it. “It means I sealed a portion of your abyssal abilities.”

Instead of the thrashing and cursing like Zhongli expected him to, the ginger just nodded as he wearily asked, “now, why would you do that? How,  even?”

Before the Adeptus ever had ever done that, Childe never knew that was even possible, and while he wanted to grip his friend’s shoulders and shake him, he was too drained, the cacophony that usually haunted him leaving naught but a ringing ache pulsating through his entire soul .

“Would you mind if we spoke outside? I think some fresh air might do us both some good.” The brunette looked quite rueful, if not earnest in his speech.

“Sure, lead the way. We were about to do so anyway.”

“This place is quite nice. Did you create it yourself?” Childe asked as he laid down onto the long grass which slightly tickled his face.

“Yes, it’s an independent dimension, existing on its own regardless of outer rules.” Zhongli supplied as he sat down next to him, one leg pulled to his chest while the other was languidly stretched. The sun of this realm was setting, casting long shadows behind them as it shone down upon them, the ex-Archon’s face painted in warm tones which cast quite the beautiful picture, while he looked less appealing, his eyebrows scrunching as the sun hit him in the face.

“You said we’re even, earlier. Does…that mean you’re still willing to be my friend? Even after I sealed a part your powers?” Zhongli broke the silence, his voice guarded as though he was certain that Childe would reject him, not unlike someone who was awaiting their sentence, ultimately helpless against it.

The Snezhnayan shrugged, refusing to let the mention of his lost power ruin the contenting feeling flowing in his very blood. “I did tell you you’re allowed to take whatever you wanted as your price, even if it was an out of a spurts moment. I just didn’t except you to do that .” He laughed, a genuine thing, which was weird, considering that were he in his right mind, he’d have long driven a blade through the ex-Archon’s chest at the prospect of some of his power getting stripped.

Now that he thought about it, he probably wouldn’t. No matter how much it sucked, the Harbinger wouldn’t chicken out nor would he go back on his own words—unlike other colleagues, he wasn’t too proud to reach for underhanded tactics once something didn’t go his way and would simply accept defeat; it was the process that mattered. But he was also sure that Zhongli didn’t just wake up today and randomly decided to do what he did. There must’ve been a reason.

“Anyways,” the ginger said, the weight of Zhongli’s all-knowing gaze too crushing. “What’s your other request? A meal? Jewellery? Hmm, maybe relocating your house into the harbour?” He gushed out all the things he thought Zhongli might like, watching the other’s expression lighten up from where he lay.

“Ah thank you. While this all is lovely and appreciated, I had something else in mind.”

“What could be nicer than-“

“It might seem unconventional though,” Zhongli interrupted, silencing Childe. With a flick of his wrist, the ginger urged the brunette to continue, too lazy to get up. “My second request would be for you to never offer ‘anything’. Childe, it genuinely hurt to hear you repeatedly confirm that it was alright.” From where he laid, Childe did have to hold back a snort, because Zhongli actually looked pained just thinking about it, his eyebrows drawn together and all.

“It’s like you’re offering yourself as a sacrifice at an alter,” he continued, expression serious. “I might still be the God of Contracts, but even I  won’t really be able to help you if you enter a contract under these terms.” He shot him a look, and the younger man suppressed the cough as a shiver ran down his spine.

Damn, if I don’t want to stay sick, I seriously should cover my stomach…

“Hehe, Zhongli, don’t worry! I’m actually not dumb enough to enter a contract with those terms with anyone else; I’m still a Harbinger who many would like dead. I was just a bit delirious, and besides, special circumstances call for special treatments, don’t you think?” The consultant didn’t look too convinced, but Childe didn’t give him any time to dwell on it anyway, too drunk on the soothingly thrumming flow of something underneath his skin. “So, don’t worry and just trust me, okay?”

Zhongli hummed, letting a tranquil silence filled only with the leaves rustling befall upon them. It was nice, simply lying there together while basking in the sun, but alas, Childe still had question he’d like answered.

Heaving himself up so that he could stare Zhongli in the eyes, he deliberately started, “I wanted to know something. That contract you entered with the Tsaritsa; what does it really entail?”

Carefully, he’d have to prod carefully if he wanted any answers out of the man.

The brunette pursed his lips, his form stiffening slightly. “You’d like to know about the it?”

“I mean, as long as there’s no clause preventing you from saying anything, of course. Yes, I’d like to know why Her Majesty was so avid about it, if possible,” the Harbinger laughed, though it was strained, only meant to alleviate the opaque tension that hung over them like nightfall over a swamp .

Zhongli regarded him, the grimace he wore betraying him as he slowly took a breath. Well, it was worth a try. “Hey, I get it, you don’t have to tell me any-“

“Hush, don’t jump to conclusions,” the other interjected, visibly frowning. “I’ll share everything, I promise… The only issue is that this is an extension of the original agreement, to which I'm still committed, meaning my discretion is still very much required when it comes to certain matters.”

“An extension you say?” He tilted his head. Does that mean Zhongli will have future business with the Tsaritsa?

“Indeed, but more of a favour than a contract. What the Tsaritsa initially offered me was worth more than just the Gnosis, so I agreed. But even without it, I wouldn’t have had a reason to refuse.”

What the hell could be worth more than a Gnosis?,  he wanted to ask but Zhongli merely smiled at him as if he could read his thoughts.

“I’m afraid this is one of the things I can’t disclose.” Oope, he said it out loud.

“Oh, that’s fine Xiansheng.” Except it wasn’t because Childe was inherently curious about trivial and profound things, about the world and the void; it was this curiosity that sent him plummeting into the abyss, to forever succumb to—

“ Xiangsheng ? You can drop the formalities, Childe. I think we’re long past the point of acquaintances,” Zhongli mused, mirth swimming in molten gold that was his eyes as his posture relaxed (which meant that instead of his whole body being as straight as a line, his jaw and neck were spared).

“I guess so, but it just feels familiar.” He shrugged a smile curling his lips. It was almost frightening how easily he fell back into old habits. He hadn’t  even noticed the word slipping before the other mentioned it!

“Well, if you insist… In any case, I must admit, this is all because of me,” the consultant started, eyes fixed on a tree somewhere in the distance. “While I’ve had my fair share of encounters with the abyss, I find myself repeatedly out of my depth when it comes to addressing certain corresponding wounds. Especially those where there’s no physical damage, like the ones that were ailing you. They don’t harm the vessel but the soul and mind, leaving behind only a shell of oneself.” His eyes hardened, tempting Childe to recall all the times his friend mentioned the abyss, unhurriedly contemplating every crease of the god’s brows, every word laced by anger, every clench of his jaw as he almost popped a vein.

“Considering some of your coworkers peculiar constitutions, the Tsaritsa proves to be more knowledgeable regarding those ailments. Even if her source is the second Harbinger, he still proves to be a better source than I do. After all, I’ve only ever concerned myself with slaying the abyss, not purifying it.

“So my decision might’ve been a bit rash when I decided to contact her. I justified my actions by telling myself that I just wanted you to get better. But now that I think about it, I realise that what I did was more selfish than I’d like to admit, and for that I’d like to apologise. It wasn’t my position to decide anything on your behalf and yet I did.”

Well, that was… unexpected. It’s not Childe thought the other incapable of feeling, but to so openly admit all of that must’ve taken quite some mental gymnastics.

He couldn’t help the softening of his expression as he pulled his knees to his chest, resting his head on them while still gazing towards the other. “It’s alright. Actually I’m kind of grateful you did that, Xiansheng. If you hadn’t, I would’ve probably still refused to talk to you and just, uh, I don’t know, left the harbour.” Catching an amused gleam in Zhongli’s eyes, he plopped down onto his back again, smirking. “Yes, I can hold a grudge pretty well when I want to.” A roll of golden eyes has him continuing, “and besides, thanks. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be in bed, rotting away until healing after weeks . So, three days and a fever are nothing!”

“It’s the least I could do. Besides, that’s precisely what’s the contract is trying to avoid.”

Was Childe dreaming? Because there’s no way he’s sure of what he’d heard right now. “Come again?”

“To put it simply, the contract stipulates me to ensure your well-being whenever you opt to use or get into contact with the abyss.”

“Wait, that letter you wrote; you never mentioned me commanding abyssal power, right?” His face paled at the thought, though Zhongli quickly pulled him out of the path his he was treading down.

“I never mentioned you having done so, no. I merely said that you got hurt upon confrontation with the abyss.” He watched the younger man heave a sigh of relief, even if he couldn’t mirror his expression.

“Childe, if I may be honest, I think your Archon is already aware of your capabilities. It might sound harsh, but it’s imprudent and foolish to hide your association with the abyss from your Archon. Not only is it bound to create misunderstanding, but I also think Her clever enough to have put two and two together.”

“So you’re saying She knows?”

“Precisely.”

A terse silence followed.

“Hah, my connection to the abyss has always been an open secret, that’s not what I’m worried about,” he laughed wryly. “The problem lies in how I channel this power and its origin, irrespective of the abyss itself.” No matter how ominous, Zhongli didn’t pry further, understanding that he wouldn’t elaborate much; something for which Childe was thankful.

“I don’t see how this is a problem.”

For someone who’d been in so much conflict with the void’s forces, he sure was oblivious. Or he was simply in denial. The Snezhnayan supposed it was the latter.

Childe began slowly, “Xiansheng let’s say that I tell her Majesty that I can control abyssal powers, okay? And let’s also say there happened to be an abyssal invasion led by someone instead of something at the time. Who’s going to be the first suspect? Me, of course.”

Zhongli frowned at him as if he had the most erroneous logic. “Now why would you get accused?”

He shrugged. “That’s where the Sneznhayan court comes into the play. If there’s one thing those pesky aristocrats hate, it’s a commoner rising to power. Which, unfortunately for them, is exactly what I am.” His eyes darkened a tad. “And what will they do once they get an opportunity to get rid of me? They'll seize it eagerly, tails wagging with excitement, of course!"

“I never mentioned you telling the entirety of Snezhnaya, only the Tsaritsa.”

“Her Majesty won’t be lenient either. Have you ever seen someone manipulate pure abyssal powers without the help of a catalyst, excluding very high ranking officers of the Abyss’ Order? No? I haven’t either! So, do you know get how much disarray this might cause? Besides, it’s been years since I started working, so they’re going to interrogate the hell out of me, questioning why I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Oh, maybe he said too much. Chest rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the ocean waves, Childe forced himself up again as a cough involuntarily broke out of him.

He got too worked up, he could feel it in the way his skin flushed and shoulders trembled, the way Zhongli’s eyes flit over his form, something akin to pity settling deep within them—enough to comfort but not too much to agitate.

He decided that he quite hated it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“It’s quite alright. It was inconsiderate of me, after all I shouldn’t have brought something up you were clearly uncomfortable with.”

“Anyways, what’s up with that seal you put on me under the guise of the wrath of the rock, almighty Rex Lapis?” The Snezhnayan goaded—not to anger—just to return some normalcy into their conversation.

Well, smooth change of topic, he’d like to pat himself on the back. Very smooth.

Zhongli’s hold on his knee slackened as he replied, “I’m sure you’d like to know how it works. Now would be an optimal time to explain.”

“No time better than the present. Go ahead, I’m listening.” He tried to grin, but remembered he was supposed to be angry. At least for now.

“Well, I’d find it better if you sat properly and covered your stomach. Aren’t you cold?”

“Hah, judging my fashion choices too? I think you should reconsider being a funeral consultant and fancy an interview at the Opera Epiclese.” The Harbinger finally snickered at the other who rolled his eyes, yet this time, he couldn’t keep the smile that was curling his lips at bay.

Soon after, both started laughing, and although Zhongli’s laughter was nearly the same as his collected chuckles, it was still louder, freer, bolder. The sound painted the blank canvas that Childe had furiously coated in white to hide the original picture, red brushstrokes now gliding above the surface. That was when he realised how refreshing it was to talk to the man again. He could sit for hours and listen to tales of days long past tumbling from the one who’d witnessed it all.

Again, it almost terrified him. Right. Angry, he was supposed to be angry. Just think about the-

“Ah, pardon me. The seal, yes. Allow me to explain,” he began, clearing his throat. “Contrary to all the hassle I put you and myself through to secure it, it actually functions quite easily. So long the sigils are intact, you won’t be able to draw as much abyssal powers as you normally would be able to, that much you’re already aware of. However, shall a situation arise where you find yourself truly incapacitated—not during a spar with the Traveler, a real battle—the sigils will immediately dissolve and the shackles retreat to allow you access.

“While I sincerely hope that you never need to employ this energy, but with your line of work, it might come in handy, even if the instances are few and far in between. Other than that, nothing changed.”

That… didn’t sound too bad. It's not every day that someone achieved the seemingly impossible and brush it off as a hassle. “But I can still use a modicum of it, right?”

Zhongli sighed. “Yes, you can. As otherworldly as it is, I wasn’t able to completely seal your powers. Doing so would only put additional strain on your body, because then, two entirely different ‘elements’ would be contradicting within you.”

“Well, how will these sigils even know if I’m in danger? Doesn’t sound very convincing.” Childe furrowed his eyebrows incredulously to which the Adeptus merely chuckled.

“I imbued some consciousness into them. You could say…  I’m watching over you?” His eyes were so earnest, so genuine, and Tartaglia, battle worn, abyss tainted, ugly him could only bark out a laughter.

“Xiansheng, you’re so cruel, did you know that?” Once again, he found himself pulling his knees to his chest, chin on them as he mused, “so, so cruel. You know, this reminds me of the whole fiasco you pulled not only a month ago.”

Zhongli stilled, eyes fixed on him and solely him; not on the breathtaking sunset that seemed frozen in time, not on the flock of fluttering wings that flew overhead, not on the distant shoreline.

“You gods, constantly making decisions before the events even unfold. Does everything always have to be perfect? It’s so unfair, really, because in the end you always turn out right too. “ Childe squirmed slightly as Zhongli continued to unnervingly watch him. But he was determined to tell the other this, if not for himself, then at the very least for Zhongli not to ruin his social relationships over some dumb misunderstandings.

“You probably were thinking, this is for my ‘sake’ and that it’s for the ‘better’ anyways. And I can’t fault you, you’re right. After all, I did get the gnosis, just not in the way I planned, and you did somehow lessen a burden off of me that I thought would only ever get heavier until it crushed me. Yes, you’re right, and I should be grateful that all ended well. But I still can’t help but feel a bit disappointed. I know, you didn’t have a choice because of the contract, it is sacred to you after all. I guess, I just felt a little… betrayed.” A small nod of understanding from the other kept him going, except it can’t be understanding because Zhongli still didn’t.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind playing a pawn. In fact, I’ve already done so a few times, courtesy of my amazing coworkers. But to me, this just felt more personal. Nowhere did it state that you had to befriend me, yet you did. You did so with genuine interest, or at least that’s what I’d like to believe.” A breath, two, as his fingers tightened their hold. “You were the only one willing to hang around me for so long, regardless of business or whatever, and... I really enjoyed your company, your stories and even your eccentric attitude concerning money. For a while, I… truly believed we were friends.” The consultant frowned, a thing that conveyed way more than a pull of a few muscles should, but before he could open his mouth, the ginger beat him to it with a quiver of his lips.

“Yet you threw all of it out the window in the bank. Not once did you look at me, you didn’t acknowledge my presence at all as I left, nor did you reach out after.” Bitterness bubbled, but he needed to stay focused, make the god understand. “Zhongli… when I was younger, my superiors would communicate with extra aggression, violent language, threatening postures, you name it. But I could always hear the main point. Whenever they would berate recruits, they’d scream at them, tell them to harden themselves and that without that shell they’d be worth nothing, merely cannon fodder. What they really meant is for the recruits to get their shit together, because otherwise they won’t survive there. It’s… not always easy to discern exactly what they meant, but somewhere along the way, you’ll start noticing the pity, how they themselves look tired.” A hum, this time quieter as Zhongli took his time to actually think about it.

“So when you said that I was only a pawn and nothing more, there was no reading between the lines. When the curtain fell, it meant what it did, and with the way you behaved, I actually believed you just strung me along for your own amusement. The reason I was so upset was because, in the end, I didn’t even get to decide how my own friendship went. You… were my first friend in a long time, so it was a bit frustrating.”

My first friend since the Abyss, he didn’t say.

There he went and spilled it all out, as loud, uncertain and clear as he could, and it felt great, like a crisp breeze on the foot of a green mountain.

When he opened his eyes, trying not to gasp for breath for water would fill his lungs, he frantically looked around, catching a figure floating in front of him. The man was dressed as plainly as him, a white dress shirt with brown trousers, and when he moved towards Ajax- him, his brown hair flowing behind him, the whole ocean lit up.

The very currents have led him to this man, the epitome-solution? to his problems.

When he turned to face Zhongli, the deity’s eyes softened for a brief moment, his lips pressing together in what seemed like an almost imperceptible grimace, before his face contorted into one of guilt. He audibly sucked in a breath as he asked in a shaky tone, “Can you give me a moment? I need… to think.”

“Sure,” he shrugged, gulping in copious amount of air; Oxygen and Nitrogen sure were nice.

“Childe,” the Liyuen started a few seconds later, voice low. “First, I need to thank you. Profusely. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, talking to you. I owe you my retirement. Had any other Harbinger been sent, I doubt they’d be able to cause as much ‘chaos’—in the literal sense—as you. But, wait, that’s… ah, superficial stuff. Wait, let me rephrase that: Had any other Harbinger been sent, I doubt they’d be able to brighten my day as much as you do. Every week we met, I found myself looking forward to seeing you again, conversing with you or even dining together. Childe, you became part of my life. Whether it was clearing a domain or sitting in silence, I felt immense joy. Thanks to you, my days became… vibrant. Yes, my life now is lively, but no less peaceful than what I imagined before. Even though me befriending you was accidental, I don’t regret it one bit. And, at the bank… That was an oversight by me. I didn’t want the eighth somehow blackmailing me, especially you, so I kept quiet. Everything after that was completely my fault. I wanted to talk to you, really, but I didn’t know how, since the Traveler told me you were positively furious. I… vaguely described everything to an old friend, and she told me to give you some space for at least a week. A week turned into four and whenever I tried talking to you, I’d either get sent away by your subordinates or you’d disappear whenever I caught sight of you in the public.” Zhongli fiddled with the grass for a short while, waiting for Childe, who was looking at him the same way Zhongli did at him, to process all of this. He didn’t seem angry, he didn’t seem pleased, he was just there, a constant.

“I never intended to make you feel as though I betrayed you… But I understand why you feel that way, now. But, Childe, I swear to you, I genuinely care about you and-“

“I know, you silly, rock-headed, insufferably nice lizard.”

A silence stretched between them as Zhongli replayed the words in his mind iver and over again. “Excuse me? What?” The consultant coughed taken aback not only by the revelation, but also by the nickname.

“Your Exuvia does look like an overgrown lizard,” the other remarked, not so quietly under his breath. “But that’s not important. Xiansheng, someone who’s been toying with you won’t drag your unconscious body across Guili Plains. I also doubt they’d take care of you when they have the opportunity to just throw you at the Fatui’s or a doctor’s threshold. The fact that, even if you overreacted a bit, you immediately contacted someone who might’ve been able to help me… even if that person was the Tsaritsa,” he coughed a bit bashfully. “Then you proceeded to sleep on the couch for three days. I still can’t believe you! Are you trying to guilt trap me?” A small shake of Zhongli’s head had a smile flit in Childe's eyes. “Anyways, and you also were nice enough to visualize me the story with the dragon and his friend when I couldn’t sleep. Zhongli, someone who hates you wouldn’t do that, among other many small things. So, in the very unlikely event that you're scheming something against me, which I'm positive you're not, I completely forgive you. In fact, I'm grateful I was part of this mission, because I got to meet and befriend you."

Ethereal, Zhongli was ethereal, his eyes as bright as the eternal sunset that shone in the background. His eyes widened when Childe finished his speech, and the ginger couldn’t help the way his smile almost reached his dead eyes, the way he felt just a little lighter, the sun on him.

Ethereal, Zhongli was ethereal, his eyes as bright as the eternal sunset that shone in the background. His eyes widened when Childe finished his speech, and the ginger couldn’t help the way his smile almost reached his dead eyes, the way he felt just a little lighter, the sun on him painting his cheeks a rosy hue.

Zhongli, however, didn’t return the sentiment, but it was exactly in this moment he seemed so… human?

Unlike his normally reserved breathing, he was taking slow, but deep chugs of air, his broad chest expanding and contracting. His hair, usually immaculately done, had a few strands out of the tie, making it seem like he’s been running for the past hour—

which wasn’t far from the truth. His eyes, typically so firm, so steady, seemed almost glassy.

“Childe, you… I…” Zhongli said smartly, and Childe smiled so hard it hurt. “I must admit, this is the first time I’m this… speechless.”

“Is that so? Takes a special kind of person to do that to you. I suppose that makes that person, huh?”

“Indeed. Indeed, it does.” Now, Zhongli also smiled, which only made Childe grin harder, until ultimately he was giggling, joined by the other.

“Ah, Childe. Do you still have the chopsticks I gifted you a few months ago? I need to tell you something.”

“Huh? Where did that come from? But yeah I do— Wait let me go get them.” He stood up, not sparing the consultant a second look as he approached a tree a bit farther away, with Zhongli following him with his eyes.

“Aaand, here!” The ginger dropped to the ground next to him, considerably closer than before, because their knees were touching while their heavy breathing slightly fanned each other as they slightly leaned towards the object in Childe’s hands.

“Oh, that was fast. Well, uh, Childe are you aware of what those chopsticks mean?” The youngster shook his head and an adorable red hue painted the other’s face as he cleared his throat. “While the tradition is not as widely spread as before, the dragon phoenix chopsticks usually are a proposal gift,” he said pointing to the drawings.

Childe hummed, nodding. “Mhm, that’s a nice and thoughtful…” He trailed off when all of a sudden his brain short-circuited.

Tsaritsa’s crown (he needs to stay respectful all the time), what the fuck?

“What. Repeat that again.” He smiled and shook his head, because no way in the abyss did he hear that right.

“…They’re used as proposal gifts.”

“Oh. Great. Why am in possession of one then?” Childe all but squeaked, causing himself to erupt in a frenzy of coughs as Zhongli patted his back, though he had a feeling the Adeptus was doing it to comfort himself, not the other way around.

“Uh, it’s rather, aha, embarrassing. When you first came to Liyue, I was yet to be informed on how much you knew. So, I… used small gifts—like the chopsticks among other things—to determine how much knowledge you possessed about sigils,history and even some traditions. My plan was to use those little trinkets to appropriately reveal some information for when you’d decide to cause chaos. But I later stopped because I realized that you truly liked stories, so I could just talk about whatever without being suspicious.”

“And you used… a proposal gift, exactly why?” He deadpanned.

“I’ve already told you.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he shook his head, Zhongli’s awkward chuckle already turned cold by the time it stroked his cheek, and of all a sudden he was aware of how close the other was.

“A-Anyways, what did you so desperately need to say?” The Snezhnayan playfully teased to subtly shuffle away his upper body a bit without the god noticing. One of them needed to stay dignified!

“Give me your hand.” He watched him with the warmth of the morning sun shining down onto the sea, serene and unhurried like the gentlest waves.

Never mind dignity, it’s not like they haven’t just laid their chest bare for the other to see, so he complied, stretching out his free arm, which the Adeptus took into his own. “As long as you don’t declare your lifelong adoration for me, it’s fine.”

“Cocky.” The brunette tittered, though the smile clung his face afterwards. Then, he took his other hand which held the chopsticks and held both of the ginger’s palms together. Slowly, he clasped the Childe’s hands within his own, giving him a chance to retreat should he not want to.

But how could he not, with the way the warmth enveloped him, when he could see a thousand thoughts swirling inside Zhongli’s eyes as they glowed ever so slightly? How could he not? A minute or two passed where

“This is my heartfelt declaration, so listen carefully.” Childe could only gulp in response, not that the other minded him. “I know, I hurt you by hiding the truth, even if it wasn’t intentional. I know that, although you said that all’s well, you might still have lingering concerns in the future. I also know that I’m the reason we’re in this situation right now.” Zhongli was still staring at their joined hands as though they’re of greatest importance to him, and maybe, in that moment, they were.

“Seriously Xiansheng, I told—“

“Shush.” The consultant glanced at him momentarily. “Childe, in the future, wether we’re friends, enemies, more or less; wherever we stand, I swear to you, on my name as Rex Lapis and God of contracts, that I’ll constantly be there, an anchor you can lift whenever you wish, but also ground whenever you need.” Ajax Childe’s breath hitched as the other swore upon his fucking name, eyes widening comically, while the other’s only glowed more intensely as a halo of light circled their hands. “These chopsticks are a testament to my words. This is my promise to you and myself, and I don’t expect anything back from you.”

Finally, the glow subsided and alongside the dissipating light, so did the warmth around his hands as the ginger was left gawking.

“Zhongli,” ultimately he found his voice, “this… this is one hell of a promise.” He took a deep breath, still trying to wrap his head around the gravity of the words. “I appreciate it. I really do. But you don’t have to go to such lengths.”

He tsk’ed lightly, yet his eyes softened in the weirdest way, because it somewhat soothed Childe. “Did you not listen to me? I must admit, I’m disappointed. This promise isn’t only for you; it’s mine as much as it’s yours.”

“Yeah, but are you sure you didn’t anger some conservative celestial god, by swearing on your name, who’s going to smite you down or something once you-“

A hand reached to his shoulder and squeezed gently, stopping him in his tracks. “Childe, that won’t happen. And even if it did, let them.” His eyes scrunched in what looked like… disgust? “It’s been long since they last listened to anybody at all, I doubt anyone would listen to them as of right now.”

“So you won’t get eliminated?”

Zhongli laughed, shaking his head as his fingertips trailed away from the youngster’s shoulder. “No, I won’t, of that I can assure you.”

And with that, they regained some sense of normality, but except now, they sat a little closer, more relaxed as the wind fondled their hair, turning it into a messy bird nest (for Childe, at least). The sun still hung in the sky, unmoving as time moved on, the small sand particles trickling down the hourglass, leaving Childe to quietly ruminate about the laws of this dimension.

A deep ache had set into his bones by now, a warmth filled his hollow chest whilst an imaginary hand cradled his face, as cold and calming as the Tsaritsa’s herself, and he felt so, so …

Refreshed? Content?

Whatever this euphoric feeling was, he felt at peace, because he’d actually achieved something. Something so extraordinary and fragile, so unlike the triumphs he’d attained on bloody ground, weapons replaced by words, punches by touches.

That something was the bond they’d rebuilt, therefore, when a red envelope—white paper tucked within, signed and stamped by a church—manifested in front of them in a whirlwind of frost and snowflakes,  Childe’s mood didn’t diminish.

“Seems like we got our confirmation.” Zhongli exhaled as he stood up, letter hovering between his palms. He gazed down at the Harbinger, eyes observing with a questioning glint.

“Mhm?” Childe yawned, but then it clicked. “Ah, don’t worry, I’m not angry.” He stood up with a slight grunt, his muscles aching.

“I admit, at first I wasn’t very keen on the idea of getting married to, uh, about everyone. But now that all’s well, it doesn’t sound too bad, as long as we can keep acting like we normally do. Mhm…” a hum, followed by a smile, “Pray tell, how many Archon’s are married? Officially, that is.”

The immortal tucked the letters into his vest, a pensive look passing through his eyes. “None, I believe. Although, I doubt they’re foreign to the concept of intimacy, and considering that the late Tsar had some lovers, some might’ve even taken partners themselves.”

“That means I, a mere mortal, am going to marry one of the oldest being on Teyvat! Hey, if that marrying one of the Archons isn’t a flex, I don’t know what is.” The Harbinger grinned, a mischievous glint amplified by the shadow’s thrown across his face.

“I’m no longer the geo Archon, Childe.” The consultant simply sighed, shaking his head, but his light tone betrayed some amusement at Childe’s optimistic mindset.

“Okay, then I suppose it’s Zhongli, the consultant’s honor to marry me, a Harbinger!”

“What am I going to do with you?”

Childe snorted, though it lacked any real heat. "You make it sound like I’m a liability."

"Only when you refuse to acknowledge your limits," Zhongli replied, his tone firm but not unkind. “Especially when it comes to fighting.”

“Hey! True, though.” A dreamy sigh leaving his lips in mock desire.

“See? You yourself admit that I’m not lying.” The other played along, causing them both to share a smile.

“Now, I believe you owe me a meal or two, lǎogōng. ”

Zhongli erupted into a cough from the unexpected attack and turned away, which only made Childe grin harder.

“You rascal.” The brunette frowned to the ginger wiggling his eyebrows. “Though yes, I owe you much more than that. Xiangling’s in the harbour, let’s make haste.” The next moment, Zhongli took Childe’s hands within his own, twirled him around, thus making the other gasp, and led them away.

This time, when Childe turned around, the sun had finally set.

After filling their stomachs with Xiangling’s cooking—who was all too happy to give them a discount given that the news reached her, because Hu Tao is noisy like that—they’d made their way to Civil Affairs Bureau and stumbled across Ganyu, who’d been passing by. To her defense, when she started stammering as soon as she heard Zhongli talk, it was because the idiot never considered telling his Adepti that he was alive (not that he’d have been to hide it much longer; he didn’t blend in as well as he thought, and they were his closest people after all). Luckily, she’d calmed down rather quickly and had asked one of the workers to lead them to the marriage registration office, who’d also started freaking out as soon as she saw the dignified Mr Zhongli with the infamous Mr up-to-no-good-Childe.

It was so unfair, all of it. When they were finally led in, Mrs. Huang kept glaring at him, probably because half of Liyue population thought he was the one who assassinated their god. Their god was sitting right next to him!

The ordeal that should’ve normally taken only up to a maximum of twenty minutes took them an entire hour. Throughout the whole thing, she’d kept interrogating him and had sent Zhongli numerous pitying glances. At one point, after she’d implicitly been trying to communicate with the consultant by tapping or blinking—not that Childe didn’t notice—she bluntly asked if the Harbinger was threatening the consultant or something, rendering Childe speechless. Luckily, Zhongli simply snaked an arm about his shoulders, because of course he did, and they’d successfully managed to get that goddamn certificate and had made their way out.

Fortunately, there was no one in near vicinity, so the ginger allowed himself to smack the brunette, who’d seemed too smug during the whole thing.

After they arrived at Zhongli’s home (finally), the amusement dissipated as soon as he watched Childe plop down onto the bed like a bag of potatoes, his luggage strewn somewhere in the cramped guest room. Noticing that Zhongli was still rooted in his place, the youngster shot him a questioning look.

“What’s wrong?”

He shifted uncomfortably as a tired pair of blue eyes stared back at him. “Are you certain you want to share the bed?”

“Oh please, that’s what you’re worried about?” Childe’s cheeks were now a rosy red, his fever having caught up with him. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you sleep on the couch, and since you said no to me doing so too, you blockhead, we’ll just share the bed. Easy as that. That’s my side, and that’s yours.” And with that, he covered himself with the blanket, a yawn echoing across the room. As if this meant nothing.

“…”

“What? Is the almighty Rex Lapis too scared to share a bed. Hah, you wouldn’t survive in the Fatui’s barracks!” Childe giggled, and Zhongli found himself more offended than he should.

“Cat got your tongue?”

This infuriating man.

Climbing next to him and turning away from the other, he sighed, exasperated. “Well, if you’re sure.

“Are you sure, your Majesty?”

“Mhm? Whatever do you mean?”

Sat around a glass table was the Tsaritsa Herself, Her pale gray hair—long, luscious strands cascading down into soft brushes of silvery white with flecks of pale blues sparkling through the strands, as though the very frost She wields has been woven into Her hair. Unlike usually, it wasn’t in the braided bun the queen usually adorned, but let loose across Her shoulders, the drill curls at the end all too tempting to touch.

The intimidating crown and veil She wore to hide away Her stupidly beautiful flaws and gentleness were nowhere in sight, nor was the armor dress, for She was clad in a pastel blue gown laced with golden flowers. Everything looked fine. Everything was fine. Expect for only thing that was missing; Her weapon.

“We both know exactly what I mean. Shouldn’t coercing Tartaglia to enter an arranged marriage, with the geo Archon no less, make me alarmed?”

A second, two, and the Tsaritsa waved her hand, an unvoiced order. But he knew Her well, so he followed, taking a seat in front of her.

“Why do we always find ourselves arguing when it comes to my youngest?” She set her teacup down. Piercing eyes met his, yet the jester didn’t shy away.

“Did you know,” a dip of Her head, a narrow of Her eyes, “that, you, my dearest director,” a smile curled Her lips, a rare thing these days, “are the only one in these lands that could question my decisions and get away with it so easily?” A hold too tight on his jaw; not that he wasn’t used to it.

A terse silence followed, but he knew better than to break it; the coldness of all Snezhnaya couldn’t compare to the frost of Her fingertips on his skin. Only when her fair hand traveled down his shoulder, only when She leaned back and reached for a syrniki did he allow his eyes to close as he took a measured breath.

“I’m aware.”

“That’s good then.”

“Your Majesty,” he started, voice devoid emotion, much like Her’s. “You are well aware that I would never presume to question your judgment. However, I simply wish to implore you to carefully consider the implications of this decision in particular.”

A hum, then a clank. “My director, you yourself have seen their thread,” She said, sending an accusatory glare that got his way.

“Indeed, I have. Yet it was translucent in its color, undecided. Although I’ve never seen something quite as unique as it, I know for a fact that you, my Majesty, haven’t either. You can’t just force them onto each other. How could we know for certain that they’re not simply friends, or comrades, as Tartaglia so often likes to state with about everyone?”

A second glare, but he hardly minded. It wasn’t often that anything showed on Her face, excluding the hazy storm of rage that always brewed behind those piercing eyes. “The eleventh’s powers will eventually spiral out of his control, and when that happens, who’s going to stop him? You most certainly won’t, not that I’d allow you to. When that time comes, I won’t be able to either, whether it be I’m busy or he’s too out of it to recognize any of us. Leaving him to Morax is our best bet for now.”

“He doesn’t even know that we know.”

“It’s for his own sake.” She put down her cup with more force than necessary, and he knew that was the end of this.

“Call off all your duties, now. I’m feeling benevolent today, so I’ll let you spend it with me.”

“That… can be arranged, your Majesty.”

He’d have to worry about Tartaglia later.

Chapter Text

Unlike what Childe thought, their little arrangement didn’t affect his life as much as he believed it would.

Sure, the Tianquan had been out for his throat the first few weeks, milking the stars out of the Fatui’s bank accounts—thankfully they have the Regrator for that—and had engaged him in tortuous diplomacy to the point he’d thought of just quitting instead of humouring her. Alas, Childe was nothing but stubborn and determined, so after numerous attempts, they’d finally come to a settlement: the Fatui wouldn’t be blamed for everything entirely—including the murder of Rex Lapis (which they shouldn’t have been in the first place, with the lack of evidence; not to mention, he was literally married to the man).

Even if the only reason they dropped the murder allegations was because Zhongli had ‘dream walked’ into their consciousness or something—just to have a second talk with Ningguang and the others, hinting that Morax was still very much alive, again. The reason he intervened? He was being kept awake by furious scribbling and frustrated groaning next door.

Zhongli believed that the Qixing and Adepti had thought the first dream to be only that: dream.

Childe believed that they had gotten the message and still tried to pin everything on him out of spite.

No matter. It all turned out well thanks to Zhongli, even though the only reason he had stepped in was for the sake of his sleep schedule. Still, Childe was grateful; it had made coming to an agreement with the Tianquan significantly smoother.

Of course, they’d only signed it after she’d sent Yelan to tail him and Zhongli after one of their dinners, had the Yuneng barge into the bank in the middle of the day to announce that it was under investigation for alleged illegal activities in front of the majority of their patrons, which wasn’t very… nice, to say the least, and managed to book multiple meetings with Zhongli under the pretence of needing consultation for… some matters, all under different codenames. So, when a dozen Qixing barged into the office of the unassuming consultant, demanding answers and asking just why he’d married the ‘dangerously mad Harbinger’, the older man wasn’t very amused.

Must’ve been because they’d also started following him wherever he went.

Or maybe because it’d gotten to the point of the average citizen staring at him for a moment too long.

Not that the Fatui didn’t do the same; a married Harbinger was unheard of.

Well.

Rex Lapis did have to deal with his own people somehow, even if the obligation he held for them wasn't as great as it once used to be.

Besides, Childe was pretty sure this wasn’t how political battles work; they should be trying to destroy the other party with words, not quite literally. Not to mention they shouldn’t endanger ‘innocent citizens’ (thanks, Zhongli).

Hence, why when an aggravated Ekaterina and Felix had entered the Jade Chamber with Childe in tow—not the other way around—they’d finally been able to convince Ningguang to sign the damned thing by arguing that it ‘stressed’ Zhongli, an ‘innocent’ Liyuen civilian, but also offering to lower the import tariffs by two per cent to six per cent on Liyuen goods transported to Snezhnaya, amongst other things.

He calculated beforehand, it didn’t put them at a disadvantage—at least not one where Pantalone would have his head for it—nor a clear advantage.

Predictably, she’d agreed with a tweak here and there.

Wicked businesswoman.

All things considered, it was quite a nice agreement though, he had to admit; especially coming from the Tianquan. If only the rumours were easier to quell… Not that he tried to quell them.

With all of that sorted out, the workload should’ve been reduced, right?

Naturally, it wasn’t, because Celestia, Liyue, and the entire world hates him.

Since Ningguang reopened the supply line to the chasm on the condition that the Fatui don’t intermingle with Liyue’s political affairs anymore—it was a thinly veiled threat for them to fuck off—he had his hands full with drafting a rescue plan of a whole company. Though he doubts he’ll return with all of them alive.

Long story short, his hands were full and he was drowning in work.

Finally, finally,  he was granted a vacation in what felt like forever. He had been drowning in endless documents, iron and sweat, the song of ancient worlds that had been haunting him since weeks, months, years.

For three years, he also had been drowning in the alluring scent of old books and petrichor, the smell of benzoin and frankincense alike.

They said distance makes the heart fonder, and maybe it did.

Although over the course of three years work separated him and Zhongli often, Childe always found himself returning to a small home after completed missions as he awaited the next ones, a drink in hand, the company of the deity a pleasure sweeter than any wine.

Stories , o h, they shared endless of those—no matter if Childe was currently in Mondstadt, Snezhnaya or even Inazuma, letters with multiple pages would find the other, whether it be about his siblings, Zhongli’s new experiences, or tales of days long past. Those were best shared orally, both discovered after a while, when Childe was already four glasses in and asked for 'just one more story’ no matter how late it was. Sometimes, in rare, quiet hours where they could pretend that the Harbinger wasn’t eventually leaving, that he wasn’t going to dance with death every time before returning.

And even though they didn’t share the same bed—courtesy of Zhongli who had finally decided to neaten and organize the guest room during Childe’s stay in Inazuma—they still grew closer, in a way reminiscent of the time before the deity truly revealed his identity, the distance this caused between them shrinking, time soothing over it like the gentlest waves upon the morning shore.

And surprisingly? Zhongli actually indulged him.

Whenever he would drunkenly lean on the consultant’s shoulder, a quiet pat would follow, the other’s huff barely masking soft amusement. Each time Childe reached for him as they climbed up some tall mountain, Zhongli’s hand would linger in his for just a moment as he hoisted him up, a warmth so strong enveloping him. Every time the ginger tapped his foot too fast while skimming over reports long overdue, a hand would settle on his knee as a reassurance from the man sitting next to him on the couch; reminder that an alive subordinate was better than a dead one.

It was all going well.

They said distance makes the heart fonder, and maybe it did.

He’d been listening to different variants of the same, archaic melody for weeks, months, years, and now the past was merging with the present, the present catching up with the future.

Restlessness led him to many places.

To whispered rumours in taverns , carried on by the wind and accompanied by dandelions—scattered across the moonlit fields where children ran barefoot through wildflowers cultivated by time.

To distant islands, where the crimson tides lapped the shores, carrying with it the despair and fear of the land’s subject, until it glimmered with the indigo lighting that marked their Archon’s grief—a mourning many had to pay for through blood and steel—as he sat beside an abandoned shrine, listening to the echoes of ghosts and gods alike.

To snow drenched fields owned by hedonistic, opulent nobles—insular in their own way—to whom he was no stranger, yet wasn’t actually known. Hidden beneath the bleak, biting winds and permanent frost that clung to frozen corpses, were caves of stone and ice, but oftentimes also dragons—both posing ample adventurous danger, yet the dragon’s blood that would paint the eternally white surroundings in red always captivated the Harbinger more anyways.

Now, it led him to the nation of justice , where the sea’s depths brimmed with emotion that mirrored ugly deeds, where ambition and passion intertwined to flow through the courtroom like blood did through a being. The lines between justice and injustice blurred under the façade of morality and truth in their grand theater, the actors of the judicature too immersed in their roles to face reality.

The melody was finally guiding him to it.

Childe told himself that he was looking forward to his vacation because he was successful in appointing a duel with Fontaine’s champion duelist.

Yet, deep down, beneath anticipation and agitation, he knew its melody was the only thing beckoning him closer, leaving him aggravated.

Well.

He'd have to make the best of it.

He didn’t get it.

He didn’t understand how he could be guilty of a crime that had been committed when he had been an infant .

Nation of Justice? They didn’t do that name any justice at all.

Childe was now stuck in Meropide for the time being, deep underwater, where not even the Court of Fontaine had any authority—which should mean that there wouldn’t be any kind of contact within these walls.

But how was it that the melody only grew louder, more unsettling, clearer as if it was being whispered right into his ear?

“Are you alright?”

Water, he was surrounded by water, the pressure of the narwhal only goading him deeper into the abyss as his ears rang and his hands numbed. He’d been drowning for some time now (minutes, hours, days?) but it didn’t feel quite as oppressive before the narwhal finally graced him with its presence—its cry so loud, so clear, so real, that his heart stopped beating and he ceased breathing in the primordial water (how, even?), because he was simply a speck in comparison, and the narwhal was finally here after all this time, and it wanted him, and he wanted to fight it too, and—

Childe’s upper body shot up as his hand clutched his throat while he coughed, his eyes blinking rapidly to will away the forming tears.

“Mhm… I suppose not all mortals find suffocating while being embraced by the water pleasant.” A cool voice said from in front of him, and when he glanced at her, she looked back at him, owlish in a way. Inhuman.

She was wearing a white loose robe, her hair dripping over her shoulders as she crouched in front of him, her chin propped up against her palms.

For some reason, he was also clad in a white robe which ended just above his ankles, the material stuck to his skin yet not translucent.

“You… look like Lady Furina.” He squinted. His voice was hoarse and she still regarded him like a child did its toys. She was a carbon copy of the other woman, but something felt too odd. Aloof. This woman eerily reminded him of amber eyes and a cold gaze.

“Mhm, I do.” If his time in Liyue thaught him anything, it’s that he shouldn’t doubt his gut. Not when it was so strong.

“But you’re not her.” The woman’s eyes widened just a fraction, but it might as well had been his imagination, because she simply nodded and scooted closer.

“Acute observation, but not quite.” Her voice sounded indifferent, but her eyes told of a different tale, for they shone, and that’s when he knew.

“You’re a God. There’s no other actively ruling deity in Fontaine… So, Focalors, I assume?” A smile stretched across his face when her eyes narrowed.

“You’re smart. Unlike those who I’ve once invited here.” She tilted her head. “How would you know?” Standing up with water trickling down her robe and hands, she extended one toward him, which he took.

“That means I’m right,” he muttered, a frown marring his face as she nodded again. “Oh, you just reminded me of someone.” Looking around, there was only the blue sky and the endless expanse of shallow water. “If you’re the actual God, then you’re going to be in possession of the Gnosis. But then what’s Lady Furi-“

“You don’t seem very surprised… but this is unnecessary. The only thing that matters are the characters in this moment, not who the actors are.” Her voice cut through his mumbling like a rain shower, eyes indifferent. “I’m sure you’d like to know why you’re here… or why you were declared guilty.”

“Oh yes, Goddess of justice, do me the honor and explain to me just how I’m guilty of something that occurred when I wasn’t even two years old.”

A mirthless laugh tumbled from her lips, hydro dripping from her hair as it shone, the element rippling down into endless expanse of shallowness. “You aren’t guilty, but I needed you. Please, do not hold a grudge against Neuvillette, it wasn’t his fault.“

He clenched his hand, unclenched it, did the same with the other. The feeling returned to them, at least. “You needed me? Wait, this sounds like you’re going to make some revelation and then use me or something. Just so you know, I don’t… take lightly to being used by Gods without my knowledge, or anyone for that matter, let’s put it that way.” He crossed his arms , eyes narrowing as she turned around, arms dangling behind her. “Besides, I’m aware that it’s not the Iudex’s fault… It’s that dumb machine which declared me guilty! I’m pretty sure it was malfunctioning.”

Normally, he wouldn’t have spoken so freely, so carelessly—contrary to his measured, armored, wary nature—to a god whose powers he couldn’t yet grasp, no matter how tempting the challenge. But strangely the words poured from him like rainfall, as if the very waters he had drowned in had drawn the truth from his core for it to be laid bare, unraveling him.

Which was why he was surprised when the woman started laughing instead of murdering him, a clear thing that cut through the tension, until she stopped with a heave. “Oh, well. That’s unfortunate… at least I’m informing you.” A disingenuous glint passed her eyes, confirming that yes, he once again was going to play the pawn in some game of the higher ups, and that yes, she didn’t care in the slightest.

“Haha, thanks, that’s very decent of you. You know, it’d be great if you just told me why and what you need from me. Especially while I’m on vacation?”

“Do you know where we currently are?”

He shook his head. As abruptly as she’d changed the subject, he believed that she would say something important.

“We’re currently in my personal realm. It’s located within the Oratrice. So no, it wasn’t malfunctioning, because I’m the one who hands out the verdicts. In this place, it’s currently only me and you.”

Oh, he smiled wryly, I probably just offended her.

“That’s… good to know.” He offered at last. She shrugged.

“You see, the last time the last time I've met anyone was around 500 years ago, so I apologize if I seem too detached. My emotions have been all but dulled by the relentless surge of time, so what's remained of them isn't much." 

Her judgment has outlived her humanity.

“What are you trying to state? And I doubt you actually feel sorry,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. A silence so loaded it could be compared to the ocean fell, both staring at the other.

“You're right. I'm not sorry at all. It just felt like the right to say. What I've been trying to tell you is that I've grown apathetic of my entire surroundings, which is why you shouldn't be too hurt or surprised if I cross any boundaries.”

She’s lost the capacity to care.

"Are you trying to say that you're emotionless or something?"

"Exactly."

"That's nonsense. Feeling is existing."

She turned back to him, chin held high, eyebrows drawn together. “You're more human than I thought.”

A frown mirrored her, an indignant huff leaving him. “Huh? I am human.”

Her slumped shoulders squared, hands now crossed as to mirror him, expression grave. “That's not important. We're running out of time. Funny story, you were promised to me around 502 years ago.” He frowned harder, yet she simply continued, “I can’t tell you who the person was or how you were promised.”

“I... I was what? By whom?” His face must've had looked comical by now, that was for sure, with the way his eyes turned into saucers. His composure that he’d been trying to keep—to prove to a god, even if only for once, that they didn’t stand above him, weren’t that better than him with their bloodied hands—cracked, leaving him confused but more profoundly filled with dread. 

“Well, that’s for you to find out later,” she commented, as if she hadn’t just announced the most mind boggling thing like one did the weather. Moving closer to him yet again, a damp hand came to rest on his shoulder. “And in return, I promised to hand some of my power over to them; to you.” She eyed the place where his vision normally rested, a distant intrigue swimming in her teardrop shaped pupils. A second, two, and he exhaled.

“What do you need me for? I’ll hear you out.”

“Ah, the illusion of choice. No matter, the outcome would’ve been the same, if you were willing or not.”

“Spare me this and just get to the point.” He scoffed, annoyed. If he’s offering his help so freely, then she should just accept it.

“Very well. Close your eyes.” He obeyed, the feeling of her hand on his shoulder eerily reminding him of amber eyes and warm hands whilst they put up a barrier around his heart. Except hers were cold, like a corpse.

“I am order and you are chaos.

This isn’t me being arrogant. That’s fact.

In this game, I am the queen and you’re the catalyst that was bound to set things in motion, but you’re also my joker.

With this, I give you my blessing. Until you’ve defeated this which plagues you and my waters, you won’t have any need of primal human necessities.”

For a moment, the surroundings all lit up, encasing the catalyst in an ethereal halo, so dull in its intensity yet in its silence so loud.

“Wait,” he gasped, “‘this which plagues you’? Are you talking about the narwhal?” His heart hammered as he heard the melody in the far distance, but still here, still inevitable.

The queen pulled away, hands resting on her hips. “Yes. You’re the catalyst which awakened the calamity and messenger. He’d like to talk to you, has been for a long time. And in the process to gain power, he’s ruining my nation. You like fighting, no? If you just fought it, you’d take responsibility for awakening it and do the thing you love simultaneously.”

He sneered, as if to calm his beating heart, to no avail.“Yes, yes, I get it. Just so you know, I’m not doing this for Fontaine’s sake, I’m doing this for my own satisfaction. A good fight is the least you and whoever is in on it owe me.”

She shrugged. “Although I’m not directly responsible for dragging you into this,” she pursed her lips, “the one who was might confront you once you meet the narwhal again, because the narwhal is their messenger.”

A quiet fell upon them, but not as terse as the ones before. This was giving him a headache. Whoever was on the other side sure had it out for him. “Hah, don’t worry about that. I’ll deal with it. Somehow.” Suddenly, the shallowness shook, the sky darkened, and Focalors retreated back.

“Seems like our time is almost over. Battling in the primordial water might be overwhelming, you’ll be crushed by the weight of the overflowing emotions. When fighting, try to focus on my memories instead. They’re not very eventful anyway.”

He smiled, the frown that had marred his face easing away. “Appreciate the warning. But won’t you mind the inquiry? I was under the impression that you didn’t want me to know your relationship with Lady Furina.”

She hummed, her voice cutting through the forming mist. “I don’t mind, no. So long as you keep fighting, like you always do, it’s enough for me. It’ll stall the prophecy—you’ll understand while glimpsing at my memories” A step, two, and she was standing in front of him again. “Mhm… This is quite the protective seal you have on your forehead. Are you acquainted with the Lord of Geo perhaps?” A cool hand brushed the robe and his bangs from his forehead, making him shudder but not recoil.

“I guess you could say that. He’s my friend.” He grinned.

And my husband who I was coerced to marry, he didn’t add.

“Hmm, that won’t do… He might curse me even after my death with how protective that barrier is.” She giggled, a happy expression on her face, maybe the remainder of her personality that was long drowned.

“I don’t think he’ll be offended.” He rubbed his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Also, he isn’t an Archon anymore, so you needn’t worry.”

“What?” Alarmingly, she actually seemed puzzled. “But his throne still stands and he’s still alive?”

“Uh, yes?” Now, it was his time to be confused. What throne? The one he sat on in his statue, or Celestia? “He just… retired, I guess? Is something wrong with that?”

“No. No, never mind. Take this.” Out of thin air, she procured a translucent bubble that rippled with the sway of wind. “For your efforts and as to not put me in the Morax’s bad graces.” Handing him the bubble, she stepped back, watching as he prodded it repeatedly, but to his surprise, it didn’t break. “It’s very elastic, but you’ll need to watch out while fighting.”

“Ah, thank you. Truly, you didn’t need to. What’s done is done.” He sighed, the bubble melting into his palms. “Huh? Wha-”

“You merely need to think of it and it’ll reappear. Once you go back to your house, lay it on the ground in your garden and let yourself be surprised. Also, invite Morax every once in a while.”

“Will do.” He nodded.

Won’t need to, we live in the same house, he bit back.

“Then, I wish you luck. I’ll be forever grateful.” The background started to crack, signaling that their time is over.

“Will you now?” The mist intensified, the water rose.

“I will.” Her figure disappeared, as did his surroundings.

They rule through detachment.

He lives through immersion.

The melody, now clearly the narwhal’s call, echoed throughout the chamber of primordial water—an endless depth of blue, gray and violet that shifted with the Fontainian’s emotions in an endless flux of heavy substances—its gigantic shadow now lurking beneath his feet, its deafening wails reverberating through his chest, the anguish and anger it felt coursing through his body, its pressure so big, so crushing that he could feel his lungs compressing, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight, couldn’t--

Childe gasped as the water parted underneath him, sending him tumbling down pitch darkness, but he wasn’t falling. In fact it felt like he was drowning, so when his hand flailed, trying to grab hold of anything to stop his endless—dark, cold, familiar— descend,  his fingertips brushed against something cool and slick.

Soon, the touch became a grip as the water—wind?—whipped past him, eyes shut so tightly, fingers clenched around the gigantic tusk of the narwhal and he realized, with a whisper of foreboding, that the narwhal was cushioning his fall, much like he did seven years ago, when Ajax Childe fell into darkness that stretched, stretched and stretched.

They skidded to a halt, the catalyst’s bare feet gliding through the water as he twisted around to meet the obsolete calamity, the darkness reflected by the water lit up by glittering stars that shone in different hues.

The narwhal was actually gigantic, not that AjaxChilde’s delirious mind was playing tricks on him. Staring into is mouth was akin to gaping into an endless cosmos, the bones it armored itself with as chapped as chipped and cracked pottery—once whole and beautiful, now broken and incomplete, its edges sharp.

But most importantly was the beating of its heart, its breath as sibilant as a croaking sound made by a broken instrument, and all the other things that made it into the penetrating, cacophonous melody that scathed its listener.

AjaxChilde took a breath, as if to breathe the narwhal’s essence, eyes wide while he held his robe tightly. Slowly, he approached, feet slicked with water, until he stood right in front of the messenger, a hand reaching out to swipe along the expanse of fluid skin accompanied by small huff’s of amazement. Finally he stood in front of the calamity again, the hood that had concealed his hair now slipping to his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure if it could understand him, but when it stopped its piercing melody and closed its mouth, he felt something wash over him as a wave from within the narwhal rippled over him, something so abyssal but so familiar, it reminded him of his Master. But no, it couldn’t have been her, this was something way colder, older, uncannily chthonic, in a way that simply couldn’t be her. Too prodding, invasive even, the complete opposite of his Master.

“So,” he started as soon as he found his voice, because why does he feel so cold now— “You’ve been messing up with me for quite some time. What in the everlasting hell do you want?” Despite himself, he grinned. A creature this big, this ancient and powerful did make for a great opponent. He already had to stop the itch in his hand. Focalors was forgiven.

“You’ve finally arrived.” It cried, sending a shudder through the catalyst, whose eyes bore into the creature with bloodlust nonetheless.

"Yes, and now I want you to fight me for keeping me on edge the whole time,” he shot back, eyes flared with a dim flame that yearned for war.

“Why did it take you so long?” Now it shouted, the sound loud enough to force waves out of ripples and blow the joker’s bangs out of his face.

“Hey, calm down! It’s not my fault.” He crossed his arms, though with every word he uttered, the bile in his throat only thickened. “For a being this big, you sure don’t have a brain.”

At this, the narwhal stilled, its mouth wide open, and for a moment, the stars themselves stopped shining. A second, two, and suddenly, the waters all surged forward, passing him, the ‘stars’ with them too, as they spun and wove and turned into a ball for the calamity to devour.

The messenger's unhinged jaw left the catalyst gaping, a black hole from within its being sucking in everything and anything, the surroundings now painted in the darkest of blacks, and were AjaxChilde to turn around, a streak of red.

"I've devoured many worlds, many stars, but nothing quite tastes as good as this." It filled the void with its voice, a melody as yearning as a moon for the tide's return.

Defeat this which plagues you and my waters, echoed in his mind.

"Your return is long overdue. Now you'll listen to me as I relay the message I've been tasked to deliver." 

An uneasy ness, a sense of dread filled AjaxChilde, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Look up and see it for yourself."

He did, and the sight left him breathless, his heart hammering with every moment that passed.

Multiple stars, aligned to match that of a narwhal met him. A constellation. His constellation. Monoceros Caeli, Skirk had called it.

"Visons are celestia's 'gifts' and so are constellations 'fate's' gift. Yours, however are different. Unlike the restrictions, you you're blessed by autonomy. You'll surpass the stars, and overturn the rules. You are the exception."

The narwhal shot up destroying with it the starry sky, the crack that formed in the sky mirroring Ajax's own eyes.

A thud of his heart, two, and the calamity reappeared behind him from beneath the waves as he twirled to meet it, a poisonous atmosphere crashing down onto them.

"You... What did you do?" He didn't mean to sound as vicious as he did, really, but something broke within him at the moment. 

"What I was designed to do from the very beginning."

Ajax couldn't reply, wouldn't reply, because he was once again fourteen, in an endless crack that defied everything and anything and every intake of air (was he even breathing?) was painful, every gulp torturous, every blink lethal, every--

"What the hell are you talking about? Stop talking in riddles!"

A thud of his heart, two, and the calamity disappeared.

"How could you ever forget? How could you ever forget!" It roared, the melody now turned into a macabre thing.

A third, a fourth, and the geo chains around his heart tightened.

"Forget what? What did I forget?" 

A fifth, a sixth, and they squeezed, almost combusting his heart.

"Who you belong to! Oh, son of the abyss, oh prince of,"--a screech so loud he covered his ears and winced, "--and the abyss, however were you able to forget?!"

A seventh, an eight, a chain broke, then followed by three others, and he felt pure, unadulterated hatred and rage flood throughout his entire being and he felt the abyss tighten its clutches around him.

Memories that couldn't have been his filled his mind, things that he couldn't have seen or done, a dam of entire centuries now broken as he was left to drown in all of it. 

Ajax gasped, clutching the robe where it covered his panginh heart. He knew who sent the narwhal, now. He knew why.

"So you've finally remembered, forsaken one! This moment will be carved into you forever, for time itself has now stopped for you!"

Timeless, the narwhal called him now. Inhuman. Immortal.

Do you accept my offer, the creature Ajax had met once upon a time on a bloody, everlasting night.

Yes, he had answered, not thinking much of it.

As he promised, Ajax humanity would be stripped of him in every sense.

Snapping out of his stupor, the adrenaline made him see red.

He probably should not revel in the feeling, should deny it, fear it--he once told Zhongli that he'd avoid it if he's able to--but he didn't.

This would be the first time he broke the sigils the Archon put on him.

And before either of them knew it, they’d fallen into the abyss’s clutches, fighting each other like mindless marionettes controlled by sinister puppeteers until the masquerade hall cracked alongside their masks.

Chapter Text

How inconvenient, these entire affairs, theatrics and masquerades. They should’ve just cut to the chase, like a sword did through flesh on bloodied grounds.

While Focalors had actually turned him into the perfect weapon for a while, the narwhal and his masters did so for eternity.

It was something he’d wished for, upon many nights, for many years. Become the weapon with which the Tsaritsa destroyed the current order, indestructible and unfeeling, its path marked only by chaos.

A wish that had come true, only in the most undesirable way.

A joke, really. If he had to play their fool one more time, he’ll turn this world into a circus.

What even was immortality, and how did it work?

Did time stop like a broken clock, forever chiselling its owner’s appearance in stone, only shattered by death? Or did it drag on, eternal as one ventured to the very end and crevices of the world, in hope of salvation, yet left behind only softened muscles and molten flesh as one’s eye sockets and soul shattered in despair?

Huh.

Whatever it was, it was only a wall deterring him from the path he’d like to take, an obstacle amidst a race, a blockage in a river.

And there was no way to overcome it.

He falls down, deeper into the abyss, and as he lands, only muted reds greet him. Before him stands a pitch black entity. The fallen soldiers who had followed him across the collapsing bridge are nowhere to be seen either. The figure approaches, laughing, and somehow it is more terrifying than any monster he has met while down here. He feels the tears streaming down his face, his chest caving in with every labored breath, yet he knows that he can’t walk away.

It might be the ‘blessings’ this place kept whispering into his ears repeatedly, over and over and over, or his nervous system shutting down—hell, he might even be already dead for all he knew—but he couldn’t feel his legs at all. Glancing at them—oh, Archons, just grant him a painless death—he feels the need to puke.

The pants he wore are not only drenched in mucus and sweat, but are also torn and even singed. Uncovered areas are marred in blues and yellows and a recent violet. In addition, one of his ankles is twisted inwards, while his other leg… I t’s probably broken. There’s a small part of a bone… sticking out of his leg, but that’s not all. If only this were all. Maggots have settled there, feasting on the flesh—his flesh—right before his very eyes, their wiggling and crawling spreading moisture all across the torn, bloody wound. The skin around the area is completely stretched and discolored, almost replaced by a layer of maggots, as some muscles hang onto the jagged bone.

It is for the best that he feels nothing, but just the stench and staring and them is enough to… urgh—

Noticing a glimmering violet, he snaps out of his reverie, the figure creeping forward. Realizing this, he gathers the very last of his energy and scoots away, and while the mucus on him makes it considerably easier, his hands aren’t in any better shape, nor is the figure getting slower. In fact, its movement only grew steadier as it—

Shit, shit, absolute shit, this has to be a joke. The thing was fucking transforming or changing its appearance, he doesn’t know, but the shadows now manipulate their form into that of a giant human. The tips of humanoid fingers reach out to him, the shadows reshaping themselves to fill the void in its abdomen with a black, almost obsidian-purple coloured, yet inevitably foul ball that materialises out of nowhere. For a second, he sits there, breathless in every way, staring at the damned creature. Then, panic sets in like an alarm waiting to come undone once he realises that not only does the ball look like whatever entered his ribcage earlier, but that the seal hovering in front of the creature’s palm resembles the same glyphs that floated inside the ball of—whatever that energy was—that led to his second fall.

He makes a sound deep within his throat as that cursed thing forms a smirking mouth and towers over him, his hands restlessly scrubbing against the ground beneath him to get away, eyes flickering everywhere except on it, anything but—

His back touches something cold, a wall, making him freeze immediately, all movement ceasing, not even a breath.

And that’s when the thing touches his forehead, and oh, he’s so done for. It’ll be just like the first time; nothing, even good at first… but then, a walking nightmare.

He clenches his eyes and grips the rusty old thing that belongs to his old man. Expectedly, nothing happens.

Dread. The figure screeches in laughter.

Scorn. If he didn’t want to die before, he wants to now.

Despair. It’s alright, it will be alright, even if he’d have to lose his fucking sanity again.

And—

A second. Two. He dreads.

Exhaustion.

Opens eyes. Nothingness greets him. Red. An abyssal creature? A raised hand. His skyrocketing heartbeat.

And—

He gets swung into the fucking air and back in front of the creature’s face.

His heart almost stops right then and there.

But he hasn’t crashed. Nor did he hit anything. It was almost… gentle?

Glowing ‘eyes’ stare into his, and then he’s surrounded by the energy.

It only lasts two seconds, really. It was enough to restore his will to live.

As he lands back on his feet, he feels nothing.

No, that’s actually wrong.

He feels again; he can wiggle his toes, flex his arm. It’s just that he doesn’t feel any pain, and that should be impossible.

Suddenly, he gasps, his hands flying to cover his face, touch his shoulders, pat his chest. He gasps as he stomps with his feet and stretches one after another, and he gasps again when he realises that his throat is allowing him to gasp. But then he stills.

Warily, he turns to the creature and gestures wildly around him because he still can’t talk yet, and it laughs in the most condescending way, but he couldn’t care.

His ripped pants and torn boots are intact again. His leg isn’t broken or infected or getting colonised by maggots. His pullover and arms are back to their original colour—not covered in bruises or in mucus, blood, sweat, tears, ashes—every single fibre has turned pristine white again. His vocal cords ripped, his eyes don’t burn anymore, nor does it feel like someone stabbed him in his left eye. His cheek doesn’t feel coarse anymore, the dead skin and cuts getting…

Wait.

What the hell.

He turns to the figure again, and suddenly, instead of muted reds, they’re in a closed room, the anomaly sprawling across a ‘couch’ as he stands by the edge of another, clutching his scarf.

Another place and dimension. Which means more pain.

He is right, this is too good to be true.

No, he can’t anymore.

He can’t, he can’t, hecanthecanthecanthecan—

Slowly, he takes a breath in and a breath out as the figure just lies there, swinging its legs idly. He’s actually going crazy and this is only an illusion, yes, that’s the only answer.

But no, the hilt that digs into his palm and the fabric of his scarf are too realistic.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

The shadow actually yawns. It fucking yawns.

Slower. Breathe in, breathe out.

His perfectly healed face, his perfectly alive body twitches—just a slight tremor. How?

Even slower. Breathe in, and out.

The creature’s churning eyes—a spiral of ever-glowing, never blinking, cold indigo and stars—stare right at him, tilting its ‘chin’ up.

Stop. No breathing in or out.

The adrenaline faded alongside his injuries, and so did his heartbeat, apparently, because he doubts his heart to be bumping any blood anymore.

Stillness. He stares back at the creature, face ashen, ghostly even, eyes hollowed, cheeks emaciated, and breath stolen.

He most likely won’t survive this. He doesn’t have any adrenaline to push him forward, nor the will, nor the—

He faints before his body even thuds against the ground. The creature clicks its ‘teeth’.

“Wake... You’ve had enough… Are you… Hey!”

His first instinct is to hum, nuzzling his nose against his pillow, pleasantly cold, but way harder than usual. He tries to ignore the voice rattling against his ears, but soon it turns from a rattling to a ringing. The air in the room also became colder in a heartbeat, each breath he dragged out burning his lungs. Slowly, he forces his body up, his wrung-out muscles aching. A thousand thoughts pass through his head in the moment, the loudest being how his leg is now probably only a—

No, wait. That’s not right.

His leg feels fine.

No, wait again. This can’t be right. He’s feeling it?

Immediately, his whole body shudders, eyes snapping open as he jumps to his feet. Fatigue and all be damned, he’s on the opposite side of the room in a matter of seconds, gaze fixated on the creature hovering above the ground—undoubtedly where he slept mere minutes ago.

His head pounds, eyes and lungs burn from the air, tongue paralyzed, again. Which means he’s alive. But that’s the problem now, isn’t it?

Why is he still alive? The creature should’ve killed him during his sleep. Yes, yes, it should’ve, because why would it still want him alive?

He frowns, but then freezes.

The only reason it would want him alive is to torture him. Yes, yes, there’s no other explanation. All of this is so messy, he should just end it all, he should’ve—

“Gah,” the anomaly groans, annoyance perceptible in its voice. “Stop thinking, gods be damned, your thoughts are too loud. Suck it up, you idiot. I would’ve killed you much earlier had I wanted to.”

Posture still rigid, dagger now clutched tightly with both hands, he forces out, “…You can talk? And read my mind?”

“…Obviously, boy.” It pauses, walking back to the couch—the nicest thing he’s seen down here. “Mhm,” it breathes out, unamused. “How disgusting. You’re so weak. You wouldn’t survive in that crazy witch’s domain, that’s for sure.” The thing sneered, sounding actually disgusted and offended.

Oh. Great. This creature can order around all the other monstrosities here. Does his heart well.

But he needs to know, so he gulps down his anxiety and grits, “What is this place? Why am I here?“

“Listen, boy. You’re weak. And the weak are only here to get crushed by greater beings, like me, with the sole of their shoe. Frankly, you don’t deserve to know anything.” It drawls, eyes staring holes into his form. “But, since I’m feeling very, very, emphasis on very generous, I’ll answer your questions. If you get on my nerves, I’ll just blow your head off, got it?” The anomaly threatens, and he nods frantically, swallowing down a distressed sound.

“Ever heard of the abyss? Yeah? Oh, you’re not completely useless after all. This is my domain, within it, and all monsters you’ve met on your way belong to me. I did you a small favour and told them not to outright attack you. But you still showed up looking like a corpse, which in conclusion means you’re weak. As to why you’re here, that doesn’t concern you.”

He repeated that I’m weak like three times, what the hell does he expect me to do?, he’s inclined to say.

Instead, he tries to come to a conclusion of his own, prove the thing in front of him wrong. Finally, he says, “So, the soldiers following me across the bridge, and that weird energy was also you?”

The figure stills, an eerie silence replacing its voice, convincing him that he’s about to be killed. “Yeah. Congratulations on figuring that out.” It rasps. “Anyways, listen boy, I don’t have all day for weaklings like you. I admit you deserve some credit for making it here, even if I had to waste my energy healing you back from death.”

Huh, what’s with the sudden switch-up?

“Shut up. You’re right, I’m just trying to get rid of something. Take this.”

In a flash of blue, the brightest thing he’s seen since falling down, an orb manifests right in front of him, causing him to jerk back, hitting his head against the wall. It falls right into his palms.

“What’s this?” He squints, eyes widening as he answers his own question. “A vision? For me?”

For a second, he stares at it, admiring a vision up close. Suddenly, it lights up again, creating a halo of light around him as it floats near his heart, yet still hovering above his palm.

The vision is real! It wasn’t lying when it said it’s a higher being!

“Yeah, of course I wasn’t. Beware, though, boy. No eyes are watching over you. This vision isn’t a blessing, it’s a seal and a curse. Yet without it, you’re lost, so remember to carry it all the time. If the seal opens, your power will unravel. I trust that you’ll be at least able to follow these simple instructions.”

Huh. Powers? Seal? What the hell is it talking about?

“I-I’m sorry, but… I’m not quite following what you’re saying.” He winced, unsure if the creature would blow his head off for not understanding.

“You don’t need to, and honestly, I don’t care either way.”

“Uh. Okay.”

“Time’s up, I’m sending you to the actual abyss now.”

Wait, what.

“T-the actual abyss? What do you mea—“ Before he gets the chance to even finish his question, the shadows disappear and reappear right in front of him. The anomaly doesn’t possess a face. The only thing it does possesses is eyes and big black hole, but fucking shit it’s scary. He immediately lowers his head, taking a deep breath in.

Its arm reaches for him again, and shit, shit, shit. He clenches his eyes shut, waiting for death to claim him as the cries of thousands echo in the shadows. Except it doesn’t. Yet the cries remain.

“Oh, right. After a few days, you’ll completely forget this conversation. You’ll just remember that you got a vision like everyone else, ok?” It speaks up as it retreats into the gloomy room.

“But this doesn’t make sense?” He whispers.

“Nothing ever does here. Besides, you’ll only remember this once you have a certain dream. As for when you’ll have that dream… uh, I decided that I couldn’t care, so let yourself get surprised!”

A portal opens up behind him where the creature touched the wall, its arm nowhere to be seen.

“Bye.” And that’s his only warning before he’s shoved inside. “There’s this woman you’ll meet. Her name is Skirk. Tell her I said hi.” The creature’s voice echoes inside the portal.

“Wait, but… who… No, what are you?” He manages to scream into the void.

“A sinner. She’ll understand.” He can hear the smirk in its voice. “Also remember that you’re a maverick,” the voice echoes, “After all... the prophecy itself proves this.”

“You shall ever be the eye of the storm,

And the clashing of steel shall ever accompany you.

The pitch-black memory of stepping into uttermost darkness,

Shall, at last, become the strength by which you will overturn this world."

Then, complete darkness. He curls up on himself.

Ajax gasped as he shot up, the ship’s rocking dizzying him further. The fight was over. No more abyssal creatures, no all-devouring narwhal, or weird dreams that got etched into his mind as deeply as the scars littering his body.

It’s just the fever, only a fever dream. The air below deck had always been too thick. He rubbed his face. Should’ve taken his medication. They were supposed to arrive in Snezhnaya in a few hours, he couldn’t meet Her Highness in this state.

Childe slightly leaned over the ship’s wooden railing, now headed to Liyue. A shame, the Captain said they’d arrive a bit later than planned, but that couldn’t be helped.

If only he could use the teleport waypoint he’d placed next to Zhongli’s place. Although Dottore’s experiments always proved useful in some way or another—begrudgingly, that is, because he’d have reason to cause an entire company to go ‘MIA’ and be smug about it—there were some that still were never fully concluded, the teleportation device being one of them. While multiple ones could be placed simultaneously, you had to be in the nation where they were located to use them, thus limiting them to a specific place.

Soon, the Harbinger was going to be in Liyue, sitting in a comfortable home.

Yes, soon.

“Attention, all crew and passengers: the ship has docked at Liyue Harbor. It is now time to disembark. Please gather your belongings and proceed to the gangway.” Captain Petrov finally announced, after an eternity. Looking around, it was obvious that other passengers were as relieved as Childe—it had been a long journey after all.

Even half an hour later, not everyone left the ship. Which was quite tedious, so he had nothing else to do except to play with Mora as he watched the sea.

It was in the middle of winter, and although Liyue’s climate proved warm as ever—at least in the Harbor— he still was sick, thus opted to wear warmer clothes. Quite rare for him, he'd never imagined that he'd have to wear warmer clothes in Liyue.

Yet, now that he thought about it, they weren't so different from his usual uniform. A maroon turtleneck was tucked into one of his similar grey coats, except this one reached to his mid-thighs and was bound by a black leather belt. Similarly to the coat, the trousers had the same motifs, the darker outlining turning into a spiral near his knee. His vision and delusion were kept in his inner breast pocket now that Arlecchino had returned them—thankfully.

With five more minutes passing, he started getting bored. Dispassionately, Childe looked at the other Fatui agents onboard, who were running around left and right, probably just as annoyed or nervous. If only one of them was from his division… They're mostly the Jester’s people, were just as upright, efficient, and had the same personality as him—being as bland as cardboard and an workaholic. All of them probably survived on coffee too.

Now, as to why they were here? He must’ve caused the Knave a bit of trouble by sneaking back into Fontaine, and unfortunately, it somehow reached the Director’s ears, and he was now being escorted like a little kid everywhere. In the Director’s words, the Fatui doesn’t need to lose another Harbinger out of their own recklessness, whatever that meant.

“Lord Harbinger,” one of them approached, whispering. “It’s now safe to depart.” She nodded towards the gangway. “All of your belongings have been placed in Northland Bank as you wished. Have a safe recovery.” She was about to salute, but he raised his hand.

Yeah, he definitely loved getting babied around.

“Thank you for your hard work. Good journey. Glory to the homeland and Her Majesty.” And with that, he went his own way. Luckily, the agents won’t be staying with him—that would’ve been an entirely different headache.

Tugging on the black scarf that he’d put on shortly before getting off the ship, Childe glanced around, eyes searching. The Harbor was lit by lanterns, since the sun had long set by now—although it was only 7:30 pm.

From the latest letter he’d gotten from Zhongli, they were supposed to meet in front of the Ministry of Affairs bulletin.

Surrounding merchants, families, even workers all watched as the Harbinger, whose face had been painted all across the articles of the Steambird, walked calmly, his usual charisma nowhere to be found.

As the man rounded the gate, he finally caught a glimpse of the person he’d been searching for.

“Hey, Zhongli!” He called out, smile plastered to his face, eyes empty.

That did get the consultant’s attention, and his neck snapped in the direction of the voice so fast that, had he been human, his neck would’ve actually snapped.

The Harbinger just stood there, anticipating something, anything as Zhongli’s pace picked up so much that he was almost running.

“Zhongli, what’s wro—“ Yet before he even finished, the consultant threw himself at Childe, causing him to stagger a few steps back before retaining his balance. He wasn't watching himself anymore.

It reminded Childe where he actually was. Here, in his body, not some weird dream where he was forced to watch himself suffering, hel—

“Hey, Zhong—“ He hissed, but the Adeptus only tightened his grip around his shoulders, burrowing his face into Childe’s shoulder further.

“You.” Zhongli breathed a while later, and Childe’s eyes started flitting amongst the growing crowd of gazes directed at them.

“‘You’, right back at you! There are people watching.” He whispered, quiet enough only for the other to hear.

“So?” Zhongli stubbornly retaliated. Remaining Archons, this man was insufferably dense.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Childe urged, yet contrary to his words, he hugged the other back. “You’re… you’ve got a reputation to uphold, remember? Throwing yourself like this—“ he takes a breath, the consultant’s hair trickling his nose, “—others will think… and talk.”

Childe heard—no, he practically felt—the other sigh. It made his skin crawl. Then, Zhongli slowly said, “Let them. They believe that we're married anyway.”

Damn. He was straightforward when he wanted to. Childe was sure that the heat that spread across his face right then and there wasn’t only his fever. Maybe he should follow suit and also burry his face somewhere.

Yet, it wasn’t like the consultant said something wrong either. In fact, he was right.

Right at the beginning of their contract, there were many Liyuens—especially the elderly—who still had suspicions about Childe, accusing him of running a diplomatic scheme through their marriage (which wasn’t far off, to tell the truth) and that he was using Zhongli for his own gains--not really wrong either, it's harder to kick him out of Liyue now.

So, with all those accusations, naturally they had to put on a small performance, right?

Fortunately for them, it didn’t take much; holding hands, gifting stuff, staring into the other’s soul—these things.

Yes, Zhongli was right. Damn him, he always was. Eventually, he melted into the hug himself, ignoring the people momentarily.

Tsaritsa, it felt so good to finally embrace another. Even as a simple gesture it was, he missed it. He missed it so much, talking to someone, he had to hold back a shuddering breath.

Zhongli was so warm, as always. So, so warm, it almost burned after 102 days of emptiness. Childe hugged Zhongli even tighter, irrationally afraid of what would happen if he let go of the consultant. Ajax wanted to keep the warmth forever.

“Childe,” Zhongli pulled back, making Childe all too aware of what was happening. He seriously almost pulled him back into another hug, but he held back as Zhongli’s hands tightened their grip on his shoulders. “I think we should go back home and talk… there.” He sighed, suddenly having the audacity to look embarrassed. The ginger simply blinked at him.Then started coughing. The nerve of this man, so now he acted embarrassed!

Okay. Fine. Great!

He dragged Zhongli by the arm, huffing, “Fine, let’s go somewhere more secluded so I can teleport us, you buffoon.” If Zhongli made any disapproving noise? Well, that fell on deaf ears.

The incense wafting through the house tickled Childe’s nose, the familiar smell welcoming him home once again.

Yeah, home.

What a nice word.

They finally arrived and were in the well-it living room, Zhongli approaching with two bowls of Slow-Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup on a tray. He set them down on the table shortly after, then sat next to Childe on the beige Luohan beds. “Here, have some.” Thankfully, Zhongli handed him a spoon. He might’ve thrown a fit otherwise. “While we aren’t supposed to eat here since we have a perfectly standing dining table, I think we’ll let it pass today. What do you say?”

Ajax stared at the other, whose eyes were crinkling as a smile clung to his face, and it left him to ponder. How could someone who’d lived through so much still smile so brightly, indulge in life with passion and reverence—even after he’d seen it all? It intrigued him. Maybe, would he also…

He only noticed he was staring when the brunette looked away from the bowls and quizzically at him. Oh, he blinked. Zhongli’s hand was still outstretched, a spoon held in hand. With a sheepishly muttered thank you, Childe took it. “Ah,” he breathed out a laugh, almost a cough, remembering Zhongli’s initial question. “Yeah, sure, so long as we don’t accidentally spill some soup. You’re cleaning, your suggestion after all.” He teased as he dug in, downing a spoonful.

Heavenly taste as predicted, Zhongli should’ve become a cook. Even if he preferred being a food critic more.

“It’s only fair, I suppose.” A comfortable silence hung in the air before Zhongli spoke up. “Also, I’d like to apologise for earlier. I shouldn’t have grabbed you without your consent earlier.” Childe looked at him, and a small smile stretched across his face. The other was obviously embarrassed and currently stuffing his face full of food. Who did he think he was hiding that blush from? It almost made him giggle. “Eh, it’s alright. It’s not like you almost made us fall down or anything.” Zhongli coughed, almost strangling himself with the food he was trying to swallow. “No, but seriously, don’t feel too guilty about it, it’s fine.”

Before Zhongli could’ve interrupted and started citing the importance of whatever, Childe looked around the room for any change of topics.

“Oh, Zhongli,” he drummed his fingers around the bowl. “Aren’t those Luohan beds we’re sitting on? When did you change the old sofa cushions? And how is it that my bank account doesn’t have holes in it by now?” Childe joked, the familiar banter doing more to warm him up than the soup.

“Excuse you, I’m employed and have my own bank account.” The consultant huffed indignantly, frowning as he ate another spoonful. “But I suppose that you’re somwhat right about them being old. I’m surprised with how long they held up with you launching yourself at them and crash landing like a cat.” Zhongli poked right back with surprising cheekiness.

“They were older than Celestia itself! These are much nicer.” For emphasis, he slouched down, bowl held tightly on his lap.

“They were comfortable though…”

To that, Childe agreed. “Well, nothing can stay forever… Also, your soup is amazing, I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

Zhongli shook his head, “You’re giving me too much credit. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Anyways, tell me, how did you get them transported here?” Childe straightened up, slouching forward now.

“Ahh, that. It would’ve been pretty easy for me to do it myself, but…”

They’re finally sitting in the well lit living room, Zhongli approaching with two bowls of Slow-Cooked Bamboo Shoot Soup on a tray. He set them down on the table shortly after, then sat next to Childe on the beige Luohan beds. “Here, have some.” Thankfully, Zhongli handed him a spoon. He might’ve thrown a fit otherwise. “While we aren’t supposed to eat here since we have a perfectly standing dining table, I think we’ll let it pass today. What do you say?”

Ajax stared at the other, whose eyes were crinkling as a smile clung to his face, and it left him to ponder. How could someone who’d lived through so much still smile so brightly, indulge in life with passion and reverence—even after he’d seen it all. It intrigued him. Maybe, would he also…

He only noticed he was staring when the brunette looked away from the pots and quizzically at him. Oh, he blinked. Zhongli’s hand was still outstretched, spoon held in hand. With a sheepishly muttered thank you, Childe took it. “Ah,” he breathed out a laugh, almost a cough, remembering Zhongli’s initial question. “Yeah, sure, so long we don’t accidentally spill some soup. You’re cleaning, your suggestion after all.” He teased as he dug in, downing a spoonful.

Heavenly taste as predicted, Zhongli should’ve become a cook. Even if he preferred being a food critic more.

“It’s only fair, I suppose.” A comfortable silence passed, before Zhongli spoke up. “Also, I’d like to apologise for earlier. I shouldn’t have grabbed you without your consent earlier.” Childe glanced over, catching the embarrassment hiding behind a fully stuffed mouth of soup—who did he think he was hiding that blush from—and it made him smile, even if only a bit. “Eh, it’s alright. It’s not like you almost made us fall down or anything.” The other coughed, almost strangling himself with the food he was trying to swallow. “No, but seriously, don’t feel too guilty about it, it’s fine.”

Before Zhongli could’ve interrupted and started citing the importance of whatever, Childe looked around the room for anything to change the subject.

“Oh, Zhongli,” he drummed his fingers around the bowl. “Aren’t those Luohan beds we’re sitting on? When did you change the old sofa cushions? And how is it that my bank account doesn’t have holes in it by now?” Childe joked, the familiar banter doing more to warm him up than the soup.

“Excuse you, I’m employed and have my own bank account.” The consultant huffed indignantly, frowning as he ate another spoonful. “But yes, you’re right. I’m surprised with how long they held up with you launching yourself at them and crash landing like a cat.” Zhongli poked right back with surprising cheekiness.

“They were older than Celestia itself! These are much nicer.” For emphasis, he slouched down, bowl held tightly on his lap.

“They were comfortable though…”

To that, Childe agreed. “Well, nothing can stay forever… Also, your soup is amazing, I don’t feel as sick anymore.”

Zhongli shook his head, “You’re giving me too much credit. But I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Anyways, tell me, how did you get them transported here?” Childe straightened up, slouching forward now. “Ahh that. It would’ve been pretty easy for me to do it myself, but…”

“Childe, drink slowly. The last thing you currently want is alcohol poisoning.” Zhongli tutted, his palm coming to rest over his own. Pretty warm. Huh, they’d been drinking for a while.

“Does it matter?” He retorted, glancing at his covered hand.

A sigh sounded from next to him. “Yes, to me it does.” A frown marred the other’s face, like it usually did when he was concentrating on something or actually being serious. Childe found that trait silly. It wasn’t every day that you got an angry-looking Zhongli.

Sipping the glass one final time, he set it down, retracting his hand. “Okay, since Your Highness asked me to.” As always, he teased, though this time his eyes were unfocused, his face flushed. “Mhm… how many glasses did I drink?”

“Four glasses of baijiu, that’s enough for you.” Before Childe could even reach out for the bottle, Zhongli had snatched it away, putting it to his side. “Drinking this much while sick can’t be good.”

“But you said that with the company ofgood friends, a thousand glasses are not enough!” The ginger blinked at the other. Then slumped into the couch, hiccuping. Zhongli had expected more resistance, so it was almost worrying.

“The night grows darker,” he started, glancing at the other’s reddened cheeks and unfocused eyes. “You should go to your room and sleep. Rest a bit, your journey must’ve been—“ Suddenly, Childe grabbed his arm and yanked at it, his upper body toppling forward as Zhongli’s head jerked to him.

“Mhm… No,” he slurred, persistently tugging at Zhongli’s sleeve. He really shouldn’t have let Childe drink so much. “Let’s sit and talk some more.”

“Childe, we’ve been talking for three hours.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, now leaning back. “I still need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Zhongli sighed, facing Childe. “Tell me, I’m listening.” He talked slightly slower and louder so that the other could understand him clearly.

Said other didn’t look too amused by this and hit his shoulder with a balled fist. “Just so you know, I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy.” Childe pointed an accusatory finger, though it was unclear if it was pointed at the ceiling or Zhongli. “You… you had me drink water after every glass…What should I call you… Ah, mother hen.”

“Well, you’re right, but—”

“S-see what a great proverb I came up with!” He giggled gleefully, as if he’d just watched the second Harbinger fall face-first into mud.

“That’s a comparison, not a proverb.”

Remembering their earlier topic of interest, Childe piped up, “C’mon, no buts,” he almost pouted, and it took a bit of the  former Archon’s endless restraint not to laugh. “So, what I wanted to say is,” he started, humming as he tried to recall his question. Zhongli nodded, watching as Childe frowned into his lap and pulled his hand away, then licked his lips and tapped his fingers, like he’d usually do when concentrating on something. Zhongli found that trait quite silly. It wasn’t every day that you got an innocently childlike Childe. Normally, he’d be too busy masking off his worries or accomplishing his goals—whether they were good or bad.

“Ah!” He sprang up, tipping forward dangerously as sweat clung to his hair. Quickly, he was dragged down to sit by still-gloved hands. “Just tell me while you’re sitting, okay?”

Somehow, that wasn’t well received either. “You’re judging me, hic, aren’t you? That stone face expression… yeah, how could you?”

Huh? Oh, okay.

While this isn’t his first time drinking with Childe, he’d never actually gotten drunk. Maybe out of fear of oversharing.

“I’m simply listening to you.” He blinked, waiting for further reaction.

“Oh, yeah? You’re just like that stupid Iudex from Fontaine, waiting for the  perfect moment to hit— Wait, what am I talking about…”

Zhongli swallowed hard. He’d been wanting to ask about what happened in Fontaine, but didn’t know how to bring it up, and definitely wouldn’t take advantage of Childe’s intoxicated state. “The Iudex? You mean the one who sentenced you on the charges of the Serial Disappearance Case?” He asked regardless.

“Yeah, that one!” Childe looked happy, then sad again. Suddenly, he leaned on Zhongli’s shoulder and pulled his black scarf tighter. “How could I even commit a crime that happened when I was not even two years old!” He huffed, then sadly smiled again, wiping at the sweat that gathered on his forehead.

“How dare he indeed.” Was the only thing the Adeptus offered. If he poked more, he feared that he’d unintentionally hurt the other by making him reveal more than he would want to.

Childe  clucked his tongue, “Hey, you’re listening too hard again.” He tried nudging Zhongli, but by this point, his limbs were too heavy for him to care. “Zhongli, I’m not completely drunk, just somewhat… buzzed, okay? So by tomorrow, I’ll still remember what we said.” He waited, but Zhongli didn’t reply. “Don’t you want to know what happened in Fontaine?”

“I do.” Came the immediate reply, and Childe huffed a bit against the other’s arm. “Eager, aren’t we… Mhm, uhh, wait a second,” he said, frowning as a cough rattled his entire core, forcing him to sit up. Lightly, a hand patted his back, a soothing voice sounding next to him. “Take it easy, and have some water.” Nodding, he took the glass offered and drank.

“Gah. Sorry… about that.” Childe somewhat slurred, his hand rubbing at his forehead. “L’mme just…” he reaches for the blanket on the other bed, wrapping it around himself before he settled next to the Adeptus again. “As I was trying to say, I’m sure you’ve read the Steambird article about the attack in the… Huh, what was it called? Help me out here.”

Zhongli rapped his finger against his knee. “You mean the Opera Epiclese? Yes, I have. Witnesses said that a massive Narwhal appeared out of thin air and that it was fended off by the Iudex and a ‘purple flash’. I assume that was you?”

“Hehe, you’re smart. Try to be dumb for a while, it’d do you wonders.” He sighed, pulling the blanket tighter. “W-wait. How did you know that was me? Only a few people know where I’d been, and I doubt they’d leak it to the press… Damn, Fontaine and Liyue… No, I meant Snezhnaya might get into some disputes now.” Childe mused aloud, going from stiff to relaxed within seconds.

Glancing up at Zhongli, he’d poured himself a drink and knocked it back. Woah, old man had it in him. “From the very moment the seals broke,” he bristled, taking Childe aback. “I knew that you were fighting that monster. That was a hundred and three days ago.” The glass was set on the table gently, the opposite of how Zhongli currently sounded.

“Oh. So you’ve known?”

“Where you were? Not exactly. But what you were doing? Yes, I did. And it drove me mad, that I couldn’t do anything.” His voice got softer, almost quiet at the end. “I… I was able to feel it, the surge of abyssal power that rushed through your body for around five seconds. Childe, if that’s how you felt for over a month…”

Zhongli didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, the ginger having slumped against him again. “I’m here and fine… to some extent, I mean.” Childe laughed, but it didn’t sound quite right. “Besides, fighting it was fun and made me realise how much stronger I’ve grown. Gives me an ego boost, you know.” Not completely a lie—the fighting itself was thrilling and fun, but the reason behind it wasn’t. “So… don’t worry. The more setbacks I suffer, the more… strength I gain?” He furrowed his eyebrows. Not quite right…

“It’s courage, not strength.” The consultant corrected. “But I suppose you’re right. Only when placed in a deadly situation can one be pushed to survive."

“Are you going to put another seal instead of this one?” Ajax asked quietly to fill the silence.

“I’m not quite sure. And even if I was, I’d need you to be healthy first.”

Well, Zhongli did have a point. Although he was wearing a scarf, warm clothes, and was wrapped in a blanket, he was still cold and sweating like he’d just run from Liyue to… the closest nation was Mondstadt, right? A few minutes ago, he was feeling too warm.

“Hey, Zhongli,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “Do you know why I’m currently here and not in Snezhnaya?”

Silence, a beat of his heart, two, and his damp bangs were being pushed out of his face. “No, not really,” the Adeptus answered honestly, hand still on his forehead. “I must admit, I was surprised when you wrote me, asking if you could stay with me for the time being. Not that I mind it at all.”

There was a ringing in his ears as he considered whether he should or shouldn’t disclose something to Zhongli he didn’t even dare confess to her Majesty.

Childe trusted the other nearly as much as he trusted the Tsaritsa—he was his best friend after all—so how was it that he felt safer telling the ex-Archon than his own Goddess?

It was probably the alcohol. Yeah, definitely—he knew that he would also tell Her, someday.

Damn it. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone? Th-this is a contract, you better not break it.”

Zhongli huffed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Whatever you’re about to tell me, I promise it’s safe with me.”

Moving away from the brunette’s shoulder, he replied, “Okay, good.” Now, he just needed to turn to Zhongli, look him face to face, and tell him what was going on.

It should be easy.

So why did it feel like a clump was forming in his throat? Shit, the only thing the alcohol relaxed was his spine.

“The monster I was fighting in the primordial sea is called the All-Devouring Narhwal. Basically, it devours entire planets. Funny, right?” Childe giggled, eyes cast downwards. “So this thing… Wait, I’ll tell you the details tomorrow.” He clenched his eyes shut, his head throbbing.

How pathetic he was, afraid of uttering a few words.

“Okay, take your time.” Zhongli squeezed his shoulder reassuringly, which helped get his thoughts in order.

“Ah, uh, yes, thank you.” He laughed loudly. “So anyway, this thing has an owner. He’s called The Foul.”

Here it was, the ex-Archon’s eyes widening, his pupils becoming slits. “Like the Legacy,” Childe continued, swallowing. “And… I have no idea if this was planned or unintentional, but…” He couldn’t say it aloud. He really couldn’t. That would be admitting it, and admitting that is the very last thing he wanted.

No, he had an idea, and he had several clues—this wasn’t unintentional, this was all deliberately planned, but what the hell did it matter now? He—

“Childe.” Ajax blinked. That wasn’t his name. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Don’t force yourself. It’s almost midnight, and you’re tired—.”

“Please. I’ll tell you. I really want to. I need to tell you.” He grabbed Zhongli’s arm and pulled him back down, startling the other by the force with which he did. “B-before we started fighting, it was all angry, spewing some nonsense about me returning. At the very end, it said that time had stopped for me.”

A sharp inhale from Zhongli, a shaky outtake from Ajax.

“Nothing is timeless. Except for an immortal.” That’s excluding the deal one of the creatures offered him. He wasn’t ready to part with that little secret just yet. Besides, with or without, the evidence was damning him anyway.

The consultant’s hands grasped his shoulders, steadying him, and when he was sure that Childe wouldn’t melt again, one hand reached for nearby tissues, dabbing them lightly under his eyes.

Ah.

He was crying.

“What happened next?” Zhongli asked, calmly, his voice soothing the ringing in his ears.

“Next… the sigils broke, and I almost immediately transformed into Foul Legacy. Had I not, the energy right beneath my skin would’ve… no idea, probably swallowed me.” He sniffed, almost choking on his spit. “Before I transformed, though, voices were screeching, but I couldn’t really… ugh, I’m sorry,” he heaved in a breath as the brunette whispered something akin to easy, it’s alright. “They were saying something, but I couldn’t focus on them at all. The only thing I could focus on in that moment was anger, hatred, and… you get it.” Zhongli’s eyes rose as if he momentarily had realised something.

He tilted his head slightly to prompt the other to talk. “You said you heard them whisper something, but  you were too overwhelmed by your emotions?” He nodded because words would betray him now. “No, it's just adding up.” Zhongli sighed softly, hands still around the ginger’s shoulders. “They were yelling Immortal and a bunch of other things. I thought they were referring to me, but it seems not. Looks like the sigils somehow connected us for a brief duration. But that’s unnecessary now.”

By the end of Zhongli’s little observation, Ajax still hadn’t stopped crying. No, it just made it worse.

No matter how many times he stopped, the tears kept welling up again and again, until he was crying ten times more than he had at the start. He wiped them away—with his scarf, the tissues, the blanket’s edge—but they never stopped.

Slowly, Zhongli moved one hand down to wrap with his own and looped his arm around Ajax’s shoulders,  guiding him gently into an embrace that turned his cries into sobs.

Granted, due to their positions, it was a bit awkward—the way they sat, not the hug—but none minded it. His face was buried in the consultant’s shoulder, and he clung to his coat, while Zhongli had his chin propped up on his shoulder, with his arm patting his back and hand rubbing his.

“You’re really amazing. Facing off a monster who could swallow planets, and saving an entire nation that wronged you. You did so great.”

“I’m really not all of that,” Ajax managed between sobs. “Besides, I’m currently ruining your coat.”

Zhongli laughed, a deep, controlled one. “I don’t mind.”

Silence settled over them, only interrupted by the ginger’s constant sobbing or the sound of soft patting.

“Childe,” Zhongli whispered into the silence, but he didn’t answer, so he patted him softly.

“Call me Ajax. Or Aias. It’s the same thing. Please.” Ajax replied, voice wrecked.

“Ajax… Aias,” Zhongli spoke the name with familiarity, a pleased hum escaping him. “Okay, Ajax, I want to ask you a question, is that okay?”

“Mhm,” Ajax nodded against his shoulder.

“For a lack of words, did you already tell the Tsaritsa or anyone other than me what happened?” He shook his head. “Well, that might complicate things a bit… But no matter. Is that the reason you only spent a week in Snezhnaya?”

“No, not really. I went to Morespok—my hometown,” his voice was hoarse as he pulled back from the hug, staring at their intertwined hands. “And I realised that I couldn’t face my siblings. No, my entire family—I couldn’t look them in the eye, knowing that I—“ he broke himself off with a dry sob, and Zhongli waited for him to continue. “You know that Morespok is in the middle of nowhere. Most of the time, the most exciting thing that happens is your cow giving birth. Their source of entertainment is the magazine, so every once in a while I have to… manipulate its contents. Sounds shady, right?” Ajax chuckled, his free hand tightened into a fist by his side. “My parents, they know what happened recently in Fontaine, they just didn’t know I was involved.” His eyebrows creased. “My older siblings might know though. It’s… Well, they don’t care as much, so it’s, alright.” His lips quivered as he sniffed back a sob. He was surprised he could even cry anymore.

A sigh eluded Zhongli’s lips for the umpteenth time this hour, and Ajax turned to him. “Being immortal isn’t easy,” he began, eyes fixated on his lap. “You either blink and a hundred years have already passed, or you run as fast as you can, and only a day will have elapsed. It’s the duality of immortality. Just because you’re immortal, it doesn’t make you inhuman.” He had no idea how, but the former Archon always knew what to say, and it made Ajax want to cry some more, just a bit.

How long ago had he cried like this? He doesn’t have an answer.

Instead, he coughed out his lungs, his throat raw and dry, as if it was being scratched by sandpaper.

“Aias, no matter how high the odds are stacked against you, your determination and resilience always shine through, and you find a way to beat it. Even if the methods are rather unorthodox at times. You don’t push through it because it’s easy to, you push through it because you want to.”

Zhongli smiled at him, then at the Eight-Sided Lantern hanging from the ceiling.

“I’m sure all will be well.”

The next morning, he woke up in his bed, confused, and glanced around. He must have fallen asleep sometime after Zhongli finished talking. He reached out for the glass on the bedside table with a sticky note on it

His blurry eyesight and headache really helped reading it.

I’m off to work. There’s something on the kitchen counter, treat yourself and take it easy. I’ll be back in no time.

Chapter Text

“So, it seems your husband is returning for an indefinite period, isn’t that right?”

Zhongli raised his head, staring at the blonde who leaned onto her desk, smoking with her back to him.

“Indeed, he is. I’m sure you’re aware of the circumstances,” he replied, tone even. Silence engulfed them again, a question left hanging; have you been monitoring my mail?

“Of course I am,” Ningguang smiled as she eyed him, still unmoving. “After all, information flows like water in Liyue, and I have my own means of acquiring it.” Yes, I have.

“Well, as already established, this shouldn’t pose you any problems, as he’s merely here to recover.” Zhongli crossed his arms, waiting for her answer. She lit her pipe and took a drag, drumming her fingers against her desk—an invitation to continue.

“If you’re concerned for diplomatic reasons, you shouldn’t,” he repeated steadily. “In the unlikely scenario of him acting out, I’ll take care of it.”

That prompted a chuckle out of Ningguang who turned around to face him, pipe held loosely in her hand. “Of that, I had no doubt, my Lord. After all, you’re Rex Lapis.” She laughed, though bitterness simmered in her eyes. Similar to the one that had simmered in Childe’s, though not as personal.

“Miss Ningguang, you know that’s not what I meant.” Zhongli sighed softly. “Right now, I’m Zhongli, a citizen who works at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor,” Zhongli reminded her. She regarded him cursorily, the smile evening out into a line as she frowned. “I apologise, that was uncalled for.“

“It’s quite alright. But I do find myself surprised. Is this all you’ve called me for?” He raised one eyebrow.

Ningguang simply shrugged. “I found some time on my hands, and thought to myself, wouldn’t it be nice to talk to an… old acquaintance.” She stretched out the last words, a sly smile adorning her face once again.

The consultant gave her a polite smile, nodding towards the door. “If that is all, then I shall take my leave. After all, his ship is set to arrive today.”

Finally, Ningguang turned to face him fully, a curious glint in her eyes overwhelming that of her bitterness. Zhongli blinked, tilting his head. “Nothing,” she lowered her eyes. “Thank you for taking the time to come here when you didn’t have to.”

He smiled again, already halfway to the door. “One last thing,” she called out. “Enjoy your time with him. With an occupation such as his, he will always be a regarded a disrupter of peace by some, and everything… surely you get what I mean.” The eleventh Harbinger is surrounded by danger, and one day, it will claim him.

This time, he had to school his face to avoid the harsh frown that would’ve been more than indecorous. She was very much right, of that Zhongli was aware, but it was only because of her true words that it stung.

“Thank you.” Halfway through the doorway, he added, “You’ve been doing very well, governing a land this big. I’m sure that I don’t need to tell you to keep up the good work, because I know you will. Don’t let anything discourage you, no matter how big it seems.”

If there was a reply, Zhongli didn’t hear it. As soon as he was out of that door, he teleported away.

It was fortunate, the fact that Zhongli wasn’t home. Whatever business he was out to conduct just saved Childe the embarrassment of facing him. After reading that forsaken note, which was probably hastily written down without a care, he couldn’t stop himself from crying a tiny bit.

He would’ve liked to blame the headache, but, ironically, that too was caused by him crying yesterday.

Still, the absence allowed him some time to sort through his feelings—now seated on the windowsill of their shared study. Pursing his lips, he sighed. If only he’d done that before.

Anyway, Childe couldn’t believe that he had cried in front of Zhongli! How was he to look him straight in the eye now? Maybe he shouldn’t think about him now.

Even mom hasn’t seen me… His mind stopped, the thought faltering as shadows morphed into a form identical to his and squeezed his throat. Ajax couldn’t breathe. He blinked, wrapping the light blanket tighter around himself. They vanished again.

They always appeared when he thought of them. It drove him mad.

He didn’t want to think about his family, or how he planned to deal with them, or face them, or anything. Ajax simply couldn’t. Could he really continue to be Ajax in their company when the only thing that remained of Ajax was stripped away? How much damage would he inflict by lying? Shit, if that didn’t make him more of a liar than he already was.

Yes, he’d lied about his work, about his well-being, fabricated stories just to have a chance to stay with them, but now? This?

When put on a scale, this was absolutely nothing in comparison.

Even Zhongli’s lies paled in comparison.

Ah, there he was again, thinking about Zhongli. But could they really be compared? Their situations were completely different, the only thread that bound them an austere set of masks they donned.

Not that it mattered, it was all meaningless anyway.

He clung tighter to the blanket.

He summoned a small orb of water and let it float in the air, waiting. Slowly, the sheath Childe had applied began to drip away, leaving behind Focalors’ gift—a hydro ball, though unlike his own creations, this one was elastic and deeper in colour.

She’d said to “plant” it in the garden. Maybe he could use this to apologise to Zhongli for the inconvenience?

Again, it didn’t matter. He sighed, his eyelids fluttering shut.

There were too many hours and too few at the same time.

Too many hours spent remembering, too many regretting, too many just… lamenting that which has been lost.

And yet, too few at the same time, too few to process the memories—that didn’t even belong to him—eroding, devouring his mind, too few to notice the sun’s descend on an autumn’s day as the people who milled the streets suddenly became but a fistful and the skies were dyed with molten shades of gold and fading violets.

A knock on the door, then two, and he flinched.

Zhongli was right. Time abided no rules, and neither did immortality. It was a loose concept, like a dream unraveling at dawn.

“I’m back home,” a soft voice sounded from the door, prompting Childe to glance Zhongli’s way. Another glance at the window and… oh. It was dark now.

He cleared his throat, his voice sounding hoarse as he muttered a meek, “Welcome.” It was supposed to sound more stable.

Damn it, why was it so hard to talk to Zhongli now? He’d probably spent quite a while thinking about it—how he’d apologise, what he’d say—though he wasn’t too sure about it himself. Childe looked at the other’s calm expression as he stood by the doorway. Maybe start by standing up and acting like a proper human being.

He stood up too, his bones cracking from sitting around for so long, and approached Zhongli. “How was your day?” A smile tugged at his lips when the consultant’s scent hit him, the lingering aroma of old books and frankincense wafting around them. How did one manage to smell this great?

“Surprisingly, very uneventful one. Director Hu hadn’t deemed me useful for today’s tasks.” Taking off his scarf—a grey one, albeit a bit worn out—Zhongli flung it on his own desk. “Have you eaten anything yet? I have some Wamnin takeout, let’s eat it together.” The words he’d intended to say died on his tongue when Zhongli lightly, warmly grabbed him by the arm and led him to the kitchen, promptly sitting him down.

They ate, Childe smiling at some of Zhongli’s recounting and in turn, Zhongli shared more. No matter how superfluous his recollections were, they never tired the younger. But for once, he felt somewhat queasy, his smile faltering involuntarily. How was he supposed to…

The brunet looked up and, surprisingly, stretched his arm across the table to clasp Childe’s hand within his own. Warm.

“Are you tired, or would you still like to talk, Ajax?” Zhongli mumbled, voice so low it bounced off the walls and reverberated within his chest. Ajax stared at their hands again. He didn’t particularly mind it, nor the name. It was kind of like… He shouldn’t dwell on it.

“Sure,” he settled on. After a beat of being at loss for words, he giggled. “What is it with you and being overly affectionate as of lately? I’m not going to disappear, you know.” Standing up, Ajax tugged Zhongli up and led him away from the kitchen.

The consultant followed him, as he always did, with no resistance. It was curious, the fact that the trusted a Harbinger of all people to drag him just anywhere, to buy him food and eat it without suspecting it to be poisoned. Hell, Zhongli had been sleeping in the same house as a Harbinger without batting an eye.

Now, Tartaglia knew that he wouldn’t be able to seriously hurt the deity, much less kill him. But he also knew that Zhongli trusted him and that made something inside him—Ajax?—giddy.

Zhongli was an exception to a long-set rule. He’d gotten used to the frigid glances, and although not unwelcome, the warm smile among the downpour of faces—pallid ovals—surprised him.

“Where are we going?” Zhongli asked as Ajax led him through the latticed doors of the living room that led to the courtyard, the cold wind blowing their hair. A cough suddenly tore through his body. Damn it, he still wasn’t completely healed.

Then they stopped, in the middle of the terrace, hands still linked. “Here, look,” Ajax cleared his throat and willed the hydro orb, which glistened as bright as Zhongli’s eyes.

Within a second, molten gold widened and he blurted out, “Those are traces of Focalors powers.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

Ajax simply smiled in return. “That’s right. A small gift to compensate me, she said.” He paused, unsure if he should mention it. Might as well, he had nothing to loose. “Well, Focalors also said some… questionable things. Something about your throne still standing and the seal—” he pointed to his forehead, where the now broken seal once was, “being quite protective. I wondered, could anyone see it?”

Zhongli suddenly looked very flustered and seemed extremely interested in the orb. “No, no, I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. Not at all. How do I explain this… While you were talking to Focalors you also, simultaneously, were walking in a corrupted part of the Primodial Sea. Since it was actively attacking you with abyssal energy, the seal responded in kind and attacked them back, thus pulsated a bit.”

Now, Ajax laughed, though his throat still hurt. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Zhongli stumble over his words, but it was still kind of endearing. Not much, just a small bit.

“Got it, got it, you’re all forgiven,” he rolled his shoulder. Waiting for an answer for his other question, he searched Zhongli’s face for any clues, though the brunette only looked back at him inquisitively.

“Do you need help infusing the orb?” Zhongli asked, one eyebrow raised. “No, no, just a second.” He replied, letting go of the other’s hand as he channeled elemental power into it.

Had Zhongli brushed off his question? Or had he forgot to answer it? Childe glanced back at the man standing a meter away from him. He shouldn’t press him for answers, yet he still couldn’t quite dismiss the odd feeling that gnawed at him.

Sighing, Ajax lowered the orb onto the ground. “You think anything grandiose will happen?”

“I’m not quite sure. I’ve only met Focalors once as an Archon and a couple of times when she’d accompanied Lady Egeria, the first hydro Archon. So if I had to judge by character, I’d guess not, but I could be wrong.”

Ajax relaxed a bit. He’d missed listening to Zhongli talking, especially after months of isolation with that damn narwhal. Just thinking about that damn thing made his blood simmer. What crazy person chose a world-devouring animal as a messenger? He rubbed his temples shortly and sighed. Getting resentful didn’t help his case now.

“Here goes nothing,” Ajax whispered as he “planted” the orb. For a few seconds, nothing happened and he stepped away, almost tripping back into Zhongli’s chest who steadied him. But then the ground turned humid as a small sheet of water coated it, quaking lightly. Water droplets abruptly shot from the ground and two meters up, eliciting a small gasp from Ajax and a short, breathy laughter from Zhongli, one that tingled next to his ears.

The cold wind nipped at their faces making Childe shudder as the hydro particles connected, building something akin to a door that was—well, almost invisible. “It might take a while,” Zhongli murmured from behind him, the only source of warmth here outside. He nodded.

For some reason, Ajax really wanted to take Zhongli’s hand in his again. It was warm, as warm as the consultant’s smile. Somehow, Zhongli was always warm. The day when they’d gotten “married”, when he twirled him, his hand had been warm. When he rested his hand on Childe’s knee as he told a story of days long past, his hand also was warm. When he hugged Childe, he also was very, very warm. The kind of warmth that was scarce in Snezhnaya, one that he longed to stay near to.

“Look, the door materialized.” Zhongli said.

Treading lightly, Ajax reached out to the door, fascinated by the ripple it caused. Once again, he padded the handle with his fingertips, and this time it relented. Light burst out shortly, enveloping both him and Zhongli in a tight embrace. A second later, their feet landed on soft blades of grass.

For a moment, the Harbinger simply took a moment to stare in awe.

“If one were to conjure the essence of a soothing garden, I’d imagine this would be the ideal one,” the consultant broke the silence, watching with a soft smile the way the other beamed when the smell of flowers wafted through the air, their blue stems swaying with the air.

Another one of Focalors’ memories flashed through his mind as the narwhal lunged at him and the water charged with an eons anguish. Unlike everything else, it was quiet. A figure hunched over a luminous globe as she created several abodes, for the only thing she could do in the moment was pass time and trust.

“Ajax?” The voice snapped him back to reality and he immediately stopped fondling the flowers.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed by how entranced the sight had him. “Come, let’s sit down.” Gently padding the space next to him where he’d found purchase against a tree, Zhongli coaxed.

Ajax glanced at him. “So serious,” he hummed, dropping down next to Zhongli.

The lanky stream of water near the pond and the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings were serene in such a mundane way that Ajax simply couldn’t relate to.

A moment passed where neither said anything. Evidently the alcohol yesterday had eased the information from him. Now, he found himself feeling odd, like a tree branch sticking out of the mud—even though Ajax had agreed to talk.

It just felt weird when they were actually doing it and it wasn’t simply an empty promise.

But he couldn’t waste Zhongli’s time, not when he’d offered so nicely.

“At first, it was all too disorienting,” Ajax started, unprovoked, and amber eyes latched onto every word, every breath, every blink or twitch. “But later, all the motions became familiar, like that restlessness that always gnawed under my skin.”

The ginger leaned back against the willow tree, the roughness of it grounding. “And surprisingly, my restlessness, this relentless force of agitation was actually quelled as I fought the narwhal for days. But my anger was not.” He laughed, though his cheeks were flushed and a sheen of sweat ran down his temple.

Zhongli’s eyes narrowed.

“No matter how hard I’d slashed, no matter how hard I fought, the rage never subsided. I was angry at Focalors, although I knew how much she’d planned—“ the ex-Archon frowned, probably confused as to how Ajax knew about that, but didn’t question him—“and I was angry at the absurdity of it all.“

For a while, they sat there as Childe recounted everything. Occasionally Zhongli would ask about something or just squeeze his shoulder when a distant look clouded his eyes, but mostly he just sat there, listening.

“…and suddenly my master appeared. I was so shocked, the spear fell out of my hand!”

“Such fortunate timing, just as you were about to get swallowed again.”

“Indeed, and she was glorious! She swooped in, and with two strikes it was motionless again. When she turned to look at me…” Ajax trailed off, the wistful smile crumbling—as soft as snowflakes—into a more dejected furrow of his eyebrows. “When she did, I felt like a child again. Like the first time I met her down there. And my body just… relaxed, the tension finally melting. After that everything became a bit fuzzy because Foul Legacy dissipated and I was out before my head even hit the ground.” He let out a breathless chuckle, though it sounded like an echo of disappointment.

Next to him, something rustled and the consultant shifted slightly closer. “Ajax, the fact that you were even able to stall that narwhal is no small accomplishment. There’s no need to feel disheartened, no matter the outcome.” Zhongli repeated what he’d said yesterday, as though to convince him. It was funny, the way Zhongli almost looked angry—preferably on his behalf and not at him. So angry in fact, it strangled an actual laugh out of Ajax.

“You know me so well.” The younger pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on it, still facing Zhongli.

Zhongli frowned, but it looked a bit funny. “One would hope I know my husband well after three years.”

“Ah, true.” Sometimes, he wondered how many Liyuens and scholars knew that the well respected consultant they adored could sometimes act so stubborn.

Ajax shook his head, willing the silly image he’d conjured away. “I’m not disappointed about loosing, but I must admit it was quite the challenging learning experience. Even if I did enjoy the battle itself.” Hopefully Zhongli didn’t see the faint trembling in his gloved hands. “I just wished that I could talk to my master. The only thing I remember is her taking us through some portal and leaning me against something.”

The ginger sighed, and for a second, he was back there, unaware of anything but the cold hand from his dreams and a goddess that stood in front of him.

A squeeze to his shoulder and he was staring into pools of amber again, as inquiring as they were worried while Zhongli scanned his blinking face. Ajax shook his head.

“Haha, sorry, it’s nothing really.”

He took a deep breath as the salty scent brought Focalor’s memories along it. The way she had talked to Lady Furina, the way the human had foolishly listened, her uncaring attitude when meeting him for the first and last time…

“Do you think someone can really lose the ability to care?” Ajax asked after a while glancing at the man who was sitting cross legged with one knee pulled close.

Zhongli didn’t reply immediately.

The soft thrumming of the water and rustling willow leaves settled between them, filling the space Ajax’s question warranted.

The ex-Archon mulled his question over, like he always did, no matter how silly, mundane or serious. And Ajax waited, like his verdict would soon be handed over to him.

Finally, Zhongli exhaled, as though he had sifted through centuries worth of memories just for this one answer.

“I don’t believe that someone can loose the ability to care, no.” Zhongli shook his head.

Ajax let go of a quiet breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“But with the passage of time, a soul might forget.” The consultant pursed his lips. “With time, if the only constant in your life is never ending chaos, or the ever stretching quietness that looms, apathy would be mercy.”

From the lilt in his voice, the former Archon must’ve been talking from experiencing. Maybe not his own, but experience nonetheless.

Ajax squeezed his hand.

“In Focalors case, that apathy probably felt like erosion. It dulled whatever it was that she felt, but it was precisely that which had caused the waters in her domain to still, until only occasional ripples would grace her presence.” He concluded evenly. Then, added, “Just because apathy is the “easier” way doesn’t mean it’s better.” Zhongli gave him a pointed look and Ajax’s lips curled.

“You won’t have to worry about that.” The younger man whispered. When he was rewarded with a soft smile, he felt his heart beating a tad faster.

“Hey, Zhongli? Would you mind one last question?”

“No, and definitely not from you.” Ajax almost choked on his own spit as he straightened up, but a glimpse at Zhongli, and he knew that he was earnest.

Damn him and his straightforwardness, this felt more dangerous than the narwhal!

“Well, anyway,” the ginger coughed into his fist, cheeks a faint hue of red. “About the contract Focalors made…”

“The one where she claimed that you were already promised to her 502 years ago?” Zhongli tilted his head.

Ajax nodded. “I still can’t wrap my head around it. I simply don’t t get it.” Not for the first time, a glint far too dark passed through blue eyes—uncertainty, fear, doubt?—and Zhongli’s heart, the one he claimed was made of stone, constricted uncomfortably for a mere second.

“I asked her about it and she said both me and the narwhal were promised by the same person and an accomplice—which the narwhal also confirmed. But the animal would only oblige its master’s orders, and it just so happens to be the Foul—“ Like yesterday, the ex-Archon’s eyes burned at the name—“and according to Fatui’s intel, he’s one of the five sinners.”

“Yesterday, you told me that he’s called after the legacy you utilise,” Zhongli pointed out, albeit carefully, as though afraid to trigger him. Ajax smiled faintly, but he understood; after all, he was this short of clawing his face off the moment he’d found out. No, not found out, remembered.

“That’s right. And no need to walk on eggshells,” his smile turned reassuring, yet his eyes remained empty. “I’m sharing this willingly, you needn’t worry about me feeling uncomfortable.”

Still, the ex-Archon’s eyes glistened with uncertainty and doubt.

The younger continued, “I’m not very sure, but I suspect that he’s at the very least acquainted with my master. Of course, it might’ve been passed down to her as well, but from the way she behaved whenever he was mentioned…”

A disoriented memory flashed through his mind, as unremarkable as the other macabre ones.

His master had been sitting around a small fire they’d lit after traversing to another territory again. Ajax’s ankle slightly sprained after an encounter with voidclads and tenebrants—cunning creatures draped in wild darkness that ran rampant—they decided to camp. It was one of his last days down there, and he’d dared ask her about who the Foul is.

She hadn’t answered at first, face neutral as it had been when she’d first spotted him slouched against a pillar and a vision clutched in his hand. The rest of the conversation eluded him. Only that she took him with her.

A shadow. You can never rid yourself of him, she’d finally replied.

“… an uncanny look would fog her eyes.” Ajax didn’t add that he’d finally remembered meeting the sinner. For the sake of both him and Zhongli, he also didn’t divulge the fact that the sinner was the one who granted him with a vision. On the brighter side, other than being nearly killed by the sinner who’d hinted at being related to his master, he truly had no idea what was actually going on.

But lying, he was lying again.

Yet could he really be blamed? Would Morax, known for his distrust of anything abyssal and possible condemnation of Khaen—

“From what we’ve gathered,” Zhongli’s firm but gentle voice cut through his haze, sobering him up. “Focalors entered a contract with the Foul, one of the five sinners and another unknown party. In exchange for whatever Focalors gave them, they offered you…” His heartbeat quickened when he saw the harsh, disapproving lines that marred the consultant’s face.

Zhongli glanced at him again. At the sickly flushed face and clammy hands, at the throat that bobbed every time he coughed, a jagged breath with edges.

“They offered you as a catalyst and joker and the narwhal as the divine punishment, or the way Focalors put it, the calamity and messenger. So it’s safe to assume that they provided her with both a calamity and solution. Yet, for the Foul to be able to offer a continental monster as a willing calamity, he must’ve had quite the influence over him.” He mused.

“Yeah, after my master had stunned it and took us elsewhere, I faintly heard her refer to it as a pet.” The Harbinger bit his lip. “But, seriously, how can that thing be owned, much less be used as a pet?!” Something escaped Ajax’s throat, but it sounded more like a strangled cry than a bitter laugh.

“And besides, that doesn’t really explain how I could’ve been…” A wince and his voice trailed off. Ajax shifted, the movement more welcome than whatever trance they’ve found themselves stuck in.

“May I?” Zhongli asked, voice steady, resolute.

He came closer. The ginger blinked. With words and sensibility knocked out of him, he nodded.

A small gasp eluded him as Zhongli hugged him, so tightly that Ajax’s breath joined the faraway realm his sensibility and words had run off to.

Ajax’s eyes widened, hands and knees awkwardly wedged between their bodies, nose pressed into the long column of his husband’s neck.

His face flushed, though it wasn’t the fever.

“You’re overthinking, Ajax. Your existence must’ve been pre-recorded by fate, as the case with a chosen few, and the Foul alongside whoever helped him must’ve gotten their pesky hands on those records.” The deep voice was barely a whisper, somewhere between his ear and shoulder. “I know someone who might be able to help. We can visit them the moment your condition improves.”

And just like that, Zhongli had managed to light the tiniest sparks of hope within Ajax. If only he knew that which Ajax could tell him yet hesitated to.

He shuddered.

Unaware of Ajax’s inner turmoil, the consultant carried on, “Besides, I promised to always, at least, be there for you, remember? You’re my best friend, after all.”

Said friend pursed his lips and took a shaking breath. “I do.”

Reluctantly, Zhongli pulled back, eyes cast downwards. There was a slight tick to his eyebrows that made even Ajax halt.

“As the God of Contracts,” the words came out as measured and calm, but the younger man knew better—they were anything but. “I potentially could be able to ascertain its contents and even determine all the circumstances that led up to it. But like I said, I need the help of my friend.”

Not even the most talented artisan wouldn’t be able to depict the look in Zhongli’s eyes. Like stardust woven into a thousand different fabrics.

The world around them stilled as Ajax tried to school his emotions, morph into the familiar mask of Childe.

Oh, he saw how much Zhongli disliked to don the mantle of power again, assume a higher position when all he currently desired was a lively peace.

How it mocked the deity that even if he “retired”, he’d still be something divine at his very core—maybe not an Archon, but a god nonetheless.

Breath hitching, the Snezhnayan’s lungs burned with a blizzard of… something. Maybe sadness, empathy—and in the quietest place maybe dread.

“Thank you.” Ajax choked. Whatever meticulously planned thought he’d wanted to voice, it simply refused to come out.

In response, Zhongli frowned, seemingly misunderstanding his reaction. He took off one glove and reached for the other’s forehead. He glanced at the near invisible door on the other side.

“Come, let us return to the warmth of our house, don’t you agree?” Any sign of his earlier discomfort was smoothed out, for a gentle smile tugged at his lips and honeyed eyes curved into crescent moons.

The consultant stood up, yet Ajax didn’t quite follow.

There was no way that he’d allow the brunette to step even a foot before he did something in return. Not when Zhongli was acting so patient, so selfless when he literally had nothing to lose. Except a friend, but still.

The older man stood up and smoothed over his trousers, offering him a hand once he noticed that Ajax still hadn’t budged—ever the gentleman.

A force kept him tethered in place though, blue eyes staring at Zhongli’s hands while his own twitched. Perhaps that force was him listening to his gut and acting upon it for once.

Finally he took the brunet’s hand into his own and gently pulled him down instead of standing.

“Sit down.”

At first, Zhongli just blinked like some lost baby deer, still not quite sitting, just crouching. With another pat from Ajax to his knee, he resigned and plopped down cross legged. It took one glimpse at his face to see the perplexed look that defined the set of his jaw and draw of his eyebrows and a few seconds for Ajax to compose himself and not giggle at Zhongli’s disheveled hair.

Then he laughed nonetheless.

Childe wasn’t blind.

He’d spent months observing the people of Liyue, and they obviously brimmed with love for their Archon. It didn’t matter if it was genuine love or simply because they’d get to brag; in the end, they’d all look up to him and in the turbulent sea of people, no one thought about reaching for the God they so cherished.

When he was ruling, the Adepti were always by his side, whether it was in battle or not. They’d march into war, take orders from him all while their Archon’s back faced them in a sign of trust. Yet, none of them dared to approach him, for they acknowledged him for what he actually was—a God worth more than gold as it was his own blood, a being more divine than what they could fanthom, an archaic lord—and dared not breach his trust nor fully reach out for him.

"The currencies that flow through this land are my flesh and blood.

For thus did I become the guarantor of the people's hard work, wisdom, and future.

This is the trust I have placed in them. Betray it, and you taint my blood."

Again, he’s reminded of the inscription of a gem he’d obtained after slaying a powerful foe. The words of Rex Lapis, words that conveyed millennia’s actions.

So when the ocean’s depths met golden amber, he really looked at him.

Past his poise, past his elegance. Standing not beside him nor behind him, but in front of him.

A beautiful sight Zhongli made, as ethereal as a sunset yet serene as the moon cast above them.

Though a little lonely, if not melancholic. Definitely surprised to see him.

Ajax reveled in the way Zhongli’s breath hitched the moment he’d enveloped him in a hug of his own.

“Did I catch you off guard?” Ajax smiled into Zhongli’s nape.

“You certainly did.” The hands that were limp by his side returned the hug.

“I was just surprised earlier, that’s why I didn’t immediately answer. Zhongli, truly thank you.” The younger man squeezed for a good measure and assurance.

At last, the older relaxed, breathing out something akin to a laugh. “You’re very welcome.”

“This might be a bit random but I just wanted you to know that I’m also there for you,”

A year ago, as he was milling around the house, he’d stopped dead in his tracks before their shared study. As always, the sun seemed to favor Zhongli. His hair was loose, flowing down his shoulders, lit up by warm beams. His fingertips, touched by gold, held a worn paper, slightly trembling.

So engrossed in his paper he was, that he didn’t notice the Harbinger in the doorway. Back then, Childe could only speculate.

“…and that your retirement—or any other decision—aren’t a mistake.” A moment, and he elaborated, “What I mean is that every path has its risk. There’s no perfect one. But you reflected on it and didn’t randomly decide to go through with your plan. I mean, you involved the Tsaritsa herself, if that is of any evidence.” Ajax laughed softly.

Zhongli didn’t answer. Instead, he buried his head into Ajax’s neck and squeezed back with inhuman strength.

“Your young appearance belies your intelligence and wit, has anyone ever told you that?” Zhongli asked, voice as delicate as a Glaze Lilly.

“I get that a lot, yeah.” He chuckled.

Yet, Ajax still looked up, behind where Zhongli’s hair pooled.

Again, a shadow formation. They’d been more reoccurring.

He tensed in Zhongli’s hold.

This one wasn’t defined by a form, only a floating mass constructed of memories. A man that set foot in a foreign planet, complete destruction by the order of the abyss’s command, a sacrifice of the child of humanity that ensured a temporary yet universal peace.

Too many, overwhelmingly so.

Ajax’s eyes fluttered close as he rested his head on Zhongli’s shoulder.

Not today, not yet.

Later, Zhongli led them out the garden and into their home, the warmth dulling some of the dread that simmered scorchingly in the place nearest to his heart.