Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Childe set down the three perfumes at the foot of the statue. He knew it was probably excessive. The Liyueans probably knew which perfume would please Rex Lapis, but a Fatui Harbinger couldn't be caught asking around about the worship of a god who wasn't the Tsaritsa. Instead, he had to cast a wide net, and hope against hope for the impossible best.

He uncorked the first perfume, one the saleswoman told him that young noblewoman liked. The scent was... well, floral. Childe wasn't sure what made it different from any other perfume. The statue seemed to agree; there was no reaction in the curling smoke. 

The second perfume was supposed to be a favorite of Lady Ningguang. This one did smell different, but not particularly better than the last. This, too, yielded no response. Neither did the third bottle, a perfume Ying'er had little to say about but charged an exorbitant price for. It smelled exactly the same as the other three.

Well, maybe Zhongli had a cold.

Childe cleared his throat. The statue's eyes were shadowed by its hood, but Childe doubted Zhongli would be any more scrutable in his usual jacket and tie. For all Childe knew, Rex Lapis wasn't even connected to his old statues anymore.

"Hey, big guy," he said quietly. "It's been awhile."

Of course, the statue didn't respond. Feeling his heart grow heavy, Childe doubled down.

"I'm probably the last person you want to see right now. Terrorism isn't a great first impression, I guess. And neither is attempted murder. Oh, and using the funeral parlor to hide a body--Hu Tao probably told you about that one, though."

Not a strong start.

"Believe it or not, I think you're the god I've offended the least. I'd have no luck praying to Barbatos or Raiden after what my colleagues did to them... and don't tell anyone I told you, but we're embezzling from Fontaine. Not to mention, I'm far too stupid to pray to the God of Wisdom, even if they did let me back into Sumeru. But you..." he sighed. "You've forgiven me before. You knew what I was, and you still trusted--well, trusted I would lose, I guess, but you knew me, you know? So... if you're even listening, even though you have no reason to humor me... you know that I didn't come here with any malintent.

"My sister, Tonia... She has a rare elemental sensitivity. She was only just diagnosed on my last visit to Snezhnaya over the holiday break. Any high concentration of elemental energy makes her deathly sick. I--" he stuttered. "It would be bad enough as it is, but the doctor told us that it might have been caused... well, it might be my fault. My Delusion is unstable--I'm sure you've felt it. They all are, but when the forge was making the first batch, they asked me what I wanted from mine. I told them I wanted something explosively powerful, and they delivered. I've had to work hard to keep the Electro energy in check, but even so... something's always bound to slip through the cracks. Just my luck, isn't it? " Childe laughed softly to himself.

"I made it out of the Abyss just to serve a colder master," he muttered. He wasn't sure whether he was still speaking to the Geo Archon, or just rambling to himself. Scara would be wondering what was taking so long. "I'm fine... I'm doing what I love. But it's not the same for my family. I don't want them to have anything to do with the Tsaritsa or any of the... less boring aspects of my job. 

"Tonia needs treatment. She at least needs to leave Snezhnaya--the permafrost that blankets my home nation is pure Cryo energy, and it's terrible for her. But getting her here--or to Monstadt, if there's no way to get us to Liyue legally--that's going to be the hardest part. So long as I'm a Harbinger, there's no way the Tsaritsa is giving a visa to any Sorokov within ten generations of me. I know you're the god of contracts, but technically, you shouldn't be under contract not to smuggle fugitives out of the permafrost, right?

"If I'm wrong, though... just don't bring this up with the Tsaritsa, okay?"

"How'd it go?" Scaramouche asked, without looking up from his book.

Childe pulled off his jacket and mask, and slung them on the rack just inside the hotel room. Striding to the pair of suitcases open on the back table, he picked out a plain black shirt and pulled it on over his bare chest.

"Just who exactly are you trying to impress, anyway?" Scaramouche needled, pointing his thumb at the jacket. "Twice as much work for--apparently--no payoff."

Childe rolled his eyes. "You can't expect me to fight--"

"Without showing off your abs," interrupted Scaramouche. "I'm sure that little traveler girl was impressed, before she kicked your teeth in."

Childe realized there would be no debating with the Balladeer. He climbed into his bed and propped his feet up on the headboard.

"To answer your question," he told Scara, "it went about as well as you'd expect."

"Did you at least take my suggestion?"

Archons. Scaramouche had told Childe to offer Zhongli a bottle of wine, or a night out in Liyue, or something, but Childe had completely forgotten. "I think I got distracted," he muttered.

"Don't give up hope yet," Scara said flatly. "There's always Natlan."

"Actually, there isn't," Childe corrected. "I met the God of War back in the Abyss... I kind of challenged her to single combat. I lost, but I knocked out one of her teeth. It immediately swore vengeance on me."

"The tooth did?"

"Like it's the weirdest thing a god has done."

Scara grimaced quietly as he flipped the page. He had a bad--actually brilliant, now that Childe thought about it--way of forcing people to keep talking to him by creating an awkward, judgmental silence that his marks grew desperate to fill. That was probably why the Tsaritsa usually gave Scara the interrogations. Childe's preferred method of dry-drowning had a tendency to end up a little less dry and a little more drowning. But such tactics would never work on Childe... right?

"Just so you know," he found himself telling Scara, "I wouldn't give up hope if there were any left."

"I know, buddy."

"Think the Qixing could do something? If you were to threaten them--"

"Not a chance."

"I'm just saying--"

"I'm not fighting the Qixing."

"I didn't say fight."

Scara rolled his eyes. He licked his thumb and turned the page as noisily as possible. Childe wasn't sure what more Scara was going to try and drag out of him, but he was rescued by a sound--one that sounded an awful lot like a knock at their door.

Childe asked Scara, "Were you expecting somebody?" 

"Yeah, I brought a date to the hotel room I'm sharing with my coworker," Scara snipped.

"A 'no,' would have done it," Childe reminded him. "If I get murdered, avenge me?"

"You wish."

Childe grabbed his bow from the top of the doorstep and strung it with Hydro, propping it on one shoulder as he moved toward the door. He opened it with his free hand, his gloved fingers automatically returning to the bowstring as soon as the knob was turned. 

A long brown jacket, a gold-tipped ponytail. No weapon, but he wouldn't need one anyway. A twinkle in his amber eyes.

"I'm here about some forged visas?" Zhongli said.

Chapter Text

Childe didn't know what he had been expecting. If any part of him had actually believed Zhongli would answer his prayer—a thought that seemed more and more far-fetched the longer Zhongli stood silently in the doorway—the most he could have asked for was a little luck. A tip of the scales in his favor, some useful information showing up in the mail slot overnight. He wasn't used to having Archons appear at his doorstep in the flesh. 

Okay, technically that wasn't true. Zhongli, the funeral parlor attendant, had greeted him like this many times before. For all intents and purposes, Zhongli was the same person as he was before he had handed over his Gnosis to La Signora and proven his true identity. Nothing about the way he looked, or the way he carried himself, or his air of sophistication and mystery, was any different at all. And sure, Childe had always been impressed and a little intimidated by his friend; but Zhongli's golden eyes were the eyes of a god, and Childe was kicking himself that he hadn't realized sooner.

Did gods usually make house calls? The image came to Childe's mind of Zhongli clambering through a half-opened window with a sack over his back, depositing sweets in wooden shoes like a snow fairy. As far as he knew, the adepti couldn't exist in multiple places at once. The Traveler's description of the Conqueror of Demons made it clear that if that guy could have been anywhere else during his conversations with her, he would be.

So why would Zhongli waste his time coming here?

"Scrape your jaw up off the floor," Scaramouch told Childe. "You'll stain the carpet with your drool."

Childe let out a hissing breath. He wheeled around and jabbed a finger at Scara: "Breathe a word of this to the Tsaritsa, and I'm mailing her your fingers."

Scara made a face of mock distress. "Oh, no, how will I use a catalyst without my fingers?" he deadpanned.

Zhongli chuckled, the sound just as startling as Scara's accusation. Childe snapped to attention. For real this time.

"Gentlemen," Zhongli said, sounding amused, "there will be no need for mutilation. I won't be long; I merely had some time off and came to ask if I could borrow Childe for the evening. Is that alright wit you, Mr. Scaramouche?"

"Knock yourself out."

Zhongli shifted his gaze over to Childe. There was probably... something he was supposed to say? His throat turned to glue. Even Zhongli's voice was exactly the same, but it didn't sound so gentle and inviting anymore. It was the deep rumble of thunder before Rex Lapis smote Liyue's enemies—and Childe was at the top of that list.

Swallowing thickly, he banished his bow. It took a beat too long, and everyone knew it, but when Childe finally spoke, he was relieved to hear his tone was just as confident as ever.

"Thanks for coming, Mr. Zhongli!" he said brightly. "It's good to see you again."

Zhongli returned the sentiment with an unreadable smile. "The pleasure is all mine," he replied, with a quick bow at the waist. He looked Childe over, seeming to take in the Harbinger's awkward stance, the way Childe was biting his lip from the inside.

"Let me get my wallet, and then I'll treat you to dinner. How's that sound?"

Childe pried his eyes off of Zhongli's, and turned around to rifle through his bag. Somehow, his wallet was still in yesterday's pants. He dug it out as discreetly as possible, tucked it into his breast pocket.

"You're too kind," Zhongli answered. Childe couldn't tell if he was joking. He grabbed his room key and his mask, and turned to Scaramouche.

"Be good while I'm gone," he said, smirking.

Scara rolled his eyes. "Yes, mother."

Herding Zhongli out into the hallway, Childe locked the door behind him. The two men headed out, and Childe pinned his mask into his hair as they walked.

"I gotta admit," Childe told Zhongli, "I wasn't expecting to see you here in person."

Zhongli gave him a sideways glance. "Is that so? Surely you don't think I'd deny a request from such a loyal follower," he teased.

"Loyal follower or not, if I didn't know better I'd think you just came out here for a free meal," Childe joked back.

"You wound me, Childe!" Zhongli put a hand dramatically over his heart. "Will you so callously try and purchase my affections?"

"Affections?" Childe waved a hand. "I'd settle for your attention."

"Rest assured: when you make a deal with me, you will never have to settle."

"That's quite a promise, Mr. Zhongli. Guess I'd better keep up my end of the bargain!"

Childe shoved open the hotel's front door. The heavy winds buffeting the leaves on the pavement outside flooded the lobby, washing the scents of sea salt and roasting fish over them like a tidal wave. Zhongli's coattails flapped majestically in the breeze—he seemed incapable of looking anything less than perfect, it seemed. Childe held onto his mask to keep it from blowing away as they stepped out onto the high street.

The small hotel the two Harbingers were staying in was tucked out of the way on the edge of the docks, stashed between warehouses and working-class homes, largely forgotten about. In hindsight, it might have been too low-key for a pair of well-dressed Snezhnayan gentlemen to go in an out of without raising any questions. Still, it had been a comfortable enough place to spend the past year. Especially when that year was spent "researching" the Liyue Qixing's business, and with an unlimited supply of Mora to pursue that end however he pleased.

When he had first come to Liyue, it had been autumn, and the weather was starting to turn that way again. It fascinated him just as much now as it had back then—he didn't think he'd ever tire of it. He had never seen the trees bloom in so many colors. The changing leaves reminded him of the crystalline branches of the ley lines, but these were warm to the touch, and as fleeting as the surface world itself. When the leaves fell, you could gather them up in your hands, and feel the veins almost still pulsing. He could sit for hours and watch them as they came to light like butterflies on the pavement; piles of them were swept up by the trains of noblemen's robes, and then crunched by the wheels of carts as they clattered over the cobblestones, like a fiery snow. Alive, and always in motion.

The two of them set off toward Chihu rock, walking side by side up the busy street. the sun was beginning to set, and its harsh light cast the forms of workers streaming up from the docks in sharp relief. It glinted through the golden tips of Zhongli's hair as if it were thin, but pure cor lapis. Had Zhongli always been shorter than Childe? There was barely an inch's difference between them, but Childe could have sworn...

"You seem awfully quiet today," Zhongli remarked.

"That so?" Childe ran a hand through his bangs. "Well... you seem awfully godly today."

Zhongli tossed his head back and laughed. "I intimidate you, eh?" He sounded almost incredulous. "It's still only me, Childe."

Childe shrugged. "I know, I know. I guess I'm just still not used to you being...you know."

"Whatever names I may have used in the past," Zhongli said, dropping his voice a little, "My feelings toward you have not changed."

Now, this Childe could work with. "And what feelings might those be?" he asked with a mischievous grin.

Zhongli's smile revealed the hint of a snakelike fang. Fangs? Really, how had Childe suspected nothing all that time? "Call it friendship, if you like," he told Childe breezily. "I certainly bear you no ill will."

"Your flattery is unbearable, sir," Childe teased, gently punching his friend's shoulder. "Now, enough wasting time. I'm not colluding with a foreign  government on an empty stomach."

"I second that," Zhongli agreed. "How about we pay a visit to the Third-Round Knockout?"

"Sounds good to me." Childe stretched his shoulders, swinging his arms from side to side. "Seems like a good night for old favorites."

"Feeling a little nostalgic?" Zhongli goaded.

"Why wouldn't I be? I've run out of other people to do favors for."

"Then perhaps it is time to reap what you've sown."

On that cryptic note, Zhongli led him across the plaza, on what seemed like a practiced route through the dinner crowd, and they mounted the steps to a familiar bar. The usual storyteller was gone today, but the outdoor tables were full. This time, Zhongli beat Childe to open the door. He waved Childe through with a flourishing bow. Childe responded by shoving his shoulder again.

Nostalgic, indeed. The restaurant was just as Childe remembered it: a cramped, but not uncomfortable ramshackle with a few tables and chairs, lantern-lit and warmed by a stove behind the well-worn bar. Actually, the owners seemed to be anticipating some kind of flash frost. The stove's heat, smelling of black wood smoke, felt like Childe was being smothered in a fur-lined sleeping bag as they walked in from the temperate evening. The heavy brown curtains drawn over the windows certainly didn't help in that regard. The privacy they afforded made this place a great spot for covert operations, but for Zhongli, Childe had to imagine the appeal was the cozy, humble ambiance of the restaurant. Childe was no interior decorator, obviously, but he knew the Third Round was far from the fancy, expensive places where one would expect to see the God of Wealth.

They picked out a table under the Harbor-facing window, not that either of them were willing to tie up the grimy curtains to enjoy the view. The menus were kept in a basket alongside napkins and salt shakers, and Childe and Zhongli each grabbed one to browse. Childe studied his carefully. Liyuean was still hard for him to read, but he was pleased to find he could recognize most of the dishes without too much trouble.

"They serve dandelion wine here?" he noticed.

Zhongli glanced through his menu to the page Childe pointed out for him. "'A new twist on an old Mondstadt classic,'" he read aloud. "It sounds interesting. Have you had a chance to try the original?"

Childe shook his head. "I haven't been to Mondstadt in ages. Last time I was there, this surly bartender kicked me out of his tavern for looking too baby-faced."

"Really?" Zhongli grinned wickedly. "Perhaps you ought to go back, then. You seem to have grown into your features exquisitely."

Awkardly waving a hand, Childe laughed the compliment off. "I couldn't show him any ID on account of the whole undercover thing. But I've heard great things about Mondstadt's wines. Apparently, the top-shelf stuff can even get its archon drunk."

Zhongli made a sour face, like he was just getting a joke he'd heard a long time ago. "I wouldn't take that too seriously," he told Childe. "The God of Anemo is a notorious lightweight, in every sense of the word."

"Can you get drunk, Mr. Zhongli?"

"Not on mortal wine," Zhongli answered thoughtfully. "Though, that hasn't stopped me from trying."

"You, too, like to drown your sorrows, eh?"

"I wouldn't put it in such certain terms."

"You'd talk your way around it?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Childe held his breath, wishing he could take it back. Zhongli's eyes narrowed, very briefly, and Childe braced himself for a scolding; or worse, for Zhongli to get up and leave without a word. Instead, Zhongli steepled his fingers, and laughed quietly.

"I've been told I'm too long-winded for my own good," he admitted lightly. "I suppose I should speak plainly—it is, after all, only you."

"Only me?" Childe raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

"I meant it as a compliment," Zhongli corrected himself, shaking his head a little. "I have no need to justify my position to you. You and I are friends. There's no need for me to impress you after our... shall we say complex past dealings."

"I certainly wouldn't mind having you blow my mind again," Childe nudged.

Zhongli cracked another smile. Childe was sure he hadn't seen him enjoy himself so much in ages... was Childe's predicament amusing to him? "I fully intend to, someday," Zhongli told him slyly. Turning serious just as quickly, though, he explained:

"Adeptus' wine is the only thing that could erase a stretch of time from my memory." Zhongli folded up his menu and returned it to the bin. "As the God of Contracts, it is my burden to remember every moment I have witnessed... even those I would do anything to forget. When I indulge myself on the amber wine of Mt. Hulao, I often wake up in the morning with no recollection of the night's events. It is... liberating, in a way. It's human—mortal—to forget."

Childe wasn't sure what to say. The last thing he wanted to do was try and defend himself: "hey, mortals still remember the important things!" Any joke he could try and make to lighten the mood would make everything a thousand times worse. And any comfort he tried to offer would be hollow at best. That shouldn't have been a problem—he could always come up with some sweet nothing to pad the silence. But Zhongli's candor made it feel wrong to be dishonest. Sure, he had said it was because he didn't care. But if he hadn't cared, he would have lied.

Childe was saved by a bored-looking waitress. She appeared at their table with a notepad and cracked her knuckles before asking, "Are you guys ready to order yet?"

After glancing at Childe for confirmation, Zhongli answered. "Yes, I believe so. We will have a bottle of dandelion wine for the table, a plate of jade parcels, and a bowl of the stone harbor's delicacies."

"And a chili chicken for me," Childe added. "Extra Jueyun chilies."

The waitress smirked at that request, taking in Childe's orange hair and Snezhnayan Vision. Without another word, she headed back to the kitchen. Childe looked at Zhongli and found him hiding a childish grin behind his hand.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Nothing." Zhongli cleared his throat. "How about we get started on our plan?"

"Right, right, of course." Childe picked a salt shaker out of the basket and slid it across the table between his hands. With a wink at Zhongli, he added, "I'm sure you don't think I'm no so weak I'll be defeated by my own dinner."

"I never said that." Zhongli held up a gloved finger. 

"No, no, you cover your bases nicely, o god of technicalities."

Zhongli threw up his hands. "Alright, alright. I'm sure you can handle your spices. Now, can we get started on our business here?

Childe wished he had a drink to sip haughtily. He briefly considered the salt shaker, but given how chapped his lips were, drinking salt seemed like a death sentence. Instead, he just rolled his eyes. "You're right. I wouldn't want to be too much of a drag on your busy schedule."

Zhongli seemed to consider his next words carefully. "Before we begin..." he said, dropping his voice. "If  all goes well, our plan should ensure that we are not challenged by the Fatui until your family are safely in godless waters. However, there can be no avoiding the discovery of their absence. When the Tsaritsa learns of your betrayal, there will no doubt be retribution in store for you. I am sure you know this, but... are you prepared to face her wrath?"

Childe licked his lips. "Yeah," he answered, and he was pretty sure he meant it. "It was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn't it?"

"There is no ideal circumstance to challenge a god," Zhongli sympathized.

"I got away with it once!" Childe reminded him. "Who knows, maybe I can charm my way into her good graces just like I have yours."

"You think it's your charm that draws me to you, hmm?" 

"If it's something else about me you like, I'm all ears," Childe teased.

They were interrupted by their waitress returning, loudly popping her chewing gum as if to announce her presence. She set their table with two long-stemmed glasses and the bottle of dandelion wine. With deft hands, she uncorked the bottle, then poured wine for each of them before leaving again in silence.

"This isn't the Liyuean style, right?" Childe said, picking up his glass to watch the liquid inside. The wine's scent was bitter and light, not at all unpleasant.

"It is not," Zhongli replied. "I do quite like the attempt at preserving the Mondstadt feel."

He took a sip of the alcohol, and Childe followed suit. The taste was nothing special. Vaguely herbal, and its strength was nothing compared to Snezhnayan fire-water or Inazuman sake. That certainly wasn't a bad thing. When drinking stronger liquors, Childe often had to secretly water down his drink with Hydro to avoid getting drunk on the job.

"A bit flat," Zhongli said, echoing Childe's sentiment. "Certainly not up to the exacting standards of Dawn Winery."

Childe could tell that Zhongli was about to try and put the conversation back on track. "Before we go on," he said, hoping to head his friend off at the pass: "I just want to say that... even though I'm not powerful enough to take on the rest of the Eleven, or the Tsaritsa herself—not yet, anyway! I'm willing to do whatever it takes to keep my family safe."

The way Zhongli's hand moved, Childe could have sworn he was going to rest it on Childe's; but either Childe's knowing smile or the fact that they both knew better made him draw back. Instead, he sipped his wine.

"I can offer you protection in Liyue," Zhongli said. "Establishing your family's legal residency will be the easiest part of this plan. An adeptus' letter of recommendation should be more than enough to get them through the Ministry of Civil Affairs with all haste."

"Not your recommendation, right? Seeing as how you're dead and all."

Zhongli smiled sheepishly. "No, not mine. I can reach out to some old friends for help in this case. Of course, that may prove difficult..." he shook his head. "Never mind that. Speaking of old friends: are you familiar with Captain Beidou of the Crux fleet?"

"Yeah, I've heard of her, of course. It seems like everyone in the Harbor has had dealings with her at some point."

"Indeed so. Captain Beidou's crew has many areas of expertise... both within and outside the law. I probably shouldn't disclose too much here—" Zhongli pointed a thumb at the other tables in the restaurant, "but escorting fugitives by sea would be well within her wheelhouse. If that is something you would be comfortable considering, there is no one more capable."

"Are her ships outfitted to break through the ice?" Childe asked. "Outside of the major trading ports, the shore is blocked off by miles of the stuff."

"I don't believe they are," Zhongli said. "Admittedly, the majority of her clients are either Vision bearers who can use teleport waypoints, or simply lower-profile than a Fatui Harbinger. That is why, if it's necessary to avoid the ports, I think it may be a good idea to hire an additional person, to escort Beidou's ship to Morepesok safely."

Childe decided to ignore the weird fact that Zhongli knew the name of his home village. "Where would we get a Pyro user?" he asked. "Anyone that powerful in Liyue would have been snapped up by the Fatui or the Qixing by now."

"A Pyro Vision would be useful, but there are other means of achieving the same end."

"Just what do you have in mind, Mr. Zhongli?"

"You make it sound so nefarious." Zhongli laughed, sounding a little bashful. "I was only going to offer to accompany you, if you'll have me."

"What? Why would you do that?" Childe was too stunned for tact.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't" Zhongli replied evenly.

"No, no, of course not." Childe shook his head like he was trying to dislodge a rock from his brain. "I mean, I've been to Guyun Stone Forest; I know what you can do. But... I mean... don't you have things to attend to here in Liyue?"

Zhongli shrugged. "I'm still on leave. Without revealing my true identity, I have little authority here. And the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor is outgrowing a need for my knowledge—a development I am quite happy with. In short: I'm free to help, and I'd like to."

Instead of responding, Childe took a swig of wine. He pulled a cloth napkin from the basket, and pulled a pen out of his pants pocket.

"What are you—" Zhongli began.

"Like you always say, Mr. Zhongli: a contract needs certain terms." He wrote on the napkin, in his best Liyuean script, and read aloud to Zhongli: "Ahem. In this deal, Mr. Zhongli provides his connections with Beidou and the adepti, and his stone spears to single-handedly escort a ship all the way to Snezhnaya. And the Fatuus Childe provides..."

He let Zhongli finish the sentence. His friend considered his answer with a slight furrow in his brow.

"The Tsaritsa's Mora, for one," he reminded Childe. "To provide for the journey and compensate Beidou for her services: an essential piece of the puzzle."

"I dunno." childe scribbled down Zhongli's addition, then turned the napkin around so Zhongli could read his list. "Id doesn't seem like a balanced contract to me. It doesn't feel like both... what's the word?"

"Parties."

"—Like both parties are getting the same benefits from this deal."

Zhongli took a sip of his wine, looking amused. "What are you accusing me of?" he asked sharply.

"I just want things to be fair," Childe said, shrugging. "You know, to honor the Liyuean tradition of equity."

Zhongli glanced at the napkin. "You spelled 'adepti' wrong," he pointed out.

Childe took the napkin back. "What? Oh, darn, you're right."

Zhongli laughed a little. "That doesn't make it any less binding an agreement," he assured Childe. "Nor does the fact that you've ruined this fine establishment's property..." he cleared his throat. "It is my duty to honor any request for fairness in a contract, of course. So, what do you think would even out the score?"

Stay here and let me handle it alone, Childe wanted to say. He didn't deserve a god's help to personally fix all his mistakes. Zhongli's time would have been better spent watching paint dry, but he couldn't just say that. He should have been grateful for Zhongli's help, but instead he felt like this meeting was a self-indulgent waste of time. What did Zhongli get out of this deal, really?

At Childe's continued silence, Zhongli leaned back in his seat, sighing to himself. 

"How about this?" Zhongli proposed. "When we return from Snezhnaya, you must do me one favor. It can be large or small, and I will define its terms. You must complete my request yourself, and in a timely fashion, using whatever means you see fit. Does that seem fair to you?"

"Sure," Childe answered quietly. "That sounds perfect."

He added Zhongli's terms to the napkin contract. "Anything else to add, sir?"

"How about a clause stipulating that neither of us will reveal the other's true identity, unless express permission is given. I will keep your secret as a Fatui Harbinger, and you must keep mine as an adeptus, and as the former Rex Lapis. You know what, give me the pen."

Childe handed it over. "Just don't sneak anything in there I wouldn't like," he joked.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Your hanzi is just atrocious."

"Hey, it isn't that—"

Childe stopped himself when he saw Zhongli's calligraphy. Even on the uneven surface of the napkin, every stroke of the pen was a work of art. Childe wanted to hang it up on his wall... and burn the parts he had written himself.

"Dude, is that one of our napkins?" The waitress was back, and if she hadn't been holding two trays Childe imagined that she would have stabbed a finger at the both of them.

Zhongli shook his head. "No, no," he lied, clearly thinking on his feet. "This is an ascot belonging to my friend here. He simply didn't have any paper on hand."

The waitress sighed exaggeratedly, and set both trays down on the table. She served Childe his chicken, Zhongli his stir fry, and tossed the jade parcels on the table. Then she topped off both men's wine glasses and stuck out her tongue as she left.

"Be careful," Zhongli warned, despite what he had said earlier. "Jueyun chilies have a unique flavor that can be difficult to adjust to."

The aroma of Childe's food was confirmation enough of that. The rich pepper and sizzling chicken stung his nose, but made his mouth water. The dumplings let off a steady cloud of steam, and Zhongli's dish glistened with sauce. Childe hadn't realized until just now how hungry he was, and how much he had been craving a hot meal.

"Don't worry about me," he told Zhongli. "In Snezhnaya, eating spicy food is one of the few good ways to get truly warm. I'm an old pro at this."

Zhongli grabbed his own chopsticks and took a bite of potatoes and violetgrass. His face betrayed nothing—he was probably just overanalyzing the flavor of the dish—but Childe felt sure Zhongli was judging him as he picked up his chopsticks in his right hand, and shoved them into place with his left. He'd found we was equally bad with either hand.

Delicately, he dipped the ends of the chopsticks into his bowl. The sticks slipped off each other without even touching any of the meat slices. When he was sure Zhongli wasn't looking, he stabbed his chopstick through a piece of chicken and quickly popped it in his mouth.

The chilies burned his mouth like gallons and gallons of dandelion wine thrown onto a wooden building and set alight. Instantly, his eyes glazed over with tears and his nose ran right into his mouth. Everything was sauce and slime and fiery pain. Black smoke might as well have been running down his throat, coating his stomach with soot. He squeezed his eyes shut against the urge to spit out the food and pour bleach down his gullet—moving his mouth would just make the burning worse. The chicken piece squirmed on his tongue, if that was his tongue, and not just a piece of flaming flesh torn from somewhere else in his unresponsive mouth.

"Childe, are you alright?" Childe had never heard Zhongli this alarmed, even if his tone was still plenty polite. Childe nodded... he felt a trickle of something escape his mouth, and dribble down the front of his chin. He couldn't feel his face, but if he had to guess what he looked like, a hilichurl stung by bees came to mind.

The only napkin on the table was their contract. Without thinking, he scraped his chin with the hem of his shirt. Then, with only the barest movement of his mouth, he choked down the meat he had clenched between his teeth. It could have been his chicken, or the bloodied remnant of his tongue, but as soon as it was gone, he grabbed his wine glass and chugged every last drop.

Zhongli winced in either compassion or disgust. With his own blurry chopsticks, he picked up a blurry piece of what Childe assumed was food. "Here... try some potatoes."

He held the piece of potato up to Childe's mouth. Just a few centimeters away, but Childe's eyes were stinging even worse now. He blinked slowly. "Mut...?" he stammered.

"It'll temper the heat," Zhongli clarified. He moved the potato even closer, until it grazed Childe's quivering lips. The touch seemed to grind the chili sauce further into Childe's skin, but just as viciously scrubbed away the burning taste.

Childe wasn't sure what was more embarrassing: being bested by some chilies, or being turned into some kind of mewling creature in front of Mr. Zhongli. Zhongli's face swam in Childe's eyes, which felt like they were melting in acid. The longer Childe tried and failed to pretend he didn't need his friend's help, the longer the factory explosion in his mouth would burn.

He opened his mouth, ignoring the soggy mess that gushed from it like a sucking arrow wound. He leaned forward, wrapped his lips around the potato, and gingerly tugged it from the chopsticks' grasp.

The starch seemed to flood his mouth, drowning out the burning ache of the peppers. He heaved a sigh of relief. Wiping his eyes on the stained hem of his shirt, he was finally able to see Zhongli reaching for the bottle of wine, and for Childe's glass. Childe snatched them both out of Zhongli's hands, poured himself another glass, and washed down the last dregs of the inferno.

"Better?" Zhongli asked. He didn't sound nearly as entertained as Childe thought he would be.

"Yeah, much better," Childe gasped. He could feel his face flushing bright red. Hopefully just from the chilies—or the wine, now that he had the benefit of hindsight. "I, ah, should have listened to you, huh?"

"Just...approach more carefully next time." Zhongli gave him a lopsided smile. "Considering your reaction to my help, it would be a shame if you were to require it again."

So, he'd noticed. Childe was sure his entire body was bright red. Given the lack of feeling in his mouth and nose, he wouldn't have been surprised if he was bleeding. He ran his thumb across his cheek, but there was nothing there but spicy sauce. He licked it off with the tip of his tongue. In such a small dose, it was almost bearable.

"It's not so bad," he choked. "I'll be prepared this time."

Looking skeptical, Zhongli pushed the plate of dumplings closer to Childe's bowl.

"Regarding the contract," Zhongli tried to continue, "it is technically outside the reach of Liyue's law..."

He stoppped as Childe speared another piece of chicken, and gently nibbled on it. Childe's lips felt like they were going to fall off. The chicken was already cold, but the dry strings of meat were far less traumatic in smaller bites.

"...That considered..." Zhongli took a sip of wine. "Enforcement of the terms must necessarily fall to the contract holders themselves."

"Like what happened in the temple of the salt god?" Childe asked. He took another bite of chicken, but his teeth struck something crunchy. A chili—drat. He spit it into his hand, but the damage was done. The juices from the chili seemed to spread through his mouth like wildfire.

"Exactly," Zhongli confirmed. "Really, are you...?"

"I'm fine." Childe sneezed violently. His eyelashes were gummed up with dried tears.

"How did you find out about Havria's fate, anyway?"

"Lumine," Childe managed. "She was really impressed with the whole 'wrath of the rock,' thing. We met back up to spar again after she got back from Sal Terrae, and she couldn't stop talking about everything that went down."

"So, you're still friends? I'm glad..."

"Oh, of course." This time, Childe was careful to check his chicken for chilies. He took a bite, and the familiar pain shredded through his skin once again. "We meet up for drinks and battle, once a week at least."

"Has Lumine been drinking?" Zhongli asked urgently, with his mouth full even. "If that bard—"

"No, no way." Childe shook his head. His hairline felt sticky... was he sweating? He ran his knuckles across his forehead. His skin was feverishly hot. That couldn't have been a good sign.

"Childe..."

Zhongli's voice was soft. He picked up their napkin contract, and bunched it up in his fist. "You're bleeding," he told Childe.

"Hmm?"

"Your lip, it's split."

Zhongli passed Childe the napkin, seeming almost reluctant to let it go. Zhongli gestured to the center of his own bottom lip, showing Childe where to dab. Childe brushed the napkin across his face. A scarlet streak marred Zhongli's perfect handwriting.

"Um..." Childe held the napkin out to Zhongli. "We probably shouldn't have stained our contract."

Zhongli got to his feet. Bracing one arm against the table, he offered his hand to Childe. "It's far too warm in here," he said briskly. "How about we finish this talk outdoors?"

"S-sure." Warily, Childe took Zhongli's hand, and let him pull him into a standing position. "As long as..."

"Don't worry about the contract," Zhongli told him. "I won't forget any of its contents."

Oh, just Childe's luck.

Chapter Text

The streetlights had come on in Liyue Harbor, and the long shadows they cast followed Childe and Zhongli out of the bar. Childe hoped that the dim firelight would make his rough red skin look less noticeable. He turned up the sleeves of his shirt to examine the burn that crept up from his hands; from the look of his wrists, his whole body must have been flushed. In that respect, the cool of the evening was a much-needed balm. Childe shook out his damp hair with his fingers.

The plaza was still as busy as ever. Maybe not rush-hour busy, but the thick crowds milling at vendors and glancing anxiously at pocket watches told Childe that there must have been a show on tonight. He was a little surprised that Zhongli hadn't chosen to make an appearance at the Heyu Teahouse—regardless of whatever other business he had, the "mysterious consultant" had a reputation for never missing an important performance.

"Let's avoid the crowds," Zhongli suggested. "The Harbor at night is a livelier place than suits my mood. What do you say?"

Childe clawed open his swollen throat in time to respond. "Let's go by the docks," he choked in agreement. "The water's nice."

Zhongli tapped his chin with his finger, like he was carefully considering the proposal. "Yes," he mused, "a fantastic idea. Let's take the back roads."

Gesturing with the wine bottle Childe must have forgotten he'd picked up, he shooed Zhongli forward. "You're the boss," he said.

Zhongli led him to the secluded alleys behind the dozens of restaurants on Chihu Rock's strip. Beyond the railing on the southern side, the ocean waves splashed against the sheer, man-made cliff. The scent of sea salt mingled deliciously with the evening's leftovers of meat, fish, and vegetables, as if they were being pickled in the air. It made him miss his mother's okroshka, and tossing tomatoes at his younger siblings to see how many they could catch in their mouths. Tonia had incredible pickle-catching dexterity, but Teucer had to be gently coaxed away from the tomatoes that fell half-smashed on the floor.

"Back in the day," Zhongli said, somehow only adding to Childe's reverie, "the sharks that lived in these waters would await the evening's cooking scraps off this very pier. It was a high-risk endeavor for them, however. They were just as likely to receive a meal as to have their own fins turned into soup. In the end, when their migration cycles were thrown off by their reliance on human food, a law was put into place that prohibited dumping kitchen waste into the sea."

"That's such a shame," Childe remarked. "In Snezhnaya, the only way we can fish is through the ice. We bore a round hole in the ice, and drop down our lines. When the fish come to the lure, the sharks are attracted to how still they're being and surround the school. The fish are trapped between the sharks and our lines. Everyone eats well, and if you're lucky, the sharks will come right up to you hand after." He held his hands about a foot apart to demonstrate: "They're about this big. They bite like nobody's business, but their hide is amazing to pet."

"Is that so?" Zhongli pulled a face. "I must admit, I have no taste for... those sorts of creatures."

"Scared?" Childe teased.

Zhongli just puffed out his cheeks and sighed, holding out his hand for the bottle of wine. Childe handed it over, and Zhongli took a swig.

"Hey..." Childe knew there was no good time to kill the mood like this. "Sorry I kinda threw a wrench into our plans."

"It's no problem at all," Zhongli said automatically. "The night isn't over yet."

"All the same, don't blame me if I feel a little embarrassed."

Zhongli handed back the bottle of wine. "I won't try to tell you shouldn't feel that way," he said flatly. "But your shame will trouble you alone. Don't think you ought to suffer on my account."

Childe examined the mouth of the bottle.

"I'm trying to say, I don't think any less of you."

The need for a drink made Childe's mouth water more than the lingering chili spice, but he hesitated to drink straight from the bottle. Another man's spit was on this. Finally, though, he took a reluctant sip, doing his best not to backwash.

"You don't have to reassure me," he told Zhongli.

"I know. I just know the feeling all too well."

Childe rolled his eyes. "You seem like the type," he said sarcastically. "Only the strongest nations worship puffy-faced screw-ups."

Graciously, Zhongli didn't comment on the uncharacteristic swear. "On the contrary," he said cheerily. "The image the gods project often belies a much less divine truth."

Childe raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He passed the bottle to Zhongli, who drank without hesitation. "Oh, yes," Zhongli answered. "I have a great many stories I'm sure my old friends would be all too happy to spread. Especially after my supposed death."

"Maybe I should hear some of them from the horse's mouth," Childe prodded. "Just so I don't get the wrong idea." 

Zhongli cracked a smile. "You think you're so slick, don't you?"

"Tell me I'm wrong."

"Very well then." Zhongli returned the wine to Childe, and propped one hand behind his back the way he always did before launching into a tale. "If it's a story you want, I'm more than happy to oblige."

Childe took another drink. He had been right, and more so now: Zhongli's spit was all over the glass. Probably Childe's too. It was far from the most unsanitary thing he'd done. What unnerved him was how little Zhongli seemed to care. Then again, he was drinking too.

"Believe it or not, despite my current appearance, my main role in the war to establish Liyue's founding was as a warrior. I was no scholar in those days, certainly not a gentleman of means. The adepti and I fought bitterly against the forces of chaos; there was no time for the niceties of history and science."

"I believe it," Childe said before he could stop himself. Sure, Zhongli's silk coat didn't belong to a professional soldier, but his broad chest and shoulders didn't belong to a pencil-pushing nerd either.

"Are you going to continue interrupting me?" Zhongli asked, though Childe caught him smiling cheekily.

"I'll try not to."

With a nod, Zhongli continued: "However, the continued peace of the nation of Liyue could not be guaranteed through war, nor governed with a spear. Moon Carver and Cloud Retainer especially had their issues with my... methodology. How I thought with my fists rather than my head.

"Fortunately for me, Carver had caught wind of a wise old master now living in the lands to the northwest. The master had once been a teacher of the martial arts, but when his students had no more need of arms, he taught them the arts instead. Teamaking, calligraphy, rhetoric, diplomacy. As the story was told to me, Carver and Retainer got into an argument regarding me, and the next morning, they had orders for me to travel overland to learn at the feet of this wise old master. And so, with my most trusted Yakshas, I set off across Liyue."

The pair moved down the hill, passing sprigs of glaze lily shoots that crept out from the roots of well-trimmed red maples. The alley rejoined the main road through a half-hidden gate. The docks were no quieter than they had been in all the time Childe had spent in Liyue, but the night brought a kind of subdued energy to the workers on shift. They walked in orderly lines, only speaking to each other in barked orders and brief nods. Under the sounds of steel-toed footsteps and the din of hammers, Childe could hear ships' bells, rhythmic and clear. He found himself glancing back, to see if the glaze lilies were glowing. Even though he knew they could hardly be classed as a song.

"For the next few weeks, we journeyed over the mountains. Of course, the monsters were an obstacle, but the real issue was that no one knew where this old master lived. Even Moon Carver had no idea of his specific location. It seemed there was no trace of the sword master, no matter how hard we looked. 

"Before long, though, a great serpent emerged from the earth, halting us in our tracks. It was so titanic, it blocked out the sun, and when it reared its ugly head, just one of its glistening fangs could span the height of Mt. Tianheng."

"No way."

Zhongli winked. "I said I'd tell you a story, didn't I? I never said I wouldn't embellish a little."

"No, no, please, go on. Now you've got me hooked."

"The serpent could have crushed Liyue Harbor in a single strike. The Yakshas and I knew we had to act. We challenged the beast, though our weapons were toothpicks against its impenetrable hide. Its attacks were viscious, faster than any beast that size had any right to move. My companions and I battled against it with all our strength for seven days and nights until, in one decisive, coordinated strike, we destroyed the serpent, and scattered its remains to prevent its return."

Childe took another drink.

"We were exhausted after the battle, and returned to Moon Carver's abode in shame. We told him that we had had no luck in finding the old master, and that we were instead waylaid by an enormous serpent. This news seemed to agitate the old stag. Much to our confusion, he started asking very specific questions. 'Did the serpent attack outright?' 'What color were its scales?' 'Where, exactly, did you encounter the beast?' Our confusion mounted, and our answers seemed to agitate Carver. As his frustrations mounted, I gathered up the courage to ask him  what the matter was." Zhongli chuckled to himself. "I'll never forget the look on his face as he locked eyes with me, and growled, in the most impossibly disappointed tone: 'That was the old master.'"

Childe hiccupped up a laugh. He tried to stifle it with a hand sloppily plastered over his mouth. He wasn't sure how funny a totally sober Childe would have found the joke. Zhongli seemed pleased with himself, though. Points in Childe's favor.

"I would have loved to have seen Meathead Zhongli," he coughed. The wine seemed to grate along the blisters in Childe's throat. "Beating a dragon that big in a week? If we had fought back then..."

"Our battle would have been legendary," Zhongli agreed.

Childe gently shoved his friend's ribs. "Why didn't you tell me who you were before handing over your Gnosis? You could have at least offered to beat me up a little."

"At the time, I wasn't sure if that would have been well-received."

"C'mon, you know me. I'm always ready for a fight. You could have stabbed me in my sleep, and I'd have thanked you."

"...I'm not so sure that's healthy."

"Would you have killed me, back then?"

Zhongli let out a long sigh. His steps slowed, and he leaned one arm against the dock's steel railing.

"If the need arose," he said quietly—hopefully just for the benefit of the workmen passing by. "I will always do what is necessary to defend Liyue. Nothing in my contract with the Tsaritsa would have prevented me from taking your life. I... wouldn't have enjoyed it, if that is your concern."

Childe forced a smile. "That makes me feel a little bad," he said. "It would have been my pleasure to be the one to do you in."

"You wouldn't have missed me?" Zhongli teased.

"Sure I would have." Childe shrugged. "You're—" He stopped himself. "Um, either way, one way or another, our little charade couldn't have lasted forever. Might as well get one good fight in before the inevitable."

"Is it so inevitable that we should part? I'm sure your soon-to-be-former master's war on the world has nothing to do with a humble funeral parlor attendant." 

Childe just shrugged again

Turning serious: "Rex Lapis' rivalry with the Cryo Archon is no more. With his power in her hands, our contract is satisfied. I will continue to defend Liyue in any way I can, but my nation is in mortal hands now. and you, too, are the master of your own fate."

"You really believe that?"

"Who else could dictate it?"

About a million answers came to mind. He discarded the obvious suspects immediately. The Abyss wasn't supposed to control him anymore. Skirk was deep, deep Abyss. People that far down didn't usually come back. And by the time the Tsaritsa realized he was gone, he'd be aboard a pirate ship armed for smuggling. Neither of those were good enough for Zhongli. Nothing he'd said tonight had been. He couldn't tell if Zhongli was playing a trick on him, or if it had never occurred to Zhongli that Childe was mortal, and powerless, and an idiot.

So he just shook his head.

"How much have you had to drink?" Zhongli asked gently. They headed down the stairs to a cluster of fishing boats lined up on the water for the night. Childe walked across the water without a second thought, while Zhongli summoned a long pillar of Geo to walk just above the surface without getting his loafers wet.

"I know that contract wasn't fair," was Childe's only answer.

Zhongli's brows knit as he caught up to Childe. "How so?" he asked.

"You don't think it's unfair because you got everything you want. But you don't... want..." A violent hiccup ended Childe's train of thought.

"What don't I want?"

"Anything, from me." Child took another swig of wine as they headed through the market. "That's the pat I don't get. You're the god of commerce. give and take. Not just give, and..."

"Would you rather I took something from you?"

"Why would you even bother helping me?"

Zhongli took the bottle from Childe and finished off the last dregs of wine himself. "I'm a god," he said simply. "It's my job to answer prayers."

"Not an answer."

"Then what answer do you want?"

"I don't think gods are supposed to answer prayers cont...continent? Uh... contingent on a dinner date."

"Then what if I told you I was content with doing a favor for a friend?"

A favor for a friend, huh? Child hadn't really considered them the kind of friends who did favors for each other. In all the time he'd known Zhongli, all he'd done was try and trick or schmooze his friend, not that it ever worked. As much as the implication that they were real friends made his blood rush in his eyes—no doubt a side effect of the wine, and hopefully nothing more—there was no way it could be true. 

"Why is it so important why I've offered you my help?" Zhongli asked. "Can't you just accept a good thing?"

The question Childe had been dreading. He knew Zhongli too well to expect him not to ask. But procrastinating answering it had given him a false sense of security, one that now lay in pieces at his feet.

"I dunno," he mumbled. "I guess I've just been sorta curious whether anyone could ever care about me."

He forced a wide smile. He felt the split in his lip deepening, and blood trickling down his chin in a familiar pattern. For some reason, it didn't occur to him to wipe it away.

Zhongli grabbed his arm, making him stumble a little. Childe blinked, more disoriented than confused. His brain seemed to bubble up and foam at the top of his skull. Zhongli's hand kept him steady as he swayed to a halt.

"My apologies," Zhongli said quietly. He released Childe's arm as quickly as he had grabbed it, as if admonishing his own hand for betraying him. "That was rude of me.

"S'fine," Childe muttered. He glanced up at Zhongli's face, nervously swiping his tongue over his bloody lip. "What do you..."

Zhongli cleared his throat. "I hope you will not mind my saying this, Childe, but... I care about you."

As Childe met his eyes, Zhongli seemed to stiffen, his hands tucked in fists in his pockets. His face was kind, stoic, and gentlemanly enough, but there was an almost boyish quality in the way his eyes flickered away from Childe's. "I care about you." It wasn't a confession by any stretch of the imagination. And yet, Zhongli seemed as though he was guilty of keeping some deep secret. Childe could almost, almost see him as a puffy-faced screw-up. Could almost see him as human. A beautiful, refined, human man with his hat in his hand.

Zhongli spoke softly. "Should we say goodbye here, then?" he asked, the baritone gravitas of his voice bringing Childe back to the real world. The real world, where gods were all-powerful and humans had to keep from getting blood on their shirts. "I wouldn't want to agitate Mr. Scaramouche."

Childe's gaze followed Zhongli's to the stoop of the hotel. He hadn't realized they were so close to home. Right. Stuff to do. They had a plan. Soon, Childe would be out of Zhongli's hair for good.

"Sure," he agreed. "Yeah. That guy has way too many knives. Don't even worry about it."

"Of course," Zhongli said quietly. "Then I'll bid you goodnight."

"Goodnight, Mr. Zhongli."

"And, thank you for tonight!" Zhongli smiled thinly; it seemed like he was as unwilling to leave off on a sour note as Childe was. "Our time was short, but, as usual, your hospitality went unmatched."

Childe snorted. His response was even more forced: "We'll have to do it again sometime."

His shaking hands scraped the room key against the doorknob a half a dozen times before he located the keyhole, another half before he figured out which direction to turn the key. He didn't even bother taking off his mask before flopping face first into his bed. A horrible decision: he heard a distinct cracking sound coming from the top left of his head.

Whatever. That was a problem for tomorrow's Childe.

Scaramouche lazily turned the page in his book. Childe didn't understand how someone could spend so much time reading by lamplight, but Scara was inhumanly good at being smug. He licked his thumb to turn over the leaf as noisily as he could, before asking, cool as you please:

"So, how was your date?"

Childe turned over and jammed a pillow over his own face.

Chapter Text

When Childe woke up the morning after his "date" with Zhongli, as Scara wouldn't quit putting it, his skin had erupted into a leathery mess of bulging scarlet hives. He spent the morning sitting on the floor of the shower until the hot water ran out, and then Scara dragged him to Bubu Pharmacy. A little girl with pallid hands diagnosed him with a nightshade allergy and recommended a strict ban on chilies, eggplants, and tomatoes. To celebrate his return to health, Scara bought him a spaghetti and forced him to eat it at knifepoint. It took Dr. Bai's herbs a week to work after that. Scara disappeared on the third day—good riddance—but Childe's skin was finally clear by the time the Tsaritsa summoned him to speak with her in person.

He teleported from Liyue's west end early in the morning. As the frigid air enveloped him, his Delusion sparked uncomfortably. He tapped a finger against the pendant as it rapidly opened and closed. It burned his hand where he touched it, but this was a process he was used to. If the Delusion wasn't properly adjusted to the temperature, rushing straight into battle—or, Celestia forbid, the Cryo Archon's palace—would end up in an explosive trip to the medical officer.

The Delusion sputtered shut slowly, and Childe took the time loss as an opportunity to survey his surroundings. Built into the summit of the highest mountain in Snezhnaya, the Winter Palace towered even higher. Its crystal spires pierced the whirling clouds, bending the snowstorm around the bright globes that topped each of the half-dozen towers. The carved façade of pure snow loomed over a steep black cliff, spiderwebbed with roads and ramps and stairs barely clinging to the volcanic granite. It was as imposing a sight as anything Childe had seen in all the seven nations, and no less dangerous.

As usual for this time of morning, a few squads of armored Fatui hauled shipments up the scaffold. Their every move was watched closely by the armed sicin mages stationed at every bend. Childe nodded politely to each of the patrols as he climbed the stairs. None of them seemed particularly interested in returning the greeting. As usual. It was only when he looked over his shoulder that he caught them shooting each other glances behind his back. 

Cicin mages were notoriously gossipy. It's what made them such good palace guards. Still, he didn't often hear them snicker when he turned away. His first instinct was to draw his bow and teach them a lesson in respect for their Harbinger. He didn't think that would be terribly well-received at the moment, though.

 The guards at the main entrance didn't give him an inch either. They crossed their hammers in front of the heavy double doors, sending Electro sparks flying.

"Something troubling you, gentlemen?" Childe asked.

The guard on the left tilted his head meaningfully. The other shrugged and lolled his head in what Childe assumed was the masked version of an eye roll. Leftie huffed.

 "Lord Tartaglia," he replied, a wicked smile barely concealed in the shadow of his mask. "We weren't expecting you for another hour. We thought you'd be busy in the Harbor."

"I didn't give Her Majesty a time she should expect me, Ivan," Childe said, taking a gamble on the name. "she told me urgently; I came urgently."

Jackpot. Leftie Ivan shuffled in his armor. The other guard took over: "We've been instructed to take extra care regarding all personnel coming and going. That includes even the Harbingers...and their boyfriends."

"Did something happen?" Childe asked. He hoped something had happened.

"Lord Scaramouche," Ivan blurted, before Rightie could say anything. 

"Scaramouche?" Childe laughed. "What did he do, steal the knives and forks?"

Rightie bit his lip. "No way, pretty boy. Lord Scaramouche is gone."

A pair of Pyroslingers accompanied Childe to the entrance of the throne room. Their identical masks followed his every move in total silence as he shoved aside the doors. They glided shut behind him, and he faced the Tsaritsa alone.

In all the years that Childe had served the Cryo Archon, and all the times he'd come face to face with her before, he had no definitive words to describe her. Inhuman was a good start. The blue-white sheen of her skin was inhuman, and the glassy edges of her high-boned face gave her a beauty he'd never seen in any ordinary mortal. But the way her breath cooled in a haze of mist between her painted lips was eerily human. Someone so...statuesque in her motionless stance in the throne shouldn't have to breathe. The frozen tips of her fingernails grazed the hem of her skirt. The seamless weave of hair-thin crystals of ice snapped, deafeningly, in the silence of the chamber.

Childe dropped to one knee, avoiding her gaze. It would be improper to meet the eyes of an Archon without her permission, obviously.

"Lord Tartaglia." The Tsaritsa's voice hummed like the plucking of a theremin. "It's good to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual, your grace."

Childe stole a peek. The Tsaritsa's cold smile had already begun to thaw. "Your irreverence is wasted in the land of contracts," she told him.

"Maybe my charm is just what they need," he said with a smirk.

"Don't give yourself too much credit, now," she teased back.

He chuckled, and rested an elbow on his knee. "In that spirit, would it be too irreverent to ask why you wanted me here so urgently?"

His master nodded. "Of course." She steepled her fingers. "I'm sure you're already aware, Tartaglia, but the Balladeer has gone missing."

A simple enough statement, but it dripped with accusation. It had been a week since Scara had left. Surely, Childe hadn't been the last person to see him.

"I'd heard," he replied.

"After the unfortunate fate that befell La Signora," the Tsaritsa said briskly. "I was anxious for your safety."

"Aw, there's no need to worry about me, your majesty. I make far too much of a mess when I'm cornered for you to ever lose track of me like that."

"You certainly are easy to find," the Tsaritsa purred. "I fear the same cannot be said for Scaramouche."

"Is that a short joke?" Childe asked. "Or are you saying it's possible he's betrayed you?" 

Scara hadn't left the signal. He wouldn't cut ties without leaving Childe the signal. He promised.

"I must consider all possibilities," the Tsaritsa answered thinly.

"He was the most passionate out of all of us," Childe argued, aware of the danger of his impudence. "As a Harbinger, he would have followed you to the ends of the earth."

Unless a better opportunity came along, of course. Unless Baal's mortal form happened to frequent Hanamizaka. Tenshukaku unguarded...too good to pass up.

The Tsaritsa tossed a hand. "His loyalty was always centered on his own good. He feared nothing, he cared for nothing. His only goal was to destroy."

Childe shook his head. He didn't know why that description annoyed him, but he pushed that question down for now. "If he intended to betray you all along, your grace, I wasn't able to see the signs. I'm sorry"

"Before he disappeared, he came to visit me unannounced." The Tsaritsa's words hardened as she shifted in her seat. "He told me you were laid up in bed with some kind of illness."

"Yes, ma'am. It ended up being bad food poisoning."

"The way he described it, it sounded as if you were dying. Tell me, Tartaglia, do you feel any better?"

"Much better. But it was pretty rough for the first week. I didn't even notice when Scaramouche left. He usually just leaves for missions without telling me. I assumed it was something confidential, and he'd be back in a month."

The Tsaritsa cocked her head to the side. She studied Childe with unblinking eyes, unmoving, as if she'd been carved in that position. In the silence, Childe could have sworn he could hear the sweat trickling down his neck.

"You aren't lying to me," she murmured after too long. "Not that I can sense, certainly."

"As if I'd dare to try, your majesty."

"Mm." The Tsaritsa seemed pleased with that answer. "We should talk somewhere more private. There is much we need to discuss."

The Tsaritsa led him through her deserted private quarters. The absence of the usual guards and palace staff in the dark, frigid hallways only grew more eerie the further they walked. If he screamed, no one would hear. Even if he collapsed and died, right here on the floor, his body would be so perfectly refrigerated that the next poor soul to find themselves here would just assume he had fallen asleep.

But his racing heartbeat slowed when he felt the heat and humidity creeping up from the thick black doors at the end of the final hallway. When she pulled them open with a quick jerk of her hand, Childe felt a wave of humid air wash over him, steaming off the icicles on his clothes. He could count the number of times he'd felt that on one Delusion factory worker's hand, but it was just as familiar every time. 

At the center of the caldera, suspended hundreds of feet above the roiling lava, a huge hanging garden bloomed. hundreds of thousands of pots and garden beds and trellises surrounded the massive rotunda. Every plant towered unnaturally tall and round and shiny. They were beautiful, the obvious work of the Fatui's Dendro Delusionaires. The flowers were in bloom year-round, and they never dropped petals or browned inside. It was beautiful, but hardly natural. Frozen outside of time, just like the Tsaritsa herself. 

But so much more alive and gentle.

The Tsaritsa leaned up against the railing at the center of the room. Childe followed her. The lava that glowed at the base of the caldera glowed with pure Pyro energy. He could feel the scalding heat on his face.

"It's beautiful," he said quietly. He ran his finger over the rail, collecting a trail of condensation on his finger. "More beautiful every time I visit."

"My one indulgence as the Cryo Archon." The Tsaritsa's voice softened. "This one moment of tranquility in the wastelands of my war. This garden, Tartaglia, is what all of Snezhnaya fights for. For peace. A reprieve. No matter what obstacles we face, how much they take from us, they can never take our dreams for a nation built in the image of this garden."

It was a speech Childe had heard many times before. It had never interested him. He could care less about peace. He wanted to fight. The Fatui gave him a target to fight, and he fought, and he usually won. It was easy, fast, and fun. He'd always assumed that it would be what did him in eventually. Fighting something suitably impressive, obviously.

He licked the condensation off his finger. Salty.

Yeah, peace didn't sound so bad right about now.

"Well, we could use a little greenery," he joked meekly.

The Tsaritsa rolled her eyes. "To enter this garden is a privilege, Tartaglia. Don't squander it just to be a nuisance."

"A nuisance?" Childe mocked offense. "I was only trying to provide some entertainment."

"Leave that to your long-winded 'friend' in Liyue Harbor." The Tsaritsa's voice was hard as stone.

Childe felt his stomach drop. "Is that why you wanted me all the way back here?" He laughed nervously. "To execute me in secret?"

"I don't want us to be overheard."

"That's not the answer I was hoping for."

"Scaramouche brought me some troubling intelligence."

Childe put up a hand to stop her., "Woah, woah woah woah. Whatever it is, I can explain."

"Explain what, exactly?" she replied, teasing.

"What did you hear about Mr. Zhongli?"

"The Balladeer tells me you two were quite...intimate."

Childe's face burned like chili peppers had been injected into his bloodstream. He gripped the railing with both hands to keep from reaching, instinctively, for his bow. Grinding his toes into the soles of his boots in a vain attempt to keep his face straight, he replied:

"Oh, um... is that so?"

The Tsaritsa's wan smile burned into him. "I'd like to hear your side of the story, then, if you don't mind."

"Mr. Zhongli and I went out for dinner two weeks ago. We'd done it a dozen times before. He's got decent insights about Liyue, and I didn't want to spend a nice evening in the hotel with Scaramouche. I ordered a spicy dish, got the hives, and went home. That's it. I swear."

"Are you sure?"

"It's like I said," Childe replied with his own shaky smile. "I wouldn't dare lie to you."

"I hope you've considered that answer carefully, Tartaglia," the Tsaritsa warned. "Morax is still influential in Liyue. There is always the chance that the Qixing could have something to do with Scaramouche's disappearance."

At Childe's seeming lack of a reaction—his fingers and toes were numb, but he'd do whatever it took—the Tsairtsa frowned. She tapped her long nails on the railing, taking her sweet time with her next words.

"If, for example..." she continued slowly "...if Morax wished to hide the evidence that Scaramouche had gathered regarding that old fool's relationship with you—"

"I'm not Rosie," Childe snapped. "I can't just make men do whatever I want!"

"La Signora, to you!" the Tsaritsa roared.

Every muscle in Childe's body froze. No one ever, ever raised their voice to the Tsaritsa. No one raised their voice to her and lived, anyway. Already, he could feel her sheer cold ripping through his body, shattering his spine and leaving him in a broken pile of icy goo. His Hydro attacks would be useless against her. Maybe his Delusion...he could superconduct her attack, if he was quick enough, and if the blast didn't kill him, too...

The Tsaritsa didn't move.

Childe didn't dare breathe. His master's face was frozen in place, her eyes fixed on his. They were grey, chipped and shattered in the iris like the face of a glacier. Like the face of a stopped clock.

Then a warm breath shuffled through her lips, after a long time.

"Y-your majesty," Childe stammered. "I am so, so sorry."

She bit her lip.

"As am I."

She turned her back to the caldera, bending back against the railing and inhaling a deep breath. 

"You had every right to correct me, ma'am. I was out of line, and—"

"Speak of it no more." The Tsaritsa closed her eyes.

He could jump into the caldera. He could form a bubble of Hydro and bury himself under the magma. He could drop to his knees and beg for mercy, banishment, imprisonment, anything but imminent death. Even regular death. He was good at escaping regular death. He saw her arms reach behind her, and he braced himself to fight.

No, she wasn't reaching for her weapon. She shook out her hair, stretched her shoulders, and turned to face him once again. It was a strangely human action.

"My plans for Morax will not come into effect for many lifetimes after yours," she told Childe. "For the time being, should he show the appropriate reverence, I would gladly welcome him to the Winter Palace as a friend. But friends, Tartaglia, are fleeting. True loyalty must be to that which one holds most sacred. You have pledged your service to me, Lord Harbinger. A fickle friend can only sway you from the true path to Snezhnaya's salvation. Beware, Tartaglia, that when you open your heart to a fickle friend, all that you hold dear can be destroyed in an instant."

She smiled a sour, hollow smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You are only useful to me whole. I would hate to see you hurt, my dear Tartaglia. How long have we been friends?

He knew what answer she wanted. "Almost my entire life, your majesty."

"You have grown so much from that boy who came to me from the sea." She ran her nail through Childe's hair, settling his messy curls, and sending a disgusted shiver down his spine. "You are so...nearly...perfect.

"You were never one to give up. You have all your ambitions in the palm of your hand. Whatever you pursue, make sure it is what you truly want."

Childe knew what he wanted. It wasn't the Tsaritsa's empty promises. It wasn't... whatever she was insinuating about him and Zhongli either. He didn't have to choose what to pursue. He'd made up his mind a long time ago.

"Your majesty," he said lightly, "you don't need to try and sell me so hard. If you keep talking, I might think you actually do want me to seduce Mr. Zhongli."

Thank the Archons it worked. The Tsaritsa laughed delicately behind her hand. "Don't push it, Tartaglia. I highly doubt you'd have the charisma to make such a thing possible."

Childe felt a familiar blush creeping up his neck. Scaramouche had definitely given her all the juicy details.

If the Fatui didn't find that little brat, Childe vowed he would hunt Scara down himself.

Chapter Text

Dear Mr. Zhongli,

The Fatui are having my mail searched. Apparently our marionette friend has gone missing, and suspicions are running high in the palace. So I'll keep this brief, to avoid embarrassing the poor desk jockeys in the mailroom :P

The prevailing theory is that Lord Scaramouche was intercepted en route to Sumeru. The Abyss Order is our most convincing suspect, although when has that ever not been the case? The fact that a Harbinger could just disappear, especially so soon after La Signora's unfortunate passing, has morale at an all-time low. As such, I'm being sequestered along with two of the other Eleven in the Winter Palace for the time being.

Her Benevolence, the Tsaritsa, seems to have been given some misguided intel about your last visit. Probably from the aforementioned mannequin, but that gossip is none of my business. Her Majesty seemed willing to let the accusation go, but you know how courtiers like to talk. For the sake of my ego, we probably shouldn't be seen together, at least until things blow over.

I'd tell you I'm looking forward to meeting up with you again, but then I'd get in trouble, wouldn't I? Palace security is always chomping at the bit to write me up for something. But they can't fault me for saying I'm looking forward to having the hotel room all to myself when I get back to Liyue ;)

Love, (but definitely just the friend kind)

Childe

Dear Traveller,

How's Sumeru treating you, girlie? You'll have to give me all the details at Good Hunter next time you have a spare moment. I've heard the conditions in the jungle are brutal—good. We don't want you getting soft on your long journey.

Don't worry, I didn't forget to get you that Liyuean wine you wanted. I made sure to properly disguise it this time. The box I'm sending you has a secret, Paimon-proof compartment in the bottom. Just don't finish this bottle as fast as you did that sake the other time, okay?  You know how quickly Bennett catches on, and Mr. Zhongli is already on my case about letting you hang out with that spooky nun.

Speaking of Mr. Zhongli, he actually asked me about you the other day. Yeah, I finally sucked it up. We went out to dinner the other night, and it went... about as badly as you'd expect. He was actually cool about the whole "secret identity" thing, mine and his. And, yes, you're allowed to show this part to your adventure team. I'm sure they'll get a kick out of my suffering. 

Have you and Mr. Zhongli kept in touch? It's been ages since you've been back in Liyue, and stationery isn't cheap, haha. (I'm sending you a whole packet of paper and stamps, so you don't have any excuse not to write me, you hear?) Actually, last I'd heard, you and Mr. Zhongli had gone out to Jueyun Karst to see if he knew anything about your brother. Oh—I won't pry about Aether. I was just curious if you'd seen Mr. Zhongli since. The two of you seemed really close before everything went down in the Golden House. (And no, I won't apologize to you for that until you visit Snezhnaya with me!) Maybe he has some info that you can squeeze out of him for me... for entirely above-board reasons, naturally.

Ugh, I'd gladly kill to be in Sumeru with you. The Fatui are having a meltdown after Poison Boy decided he was too good for us and dipped. Now everyone's blaming everyone, and the politics are teeth-grindingly banal. What I wouldn't give to grab my bow and rampage across the land with you by my side. I need to stretch my legs after so long cooped up in high society.

Best wishes,

Tartaglia

Most Mucous-Snouted Lord Harbinger Scaramouche,

I wasn't sure how I'd be able to get this letter to you, seeing as you're MIA and all. My initial idea was to make several copies and tie them to the legs of wild ravens. Eventually, their feeding habits would lead them to the carrion you leave behind in your wake. But, on second thought, I decided to have this letter sent to Tenshukaku to await your return. I'm told your mother is dying to see all the combat skills you've picked up over the centuries. 

For the time being, Her Majesty is willing to believe you've been taken against you will. If you have forgotten the oath you made to her, then the trust you've begrudgingly eked out of her over the years will give you a nice head start.

And if you've forgotten your oath to me, then you'd better take that head start.

When the rescue team find you, please reach out to your old friends. You can find me in Liyue Harbor, as always. I look forward to facing our enemies alongside you once again.

Buttface.

No particular wishes one way or the other,

Childe

Dearest Sister Tonia,

I was glad to hear that you'd been well enough to write recently. You know I always want to read your stories when they're ready! Me and some of the other salesmen pored over your last chapter. Or is it salesmen and I? You'd think I'd know these things by now. The dramatic tension between the two costars had us all on the edge of our seats. And when the old man finally bit the dust... We all got chills. You really are a cruel writer, you know? We were all rooting for that nice old guy.  I didn't cry, because I'm so tough, but everybody else cried.

(Okay, maybe I cried a little.)

Oh, and we can't forget the coded message! I stayed up all night using your cipher sheet to decode the writing on the temple wall. "When it's all over, meet me in the pit. Leave the snake in its own venom." Is that right? If it is, that's pretty cool. 

I actually took it upon myself to write you a coded message back. In the spirit of reciprocity, of course. It's just this letter in your cipher, to help me practice. Maybe one day we'll be able to write to each other back and forth entirely in code. We'd be like spies; how awesome would that be?

But don't you dare push yourself too hard. I'll be home to see you and the boys as soon as I can. Then we can catch up on your book in all the detail we can't here. I'll bring you all lots of presents from Liyue. Maybe even pirate treasure, who knows?

All my love,

Ajax

Chapter Text

Childe was able to exchange coded messages with Zhongli and the rest of the family over the next few weeks. There was still no sign of Scaramouche, and despite the other Harbingers' growing restlessness, the Tsaritsa refused to give up her search. Childe and his comrades were deployed to scour the face of the earth under round-the-clock surveillance, shaking down villages in remote parts of the world before returning to an equally fortified Zapolyarny Palace to await orders in separate, locked rooms.

Childe's one informant was his warden, Alyna, a giggly cicin mage who apparently hadn't gotten the memo that Childe didn't shoot for her team. She liked to end her shift with a smoke, and after Childe offered to lend her a spark to light up with, it became their routine to meet at his door in the evenings. She and her cicins were great smugglers. With her help, Childe was able to get his letters past the palace's mailroom, including dozens of forged money orders to the Northland Bank. Beidou's payment would come directly from the accounts of the more frugal Harbingers, and by the time Pantalone and the others were any the wiser, the Crux fleet's dummy accounts would have vanished off the face of the planet.

Far more valuable to Childe, though, was Alyna's information. According to her scarily specific eavesdropping, Her Majesty had suspicions of a coup planned by the other Harbingers. Which of the Eleven she suspected of such a conspiracy was still unclear. Within the Court of Fools, though, everyone was pointing fingers. Dottore and Sandrone were suspected of taking Scaramouche apart to build weapons. Pantalone told anyone who would listen that Capitano and the Abyss had lured the Sixth into their web. Pulcinella had pointed out that Columbina had been talking with Arleccino the day after the Balladeer had disappeared. Arleccino had punted the old man into the wall—not in response to the accusation of conspiracy, but for the slight of implying that she could ever stand to be in the same room as the Damselette. 

Alyna wasn't convinced that Scaramouche had disappeared as part of some grand plot. "Maybe the Sixth just fell in love," she had suggested. "Sometimes that happens, you know."

"Even to Harbingers?" Childe had responded through the keyhole.

She'd laughed. "Well, maybe! I mean, what's stopping you? The Great Thawing is a long way off. Sometimes people just want to live for themselves; to be happy in this lifetime."

She wasn't wrong there. Still, the idea of Scaramouche feeling anything besides detached contempt for a human being was laughable in Childe's mind. None of the Harbingers had gotten their seats at the feast without an unshakeable determination to screw over everyone else. Childe included. And there was a reason he was considered their weakest link.

When the day came for Childe to leave, Alyna summoned a storm of cicins under the cover of darkness. Between Childe's Delusion and the monsters' Cryo blasts, they were able to superconduct the grate over Childe's window, weakening it enough that it could be shattered with a bedpost. The cicins would disguise Childe's descent, three hundred feet down walls of marble, to the teleport waypoint at the servants' entrance. Childe packed a bag with socks, underwear, and seasickness medication. He stashed his belongings with the technique he usually used for stashing his bow and physical arrows, dissolving them in golden light and sending them off into... whatever weird ley line thing made that kind of space exist. He'd never actually been sure what was going on there. Maybe he'd ask Zhongli, if he ever got around to it. 

Alyna had declined his offer to take her with him. She trusted the Cryo Archon to take mercy on her for her oversight—after all, she was so helpless compared to the mighty Eleventh, she had reasoned, swooning sarcastically. When the coast was clear, Childe gave her a big hug, and a nice coldproof lighter personally expensed by Pierro.

The next morning, he followed Zhongli's instructions to Liyue Harbor. Even among the impressive merchant ships docked there, the Alchor stood out like a raptor among sparrows. Its dragon-shaped bow seemed to breathe down the necks of the other ships in the water, and its hull was as weathered and battle-scarred as its crew. Childe watched from a safe distance as it unloaded a few crates marked with a large orange skull. Then as the crew returned, Childe followed them up the gangplank. But before his foot crossed over to the deck, he found himself on the business end of a rusty cutlass.

"State your business, stranger," demanded the burly, bearded man at the sword's hilt.

"Captain Beidou and her guest are expecting me."

The man's face contorted in a scar-lipped snarl. "As if," he scoffed. "Our Captain has no patience for Fatui scum like you."

Childe shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant as the sword edged closer to his nose. "She should have told me that before she invited me here," he challenged.

"You can't fool me," the man barked. "Your kind may have the Qixing in your pocket, but you will never control Beidou."

"Control Beidou?" Childe raised his hands to defend himself. "Then we definitely have a misunderstanding. If the Fatui wanted any leverage over Beidou, they'd have to send a bit bigger of an army."

"Damn straight." a new voice said. Scratchy and languid, it belonged to a brunette woman with a crimson patch over her left eye. "Juza, stand down."

The man lowered his cutlass, though he didn't return it to the scabbard at his side. Beidou was an intimidating woman, shorter than Childe and built like a brick house. She wore a fur ruff and tall black boots, and a luxurious silk drape of the same silk as her eyepatch. She would never have been mistaken for a noblewoman, however. The gold pins in her hair and clothes were corroded and water stained. Her skin was weathered, crisscrossed with shiny scars and the telltale webbed pattern of old electrical burns. She crossed her arms, greeting Childe with a stern look.

"Welcome aboard, Fatui boy."

Childe stepped forward onto the deck. He bowed to Beidou, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Juza had done the same before taking his leave. "Thanks for having me," he said. "I appreciate this more than you know."

She chuckled. "Well, we here in the Crux fleet appreciate the Tsaritsa's Mora," she replied. "Especially when it's stolen."

"If I learned anything from the Fatui, it's how to leave an impression," Childe joked.

"You've certainly had one on Liyue Harbor," Beidou said, the quip laced with a dispassionate threat. "Don't worry—no one here knows who you really are. My crew knows you as an escaped footsoldier; let's keep it that way, shall we?"

Childe nodded. "Of course, ma'am. I don't want trouble any more than you do."

"Good, good." The captain glanced up at the sky, shielding her eye with her hand. "We're just waiting for your sponsor, here, and then we can set off."

"Mr. Zhongli?" Childe perked up. "Is he on his way?"

Beidou shook her head. "No, he's already on board. Kind of a cryptic fella, isn't he? He told us to look out for a messenger by air... Aha! now we're talking."

Childe turned around and followed her gaze to the sky. High above the harbor, he could see the shape of a lone blue heron, silhouetted against the sky. As it approached, he could see it was bigger than a normal bird, bigger than a normal person from the looks of it. The crew stopped to stare as it came to circle over the ship. A few whistled in awe. Gold flashed between its feathers, and it landed gracefully on the deck beside Beidou.

It was no ordinary bird, that much was obvious. Its feathers shimmered white and iridescent blue, with intelligent, red-rimmed eyes and long plumes crowning its head. Its body was decorated with gold symbols that seemed almost painted on, though the shining feathers were soft and rich. Childe couldn't even be surprised when it spoke in a woman's voice.

"Are you the one they call 'Ajax?'" it asked.

A little surprised to hear his real name, Childe bowed to the bird. "I am," he said. "Are you the messenger?"

The heron clicked her beak. "One is pleased to make your acquaintance," she said sharply, seeming annoyed. "One has little time to waste on mortal affairs, and thus one does not wish to squander it on long-winded introductions. One is called Cloud Retainer, high adeptus under Rex Lapis, and one is satisfied with this.

"It is an honor to meet you, Cloud Retainer," Childe said reverently. The bird puffed up her chest feathers, preening at the attention.

"One is pleased by the manners of the friends of one's disciple," she said. "One had anticipated a mortal of the uncouth sort when one was informed you would be traveling with Captain Beidou."

Disciple? Childe shot a questioning look at Beidou, who answered the adeptus for him: "Don't worry, ma'am, I'll make sure he behaves." Though her reply was confident, she looked back at Childe just as quizzically when Cloud Retainer bobbed her head in agreement. 

"One has fulfilled dear Ganyu's request for the necessary documents," the bird said proudly. "One could not refuse her when she demonstrates such initiative in intermingling with humans."

Childe had heard the name Ganyu before. She was the Qilin secretary at Yuehai Pavilion, right? He thought he might have even seen a photo of her on the Yuheng's desk—what, six months ago? He'd only been there once, when Scara had been arrested on an inflated smuggling charge. A good day for Snezhnayan influence in the Harbor, but that wasn't exactly something he could bring up to Ganyu's... mentor? Master? Busybody aunt?

"Oh, yeah," he agreed, as vaguely as possible. "Ganyu's a really great friend. All of us are really glad when she puts herself out there. It's just a shame that I won't be able to see her again for a really long time."

Nice save, Beidou mouthed. Childe stuck his tongue out at her.

Cloud Retainer purred, warbling absently as she reached beneath her wing. She drew out a scroll case with a seal of golden wax, which floated in a shower of golden sparks as she guided it over to Beidou.

"You will find that everything is in order," the adeptus told the two humans. "If there is any flaw in one's work, one must be informed at once."

Beidou plucked the file from the air and popped it open. She pulled out a few of the documents, unrolling them and showing a few off to Childe. They were all beautifully calligraphed in gold ink, and stamped with the bright red symbol of a pair of qilin horns. Childe counted a passport and a letter of recommendation for each member of his family, and one for himself. Each one was made out in the name of one of Childe's old subordinates, comrades who had fallen in battle in Liyue. It had taken more than a few ill-fated campaigns against the Yansheng Teahouse to secure the Fatui's "mining" contract in the Chasm, but his men had known the risks. Reporting their deaths would have only left a paper trail for Yelan to follow right to the Harbingers. Tolmachyov Aleskeevich, Ilyushin Rostislavovich, Chernyshyov Vladislavovich, Gribkov Vitalievich, Baryshnikova Alekseevna, and Shelyapina Dmitrievna had already given their lives to their Harbinger once. He hoped to honor their memories by carrying on their names. Seeing them written in the adeptus' calligraphy was a better tribute than he could have ever hoped for.

"Ooh, these are nice," Beidou crowed. "These will get us there and back nicely. Might even flash 'em to scare off any troublemakers we meet en route. Mind if I keep 'em around to keep the Fatui off our backs?"

Cloud Retainer rolled her head in what Childe assumed must have been a shrug. "Do as you will," she said. "One creates such documents with little effort these days; it can hardly be counted a waste.""

"Thank you," Childe said. "Oh, and make sure to give Ganyu my thanks too, if you get the chance."

The bird clicked her beak again, this time in more of a curt nod. "One does not appreciate being made a mere messenger," she said warningly. "Nevertheless, before one takes one's leave..." With a startling lurch forward, she tapped her long beak on the half-lidded pendant on Childe's sash. 

"My Delusion?" Childe asked. "You want my Delusion?"

"One intends to destroy it," she answered coldly. "Such an affront to the gods does not belong in this world."

Beidou gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, bud. The crux has a no-Delusion policy. Too dangerous in an enclosed space."

She was right, of course. He would need to get rid of it before going home, and destroying it by himself would be basically impossible. Delusions were far too resilient, far too powerful. Still, removing it from its place on his chest sent a pang through his heart. He'd be weaker without it. If something happened...

He wouldn't be defenseless, he reminded himself. This was a ship manned by cutthroats, led by the uncrowned lord of the ocean. The Geo Archon had agreed to sail with them. Well, former Geo Archon. And Childe still had his Vision. That wasn't nothing. Not technically. It showed that, at least at one point, the gods had had an eye on him.

But his Delusion... now there was true power. He had earned it, through years of bloody conquest. It wasn't just a random act of providence, a handout given to a dying kid who was too weak to save himself from the Abyss. This was the power of the Eleventh Fatui Harbinger, a symbol of his rank and honor. He still remembered the day the Tsaritsa had bestowed it on him. Her cold hands had made him shiver through his cloak as she pinned it to his sash. It was a touch few had been worthy to recieve.

He unclipped the pendant, discarding the pin and its fastener. The Delusion protested with a few weak sparks, but it couldn't do much of anything as Childe let it float above his hand, waiting for Cloud Retainer to snatch it up. 

"How are you going to destroy it?" he asked.

"One has a rather powerful furnace for this purpose," the adeptus told him.

Childe's voice hardened. "Awesome. Make sure it's gone for good."

Retainer regarded him curiously. "Very well," she said. "If you really feel so strongly about it." With a sweep of her wing, the pendant vanished.

"Is that about it?" Beidou asked. "If you're all finished, we should really weigh anchor before Ningguang sends her jackrabbit out for our unpaid dues..."

"A breaker of contracts?" Cloud Retainer clicked her beak in anger. "Perhaps one's Ganyu's alliances are not so judiciously made."

"I have a... higher contract," Beidou answered, grinning wolfishly.

"Hmph. Such conduct is unbecoming of a young lady." Retainer flicked her head in disappointment. "Regardless, one's time here has ended. May the Archons bless you."

"Aww, won'tcha add in a few of your own?"

"Humans." Cloud Retainer turned her back and spread her wings. "Always so presumptuous."

With that, she took flight, the shimmer of her wings casting long shadows on the deck. Childe and Beidou watched as she soared back the way she had come, her long wings cutting through the air until she reached the clouds. Childe felt a growing knot in his stomach—no doubt the nascent seasickness he'd been dreading.

"You alright, Fatui boy?" Beidou asked, pointing a finger. "You're looking a little green."

"I'm fine!" he said quickly. "Just a little tired."

She nodded, seemingly satisfied with his answer. "Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I do have a ship to run. Grab someone if you need anything—oh, and Mr. Zhongli is waiting for you."

She headed off, leaving Childe to make his own way. He took the stores to the rearmost deck. A large pavilion shielded a handful of chairs and tables from the sun. Zhongli was on the nearest chair, but his attention was fully devoted to the matted fur rug in his lap. Actually, scratch that—as Childe got closer, he realized the fur was alive. It was a beat-up dog, some kind of hound, with rust-colored fur and big, floppy ears. Its snout was mottled with scars like it had been caught in a shark trap but its tongue lolled out blissfully under Zhongli's scritching.

"Oh," Childe said playfully, announcing his presence, "so this is why you didn't come to greet me."

Zhongli looked up. "Ah, hello, Childe. It's good to see you."

"Who's your friend?" The dog wriggled around, trying to face Childe while staying comfy in Zhongli's lap. Childe offered it his hand to sniff.

"His name is Beef, apparently," Zhongli told him. "He holds the title of 'official mouser of the Alchor.'"

Childe laughed. The name suited the three-legged bucket of slobber. He knelt down and gave the dog a few pats. Beef's fur was much softer than it looked. "He's so cute!" Beef lunged for his face, licking wildly.

"Did you manage to get here safely?" Zhongli asked, trying to be conversational as the dog tumbled off his lap. It hit the floor with a quiet oof and stayed down, showing its soft little belly for Childe to pounce on and pet.

"There were a few hiccups," Childe answered distractedly. "Who's a good doggie? Who's so good?"

Zhongli smiled. "You have an unexpectedly affectionate side," he observed.

"I'm very affectionate," Childe argued. "You haven't noticed?"

"You're only affectionate when you want something," Zhongli corrected.

"Well, what I want now is to pet the cutest lil' guy in the whole wide world, yes you are~"

"Perhaps so," Zhongli conceded with a laugh. "But I certainly ought to keep in mind how easily you can lower your guard."

Childe was going to come up with a witty remark, but a lurch of the deck beneath his feet sent a new wave of nausea through his stomach. He dragged himself to his feet with the help of the nearby pillar; looking back, he saw that Zhongli had hurried to stand up and offer a stabilizing hand.

"Let's go climb the sails," he told Zhongli with the least nauseous smile he could muster. "We can wave goodbye to Liyue Harbor."

Zhongli seemed surprised by the suggestion. "Oh? And sentimental, too?"

"It's good luck," Childe insisted. "And it's fun. When was the last time you climbed sails?"

"I don't make a habit out of it."

"See?" Childe gently punched his friend's chest. "You're stuffy. If I have an affectionate side, you must have a fun side. So come have fun with me."

"Is that you being affectionate with me?" Zhongli teased.

"Either that or I'm luring you into a false sense of security."

"Are you?"

"Only one way to find out." 

When Zhongli had stopped laughing at that, he followed Childe to the unattended base of the nearest mast. The thick trunk was still wrapped in weathered bark, easy to climb. The two men shimmied up easily, then mounted the yard arm to sit high above the deck.

Up here, the lurching of the ship felt more like the trembling of a tree bough. The breeze was harsh, and stung cold even in the bright sun, tousling Childe's curls and whipping Zhongli's ponytail around both of their shoulders. Above them, and in parallel, Childe spotted a white-haired young man in samurai armor perched on the rail of the crow's nest, his eyes squeezed shut against the harshness of the sun.

Zhongli sighed deeply, a contented smile grazing his lips. The cold tinted his cheeks with a soft blush; he blew his bangs out of his eyes with a flick of two fingers. Too cute. "Is this a Snezhnayan tradition?" he asked.

Childe shook his head. "Are you kidding?" he joked. "Smokestacks aren't nearly as scenic to climb."

Zhongli chuckled. "Fair enough."

A moment's quiet. Childe swung his legs out over the drop. Down on the ship, Beidou stood at the helm. Under her direction, the ship backed away from the dock, turned, and faced the open ocean. He felt the wind catch the sails beneath the two of them. Zhongli gripped the yard tighter, and tucked his legs underneath to keep himself from falling. It was a strangely human gesture.

"So," Childe prompted after a while, "your grand plan was to pretend to be Ganyu?"

Zhongli laughed, surprised by Childe's accuracy. "Truly, nothing escapes your notice," he said teasingly. "No, it wasn't the most complex ruse, but I see no danger of the lie being uncovered. Ganyu and the other adepti have grown used to the mundanity of peace. Yuehai Pavilion deals with millions of pages of documents, most of which are of little consequence on their own—drops in the ocean upon which Liyue is built. a few requisition requests 'forgotten' is no cause for alarm." He smiled fondly, the way he always did when he was reminiscing about his nation. "Suspicion is in your nature," he told Childe reassuringly, "and so is deceit, but the Qixing inhabit a very different world from you and I."

"Well, I wouldn't want to intrude," Childe said bitterly. He hooked a thumb under his sash, holding it up as a reminder of his identity."

Zhongli frowned. "Your Delusion—"

"Your bird friend took it." Childe said. "You didn't tell her to?"

His friend shook his head. "No, I didn't."

"Dang." Childe snapped his fingers. "I was going to pick a fight with you about that."

"If it was a fight you wanted, you should have just asked," Zhongli teased.

"Oh, I intend to," Childe assured him.

"It would be my honor," Zhongli said with a sarcastic little bow.

"Sparring isn't against another one of Beidou's rules, is it?" Childe asked.

Zhongli shook his head. "Quite the opposite. According to the ship's charter—"

"Nerd."

"I am not a nerd!" Zhongli complained. "You were the one who asked about the rules."

Childe laughed. "You are a nerd, and it's adorable."

"Tch." Zhongli rolled his eyes. "Not everyone is so easily amused by your antics, rascal."

"I know you are, though." Childe poked Zhongli's cheek. "Admit it."

Zhongli shoved Childe away with a firm hand on his forehead. "Oh, I suppose," he huffed, grinning uncontrollably. "If it will convince you to respect my personal space."

"If you want me to stop teasing you, you can fight me for it."

"You're on."

Chapter Text

Zhongli happily agreed to spar with Childe, but of course, there had to be rules. The deck had to be deserted (even though that took forever.) The aim could not be to draw blood. No part of the ship could be purposely damaged, removed, or used as a weapon. By the time Zhongli was ready to fight, they had everything short of a notarized, written contract, although Childe knew Zhongli had it tied up in a little bow inside his head.

They met on the empty poop deck at noon. Zhongli carried his own spear, a two-pronged Inazuman weapon that was far less recognizable than his legendary Vortex Vanquisher. Childe left his bow behind in favor of simply summoning blades from Hydro.

Zhongli propped his spear on the railing, bracing it with the wing tip of his boot. He shrugged off his coat and shook it out with delicate flicks of the wrist. Not a thread was out of place when he folded the jacket perfectly along the well-pressed seams. It left Zhongli in a crisp white shirt, buttoned over the gleam of his tie and brooch, and a beige waistcoat crisscrossed with the chain of his pocket watch.

Without the bulk of embroidery and heavy metal pauldrons, Zhongli's clothes fit him like a second skin. The silk reflected the harsh sunlight along the broad planes of Zhongli's body, outlining the breadth of his pecs and the taut angles of his waist. The shadows complimented him perhaps even more, curving beneath the barrel of his chest and carving our the promise of abs.

Childe sloughed off his own jacket, in no small part to keep his ~questionably motivated~ eyes off his friend. Without a shirt underneath—he had no need for a concealed weapon, and the chafing of his leather harness was the only reason he could be convinced to wear a shirt in Liyue's heat—he was intensely aware of his own body. His freshest scars, sword slashes haphazardly stitched with sewing threat, stung in the salty air, making him shiver. The few square inches of his skin that weren't scarred were stretch marked from hundreds of transformations into the Foul Legacy. A patch of dead purple skin bloomed just over his heart where his Delusion had been pinned.

Zhongli's eyes grazed Childe's torso as he turned around. He met Childe's eyes, concern making his hand still where he had moved to unbutton his glove.

"Childe, are you sure you're well enough to fight?" he asked.

Childe waved the question away with a forced laugh. "Please, this is nothing."

"I wouldn't want to injure you further." Zhongli bit his lip.

"These are from a while ago," Childe assured him. "I had a Hydrogunner blast them in the field."

"Very well," Zhongli agreed, though he didn't sound very sure. He unbuttoned each of his gloves, sliding them off with a finger and setting them aside. Childe followed suit, tucking his own gloves in the interior pocket of his jacket.

"Don't you dare hold back," he warned Zhongli.

As if in response, Zhongli unbuttoned and rolled up each of his sleeves to the elbow. Beneath the deceptively white fabric, his arms were black, shiny, and hard, like smooth Geo constructs. The long, thin fingers and rough-hewn wrist bones tapered to copper and then bright gold, with long, claw-like nails that shone as if wet.

"Impress me, then," he challenged.

Childe sucked in a breath. He wasn't sure if Zhongli's arms, skin and flesh and bones of that shiny black stone, had always looked like that, or if this was some kind of intimidation tactic. He wasn't sure what it was that made his heart thrum in his chest far more eagerly than the anticipation of battle. But he knew that like this, sleeves up, gloves off, Zhongli was incredible. The word hot crossed his mind and stuck: yes, this man was hawt.

He summoned his Hydro spear and twirled it in his fingers. "Cocky," he growled, an eager grin splitting across his face.

Zhongli was the first to strike, calling his spear and driving it down toward Childe in a motion he could only block with a desperate jab into the deck. Zhongli wrenched Childe's spear out of place, knocking it aside, striking at his chest. This time, Childe was prepared. He threw up his guard and bashed Zhongli's spear aside. Only a few blows, however, hemmed Childe back against the mast. Backed into a corner—just the way he liked it.

His boots found purchase on the mast, scrabbling up into a leap as his Vision carried him across the deck. He landed in a shower of Hydro behind Zhongli. Not losing any momentum, he threw up a wide arc of an attack, but Zhongli was on him in an instant, batting away the spear without missing a beat. Childe pressed him back, lightning-fast swipes of his weapon that Zhongli dodged with nearly imperceptible motions, the tight steps and focus of a dancer. Zhongli's own strikes were swift and brutal unwavering in their course. Childe evaded with leaps and bounds, beating like the waves against Zhongli's immovable, steadfast stone. Neither of them showed any signs of bowing or triumphing, and in the onslaught, Childe could barely draw the breath to speak.

Zhongli's style favored heavy downward strikes, the kind that left the shaft unguarded. When Childe wrenched an underhand strike to the underside of Zhongli's weapon, he was rewarded with a tremor in Zhongli's grip. A weakness. Zhongli's eyes widened.

Childe dodged the retaliatory stroke of Zhongli's spear. Pulling his own weapon into two swords, he feinted toward Zhongli's grip on the pole, then trapped the spear beneath his foot. When Zhongli shook him off, Childe's backhanded stroke tore Zhongli's spear from his grip.

The polearm was back in Zhongli's grasp in an instant, but he didn't attack. Childe actually laughed out loud. The high of battle, the high of even a momentary win, rang in his ears. "Impressed yet?" he taunted. "Don't be shy. Ask me to hold back."

Zhongli snickered. Between the curl of his lips, Childe could see the sharp points of his long, snakelike fangs. 

"I am impressed," Zhongli grinned. "If that truly is the best you can do."

He swing for Childe's guard again, a jab Childe blocked easily, countering in a flash. In the rhythm they had discovered, dodging Zhongli's blows, redirecting them, and striking back, was as effortless as dancing. Zhongli parried his blades in flashes of blue. He feinted toward Childe's chest, and, unfazed, Childe caught the spearhead in the loop of his crossguard. Zhongli tore the weapon from Childe's hand in a shower of Hydro and sparks. With his remaining blade, Childe slashed wildly at Zhongli. When Zhongli deflected his blade, Childe's ephemeral spear returned to his free hand and carved a gash in the back of Zhongli's waistcoat. 

In a burst of gold energy, Zhongli threw up a shield, knocking Childe off him. "I didn't realize this was that kind of scuffle," he joked, without slowing his assault of quick jabs at Childe.

"Your own fault if you didn't expect me to play dirty." Childe countered Zhongli's spear with his own, leaping onto the railing of the deck as Zhongli's broad strokes hemmed him in.

"Then I certainly hope you don't mind getting wet." Zhongli thrust up at Childe.

Childe jumped, letting the spear pass beneath his feet. His boot pinned with shaft of Zhongli's weapon to the railing, and he stamped on the back end, wrenching it out of Zhongli's hand and kicking it overboard. Zhongli's smile never wavered. He called the spear back to his hands, and Childe summoned his own. Their weapons met and their grip did not break.

The deck lurched beneath them as a swell rocked the ship. Zhongli braced himself with a foot thrown out behind him, but Childe didn't have that luxury.

 He lost his balance on the railing, his boots slipping into thin air. Desperate, he reached out, throwing his body against the pull of gravity. He felt his hand grasp the loose silk of Zhongli’s tie, and then, before he could even breathe, he was sprawled out on the deck, Zhongli’s sturdy body cushioning him from his fall.

The wind was knocked out of him. His Hydro blades evaporated, losing their form and drenching the deck, soaking both men where they lay. Zhongli's breath shuddred under Childe's weight. He was acutely aware of the feeling in this chest, the strain on his stitches and the gooseflesh that prickled in the cold seawater. He pulled himself off of Zhongli in a hurry. He knelt above him, panting, and propped himself up with a Hydro dagger, summoned just beside Zhongli's head.

"What was that about getting wet?" he gasped.

Zhongli laughed hoarsely. "Alright," he coughed, just as breathless. "I yield."

A shimmer of scarlet had formed on Zhongli's cheek. Zhongli's hand moved slowly to the offending cut. It was thin, but long, tracing its way from Zhongli's high cheekbone to his hairline. Had Childe done that? Zhongli's fingers came away shining with droplets of bright red blood.

"Mr. Zhongli, I'm so sorry—" Childe began.

"It's perfectly alright, Childe, you didn't hurt me," Zhongli reassured him. He turned his fingers to look at them from all angles, quietly fascinated by the sight.

Childe sat back on his haunches, unwilling to interrupt Zhongli's strange reverie. In a way, it made sense. It must have been years, centuries, maybe, since Zhongli had been hurt. Did a dragon bleed red, did a god?

Slowly, methodically, Zhongli brought his bloody finger to his mouth. He dragged it along his bottom lip. The thin forks of his tongue lapped at his fingertip. At the taste of his own blood, he hissed under his breath, so quietly Childe wasn't sure if he'd imagined it or not. The taste seemed to bring him new focus, and he shook his head, nearly imperceptibly.

"I swear, Mr. Zhongli, you said no blood and I wasn't going for blood. I'm really sorry—"

Zhongli shut him up with a wave. "No, no, I'm sorry." He smiled. "I'm afraid I'm a little rusty."

Childe stood up and offered Zhongli his hand. He gave Zhongli an awkward pat on the back.

"Good thing you're so heavy," he told Zhongli awkwardly. 

Zhongli glanced down, adjusting the crushed mess of his tie. When it became clear that it wasn't going to be smoothed out, he undid the knot and tossed the tie in the pile of the rest of his clothes. In the loosening of his collar, Childe was relieved to see smooth, human skin, rather than the hard stone of his hands and arms. Toppling over Zhongli like that would have broken his ribs. 

"Care for a rematch?" Zhongli challenged.

"Are you kidding?" Childe scoffed. "You still owe me a godly fight."

Zhongli's hand traced the cut on his cheek again, thought he didn't seem to notice he was doing it again. His spear reappeared in his outstretched.

Childe summoned his own weapon back. First, though, he made a handful of Hydro to float across the distance between them, gingerly washing the remaining blood from Zhongli's face. The touch seemed to startle him.

"Er... thank you, Childe," he said.

"No problem!" Childe said cheerfully. "Now, you'd better not bleed on me the next time I obliterate you."

"You have my word."

Chapter Text

Childe grew accustomed to life on the ship over the next week or so, though his seasickness seemed stubbornly determined not to follow suit. Sitting on top of the masts became his go-to remedy on rough days. The white-haired young man, who Beidou told him was an Inazuman named Kazuha, seemed to have had a similar idea. It was an unspoken agreement between the two that Kazuha had the mainmast to himself, while Childe stuck to the foremast. It was clear that Kazuha wasn't up here because of seasickness, though. The guy could spend a whole day out on the end of the yard, his eyes closed tight, a contented stillness in his face. Childe would watch him as he occasionally lifted his head to catch the breeze in his ponytail, or mouthed things to himself in utter concentration. Mantras? Poetry? Was he receiving communications? Childe couldn't exactly judge the guy for being easily entertained, especially since watching him was the only thing that kept Childe from dying of boredom when he was stuck up here.

He and Kazuha had never really spoken, which added to his mystery. Kazuha kept to himself, occasionally appearing in the mess hall to nibble on some salted fish after everyone else had eaten, or slipping past the crew to sneak into his own quarters long after dark. He was probably pretty shy. Everyone else aboard the Alchor was the platonic ideal of a pirate, guzzling stale beers and getting new tattoos between shifts at the rudder. Childe and Zhongli played their parts well in that regard, with plenty of sparring—drunken and otherwise—to occupy their boundless free time. He could understand if Kazuha was intimidated or overwhelmed by the bustle of the ship. But he didn't seem like he was hiding from anything.

That hypothesis would be easy to test. Kazuha's spot on the mainmast was shielded from the sun by the crow's nest overhead. On an overcast day, it would have made the perfect excuse for Childe to leave his usual spot. Well, it would have. It seemed the omnipresent haze off Mondstadt’s southern shores was determined to bore into Childe’s eye sockets at every conceivable angle, shade or no shade. Still, he mounted the yard and sidled up beside Kazuha. The little samurai acknowledged him by opening one eye, which evidently had not been charbroiled by the blinding dullness. He nodded curtly, then returned to his tranquil silence.

"Am I interrupting something?" Child asked apologetically. "I'll go if I'm bothering you."

"...Bother?" Kazuha looked at him, seeming puzzled. "No, you do not bother me."

His Liyuean was choppy, with a strong Inazuman accent despite how deliberately he pronounced the words. He wore an Anemo Vision on the end of his scarf behind his shoulder. When he spoke, it glowed a little brighter. Blue and green sparks surrounded the Vision's glassy surface like falling feathers, which disappeared as they tumbled down behind him. "We have not met," he said, thrusting out one bandaged hand. "I am Kaedehara Kazuha, at your service."

"Childe," Childe introduced himself, shaking Kazuha's hand. "Or... Actually, just call me Childe."

Kazuha's face lit up. His Vision did the same, gleaming with excitement. "Ah, Chairudo-san!" Lumine's friend!"

"That's me," Childe said with a grin. "I hope she didn't give you a bad impression of me."

"Bad?" Kazuha shrugged. "No, not really. She call you stupid, but in a friendly way. Say you have red hair and very kind, but sometimes scary. Dangerous. She tell me you are very powerful, even stronger than herself alone."

Childe laughed. "I wish she'd compliment me like that to my face," he said. "But don't let her scare you. I'm only dangerous to my enemies."

"Then I hope we can become friends," Kazuha said earnestly, placing a hand over his heart. There were little spots of dried blood on his wrapped fingertips. "I am honored to finally meet you."

"You too," Childe said. "How come we've never met? I think I know most of the Traveler's friends."

"We fought together in the past, but our fates are not intertwined. I wander by call of the wind; I cannot be tied down, even to a dear friend."

His soft inflection, and the heartfelt way he spoke, made him sound like a poet even in broken Liyuean. Each word was chosen with care, not just to work around the language barrier, but to say exactly what he meant with the words he had. Childe had to be impressed. His own education in Liyuean had mostly consisted of gaslighting the people he talked to into thinking his terrible accent was actually some kind of aristocratic dialect.

"I watch you from up here," Kazuha continued in that same mellow tone. If it had been anyone else, that would have sounded like a threat, but Kazuha sounded like a birdwatcher passively reporting his findings. "I see you are the same way."

Childe cocked his head. "Really? How do you figure?"

"You are far from home," Kazuha observed. "When you go back there, it will not be the same. So you make your home of other thing. Of fighting, but of people too. You trust others because if you must leave them, you have nothing to lose."

In spite of himself, Childe felt his throat tighten at the samurai's accuracy. He wasn't sure exactly how Kazuha had come to his conclusions, or when, or quite frankly why he would bother. Still, he could work with this. Kazuha didn't have to hold all the cards.

"When you say the same," he prodded, "does that mean all those things are true about you, too?"

"Yes," Kazuha said frankly. "I, too, have seen and lost much."

"Is that so?" The boy looked like he was too young to drink, much less carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He had a dull, quiet stare in his red eyes that should have belonged to a much older warrior. "I'm sorry. You sound like a nice kid."

Kazuha cracked a smile. "Well. I try."

"That's the difference between us," Childe pointed out, half-joking. "We may have a similar background, but it seems like we've gone in very different directions."

"Have we?" Kazuha's eyes searched Childe's. "I am no Fatuus, but we both seek to make up for the past."

"Sure." Childe shrugged. "I've made some mistakes. Actually... a lot of mistakes. What about you? What are you trying to make up for?"

Kazuha bit his lip. It was a heavy question, and Childe could tell he wasn't used to being interrogated. After a short pause: "I don't know."

"Yeah?"

"I... want to bring honor to my clan," he continued hesitantly. "But I am the last of Kaedehara. Only the past remains now."

"That means the future is up to you," Childe told him.

"It does!" Kazuha said happily, his Vision flashing along with his big smile. "Ah...ehe. The road ahead is long, and I do not know where it leads. I can only hope that when I arrive, I'll be ready to do what must be done. I learn from many people around the world. I study the words of those who lived before me. I read poetry; yes, poetry is a particular comfort to me." He swung his legs. "I know so many by heart, but only in Nihongo. Do you speak?"

Only enough to understand the insults Scaramouche was always muttering under his breath. "I wish I did, but try me anyway."

Kazuha tapped a finger to his lip, thinking carefully. "Alright... There is one. It's called Kaede no ha o Hakobu Hakuchō. Ah…” seeing that Childe didn’t recognize the title, he quoted, "'Shiratori, dassō-hei, kioku?’”

Childe ran the words through his limited vocabulary, hunting for words he recognized. Hakuchō was some kind of bird, he knew. Kaede was maple—Scaramouche loved to drown his pancakes with Mēpurushiroppu. He remembered the meaning of the words in his native tongue, but they didn't make the jump to Liyuean before he said excitedly, "Oh! Lebed' s Klenovymi List'yami?"

Kazuha's Vision sparkled. "Oh, is that... Snezhnayan?"

Childe nodded eagerly. "Snezhnij," he translated. "I think in Liyuean, it would me... something like 'Maple Swan?' I grew up reading that poem... actually a lot of poetry from overseas. My father felt the same way you do—he wanted all us kids to 'broaden our minds.' Heh. He was probably right, but we're lucky he didn't get us all arrested."

"Arrested?" Kazuha asked indignantly.

Childe laughed. "Oh, yeah. Poetry has been illegal in Snezhnaya for over a hundred years."

"You must joking!"

Childe shook his head. "No, no. Everything that gets written has to go through the Tsaritsa's propaganda office, and they're strict. You can go to jail for writing an unpatriotic letter. Translations of books from the outside world are almost impossible to get your hands on if you don't have my mom's connections."

Kazuha tapped his temple. "Good to hide books, then. Memorize, they cannot take away from you."

"I mean, I haven't read Lebed' s Klenovymi List'yami in years," Childe agreed fondly, "but I can still probably recite it by heart. It's one of the ones my mom used to teach me and my siblings to read."

Kazuha hummed happily. "I love to hear it in your mother tongue," he prompted.

"It won't make sense if you don't know any Senzhnij," Childe said. "Do you?"

"No." Kazuha shook his head. "But that doesn't matter. We both know the meaning of the poem, so the words themselves will be the pretty thing."

Childe wasn't exactly Liyue Harbor's very own Ms. Yun, but it wouldn't hurt to set Kazuha's expectations of him nice and low. He cleared his throat, and began awkwardly. It occurred to him too late that he might have been a little overconfident when he'd said he knew all the words.

“...Kolokol'chiki klevera u kazhdykh vorot…”

“Clover bells at every gate

Ring then breeze when trumpets cease

Lay halberds in the new-turned earth

Dendrobium seeds do mark the peace

“Let go the hanging branch,

And take a seed, a maple tree

Shed blue-stained feather, and naked soar

A swan, deserter, memory

“On lonesome wings do home abandon

In dead of night, pale form reflects,

But soon, untethered from the light.

A single seed, in darkness kept

“Harsh dawn comes to a treeless land

The maple never lands on foreign ships

Weep not, my love, for your mother’s death in you,

When yet a seed remains between your lips.”

He didn't tell it the way his mother had, with the gentle inflection and exaggerated emotion that punctuated the turning pages of a story book. He wasn't a story teller, and he wasn't an actor, and really, he wasn't trying at all. Kazuha didn't seem to mind, though. Even Childe's lifeless recitation seemed to stir something in the samurai. His Vision's glow thrummed like the string of a harp as he closed his eyes, letting the wind and the words wash over him. Childe couldn't help but glance down at his own Vision. It was unresponsive as always, its gleam as dull as his eyes. That was usually a good thing. He couldn't afford to wear his heart on his sleeve so literally. He wondered if the happy glow was specific to Anemo Visions, or if Kazuha was so attuned to the elements that he could manipulate them without even thinking about it.

Was he really that powerful?

"Snezhnaya's language is so beautiful," Kazuha said once Childe had finished speaking. "So different to what I hear before. I never see the nation's shores, but it sounds like it's beautiful. I hear love in your voice."

"It's a shame we won't be there long enough to really see it," Childe said. He couldn't help a sentimental smile. "This time of year, the snow is starting to really stack up. Even on the coast, we can get six or seven feet of snow in the winter. To be able to go anywhere or get to the potatoes for harvest, we have to line the streets and all the fields with these cute little torches." He mimed holding up a small cylinder to demonstrate the size of the devices. "They melt the snow and keep the ground from freezing over. There are so many of them that from on top of the hill where my family's house is, it looks like the whole village is being swallowed in a waterfall of light."

"Ooh," Kazuha breathed.

"There's a lot I won't miss about the motherland," Childe told him. He counted on his fingers: "Frostbite, for one... and cold baths. In the winter, one sunsettia costs like fourteen hundred Mora." Regular raids by Fatui officials and gangs alike, indistinguishable from each other in their ruthlessness. Steep taxes and lean winters. Kids as young as twelve learning to use Delusions at school and coming home with brightly colored burns that refused to heal. "But those lanterns... I'll always miss those."

"Do you have a maple seed?" Kazuha asked.

"What?"

"Like in the poem," he explained. "Something that you carry with you, something from home."

Childe thought about it. He hadn't exactly gotten his Vision snuggled up in his cozy bed, and years in the Fatui had conditioned him to travel light. His bow was technically on loan from the Tsaritsa, not that he was going to give it back. He had to give Kazuha something to work with, though. After a moment's thought, he rolled up his right sleeve. He held his forearm out for Kazuha to see, pulling the skin taut with his thumb to show off the long, white scar that traced its way from wrist to elbow. 

"Fell off the roof stringing up tinsel," he recounted. "I got caught on the wire and shredded my arm on the way down. Broke both of my legs, too. I think I was eight?" At Kazuha's sympathetic wince, he clarified: "I was little enough that I don't even remember it hurting all that badly. I was basically made of rubber. I remember my older siblings would all take turns carrying me around on their shoulders. To this day, that's still the best Victory Day weekend I've ever had."

Kazuha laughed softly. Childe rolled his eyes. "What? It counts!"

"It does!" Kazuha said happily. "I haven't thought of it this way... but, maybe for good reason."

He turned, somber—he was right, obviously. Childe's wire scar was far from his deepest, or his oldest. Kazuha looked innocent, but those bandages on his hands weren't hiding shaving nicks. Not every wound could be a fond memory. Most weren't worth remembering at all.

"Friend," Kazuha addressed him. "I show you something."

With the assurance that Childe would follow, the samurai slipped from his seat. He dropped to the deck far below, landing on his toes like a cat. Childe followed, breaking his fall with a little splash of Hydro.  He followed Kazuha belowdecks, through the oilpaper double doors at the back of the ship. Most of the lanterns in the inner rooms were blown out during the day to let the off-duty crew sleep. Apparently, today's had been extinguished recently. The smell of smoke, mingled with the ever-present stink of lamp oil, made Childe's head pound. In the dim light, they made their way to the bunks mostly by memory.

Kazuha's room was across the hall from the captain's quarters. Since the Alchor was under capacity at the moment, he had a four-bunk room to himself. He'd decorated it sparsely, with a few warm, colorful blankets and light novel posters tacked gingerly to the paneled walls, so as not to damage the finish. As Kazuha reached under one of the bunks, Childe noticed that all four of the beds were in a different state of being made, as if Kazuha had slept in all of them at some point. He spotted an unexpectedly familiar plush on the nestlike mess of the bunk above them. A fuzzy brown dragon with golden horns, it was a smaller version of the cuddly Rex Lapis plush he'd bought for Teucer. This version was much cuddlier than the real thing.

Kazuha motioned for Childe to join him in kneeling beside the bed. He pulled out a long, flat wooden box, engraved on top with Mondstad's winged insignia. It was shut tight with a cheap silver padlock, which Kazuha unlocked with a short, targeted puff of Anemo. 

The box was lined with crushed blue velvet, cushioning an assortment of small odds and ends. Childe spotted a few dozen types of shells, dried leaves and flowers, and little stone or wooden carvings. He couldn't name everything he saw exactly, but he recognized  starfish from Inazuma, cactus flowers from Sumeru, and shiny uncut gems that had to have been from Liyue. Though the box was small, the collection was impeccably organized. The more delicate objects had been braced with thin paper or cotton if they were in danger of breaking, but otherwise, everything was displayed exactly as it had been found. There were even a few dandelion puffs, which stood up with all their bristles intact. That was curious. Most dandelions couldn't survive a stiff breeze without falling apart. Childe poked at one and felt a little swirl of Anemo pulse against his gloved finger. He picked it up and and turned it over. On the base of the stem, a little Anemo symbol glowed faintly.

"Did you seal these yourself?" he asked.

Kazuha nodded. "Wherever I go, I bring something home. I can't carry the beach at Nazuchi, or the high peaks of the Golden Apple Archipelago. So I bring dendrobrium—" he brushed his finger over a blood-red bloom, "or conches." He held up a spiral shell. "However... these too do not last forever. Meaning has to be given, so I want to give to you. Anything here, you can have."

Childe's first instinct was to object, but he didn't want to shut down Kazuha's kind gesture. Instead, he asked, "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Alright, then. He looked over the collection carefully. He wanted to make a good choice, if only to humor Kazuha. Everything here was beautiful. He noticed Kazuha had a few starconches. Childe had come to love those little blue shells during his time in Liyue. Picking one up, he ran his thumb over the star in the middle. The shell had been thoroughly cleaned of sand, and its surface was cold and rough.

"If you listen to a starconch, you will hear the ocean,” Kazuha said.

“We’re on a boat,” Childe pointed out.

Kazuha shook his head. “No, no, no. You will hear the ocean for which you long the most.”

Childe held the shell's opening to his ear. No surprise here: the fuzzy sound inside was so easy to imagine as the cracking of ice under a fisherman's drill, with the ocean rushing below. He passed the shell to Kazuha, who returned it to its place without listening to it. 

He had glaze lilies, too. Those brought a smile to Childe's face, remembering the last time he had been in Liyue Harbor. In his mind, the glow of those flowers always reminded him of Zhongli. Probably because he and the "consultant" had met so rarely out in the daylight. Yet another reason to be miffed that Zhongli hadn't told him who he was—it would have been the funniest thing in the world to buy Zhongli that Rex Lapis plush. Did glaze lilies have some sort of significance? They were certainly beautiful. Though these ones were dried, and didn't glow, they were far from dull. Their soft blue sheen had been preserved perfectly, down to the dewy velvet of the tiny new-grown petals. He was sure Zhongli could tell him all about them.

"That one," Childe said. "I have an idea."

Kazuha lifted the lily that Childe had indicated and delicately passed it over to him. "There you go. I hope it brings you happiness."

"Thank you," Childe said. "I'm glad we finally got to meet."

"I feel the same way," Kazuha replied. "We talk again soon?"

"Absolutely."

Glaze lily in hand, Childe made his way back up to the deck. After leaning up against a barrel for a few puffs of fresh air, he scouted out his target. Beidou and Zhongli were quote unquote "busy" today, or so they'd said. Yes, they probably had actual work to do in that smelly little office, but Childe knew they also drank an ungodly (or possibly extra godly?) amount of tea in there. It was like the world's most headache-inducing social club.

Then again, it looked like they had finished early.

Zhongli was standing at the starboard side of the ship, resting his elbows on the railing. Lost in thought, as always. Childe found himself peeking at Zhongli's fake Vision. It didn't seem to react to anything, either, though that didn't mean much. That wasn't really what it was for.

When Zhongli didn't hear his approach, Childe tapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, Mr. Zhongli!"

Zhongli turned, and greeted him with a placid smile. "Ah, hello, Childe. Ready for another sparring session?"

At the mention of sparring, some doglike impulse in Childe sat up and wagged its tail, but he shook his head. "Not if you're busy. I just wanted to give you something."

He held out his hand, delicately cupping the glaze lily in his palm. Zhongli's eyes lit up. "How lovely," he said. "May I?"

Childe passed the flower to him. Zhongli let it float above his hand, turning it over with gentle motions of his fingers to examine every petal. "The quality of preservation is astonishing," he remarked. "Where did you find this?"

"Kazuha gave it to me," Childe answered. "He said he wanted to give me a meaningful gift, so... I wanted to do the same for you."

He gave Zhongli a crooked smile. His friend was silent, studying the flower like it was an ancient artifact unearthed from some sad ruin. He grinned up at Childe after only a moment, however. "It's beautiful, Childe, thank you. I only wish I had something to give you."

Childe waved the idea off. "You don't need to do that," he said. "It's no big deal. I was just thinking of you."

"I'm... honored." Zhongli beamed from ear to ear. "I must admit, my first thought was that you were trying to buy my acquiescence to some request."

"Who, me?" Childe laughed. "Not this time. Consider it a gift from a friend."

Zhongli licked his lips as if, for once, he wasn't sure what to say. Was that all it took to fluster the big guy? Too cute. With the same hand that still supported the flower, he gestured for Childe to join him at the railing. Together, they looked out over the ocean, and Zhongli let the lily fly out in front of them, floating at eye level.

"You know," he said, "Dried glaze lilies still respond to music long after they've been plucked. I think I know a song this one might like. Have you heard the poem Feng Tian'e, 'Maple Swan?'"

Heh. "Only in Snezhnayan," Childe responded. "Let's hear your version, old man."

“...Měi shàn mén dū yǒu sānyècǎo de língdāng…”

Chapter Text

Childe came to pride himself on knowing everyone on board, if not by name then at least by reputation. It… was not hard. The crew was small for a ship of the Alchor’s size, probably because many of the ship’s functions were automated. The oars were powered by a complex system of hydraulic pistons, and even the four giant crossbows at the fore and aft could fire continuously, aimed and operated by a single crew member.  With so few dedicated positions needed for manual labor, the Alchor’s dedicated crew numbered only eighty-six. Divided into two teams, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. Even their free time was meticulously organized by the Shield team, with regularly scheduled recreational activities to keep their minds and bodies sharp. Childe joined in on the classes every now and again. It was a great way to learn that he was a terrible knitter, couldn’t handle medicinal lamp grass without sneezing, and had mistaken Lupus Instinctus for the North Star his entire life. As a Snezhnayan, that was pretty embarrassing, but the activities were at least something to do. Hanging around the others was as good a distraction as any, and getting to know them was a small thing for Childe to self-aggrandize over when he was failing at everything else. 

He was bored. Beidou wouldn’t fight him, saying that it was “too dangerous” and that Childe “can pick on Zhongli all you want, but the rest of us don’t appreciate being tossed around at all hours of the day and night.” She also forbade him from sparring with Kazuha. The samurai had shyly tagged along behind her as she had handed out the rule, like a little kid who had to have his mom tell a waiter he had asked for no pickles. He admired Kazuha’s foresight to know that he would be too much of a pushover to turn down Childe in person. He and Zhongli had laughed about it later, but only out of the earshot of mama bear. Whether anyone else believed it or not, Childe did value his own life.

The crew weren’t off-limits, though. A few of them agreed to spar with him when they had time off, provided he didn’t toss them around too much. Their skills weren’t completely disappointing. They came from all over Liyue, and had studied under a handful of interesting fighting traditions. Childe recognized Millelith spearwork, claymore disciplines from the mountain ascetics, and the knife hunting techniques that were nearly universal across the continent. The navigator, Huixing, surprised him with her extensive knowledge of Guhua sword style. Chief mate Juza fought with a blustering combination of Kairagi arts and blind, unbridled rage. Evidently, he still didn’t trust the Fatui boy. He put up a good fight. They all did. But he was so slow. They were all so slow. And when Childe slowed down, he had time to think. 

He hated thinking. Whenever he had a quiet moment, his thoughts turned vicious. He had no way of stopping them as they spiraled into worst-case scenarios and fears that grew in his head like weeds. He could feel it gathering in his gut when he was alone, gnawing at him, whispering in his ears. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

A sudden illness. An attack by fiercer pirates. A flaw in their plan. He thought of dozens, and followed each to their most devastating conclusion. Fatui surveillance. The Crux, paid off by the Tsaritsa herself to bring them out into the open ocean and kill them. He imagined—no, he knew , he was sure of it—that there were cameras and microphones on board the ship, collecting evidence of his guilt. There were cameras in the air, mounted to invisible ruin machines. The birds had cameras—the birds were cameras. Gods, the birds were the worst. Seagulls knew to follow in the wake of ships and swoop down for scraps. Just the sight of land on the horizon, close enough for the flying sea rats to come and swarm behind the Alchor, was enough to fill him with terror. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t stop thinking. Dottore had planted something in his head to read his thoughts. Pulcinella’s patience had already run out. The Alchor would land at Morepesok and the town would be nothing but ash, already covered in a layer of fresh snow. No matter what he did, where he went, who he fought, the anxiety never went away. Images burned themselves into the backs of his eyelids. When he refused to close them, to fall asleep and submit to nightmares, he stared into the lantern above his bed until those same images filled the ugly blue splotches that filled his vision. His mother, dead. His father, dead. His siblings, dead. Zhongli… 

Zhongli was another story. Even in Childe’s worst nightmares, Zhongli didn’t die. Just the same as in real life, Zhongli was indestructible. It was impossible to imagine him hurt or in pain. That should have been comforting. It wasn’t.

In some dreams, when Childe died, it was with Zhongli’s hands buried in his chest. He could feel those stony fingers gripping the nerveless muscle of his heart, forcing it to beat, begging him not to die. He could feel the gaping viscera of his ribs long after he woke up screaming, sitting up ramrod-straight and smacking his forehead on the low ceiling above his bunk. Sometimes, Zhongli was the sole survivor, looking on in horror as ruin machines descended upon Morepesok, as Liyue was submerged in floods, as a blind Bathysmal vishap rose from the depths to swallow the Alchor whole. Sometimes, Childe dreamed he had woken up in his bed at home, and got up for a glass of water. When he came around the corner into a dark room, he saw a figure in a white hood. The figure held the Vortex Vanquisher at attention, the golden spearhead dripping with red blood. As the figure turned its basalt-masked face, Childe saw the red-haired body at its feet. The Vision on the body’s waist flickered, and when its light finally died, the dream was over.  

More often than anything, though, Zhongli just… left. Monsters sprang from the Abyss to claim their due, legions of the Fatui lined every shore in Teyvat, the Tsaritsa herself turned the sea to ice, and Zhongli abandoned him. He turned his back on Childe, drawing that white hood over his head. He spoke in a language Childe couldn’t understand. It sounded like he was explaining everything, telling him he had a higher calling, that he had no choice but to leave, that everything made sense—Childe had to believe that. Had to believe there was a reason. Zhongli left him without one, and without him, Childe was powerless to defend himself.

Dying, he was used to. It was as common in his ordinary dreams as falling down and losing teeth. He had long since gotten used to watching his family die in his dreams. Ever since before he’d joined the Fatui, those nightmares had followed him wherever he went. He had learned to live with the fact that sometimes, when he looked into his mother’s face, her eyes would be replaced with empty, dripping sockets, or that his father’s mouth would be full of blood instead of chewing tobacco. They’d be back to normal in a moment, of course. He wasn’t crazy. Not in this form, anyway. Everything was under control.

Or it had been, until Zhongli came along. Zhongli had come into his life and turned the world upside down. That was what made this new wave of anxiety so frustrating. Childe was strong. He could defend himself from most threats, if not on his own power than with the Foul Legacy. What he couldn’t save himself from, he could throw himself in the path of to protect his family. He didn’t need a shield. He didn’t need help. He didn’t need Zhongli. Anything he could do, he could do alone.

He had to do it alone.

Zhongli could probably tell that something was wrong with him. It wasn’t like Childe was losing every sparring match they fought because Zhongli was improving. Childe couldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes, but Zhongli had no way of proving where they came from if Childe said nothing. What did he need to know? That Childe was suffering? That Childe was afraid of him? That Childe couldn’t stop thinking about him, that he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without thinking about him? All that would do was show him exactly how pathetic Childe really was.

He was sick, he said. Nothing major, just a little under the weather. He was fine. He smiled. Sometimes, Zhongli almost believed him. 

They couldn’t spar all the time, of course. Nor could Childe sit through another nighttime tea-making activity without hurling. When all else failed to quiet his mind, Childe went fishing. If he was lucky, he could dive right under the ship and find monsters lurking in the depths. Vishaps and Manifestations and giant squids couldn’t be allowed to threaten the Alchor and her precious cargo. They had to be exterminated. Painfully and brutally exterminated. Childe had never felt so alive. Sharks, too, were plentiful in the strong currents of the southern waters. Childe fed the crew well on fin soups and prime steaks butchered and salted in the ocean’s brine. What couldn’t be eaten was fermented and stored in the ship’s hold, and what couldn’t be stored was tossed into the water. He made sure the leftovers were thrown far, far away. The seagulls gorged themselves on the bait and left the ship alone. Childe’s sleep was almost peaceful on butchering nights.

One week.

One more week of this, and the first leg of their journey would be over. One week, and he’d be with his family again. Then, at least, he’d be too busy to panic.

Having missed out on most of the regular crew activities, Childe had no real idea of the schedule. Thursday night was music night, apparently. On Thursday evening, he came back from a dive at sunset to a bonfire on the lowest deck.

All the off-duty crew were there, and more. There was no wind, and the ship was still, her sails hanging limply overhead. They weren’t going anywhere in this weather, and it seemed everyone was taking a much-needed break. A few kegs had been rolled out from the hold, and Technical Officer Muzhen had been designated to pour the Crux’s best beer for a rowdy crowd. Beef the dog ran amok, trying to get pets from all the sailors at once. Beidou held court over her domain on a throne of crates, which had been stacked haphazardly across the deck in preparation for reorganizing the cargo hold. Even Kazuha was participating, perched just above Beidou at the top of the pile with a cup of something non-alcoholic in his hands. On a stage constructed of loose boards beneath the backdrop of the mast, Little Yue and the twins were setting up instruments.

Childe grabbed his towel off the railing. He dried off his hair, but one touch to his skin and he decided it would be best to drip dry. Today’s fight had involved a giant octopus—a fight that, for the record, had ended in a draw. Rough red suction marks covered his exposed skin, which was most of it. Even if he hadn’t left his clothes below decks, there was no way he was getting them on without doing more damage.

He stumbled to the fire, drawing stares from a few of the others. Actually, a lot of the others. He pulled his towel modestly around his shoulders. It wasn’t that bad, was it?

Beidou raised her mug to him. “Nice of you to show up, Fatui boy! Come and get warm. You look like dirt."

Zhongli, who was sitting on the ground by the fire pit, patted the space next to him. Childe sat down and stretched out, doing his best to ignore the stares following him from all angles.

“I’m fine, by the way,” he announced.

One of the sailors snickered. “You look like you’ve either been having a great time or a terrible time,” Furong told him.

“It was a draw,” he muttered.

Beidou pointed an accusing finger at Furong. “How about we don’t bully our Fatui boy, alright? Whatever he and Zhongli get up to in their free time is none of our business.”

“Beidou!” Childe protested, as the rest of the crew laughed. Even Zhongli laughed, the traitor. Childe elbowed him in revenge, but his friend didn’t seem to mind. Zhongli’s smile was genuine, and contagious.

“You’re so serious,” Beidou said, taking a swig of her drink with a devilish grin. “You make it too easy. Lighten up.”

Childe glanced at Zhongli, who didn’t disagree. He gave Childe an apologetic shrug. What? It was funny.

Over on the stage, one of the performers gave Beidou a thumbs-up. It looked like they were ready to go. Yue held a tambourine, which he looked very excited to shake. Aiguo and his brother Donghai—Childe was pretty sure those were their names—had set up a drum and a mandolin respectively. With them was a woman named… shoot. Baiwen? Bai Wing? He knew he was close. Bai-something was a powerhouse who usually worked on the rigging in her uniform of shorts and a vest, but now she wore a red silk dress. 

Beidou raised her glass for a toast. All eyes turned to her as she proclaimed: “Now that everyone’s here, how about we get this show on the road?”

Everyone cheered, Childe and Zhongli included. With a sweeping gesture, Beidou showed off the stage. Two sailors standing in the “wings” let off confetti cannons, redoubling the applause. The lanterns hanging above the performers were suddenly lit, and the four of them took a bow.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Beidou roared, “I give you the Southern Cross Players, and the one and only Miss Bai Ling!”

So close .

Bai Ling stepped forward, holding a fan over her chest as the drum began to beat. Though she couldn’t have been older than her thirties, her skin was yellow and wrinkled in places, the stain on her fingers indicative of a heavy smoker. Her voice, as she began to sing, was hoarse and rough, and sparked on the difficult notes.

“A tale echoes in Liyue of stone and lily, rock and dust…”

Childe settled in, reaching out with his toes to warm them by the fire. After another quick glance to check if it was okay, he leaned up against Zhongli, resting his head on his shoulder. Zhongli stirred under and around him, shifting into a position where they were both comfortable. Despite the hard edges of Zhongli’s pauldron between them, the arrangement was instantly cozy. Like a snake’s hide, Zhongli’s coat had soaked up the sun, turning him into Childe’s own personal heater.

“Under Liyue, the old gods lie entombed,” rang Bai Ling and the mandolin.

“But in their day, beautiful Guizhong bloomed.

Glaze lilies, she loved, and they shone in her song

Alas!

How the lilies weep since she has been gone!

"Her beauty graced a world at war

None yet knew what the demons held in store

Rex Lapis slew the mightiest of beasts

And yet the onslaught never ceased

Those he slew became a hideous throng

Karmic debt, a cursed fate!

The pain of guilt would be assuaged by Guizhong’s psalm.”

Zhongli sighed heavily. He’d probably heard this tale a million times, and it didn’t seem to be one of the amusing ones. The dramatic irony of singing a ballad to Rex Lapis in front of the disguised Rex Lapis could only be so funny, Childe supposed. Even he wasn’t getting his usual kick out of it. This was just…sad. He wondered how much of it was true. 

“Guizhong’s beauty was not her only exult

For she, too, could defend against the tumult!

The ballista spread like dragons’ wings

To save us all from demons’ slings

The hand of our destruction, staid

The world rejoiced!

But still, Rex Lapis’ debt endured unpaid.”

The music held its breath, and so did the audience. Soulful chords lamented a tragedy soon to come. In a bittersweet gesture, Bai Ling raised her fan, warbling through a softer verse.

“In long-sought peace, a contract made

Two souls entwined, on blessed day.

Guizhong was crowned the moon-glazed queen

To rule beside the Archon’s seat

For love had bloomed like lily’s song

The war god’s stony heart turned soft

For dust of time, for gentle Guizhong.”

A few dark notes on the mandolin filled Bai Ling’s ominous silence. Beidou snapped her fingers, making lightning flash in the darkness of a passing cloud. The tension was palpable, and Bai Ling seemed to bask in it, glancing deviously over her fan.

“Alas,” she sang, her eyes fluttering closed in mourning, “in darkness slept the vortex Lord

His deathless wrath poisoned waters unexplored

His demon vassals hunted Guizhong’s blood

For the tyrant’s rule could not weather love

Thus came Osial’s storm of rage

Retribution, karmic right he sought

And a tsunami blew through Guili Plain.

"O how the demon’s storm did thunder

The adeptus’ council torn asunder!

Thousands perished in Osial’s wake

But Rex Lapis suffered only for one soul’s sake

Through torrents dark he called her name

O loveliest Guizhong!

When sounds of waters ceased, she answered not the same.

“Dust was her name, and all that remained

Was dust dispersed across the plain

In the ashes, glaze lilies bloomed

A final gift on Guizhong’s tomb.

Rex Lapis’ sorrow echoed through the land

In his grief, he spoke these words:

“O men! The death of demons is my last command.”

“So driven on by Guizhong’s loss

And to avenge the war’s great costs

The Yakshas surged from strongholds high

Before their blades did their enemies fly

Victory was won, in name of dust

And the Geo Archon’s cruel price paid

Left love of all but country shattered, as it must.”

As the performance drew to a close, the pirates roared in applause. Bai Ling and her band bowed with satisfaction, Little Yue smacking himself in the face with his tambourine in his excitement. In lieu of flowers, someone tossed Bai Ling a bottle of beer, which she cracked open with her teeth and chugged. That got even more cheers.

Zhongli clapped too. Politely, of course, as always. Childe glanced over at him as they both applauded. Zhongli always had something to say about these kinds of old stories. Plenty of Liyue’s legends had been made up with no historical basis, as Zhongli himself had told him. Those that contained a nugget of truth had been passed down over so many years, many of the details had been changed or lost. If Zhongli wasn’t pedantically fascinated by the inaccuracies in stories about himself, he was usually humbly abashed that someone would be so generous as to go out of their way to commemorate little old him. Either way, none of these kinds of poems ever really got to him. Not like this one.

He looked sad. Detached, as always, but sad. His face was stony, his features settled into a quiet, unmoving emptiness. Childe felt a pang of sympathy. Was he sad because the story was true? A reminder of what he had lost? Or because it wasn’t true? Childe had heard a lot of stories about Rex Lapis during his time in Liyue, usually in the form of intelligence reports handed in by his subordinates. He had never heard anything about Zhongli—no, Morax. Morax having a wife. That hadn’t been something he’d ever asked about. It couldn’t have been relevant to the operation in Liyue. Morax and his allies were dead.

Well, he had certainly been proven wrong before. Childe couldn’t pretend that he knew everything there was to know about somebody who was older than cooked food. And sure, Zhongli knew that Childe was a massive idiot when it came to Rex Lapis. But had he known that Childe didn't know that he’d been married? Had he thought it was some kind of giant middle finger when Childe had given him the glaze lily? No wonder he had been so quiet in that moment. Childe felt his ears burn with embarrassment. He couldn’t fathom what Zhongli must have thought of him. 

“Are you alright?” Zhongli asked, gently nudging him with his knee. “You seem a little warm.”

“Hmm?” Childe jolted to attention, yet another wave of embarrassment crashing over him. This definitely wasn’t helping his friend’s opinion of him. “Yeah, no, I’m good. I think I might need a rabies shot.”

“Not if it was a cephalopod that attacked you,” Zhongli said helpfully. “The lower body temperatures of non-mammals makes them unsuitable hosts for the rabies virus. If you are ill, it’s much more likely that the animal passed on a parasitic infection…”

Childe didn’t mean to tune out the monologue that ensued—especially since, if Zhongli was right, there was probably going to be a host of obscure and pleasant-sounding medical complications in his future. But across the bonfire, he caught Beidou watching him. There was that knowing glance he had been looking for from Zhongli. She was staring right through him. Even if Zhongli couldn’t see it, Beidou knew what Childe was feeling. She could see the pit of jealousy and confusion coiling inside him. He was vaguely aware that Zhongli had stopped listing the many complicated and horrifying diseases that octopi could carry. He was vaguely aware that the band had left the stage, and that the sailors were looking to Beidou for direction.

“Alright, people,” Beidou announced, bringing everyone’s attention to her once again. “Now is usually the time when we open up the floor to anyone who wants to tell a story,” she said, pointing finger guns at Childe to indicate he was the one who needed the explanation. “But some of us—” she rounded her finger guns on Zhongli, “haven’t been pulling their weight in that department.” The crew tittered, and Childe grinned. “Zhongli, we all know you’ve been holding out on us. Now that Fatui boy’s here, you don’t have any excuse not to give us a show.”

Zhongli chuckled, waving off the suggestion as if to defend himself. “Well, I’m not sure whether I—”

“Oh, you’re not sure?” Beidou teased. “I can make it an order if it’ll get you off the fence.”

Everyone laughed at that. A few whooped, egging Zhongli on. “Do it!” Sea Drake shouted, and a few others took up the chant. “Do it! Do it!” became “Zhongli! Zhongli!” Childe nudged the big guy forward with his shoulder, and Zhongli retaliated with a shove. Mister Rule-Follower was too polite to refuse, though, and they all knew it. He adjusted his tie in that elegant way of his, but he didn’t get up. Considerately, he let Childe go back to using him as a pillow, and with a hand on his chin, he considered what he would say next.

“Very well,” he agreed, like it wasn’t a foregone conclusion. “I do indeed know a few of Liyue’s more obscure legends. There is one in particular that comes to mind. I am no storyteller, of course, but I think I can do it justice.”

Childe scoffed at his false modesty, but nobody else seemed to mind. They settled in, and as all eyes turned to Zhongli, he began his story with a dramatic flourish.

“Let me tell you the story of the silent adeptus of Luhua.”

He addressed the crew with his words, but his eyes flickered down to Childe as he spoke. Probably to make sure Childe wouldn’t fall asleep on him.

“Long ago, before the Archon War, when gods and monsters held dominion over the earth, there lived a nameless adeptus in the furthest reaches of Liyue. This adeptus was a mighty dragon, the highest among illuminated beasts, yet he lived in solitude, hidden away even from the others of his kind.” On the word ‘mighty,’ Zhongli puffed up his chest a little. “He had never entered into a contract with Rex Lapis, for the bounds of communion were of little interest to him. To preserve his lonesome peace, he pledged a vow of silence in his own name. Nevertheless, he had great compassion for the struggles of both humans and adepti alike. With no ties to bind him, he was free to travel the world in disguise, and aid those who were powerless to help themselves. He would appear to listen to their troubles, and then vanish soon after, to complete the once impossible labor in secret. For one as strong as he, to slay a monster or to procure a bit of gold was no great feat, and one to which he paid little mind. Yet for those he helped, the silent adeptus would be remembered as a mysterious being that had changed their lives.”

Just in case the metaphor wasn’t getting through, Zhongli glanced down at Childe once again, peering through his sodden bangs for a reaction. It was a quick look, but he seemed satisfied. Everyone was watching them, but Childe knew this story was for him.

“Though the adeptus had no name, the people of Liyue wanted to pass down his memory in legends and folktales. Their descendants would hear of the nameless adeptus and believed that they, too, would be visited in secret. They called him Yīnyǐng, shadow, and Liúlàng Zhě, wanderer. Some called him a god, or a ghost, or a spirit of the land. Some said he was an assassin, sent to destroy the enemies of Rex Lapis, while others feared he was an agent of the old gods, who would defy the orders of heaven to restore the old ways. None of these tales were true, but each was told in reverence, which humbled the silent adeptus.”

Humbled? Childe laughed softly. Zhongli smiled at the inside joke in the cheeky way Childe had been missing.

“After many long years, the adeptus’ solitude became a burden, rather than a blessing. He had seen how the humans relied upon each other. Though we are weak alone, our strength comes from unity. The many generations of humans who labored in harmony to bring about the prosperity of Liyue had achieved more than any illuminated beast could alone, even in the longest lifetime.” A pointed look at Childe, and then: “Even Rex Lapis’ greatest works paled before those of humanity. It became the adeptus’ only wish to live among the humans, to speak freely with them and toil alongside them.

“This required him to commit the cardinal sin of the adepti: to break his contract of silence. How, then, could he be the beast from the old stories? The legends told of a silent dragon, not a talkative mortal.” That drew a few laughs. “This adeptus was a new creature, a man with no legacy and no heritage. His tale would not be told, because there was no need for his plainly done deeds to be committed to myth. He was only another soul among the millions that give all they have to serve their people every day.”

In a dramatic pause, or perhaps searching for what to say next, Zhongli regarded his captive audience. “When they tell this story in Liyue Harbor,” he said, a little quieter now, “the teamaster ends his tale with one question. I ask you now: do you think the nameless adeptus suffered in his obscurity? Do you think he longed to be a hero, immortalized in stone alongside Rex Lapis, Marchosius, and the five Yakshas? When all accomplishments are lost to time, when all high walls are torn down and all dragons are lost beneath the earth, can it be said that their memories will survive intact and true?”

It took a moment for everyone to realize Zhongli was done talking, so the applause came in clusters. Nobody seemed particularly enthusiastic about that ending. “Boo,” Juza said. “That wasn’t a story, that was a philosophy lecture.” A few other voices mumbled in agreement. Zhongli just shrugged. He hadn’t claimed to be a storyteller, after all.

“Funny, I haven’t heard that one before,” Xu Liushi said. “I used to hang around bars and catch all the new stories as they were coming out, and I never heard about any silent adeptus.”

“Duh,” Bai Ling told him with a cough. “That’s the point. ”

“Perhaps,” Kazuha said, struggling to speak up from high on his perch among the crates. “Perhaps the story was boring because we always hear so much about Liyue. Chairudo-san can tell us some Snezhnisky stories from far away.” He stumbled over the word Childe had taught him, glancing down at Childe for assurance that he had gotten it right. Childe gave him a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, none of us have heard anything from Snezhnaya,” Suling said excitedly. “You’ve gotta have some cool stories up there, right?”

“Great idea, Kazuha!” Beidou reached up and gave Kazuha a fist bump. They exchanged a mischievous smile. Probably some mother-son inside joke. “Impress us, Fatui boy.”

“I doubt I could do better than Mr. Zhongli,” Childe said, even as everyone turned to look at him with just as much hype as they had given his friend. “I don’t have that nice bedtime-story voice like he does.”

Zhongli chuckled awkwardly. “You sound fine,” he told Childe. “Don’t be shy. It’s about time you had your turn.”

Childe rolled his eyes. He shifted off Zhongli and moved closer to the fire. The dark of night was setting in, and it was getting cold. He stretched his hand out to the fire, feeling the burn in the marks on his hands. What story would he want to tell? There were plenty of fairy tales from back home—the steadfast tin soldier, the golden slipper, the twelve dancing princesses—but nothing that would excite a crew of cutthroats. A few more heroic tales came to mind, but those, too, were meant for children. Of all the effects of the Tsaritsa’s censorship, the last one Childe had used to consider was that it would make him boring at parties. But then, the bar was on the floor. All he had to do was be comparable to Zhongli. Usually an impossible feat, but now, he had an idea.

“Okay,” he said, gesturing broadly with his hands. “This is a story they tell on cold, lonely nights in Snezhnaya, when the snow covers every window in the villages, and the people are forced to spend the long winter in complete darkness.” Switching into his ghost-story voice, he felt like he was talking to his younger brothers, and he couldn’t help but ham it up. “They say that before the Cryo Archon came to power, Snezhnaya was a frozen wasteland, uninhabitable for all but the most determined—or the most demented. The few who lived there were forced to fight and struggle endlessly just for themselves and their families to survive. One man had lived on his own for as long as he could remember. He was a fisherman, who had to travel miles from shore each day to catch his supper. One day, his boat was caught in a huge snowstorm and swept out on the waves, far, far away from any sight of land. It was all he could do to keep his boat from sinking for three days and nights as he drifted in the raging ocean.”

Beef came around the fire pit and nosed at Childe’s hands, hunting for what he must have assumed was freshly roasted calamari. Childe gathered the dog up in his lap and scratched his ears as he continued.

“On the third night, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep. When he woke up, he found himself stranded on a small island, far away from everything he had ever known. The island was surrounded by a raging snowstorm. As he got hold of himself, it was clear right away that this storm was not natural. It had closed off the island from all sides, surrounding him in this…dazzling cacophony of swirling wind. The snow that falls in Snezhnaya is pure white, brighter than the moon, and the clouds glow bright blue, even in the middle of the night. When lightning strikes, it superconducts with the snow and creates these massive pillars of ice that follow the electricity’s path. The storm wouldn’t let the man leave the island, but it was so beautiful, he couldn’t really even be upset. Well, let’s be honest. It would have been ridiculous for him to hate the storm. It wasn’t like it had intentionally hurt him, specifically.”

Childe licked his lips. “A-anyway, with nothing to do, the man found himself watching the storm whenever he had a spare moment. And, yeah, that was his only entertainment, but the storm was so beautiful, and the man was so lonely, he felt like he could have sat and watched it from anywhere in the world, and never wanted anything else. Isn’t that right, buddy? Isn’t that right? ” Beef wiggled in delight at Childe's attention.

“After so long watching the storm, the man could have sworn he saw the storm watching him back. He couldn’t prove it, but he was followed by this… feeling. Like eyes on his back, like someone standing near him, just out of sight.

“At first, he thought he was just going crazy. Even if a weather formation could be sentient, it probably had better things to do than stalk him. But the feeling didn’t go away. No matter what he did, it always felt so… like, real. Not delusional real, where all the evidence just hovers on the edge of your senses. Real real. He knew, with absolute certainty, that the storm had noticed him.”

Beef clambered up and lapped at the bruises on Childe’s face, making him wince. Zhongli rolled the pup into his own lap. Slotting the hungry mutt between his knees, he was able to keep him in place and in petting range while Childe continued his story.

“The man started to put out little offerings to the storm. Little gifts of food and wood carvings. He even built a little shrine, with a statue that he could address prayers to. He wasn’t sure exactly why he did it, but it just seemed right. Like it was what the storm had expected of him. He wasn’t sure how to build a statue of a storm, though, so he carved the figure of a… uh, a woman.” Nice save. “Like a bust…neck up.” He demonstrated with a hand on his own chest.

Yeah, he was a moron. He chuckled. “Heh. Needless to say, he had no idea what he was doing, but it seemed like it was working. The storm was responding. It started out slow. All of the gifts he set out disappeared overnight. Then, his fish hauls started to increase whenever he asked them to. The little shelter he had built for himself would always stay warm, even when his fire went out during the night. When monsters came out of the sea, lightning would strike them down before they could threaten him.”

Childe looked up at all the gathered faces, watching him intently. He hadn’t lost them yet. He certainly hadn’t lost Beef, who was luxuriating under the combined scratchies from him and Zhongli. He had to remind himself that this was fiction. Just a tall tale passed down between Snezhnayan fishermen. Zhongli would get it, and Beidou would get as much as she would find funny, and that was all that mattered.

“He was in a religion of one,” he said, and the words fell from his lips as easily as lies. “The storm was his god alone. He took comfort in that fact, reveled in it. He had been alone for so long, he had forgotten… gah.” Sinking the nails of one hand into his palm, he forced himself to finish the thought. “He’d forgotten what it was like to rely on someone else. And that’s why—or one of the reasons why—why he found himself falling in love with the storm.

“Stupid, right!” He forced a laugh, throwing his head back like he couldn’t possibly imagine being made into such a fool. Nobody else found it funny. “But really, can you blame him? Imagine if everybody could have their own personal god, solving all your problems, looking out for you wherever you go?" Suling muttered, "Hear, hear."

“Obviously, though, that couldn’t last. The storm couldn’t have reciprocated his feelings. It was a force of nature, thousands of times bigger and older and more powerful than he was. It didn’t need his offerings. It liked them, sure, but if it liked the taste of fish, all it would have to do is suck them up out of the ocean. It didn’t owe the man payment for his primitive worship. Eventually, it moved on. Maybe it got bored with staying in the same place for too long, or maybe it was irritated with the mans’ neediness. It left no explanation, no goodbye. It flew away when the man was sleeping, and left behind clear, blue skies. The sea was calm now, and the man was able to build a boat to get back to land.”

He cracked his knuckles against the deck, feeling them scrape against the boards. “Some people say that that was a gift from the storm,” he said. “That it was a sign of the storm’s appreciation for its worshiper that it allowed him to return safely. Nobody knows whether or not he ever made it, though. The story usually ends there, with the man getting in his boat and trying to get back to the mainland. Some say he died in the attempt and became a ghost. They say you can smell incense burning on the wind during the darkest snowstorms on the coast, as if the long-dead fisherman is still chasing the favor of his lost love.”

He finished the story with a spooky flourish. The crew applauded politely, though it didn’t seem like he’d really impressed them. No, it hadn’t been his best work. But the knowing look Beidou gave Kazuha, and the nod the samurai gave her back, proved that if nothing else, he had entertained them. That was the idea, after all. Not…

Zhongli nudged Childe with his shoulder. Childe looked up. Far from detached humor, or stone-faced grief, his friend’s face was etched with concern. Concern, and recognition. Well, he’d gotten the joke, hadn’t he? There wouldn’t be any awkward explanation, there was no misunderstanding. Childe had said everything he needed to, and now they could all move on with their lives. Unless he’d laid it on too thick? Zhongli’s story had held nothing back. Part of him wished Zhongli would say something, but in front of everyone else, there was no time.

“It’s such a shame,” Muzhen remarked, staring into the bottom of her mug. “All three stories ended in huge downers.”

Zhongli cleared his throat abruptly. He tore his eyes off Childe, focusing instead on the squirming dog in his lap. “Not necessarily,” he told Muzhen, ever the intellectual. “Though none of our principal characters got the endings they had hoped for, I don’t see why any of the stories must be interpreted as wholly tragic.”

“How so?” Sea Drake demanded. “I mean, Guizhong died. ”

“You’re right,” Zhongli said evenly. If the blunt statement made him want to strangle the sailor as much as it did for Childe, he didn’t show it. “Guizhong’s life ended too soon, but she has been remembered in her inventions, and in her contributions to a world that was too cruel for her. The silent adeptus found peace and companionship. And the Snezhnayan in Childe’s story…” He turned to Childe, hunting for a reaction in his face. Childe wasn’t sure what he found, but he seemed to like it. “The Snezhnayan’s disappointment may have been a blessing in disguise. He may not have wanted the freedom the storm’s absence granted him, but in the end, he was free to love a mortal, if he chose. One who would appreciate his care, and not tire of his powerlessness.” The cruel smirk that traced Zhongli’s face looked alien on him. The consummately considerate god had the nerve to bait Childe. He felt a knot of familiar, comfortable anger forming inside him.

“If he wanted to go for a mortal, he could have!” Childe argued. He could feel it in his throat. Hook, line, and sinker, and he didn’t even care. His voice shook as he tried to keep it light. “I thought you were a romantic, Mr. Zhongli! Can’t love exist for love’s sake? The man didn’t love the storm because of its power or its utility .”

“What else could there be?” Zhongli asked. He was maddeningly calm. He know full well that he would win this argument and leave Childe humiliated, and it was effortless for him. He had the big words, and the magniloquence. “If not its power, then what was it that drew the man to the storm?”

Childe gritted his teeth. If everyone hadn’t been staring at them before, they were now. He could have sworn he saw Beidou exchanging a small pouch of Mora with Three-Eyes in the background, not that he was going to break eye contact with Zhongli to look. He’d give them what they wanted: he would lose, and he’d lose spectacularly. “Well,” he said, doing his best to keep his cool. “Um, how do you think he made that statue? The storm could have appeared in a human form, the way some ley line disorders do. I mean, it wasn’t in the version of the story I heard—” Furong tossed Beidou another coin. “But I think it’s possible that they could have been… you know. Friends. Before she moved on and left.”

"Friends?" Zhongli asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Maybe they were friends, maybe they made passionate love in front of a roaring fire. It all shakes out the same in the end, doesn't it?"

“You can’t just add stuff to the story that wasn’t already there!” Yinxing objected. “That totally takes away from the meaning of the original narrative!” Hearty “yeah”s accompanied her analysis.

Zhongli considered her point, holding up a finger to halt the discussion until he had spoken. “I see what you mean,” he told her, “but in this case, if we treat each iterative performance of a fable as being authored by its teller, then Childe must be accepted as the creator of his version of the narrative. In that case, no critical analysis of his work would be complete without accounting for his authorial intent.” He wasn’t sarcastic here in the slightest; he seemed genuinely invested in defending Childe’s literary contribution. “If he says that the man and the storm were always intended to have met in person, I argue that should be accepted as canon.”

Behind Zhongli’s back, Childe raised a hand and pointed down at Zhongli’s head. Trust this guy . Yinxing bit her lip.

“Sure,” she said, “but all the addition of the humanoid manifestation of the storm adds to the story is a justification for the man’s affection. The text of the story implies that a justification is not needed, or would actively take away from the man’s experience. Adding in that justification betrays a sense of insecurity on the author’s part and weakens the narrative overall.”

“That very well may be true,” Zhongli countered, as dispassionately as if Childe was some author who had died a hundred years ago, “but the storyteller’s lack of confidence can also be seen as a metatextual element to the story.”

“Guys,” Childe said. “I’m in the room.”

“Hear, hear!” Beidou rolled her eyes. “I’m not drunk enough for all this literary talk,” she declared. “Muzhen, pour us another round!”

The technical officer raised a toast. The pirates crowded around her for their refills, and even the dog joined in, jumping for the treats Mora-Grubber threw him from the bag under her chair. Childe spotted Kazuha’s Vision flashing as he leapt down from the crates and disappeared. Probably a smart idea. Little Yue banged his tambourine, playing everyone into a jolly work song. Zhongli nudged Childe. He pointed with his chin: Want to get out of here?

They stole away, back to the covered aft deck. Out of sight and sound of the bonfire, the night was cold and quiet. The towel around Childe’s shoulders did little to keep out the chill. Goosebumps prickled across his skin. He found himself standing at the railing with Zhongli, looking out at the stars the way they had so many times before.

“Beidou was right: you don’t look well,” Zhongli told him. He took the corners of Childe’s towel and arranged it, methodically, to hug his body as gently as possible. That was a little warmer, but Childe still shivered at the brush of rough cloth on his damaged skin. Zhongli’s gaze followed his every movement. When they both were still, his eyes flickered up to Childe's, and lingered. “I never got the chance to ask if you were alright.”

Childe shrugged. “Been better,” he said. “Bad luck, I guess. If I had known it was music night, I probably would have stuck around here.”

Zhongli gave him a sad grin. “The schedule is posted on the bulletin board in the mess hall,” he told Childe, his voice peaking like he was trying not to laugh. “It’s really quite difficult to miss.”

Childe smiled guiltily. “I guarantee you I will forget that by tomorrow.”

They both laughed a little. A beat passed, or maybe two. Long enough for Zhongli’s smile to fade, for his eyes to pass from Childe’s face to his hair, matted from the seawater, and then down, down to the circular bites covering his arms and neck. Long enough, too, for Childe to realize that Zhongli had never let go of his towel.

“I'm sorry for putting you on the spot tonight. I hope I haven’t given you the impression that I want to shut you out,” Zhongli said, much more serious now. “I saw you were uncomfortable—” Understatement of the century — “hearing the theater’s account of my past. If you had heard the tale from me, would it have eased your mind?”

Childe shook his head. “No, it’s fine. You’re entitled to your…privacy, or whatever. And like you said, the story wasn’t even true.”

“All the same, I know you have concerns. If something is troubling you, all you have to do is tell me. I will always be honest with you.”

Childe crossed his arms. Zhongli stepped back, drumming his fingers on the railing with a curious expression on his face. Childe had questions, of course he had questions. His friend was too kind. He had no expectations, and that meant Childe could never live up to them.

“Guizhong,” he blurted, before he could analyze the impulse into oblivion. “Were you two really… I mean, was she really your… wife?”

His confusion didn’t surprise Zhongli. He sighed, that same untethered sadness settling into him. “No,” he told Childe, and his breath shuddered as he spoke. “That was the invention of the opera. Long after Guizhong passed away, the telling of the legends was taken up by singers with a more… romantic style. That cultural movement created many popular legends from whole cloth.” He chuckled, but his smile quickly faded. “Having said that…all good myths must contain a morsel of truth. If Guizhong had lived to see the kindness of a world without war, then there could—perhaps, and only perhaps, Childe, I hope you can understand—perhaps there could have been a contract made between us. In the time I spent with her, we were friends, and nothing more.”

Childe bit his lip. “I-I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

“You don’t need to be. That was a long time ago.” Zhongli squeezed Childe’s shoulder, and then he let go. Childe could still feel the touch after Zhongli returned his hands to his pockets. Even in his gloves, warmth radiated from him, and cascaded over Childe like a waterfall.

“I still grieve for my old friends,” Zhongli said. “That is the consequence of love. But sorrow cannot be the end of love. Both must be felt, if either is to have purpose. To me, that is the meaning of a full life. My heart will always be open, even to those with whom I know I must one day part.”

“That’s everyone,” Childe pointed out.

“It is,” Zhongli agreed. “And this is something I share with all beings in the world. No one can love without loss, not even a god. No one has power over death. It’s something I share with you. You and I know better than most how fragile and precious life truly is.”

“I don’t think that’s the same thing,” Childe said.

“Perhaps not,” Zhongli replied. “But you aren’t powerless, Childe. You aren’t small, or insignificant, even compared to the gods. I admire you. Your strength, your wit, your indomitable spirit. You don’t have to worry that I find you boring. Knowing you…” He trailed, off, running the tip of his tongue between his lips. “Ah, forgive my forwardness. But you should know that I treasure our relationship.”

Forwardness. Yeah, that was the word for this. Zhongli was the one stepping over the line here. Zhongli was the one who had spilled his guts all over the deck for everyone to see. Childe’s throat turned to glue. Forwardness. No, nothing about this was forward. All they had done was say out loud what they had always known. He loved the storm, the beautiful storm. Zhongli’s heart was open. Zhongli… admired him. Every piece had been said. All that was left was to put them together. They were so close. They were standing so close. Only a breath stood between them, a breath that Childe could hear humming shallowly in his own chest. A sharp breeze skimmed over the water and whipped up the tails of Zhongli’s coat. They swirled around Childe as if to envelop him, as if they could share the space within. In the second the breeze sped by, in the instant the tails of the coat surrounded Childe, in the world created from that dark silk, they were close enough to pretend that nothing could come between them. Not death or immortality or the Tsaritsa or the claws of the Foul Legacy that tore at Childe from the inside, howling to be let free and tear through everything in its path. He could pretend he could care for Zhongli, could pretend it wouldn’t give him as much euphoria to kiss him as to slit his throat. They didn’t have to pretend that this could work. That when the curtains of the coattails fell, the moment would continue in the stillness. But they could pretend, in the infinity before the moment ended, that it would last forever.

“Geeze, sir, you can’t just say things like that,” he joked when the breeze had ended, and its chill ran through him to his bones. “Not unless you’re going to kiss me.”

Zhongli pulled a face. “Ah, I would,” he teased back, “but you still smell like fish.”

Childe lifted his hand and took a whiff. Ugh. He’d really gotten used to the smell up until now. And Zhongli had let him lounge on him all night? If the old man even had a sense of smell, it had been a godly act of mercy to put up with him.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go take a shower.”

Zhongli smiled crookedly. “Yes, I think that would be best.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Goodnight, Childe.”

“Goodnight, Zhongli.”

Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow would be another day. Another long day—more boredom, more worry, more nightmares. But it wouldn’t be for nothing. He wasn’t alone. That, too, he had always known. All he needed was time.

Chapter Text

The days grew darker and colder as the Alchor approached Snezhnaya's southern border. The decks were lined with enclosed warming stations, but even their concentrated Pyro energy couldn't oppose the chill of the howling winds. Everyone bundled themselves in their warmest attire, oil-slicked sealskin coats to keep out both the water and the cold. Beidou’s thick mink coat was richly ornamented in purple and gold, her Vision pinned securely to her chest. Even Zhongli, who wasn’t usually affected by the cold, had ornamented his usual jacket with a lining of thick golden fur. The vicious wind and waves carried them swiftly north. The stars were clouded by the haze, and the navigators spent their days cross-referencing and reworking their charts by lamplight, praying for the sight of even a single landmark. 

At dawn on what was calculated to be the final day of their journey north, the crew gathered on the foredeck, carrying lanterns to pierce the fog. Zhongli mounted the bow, scouting for their target with eyes glowing like headlights. As the first cracks of light appeared over the horizon, so too did the endless barrier of the southern ice wall.

It was a sight to behold. As far as the eye could see, the ocean was frozen in place. Tsunami waves hung petrified in statue, towering higher than the Alchor's masts. Suspended crystals of the foam tossed up by the waves' fury stood as testament to the violence of the storm, enshrined eternally in the ice. Even the animals who had been caught up in the swells were preserved untouched: whales and gulls and feeder fish caught up in the raging tide and trapped in unyielding rime. It was as if time itself was frozen here, the moment of the Cryo Archon's ascension immortalized into infinity.

The ice had been a monolith, a symbol of the Tsaritsa's power and a warning to anyone who came near, for generations. Now, after five hundred years, that illusion, and the form itself, would be shattered forever.

Up on the bow, Zhongli steeled himself against the lurching of the ship. He reached out his hands, gathering Geo energy in one outstretched palm. Geo power burst from him, showering the deck in sparks, surrounding him with a glow of divine energy.

Ahead of the ship, his construct materialized from thin air: an enormous spear, hundreds of meters tall, nearly double the thickness of the glacier at its farthest depths. It cast a long grey shadow through the fog, blocking out the rays of the sun, and even the shadow was thicker than Childe was tall. Vividly realized in gold and black, it turned idly as Zhongli gauged its weight with careful motions of his fingers. And then he let it fall.

With glowing hands straining against the force of the spear, he drove it through the ice, shredding through the rime in a burst of gold and white. The glacier let out a sound like a wounded beast, roaring as boulders of ice were torn from the floe. A geyser of shattered ice flew high over the ship, crashing down to the deck in a storm of hail. That was where Childe came in. He snatched his bow out of thin air, strung it, and loosed an arrow. The projectile sheared through the largest of the falling chunks as he continued shooting, dodging, tracking every piece of ice for potential danger and destroying it. Before the remnants could even hit the deck, Beidou unleashed a pulse of Electro energy, superconducting the Cryo into oblivion.

The sudden silence after so much noise and chaos was deafening. The pirates who had slipped on the ice picked themselves up with the help of those who had anchored themselves to something solid. They shot each other disbelieving glances, their awed breaths cooling in the air. Everyone seemed to have the same thought at once. As soon as they got their feet under them, they rushed to the edge of the deck to see what progress they had made. Childe shoved Mora-Grubber out of the way to edge out a spot at the railing. The sight that awaited them took his breath away. 

The attack had pierced a hole twice the width of the Alchor, reaching all the way through the glacier to the murky waters below. The sea burbled ominously as the warm water from the ocean floor rose to the surface for the first time in centuries. Already, the waves were moving the ship forward into the space Zhongli had carved out for it. Huge cracks traced the ice at every level, snaking through the glacier for hundreds of meters in every direction.

The crew erupted in cheers, picking up snow and throwing it like confetti. From his post high above them, Zhongli turned around with his arms crossed. He nodded proudly at Childe, who chucked a snowball at his head. He held up a hand to defend himself, but the snowball hit him right between the eyes. Childe stuck his tongue out. His victory didn’t last long, though. Mora-Grubber stuffed a handful of snow down the back of his cloak as revenge for stealing her spot.

Beidou loosed a second pulse of Electro over the floor of the deck, harmlessly dissolving the lingering Cryo there and ruining Childe’s plot for revenge. She gave Zhongli a thumbs up, cupping her mouth with her other mittened hand.

“Great work!” she told him. “Stand by for my signal!”

At Beidou’s nod, Kazuha took off toward the port side of the ship. His Vision carried him over the panels of the outer hull as he made quick and nimble checks on the oars. When every oar had been confirmed to be undamaged, he sent up a flare in the form of pretty green smoke. He leapt over to the starboard side, and only a few moments later, the second signal came curling up from his precarious perch on the roof of the aft hold. Up on the crow’s nest, Three-Eyes shouted, “All clear!” At aer signal, Beidou snapped her fingers, sending up a crackle of purple electricity. This was Zhongli’s signal to begin again, summoning another stone spear.

Show time was over. Zhongli broke through the ice again, and again, and again, each eruption of force and burst of displaced ice louder and more violent than the last as they moved further into the heart of the glacier. Childe and Beidou defended the ship from the cascading explosions, working with total focus as the roar of the shattering ice drowned out any attempt at conversation. Childe could barely even hear his own thoughts after a while. The entire crew would be working today, securing the sails, maintaining the hydraulic oars, looking out for Fatui patrols in the open water. Three sailors manned the rudder, battling the currents that threatened to bash them into the walls of their narrow channel. Beidou rolled out a barrel to sit on between signals. Childe did the same, making himself a little stool out of Hydro that froze over almost immediately in the frigid weather.

Their progress was slow. The ship inched forward, crawling between the cracks in the glacier with careful precision. Their journey began fifty miles from shore; by nightfall, they would drop anchor at Morepesok. They fell into a rhythm over the long hours. Drop the spear, blow up the ice, move forward a few lengths. At noon, Childe got up to stretch and looked back behind the ship. The open ocean had long since disappeared over the horizon, and the channel was already developing a frozen crust, hemming them in from behind. 

When he got back, Beidou tossed him her wineskin. “You look chilly,” she said, indicating her own face. “Lemme know if you need a break, kiddo.”

Childe rolled his eyes as he caught the flask. “Kiddo? I’m twenty-five.” He drank the wine anyway, grateful for the rush of warmth it gave him. “Besides, I’m not bowing out before the old man.” He pointed with his head to the bow. They both canted their gaze to where Zhongli stood, leaning back on the carved dragon’s head as he waited for his next orders. Silhouetted in black and gold against the grey-blue sky, Childe could have believed he had never lost his divinity.

“Well, when you become an elemental being like Mr. Zhongli, I’ll stop nagging you,” Beidou bargained teasingly.

“You knew?” Childe asked, tossing back her wineskin. She didn’t catch it in time and it smacked her in the face with a wet plap. Two for two. “Sorry,” he winced.

Beidou reattached the flask to her belt. “Of course I knew,” she said with an affronted glance. “You think I’d let him on my ship if I didn’t?”

The day dragged on. Eventually, even the horrifying, all-consuming howling of the breaking glacier and the constant shower of hail became routine. Spear, explosion, shoot, superconduct, clear the oars, repeat. Childe could feel his brain screaming and pounding on the inside of his skull for something more interesting to do. Like fishing. In a puddle. By himself. Between Beidou’s water breaks—she offered to let him switch off and stretch, but he refused—he found himself staring at Zhongli. The figure of his friend up there on the bow was constant in a way that somehow wasn’t boring. He worked from dawn til dusk, repeating the same few motions with no sign of tiring. Draw up the spear, plunge it into the depths, tear it apart and look back for Kazuha’s signal. As clouds moved in and the evening set in, the faint glow that surrounded him lit up the darkening sky like a beacon.

It was almost midnight when Beidou gave the order to drop anchor. They were still about a mile from shore, but any closer and the crashing of the ice would have drowned out the noise of the power plant and alerted the town to their presence. Childe saw the light of the lanterns in the distance long before the shapes of the island village came into view. The township of Morepesok was connected to the mainland only by a thin strip of sandy marsh, paved over with gravel in the roughest parts during the summer but covered with thick snow most of the year. The narrow road wound its way around the shore, ducking between houses and shops before climbing along the frozen streams to the hill which faced the mainland. The rise was thickly forested, but even through the trees, Childe could see the glow of the windows of the lone house on the ridge. He tried to identify which of the windows were lit, and what that could mean. His younger brothers’ room looked over the eastern sea; were they still awake? Were they watching for a sign of the ship? Was his mother watching from the kitchen, his father from his study, his sister from the hallway where she kept her typewriter? He hoped they weren’t waiting as anxiously as he was.

Childe, Beidou, Kazhua, and Zhongli left the ship along with a few other members of the crew who spoke a little Snezhnayan. The Vision bearers, including Zhongli, left their Visions in their quarters, to limit Tonia’s exposure to the elements. The trip back would be difficult for her, but they would do all they could to lighten the strain on her delicate constitution. They each carried a lantern, which they hooked to their belts as they traveled over the frozen waves. They tied ropes around their feet for traction.

Though the road to the house was out of the way, and the night was cold and dark, Childe could still see the bright windows of the nearby houses being shuttered. He knew the routine all too well, from both sides. The lanterns would be blown out, and the doors locked and bolted as the children hurried to the cellars. Walking up the beach in the dark, lit only by the warming devices embedded in the snow and the lanterns they carried, Childe and his crew must have been indistinguishable from a Fatui raiding party: the soldiers in their coats, the nobles in their furs, the officer in his decorated white cloak.

Cresting the hill, Childe could smell his mother's famous borscht before they even reached the front gate of his family's small farm. Every window in the old house was lit up, and aromatic white smoke drifted from the chimney. Childe could smell bacon, onions, garlic, tangy beets and carrots. The field was awash with warm orange light, shining off the ankle deep snow surrounding the hovering warming devices which kept the potatoes from freezing over. Kazuha removed his mitten as they walked up the path, feeling the heat with a rapt expression on his face. Childe gave him a knowing look: Told you so.

Beidou stationed her crew at the base of the stairs to watch for trouble. Kazuha bounded up the porch to peek through the window. Childe took a deep breath before following his friends to the front door. It had been months since he'd been home last. So much could have changed since then; so much had already changed.

As he raised his hand to knock, the door was flung open by a blur in a pink apron. Childe's mother, Valeria, was a loveable, round-cheeked woman with bright red hair, now piled on top of her head in a neat bun. She wore rubber gloves still sudsy from the sink, and she had rushed over in such a hurry that her feet were still bare. She leaned forward on tiptoe to avoid stepping off the welcome mat and threw her arms around her son. Childe squeezed her back as hard as he could. Her dress was warm from the fire; she had flour in her hair.

She stepped back and held Childe by his shoulders at arm’s length. “Just look at you!” she crowed. “You’ve gotten so tan since I last saw you. And your coat is so stylish! Was there a promotion we didn’t hear about?”

Childe laughed. His mother hadn't changed a bit since the last time he'd seen her. "It's good to see you too, Mama," he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "I brought us some pirate muscle to help carry all you guys' things. This is Captain Beidou, and this is gospodin Zhongli, the consultant from Liyue I told you about."

"Oh, my!" Valeria exclaimed. She reached out to shake hands with Biedou and Zhongli. "It's so good to finally meet you both— especially you, young man." She patted Zhongli's hand. "You're even more handsome than AJ told us!"

Childe grimaced. Zhongli smiled awkwardly, bowing with his usual polite dignity. "The pleasure is all mine, sudarynya. Ah… if I may ask, is ‘AJ’...” he gestured to Childe.

“Oh, of course, silly me.” Valeria waved a hand. “I’m sure you know my boy as Ajax. He was named for his father, Ajax Senior. ‘AJ’ is Ajax Junior.”

"My mistake," Zhongli said affably. "It seems I have a lot to learn."

Valeria waved the party into the foyer with cheery bustle. “Come, come inside before you all catch your death! That goes for all of you; I won’t have a bunch of pirate popsicles forming on my porch, now!”

Beidou and Kazuha reluctantly followed Childe and Zhongli inside. Valeria closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold and enveloping them in the warmth of the kitchen fire. No sooner had the door closed than a stampede of booted feet thundered down the stairs. A pair of housecoat-clad missiles charged toward Childe, slamming into him with the battle cry: “BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG BROOOOOOOTHEEEEEEEEEEEEER!”

Childe laughed hoarsely, the wind knocked out of him by the force of the hug. He scooped up one of his little brothers by the waist and planted a kiss on the top of his curly head, then ruffled the other’s cropped dark hair. “You guys really missed me, huh?” he teased.

Teucer dangled his legs off of Childe’s arm. “You’re late,” he said petulantly, sticking his tongue out.

Valeria rolled her eyes. "The boys—" she said, pinching Teucer's cheek "—have been sitting up waiting for you all afternoon. I warned them that if they stayed up too late, they'd fall asleep before you got here, but did they listen? No!" She fixed the boys with a what-am-I-going-to-do-with-you look as Childe set Teucer down, adjusting his baby brother's collar before he ran off. Anthon crossed his arms grumpily as he regarded his guests.

"Who are you guys?" he demanded. Pointing to Beidou, he asked, "Are you a pirate?"

Beidou took a moment to translate the question. She replied in rough Snezhnayan: "Yes, I am. My name is Captain Beidou. This is my comrade, Kazuha, who doesn't speak any Sneznisk." Kazuha bowed politely, smiling an apology. Anthon bowed back in kind, and Teucer followed suit, swinging his head low enough to scrape the floor with his fur-lined hat. The boys both eagerly shook one of Zhongli's hands each.

Something crashed at the top of the stairs. Childe jumped, instinctively rushing toward the small, round object that tumbled onto the floor in front of him. He realized it was a hairbrush. Right. Home. Safe. No reason to be nervous.

"Sorry!" Tonia yelped. "Butterfingers..."

Childe's younger sister clung to the railing at the top of the stairs. Even without looking back, Childe could tell that the others were trying not to stare. Tonia wore a frilly nightgown made for a much bigger girl to accommodate the bandages around her stomach. Her sleeves were pushed up around the tight, blood-spattered wrappings on her hands and arms. She wore a pair of long-eared bunny slippers and thick stockings to keep out the cold, and a quilt around her shoulders. Her head was wrapped up in a scarf, disguising the injuries on her head and neck, but her face was nearly covered by a mosaic of carefully applied gauze.

She waved shyly, bending her arm at the elbow. Kazuha waved back eagerly, wiggling his fingers to show off the bandages that matched hers. Childe glared at the other two to make sure they afforded his sister the same empathy. Her condition was worse than he remembered. He had seen eleazar patients who looked healthier. Despite the warmth, what could be seen of her nose and cheeks was nearly purple with frostbite.

"Hi, guys," Tonia said. She smiled with chapped lips.

"Hey, princess!" Childe said, forcing a grin. Meeting her at the foot of the stairs, he pulled her into a gentle hug, then returned her hairbrush. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Well... you know. Been better."

Anthon tugged at Tonia's sleeve. "Tony, Tony, AJ brought a real life pirate!"

Beidou snickered. Tonia greeted her with a wave. "Hi, Captain Beidou! It's nice to meet you. Uh...Vy govorite po-Sneznisky?”

"A little," she replied. "Kazuha doesn't, though." Hearing his name, Kazuha bowed. Tonia bowed back.

"And you must be Mr. Zhongli." She bowed to the adeptus in turn, and he reciprocated. "I can't believe I'm finally getting to see you all face to face."

"The feeling is mutual," Zhongli said. "Your brother has told us so much about you that it feels as if we know each other already." He quickly stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, trying to hide his elemental energy beneath another few layers of fabric. Childe appreciated that.

"Boys," Valeria said, "why don't you go upstairs and help our guests find all the things we need to bring out to the sled, okay? AJ, your dad's in the living room if you want to go say hi."

The kids eagerly bounded upstairs. Beidou and Kazuha followed them, while Zhongli stayed behind to chat with Valeria and Tonia. Childe heard something shatter on the second floor—already? Well, that wasn't his problem. He pushed open the door to the living room.

Ajax Senior, better known as Pops Sorokov, was a stocky older man, with streaks of red still clinging to his greying hair and beard. He was kneeling at the fireplace, digging through cold ashes with a fire poker. He greeted Childe with a nod as he came in. "Hey, champ, long time no see. Can ya give me a hand here?"

Childe squatted down next to him, reaching out to take the poker by instinct. His father passed it over to him, pointing into the hearth with a finger. "I dropped something of your mother's when I was fussing about with her jewelry," he said, indicating the small wooden box left open on the lid of the piano behind them. "I need a steadier hand to fish it out."

Childe nodded. He moved closer, bracing the poker against his knee as he swept it back and forth through the soot, feeling around in the ash. Though he was used to using Hydro for more delicate thieving, he was pleased to see had hadn't lost his touch. Between two half-burned logs, he brushed against something small, hard, and slippery. He dug around it and discovered a shifting string, easy enough to scoop up with the end of the poker and deposit into his father's outstretched hand. His prize was a small locket on a rusting chain, embossed with his mother's initials: VIS. The clasp was dented, and it swung open on its own as it was jostled.

"Thanks, kiddo," Pops said, brushing the soot off the silver with his thumb. "You're a lifesaver."

"Yeah," Childe teased. "If I wasn't here, you might actually have to be careful." His father's hands shook as he tucked the locket inside his coat. "Have you been getting your meds okay?"

Pops' expression soured. "The shipments come right on time, just like you promised. I don't think they're working as well as they used to, though." He held up one scarred and weathered hand to show off the subtle tremor.

"Has your pain gotten any worse?" Childe asked. "The Crux crew has some herbal medicines that might help—"

"What are you, my babysitter?" Pops shook his head. "Don't worry about me. I'm just a cranky old geezer." He pulled himself up, bracing himself against the fireplace, and offered Childe a hand. "Now come on, give your old man a hug."

He pulled Childe up and into a bear hug, giving him a hearty pat on the back before releasing him. Childe coughed, the breath pounded out of him. He felt tears prick his eyes. Probably just the oxygen deprivation. "It's good to be home," he said. "I missed you guys so much."

Pops squeezed his arm. "We missed you too, buddy. The boys have their whole Young Peacemakers division in a jealous craze over your presents from Liyue." He pulled a face. "Little braggarts. At this rate, they'll be buying themselves Fatui captainships with your Mora."

"It's a curse," Childe commiserated. "What'll that be, then, six out of seven of us in the Fatui?"

Pops' grimace told Childe that now wasn't the time for their running inside joke. "I think talking about it jinxed us. With my luck, they'll get Tonia behind a bank desk the minute we land in Liyue."

"I'd rather run into recruiters than ruin guards," Childe reasoned.

"Difference is, you're not allowed to dismantle human beings."

"Hasn't stopped me before."

Pops shook his head again, looking down between his steel-toed boots. "I hate how easily you can joke about that stuff," he said, turning serious. "We kid, but in all honesty, I'll never forgive myself for letting you run off with those monsters."

"You couldn't have stopped me," Childe said gently.

His father forced a smile. "You kidding me? Back before I got hurt, I woulda given you what for, you can bet your bottom Mora!" He demonstrated with a one-two punch.

Childe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and you would have played pro hockey too."

"And don't you forget it." Pops waggled a finger.

"Am I interrupting something?" Valeria poked her head through the door.

"Nope, just shootin' the breeze." Pops dug in his jacket pocket and held up her necklace. "Look what I found!"

Valeria gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she rushed to take the locket. "Oh my goodness, where did you find this?"

"In your jewelry box, just like I told you," Pops teased.

She chuckled. "Tch. You and your eagle eyes." She pulled Pops into a side hug, kissing his cheek. "Come and take a look at this, AJ!"

 She beckoned for Childe to join her on the tapestry sofa. He settled in against her, leaning over her shoulder to see. She pried the locket open with her thumb and forefinger. Each face of the pendant held a rough charcoal drawing: on the left, a young, clean shaven Pops; the right, a young Valeria, smiling so brightly that her eyes squeezed shut.

"Your dad drew these when we were first married," Valeria said, her own eyes crinkling fondly. "Back then, we didn't have kameras like your generation, but your dad still wanted his present to be a surprise. He drew me from memory here."

"Really?" Childe asked. "That's amazing. It looks just like you; I never would have even known."

"Well, I wouldn't say it looks exactly like me now," Valeria joked, grinning back at Pops. "It has been about thirty-five years."

"And you've only gotten more beautiful since," Pops told her, half-sarcastic. 

"You guys are so cute," Childe said. He grabbed a throw pillow and added it to the stack behind his back. "I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

"Oh, stop it, you." Valeria waved a hand. "You'll understand when you find a special someone of your own."

Tonia giggled as she appeared in the doorway, leaning against it for balance. "Is that our cue?" she snickered.

"Well, it's the lovely Mr. Zhongli's if I've got anything to say about it," Valeria kidded (hopefully), reaching back and pinching Childe's cheek. Tonia and Zhongli filed into the living room and sat down on the couch across from Childe. Tonia eagerly pulled off her hood.

"Check it out," she said, twisting from side to side in her seat to show off her hair. The long red tresses were braided neatly in a spiral that swirled across the back of her head, pinned flat to keep from being caught among her many layers.

"Very cool!" Childe said.

"Thanks!" she chirped. "Mr. Zhongli did them for me."

Childe's heart stopped. "Is that so?" he asked, his throat constricting painfully as he tried to choke the words out in a casual tone. He glanced at Zhongli, whose only response was a curt nod. Not enough to give away that he had something to hide, only enough to let Childe know that he had an explanation. Childe supposed that was enough. He wouldn't knowingly bring his elemental energy around Tonia... right? What else could that nod have meant?

"He said this is how they do braids in Liyue," Tonia informed him.

"Oh?" Childe pulled a thinking face. "If that's the Liyue style, how come Mr. Zhongli doesn't wear his hair like that?"

She looked over at Zhongli and sized him up before making her answer. Childe was distinctly reminded of his mother inspecting the meat of a freshly-butchered pig in the summer market. "Well," she said, "he probably can't reach far back enough since his jacket is so tight."

Zhongli laughed nervously. "I can reach," he said. "My hair just doesn't get in the way."

Childe grinned in sympathy. "Well, you look great, Tonia."

"I want to go look in a mirror," she announced. "Spasibo tebye, gospodin Zhongli."

Zhongli bowed slightly, and she bowed back before heading off to the bathroom. Ajax Senior checked his pocket watch with pointed curtness. An empty silence fell. Nobody wanted to move; when Valeria did, slapping her thigh and standing up in a definitive gesture, Childe flinched, the small sound deafening.

"Well, idle hands do the devil's work," his mother said. "We might as well get a move on. Ajax—Senior, that is—would you mind helping the boys? I still have a few things to get ready."

Pops nodded. "We'll all meet back up outside when it's time to go." He cracked his knuckles against the fireplace as he straightened up. "Oh, and it's nice to meet you, Zhongli."

"Likewise," Zhongli said quietly. 

Childe waited for his parents to leave, and the door to slam and latch, before he rounded on Zhongli. Three footsteps, and Pops was out of earshot; four, and Valeria wouldn't overhear them either. "Your gloves—" he demanded as soon as it was safe.

"Worked as intended," Zhongli assured him. "I was hesitant at first, but it seemed my energy had no ill effect."

Childe puffed out a sigh of relief. "I was getting ready to murder you, I won't lie."

"Aren't you always?" Zhongli crossed his legs in self-satisfaction.

"Not in my mother's house!" Childe said, feigning offense.

"Of course not," Zhongli agreed. "I'd hate to make a bad impression by bleeding out all over your beautiful rugs." He indicated with the foot draped over his knee. "Is this reindeer?"

"Kamchatka bear," Childe told him proudly. "My eldest brother hunted it down and skinned it himself." Zhongli whistled in approval. "And for the record, you've made a fine impression."

Zhongli grinned shyly. "I wasn't aware I wore my apprehension so plainly," he said.

"Don't take it personally if we're a little rude," Childe said. "That just means we see you as part of the family."

"I'm flattered," Zhongli said, a genuine smile crossing his face. "Intimidated, but flattered."

Zhongli probably said something else after that, and Childe probably did too. He felt his lips move, at least, but his eyes were fixed on the thick blue blood trickling through the stiff fur of the rug. His blood. It wasn't going away. Why wasn't it going...

"Do you play?"

"What?" Childe's ears rang.

"The piano," Zhongli clarified, indicating the baby grand on its dais behind Childe. "It's a beautiful build; do you play?"

Childe ran his fingers through the gaps in the knitted blanket underneath him, trying to get a grip. "Y-yeah," he managed. "Not as well as I should for having been taught all my life, though. I couldn't sit still during lessons to save my life, even before..." he made a circular gesture to indicate the everything of it all.

"You don't seem like the type," Zhongli agreed.

"Now, the violin on the other hand..."

"Oh?" Zhongli perked up. "That certainly seems more your speed."

"I used to perform for the you-know-who when I was stationed in the field," Childe said proudly. "I like to think I was pretty okay. I learned to play on this gorgeous antique violin my grandfather built—I can show it to you, if you want. And if you like propaganda songs, since that's all I know how to play."

"Propaganda or not, I'd be honored."

Childe got to his feet, eager for a distraction. "Okay, follow me. If we still have the violin, it'll be upstairs."

He led Zhongli to the second floor, squeezing past Anthon as he tossed his and Teucer's backpacks down the stairs. Dodging out of the way of Beidou and the gigantic laundry bag she was toting down the hall, Childe tugged on Zhongli's sleeve and pointed him toward the window. The backyard was lit up by crystalflies. In their glow, nestled between a snowed-over slide and swing set, the slumped figure of a ruin guard leaned up against the trunk of a dead tree.

"Check it out," he said. "That's Mister Cyclops. I had him shipped straight from the factory we unearthed in Severograd. Oh, look!" He pointed down at the machine's head. "Teucer gave him a little top hat."

Zhongli gave him a dubious look "You sent your six year-old brother a ruin guard?"

"He'll be seven in January," Childe said. "And besides," he defended himself, "all the wiring and mechanisms inside have been stripped out. It's totally Teucer-proofed."

Zhongli shook his head. "You'll spoil these children to death."

"That's an older brother's job," Childe pointed out. "Besides, if you had my salary, I know for a fact you'd spend it all the same way."

His friend conceded the point with a genial laugh. They headed around the corner to the family room, where Childe climbed between the couches to dig through the bookshelves. There were a handful of boxes piled there, most filled with yarn. The bottom shelves were devoted to the neutral colors, Valeria's favorites. Messy colorful yarn filled the middle shelves. Childe remembered Tonia telling him in one of her letters that she'd taken up knitting. He found the beginnings of a few bright scarves and mittens, but most were in the process of being unraveled and returned to the skein. Zhongli waited for him in the doorway, observing with an impressed expression.

"The woodworking here is astonishing," he said by way of small talk, running a hand over the dark pine wainscoting. "Throughout the house, the craftsmanship is incredible. Nothing machine cut, but the grain of the wood is brought out so effortlessly. This technique is hundreds of years old—pre-Cataclysm, I believe."

"So is the house," Childe told him. He replaced the yarn boxes and moved to the bench beneath the windowsill. Lifting the seat and reaching into the chest beneath it, he was rewarded with a heap of sports equipment, but no violin. "It was built by one of my ancestors, this sweet little old lady from the mainland. She moved here to help teach the fishermen's kids way back in the day. She was so well-liked that all the villagers came and pitched in to build this place for her."

"She must have been an incredible woman," Zhongli said admiringly.

"Her and her husband were both insanely talented," Childe said. "She installed all the appliances, and he built all of the furniture from the lumber they cleared for the house. Anything that's that color—” he demonstrated on the wainscoting, and then the legs of the old sofas, “is from that same batch of wood. Oh, and anything that’s this color—” he held up a handful of the creamy white curtains over the window “—is from that bolt of Liyuean silk I bought while you and I were in Yujing Terrace.”

"The one with the embroidered herons," Zhongli remembered. "I had wondered how you would put it to use."

"My mother had been wanting material to make new curtains for ages," Childe said. "It's so hard to get a hold of good fabric here, even with all the Mora in the world. She told me this stuff was way too slippery, though. She wrote to say I shouldn't send back anything else like it, or she'd simply refuse to work."

"For future reference, satin might be a better choice," Zhongli said. "She's done marvelous work with these drapes, but a lighter material might be easier to work with."

"That's what she told me," Childe told him. "I knew you two would get along."

"I hope we do."

Childe checked behind the dollhouse, choking on the dust he kicked up for his trouble, but his quarry was nowhere to be found. "It's not here," he said. "It might be on the third floor, if we even still have it."

He beckoned Zhongli to follow him through the eastern hallway. Zhongli mounted the stairs, but Childe hung back at their base, at the cracked-open door to a dark room. The door was painted with a little tree, styled in bright colors. Stickers of apples marked the tree at one-foot intervals. Dim pencil marks were scratched into the paint, the oldest barely legible now. Age two: three feet and one inch. Age five: four feet two inches. The chart ended at age fourteen, five feet and nine inches, marked by a stamp of a seagull a few inches above the top of the tree. Even that mark was fading away now.

"Your room?" Zhongli asked, looking back.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

His friend shrugged. "It just... seems like it hasn't been used in a long time."

Childe pulled the door shut. "Hasn't been that long," he said. "I came back to help with the fall harvest. But... Mom keeps it clean just in case I come home unexpectedly. That hasn't happened yet, but..."

He didn't finish the thought. Zhongli let him lead the way upstairs. The landing was small, the northern wall dedicated to a few shelves of art supplies. A wooden easel faced the northern window, whose pane was freckled with globs of oil paint. The third story was always cold, but it seemed more so tonight. The moon was full, casting cold light through the curtains which shifted as they passed.

"Mom's sewing room is through the left here," Childe said. "The view from up here is great, if you want to..."

He trailed off as Zhongli continued along the east wall, reading the handwritten sign that was posted there. "'AJ's office,'" he read aloud. Glancing up at the ceiling, he read the matching sign posted on the attic trapdoor. "'Do not disturb.' Interesting. This house is rather spacious; surely space could have been allocated elsewhere for your work."

Childe shook his head adamantly. "Nothing's actually up there, so... it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

“Oh, well, if it’s been empty for a while, then there’s no need—"

"It's not empty," Childe blurted. Zhongli was probably going to agree to leave it alone, but he couldn't take that chance. "We just shouldn't go up there."

Zhongli frowned. "Is it nothing, or is it dangerous?"

"...Both?"

"It's none of my business," Zhongli said dismissively. "If you don't want me to see what's up there, that's fine."

"It's not that," Childe said, silently cursing himself. "It's just... It's not nothing. There is something up there, it's just..." Words failed him, and so did common sense. "Just let me show you."

Feeling as if he'd just signed his death warrant, he reached up and opened the trap door. Together, they let down the ladder. Childe climbed up first, leading Zhongli into the darkness that waited for them there.

The attic room had only a small window which let in the light of the stars. Zhongli gathered up Geo energy in his palm, bathing the unfinished room with eerie yellow light. It flickered as he drew in a startled breath, and Childe could only wince in sympathy. 

The scene before them was bleak. The walls, or what was left of them, had been torn to studs, and the studs torn to splinters. The ceiling was torn apart, showing the bones of the roof overhead like the ribcage of a gutted animal. Five-fingered claw marks covered the walls and floor. Every surface bristled with short black knives, driven at all angles into the wood. Even where the men had climbed through the trapdoor, they had dislodged dozens of the things. They were uniform in color and size, but their blades were warped and sheared into twisted, jagged shapes. Many were distended beyond recognition by the force with which they were driven into the wood. Abyssal symbols decorated the floorboards, some carved so deep that they pierced through to the insulation. Most were illegible, but that didn’t matter. They were all intended as the same word, as the few intact scribbles could attest: Kill. It was a command, a request, and a resolution, an all-consuming thought surrounding them on every side. Kill. Kill Kill. It was the single-minded drive of a madman, a monster.

“Childe…”

Childe looked away. He knew what Zhongli was going to say, and he didn’t want to look at him as he said it.

"What... happened here?"

"Foul Legacy," Childe told him grimly. His friend’s voice shook with betrayal and confusion, just as expected. “I don’t talk about the early days much. I have so little control over it as it is, it’s… embarrassing how far I’ve come in that regard. When I first crawled my way out of the Abyss, it would take over me without warning. Even with my mask…” He sighed. He tried to force a note of humor into his voice as he went on, and as Zhongli’s expression changed from confusion to worry. "I spent a lot of time locked up here, just trying to keep it under control. My parents gave me this area as, like, my own personal training ground."

"Childe..." Zhongli breathed. "I had no idea... sympathy is not enough."

Childe waved a hand. "Nah, it's no big deal," he said, not missing the break in his own voice. He knelt down, pried a knife out of the floor. "It's... actually pretty cool. Teucer and Anthon have been begging our parents for their own pocket knives for years now." He showed off the knife to Zhongli, the cold yellow light glinting off the unformed edge. "I could just make my own whenever I wanted at fourteen."

“It’s…” Zhongli stuttered, actually stuttered. “This isn’t…” he turned his handful of light to the destruction, to the insulation that hung like viscera from the walls. “...’Cool.’” This is horrifying. I’d never imagined the extent of what the Abyss had done to you, and now…” he swallowed hard, clenching his fist at his side. He lost in his eloquence in his anger, stumbling over his words. The heat in his eyes made Childe draw back onto his haunches. “What happened to you?”

Childe spoke in a small voice. "Nothing, here," he answered. "This isn't the horrifying part. I know it looks bad. But the fact that this is as bad as it got? I’m lucky. I could have hurt a lot more people. This place… it doesn’t remind me of how bad things were back in the Abyss. It’s…” he chewed his lip, searching for a way to explain. “It’s the difference between blood on the floor of a hospital and blood on the battlefield. It’s ugly either way, but this is where I… where I tried to get better. A safe place.”

Zhongli nodded slowly, crossing his free arm across his chest. "I think I can understand that," he said quietly. "I can try, at least. But this place... it tells a story. I wish I had known the extent of... well, the extent of what I have yet to know."

Childe cracked a sour smile. "I'm not that complicated," he said. "If I am hiding anything, it's for your own good."

"And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," Childe echoed.

"You have a right to your secrets," Zhongli told him, the light in his hand dimming. "But I am glad that you allowed me to see this place."

“It’s not that big a deal.” Childe felt his cheeks flush. “Don’t sweat it.”

“It is important,” Zhongli argued. “Your honesty is a rare gift.”

“But it shouldn’t be a big… issue,” Childe said. “I’m still human, mostly.”

“Well, I’m not,” Zhongli reminded him. "There's no shame in being otherwise."

"Hey, AJ?" A muffled shout echoed through the trapdoor. "You guys ready?"

Right. Schedule. Smuggling a Harbinger's political prisoners out of the country. Childe couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

"Just a minute, ma!" Childe called back. "C'mon, Zhongli."

They rejoined the others in the foyer. Tonia had her headscarf readjusted over her tight braids and piled up over her nose to keep warm. The boys were bundled in their thick fur coats and hats, with warming bottles hanging out of their pockets. The front door was propped open with a cinderblock, and Childe could just see Kazuha and Pops chatting on the porch as Kazuha showed off his glowing red sword. 

"Oh, good, you're back," Valeria said. "We were just talking about something you might be able to answer."

Teucer bounced on his heels. “Is—is Uncle Rooster going to come with us to Lee-way?”

Childe laughed. “He’d better not. The poor little guy gets horrible sunburns on his big old nose.”

“Ewwww!” the boys chorused.

Childe clapped Anthon on the back. “How about you guys go on ahead? Mr. Zhongli and I will catch up with you all later, okay?”

Anthon groaned. “You guys are no fun.’’

“That’s why we do all the boring stuff without you,” Childe countered. “Is Beidou around?” he asked.

“She’s out in the yard,” Valeria told him. “Setting up the sled—did you know how strong this lady is? She just tosses crates and people around like it’s nothing! Absolutely incredible, I tell you!”

Ask her to tell you about Haishan sometime,” Childe said. “She’s an absolute legend in Liyue in every sense of the word.”

“Oh, my.” Valeria put a hand on her chest. “You have some very impressive friends.”

"Liyue people are easy to make friends with," Childe joked. "They love signing contracts, especially ones that make it impossible for them to turn me down for a favor."

He heard Zhongli stifle a laugh behind him. Valeria shuffled the boys out the door, then pulled Childe into a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “You two hurry it up in here, okay? We wouldn’t want to keep your promisors waiting.”

“Will do,” Childe confirmed. 

She took Tonia's mittened hand and led the little girl outside. A booted foot, Childe couldn't see whose, kicked the cinderblock aside, and the door slammed shut. Through the little window in the door, Childe watched as his father hoisted Tonia onto his shoulders, groaning in exaggerated agony. The boys eagerly yoked themselves to the sled, and they were gone.

"Are you alright?" Zhongli asked. He put a hand on Childe’s shoulder, then quickly withdrew it when the fur shocked him with static electricity.

“Yeah,” Childe said, “I'll be fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Zhongli bit his lip with a curved fang. “Very well. We should create a more open space, and then…”

Childe didn't wait for him to finish his thought. He moved to the dining room, where the long, low table was still set with empty placemats. After a moment's consideration, he stacked the chairs against the back door. Zhongli joined him, and tipped the table on its side, pushing it up against the staircase. Childe folded up the legs of the table, leaving the floor totally clear, and Zhongli pulled the rug out of the way to expose the hardwood underneath.

As Childe backed away to let him work, Zhongli extended a hand over the space. He ran tendrils of Geo energy through his fingers, feeling the earth beneath him. He closed his eyes, their glow lighting up his lashes from beneath, and a great amount of energy seemed to run through him before it burst from his closed hand. Childe felt the ground shudder beneath his feet. The earth rumbled, and Zhongli's power tore through the foundations of the house. Stone and dirt mixed with long-buried ice exploded through the floorboards. The soil churned, turning over fresh clay for what was buried far, far blow. When the dust settled, Childe rushed to see Zhongli's work. Slowly, four shapes emerged from the dirt. Four deformed skeletons, brittle and yellowed. Not a trace of hair or flesh clung to the remains; only the bones were left, and only just.

"Archons, you're creepy sometimes," Childe muttered.

Zhongli flashed him a sharp-toothed smile, his eyes still glowing bright amber from the force of the spell. "Frightened, are you?"

"Only if you can do that to my skeleton," Childe joked back. He knelt beside the corpse at his feet, prodding the moss-bleached bone. "These are so old... are you sure they'll do the job?"

Zhongli regarded the bones with a somber expression. "I assume so. Once they've been burned completely, they should be impossible to identify by normal means."

Under Childe's gentle nudging, the skeleton's jaw popped off its hinges. It thudded to the floor, rolling back and forth on its chin as it were laughing. Childe choked on a gasp as, for a split second, the jaw sprouted bandages, flesh, and pale, chapped lips.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Zhongli asked again.

Childe shook his head yes, wiping his hand off on his pants. "They're a little fragile," he remarked. "They might just burn down to dust. Can you tell how old they are?”

Zhongli knelt beside him, reaching out to the bones again. His brow furrowed in concentration, and he removed his glove. His bright yellow fingers, and the grooves in the dark metal of his wrist, glowed brightly for just a moment, and then he returned the hand to his jacket pocket.

“Dahri,” he said. “These bones come from Dahri.”

“Dahri? As in, not even Khaenri’ah? That old?”

“The cold has kept them preserved for millenia,” Zhongli said reverently. “They traveled a long way before the elements overwhelmed them.”

“This village wouldn’t have been settled for centuries after they died,” Childe told him. “No one would have known they were ever here.”

“Then their solemnities are long overdue.” There was no humor in Zhongli’s words as he stood up and offered Childe his hand.

Neither of them spoke as they descended to the cellar. Firewood was stacked against one wall. The two of them gathered bundles of the driest logs into straw baskets. Zhongli summoned a Geo sigil on which to balance a barrel of motor oil, which he dragged behind them as they returned to the first floor. Together, they stacked the wood in the kitchen, tucking it beneath the cabinets near the stove, filling the gaps in the floorboards and surrounding the skeletons. Childe could feel their hollow eye sockets watching him as he covered the wood with kitchen towels and the pages of old cookbooks. They moved to the living room next, and filled the fireplace with wood and pillows. They spread the kindling to the sofas, and surrounded the claw feet of the furniture with sheet music from the piano. Childe pulled the silk curtains from their ties and pinned them to the floor with a thick log each. Then, they moved to the stairs, and tossed down one piece of kindling on every carpeted step. Zhongli hid a few logs under the rug on the landing, and Childe fixed the curtains to the end tables. They opened the doors to the family room, to the eastern stairs, to the bedrooms and bathrooms. Childe stacked firewood at the base of the ladder to the attic.

Then came the oil. Under Childe’s direction, Zhongli poured the motor oil down the upper stairs. Through the doorways, over the beds, over the dark pine furniture and the matching wainscotting and the long-neglected dollhouse. They descended the stairs to the first floor, letting their trail soak down into the carpet. They moved through the living room, doused the bear-fur rug and the knitted, blood-spotted blankets. They opened the top of the piano, and Zhongli filled the strings with several inches of oil. They doused the kitchen, and then the study, overturning the bookcases on top of the accelerant. With a sharpened Geo construct from Zhongli, Childe sliced open his father’s leather chair and scattered the stuffing.

The last pour of oil filled the lintel of the front door. They set the barrel down on the porch, and Childe moved down to the stairs. Zhongli picked up the straw welcome mat, curled it in on itself, and placed it in the barrel’s narrow opening, soaking one end of the straw with the leftovers and then backing away. Childe produced his lighter from the inside pocket of his coat. At Zhongli’s signal, he ignited the small blue flame. Bracing himself to move, he tossed the lighter into the barrel. The flame caught the straw, and then the oil.

Fire erupted from the mouth of the vessel. Zhongli chucked a rock at it, tipping it over and spilling the contents into the pool of accelerant inside. Smoke poured through the doorway, choking the windows with soot faster than Childe had imagined. Both men scrambled to get out of the way of the danger, hurrying down into the snow, but when they reached a safe distance, they stopped to watch. The sight was haunting, demanding their awed attention. Neither of them were willing to look away. Inside the house, Childe knew, the skeletons were burning, and the curtains were shrinking away from the heat, unwilling fodder for the blaze. The floor would soon give way, and the flames would seek higher ground. Already, Childe could see them flickering in the upstairs windows. The fire crackled like shattering ice, but so infinitely quieter.  Like a mourner at a funeral, it drew in howling breaths of wind and held them in solemn silence. It melted the snow around the foundations as the smoke rose into the clouds, turning the hoarfrost to mud, as if spring had come. It towered above them, above the village, above the sea, a fountain of light from the depths of hell. It swallowed up the sky, the attic, the ground, and the bodies. A funeral pyre, and a warning.

Soon, the villagers would see the smoke. The officers would rush to put out the flames, but the common people would remain in their homes. An accidental fire could be extinguished easily. No one wanted to find themselves on the wrong side of the Fatui's debt collectors. The people in the house on the hill would pay their due, one way or another. One of their own must have tampered with something he didn't understand. He'd get what he deserved.

He covered his face with his scarf as they hurried down the stairs, and stashed his mask in his coat. The Hydrogunner units rushing to put out the first stopped short as he approached them. With one gesture, he waved them past. Save the house, or don’t, but my work is done. They examined the emblems on his coat, saluted, and continued their climb. Childe could only hope they’d save enough of the people inside, before they finally turned to ash.

They rejoined the others on the beach. The pirates used their spare rope to create treads for the Sorokovs’ boots. Teucer stomped on the shallow ice with the grips given to him as the others sat in the sand, working on their own. 

“Do you smell smoke?” Valeria asked.

“It’s a cold night,” Childe said. He moved his body between hers and the northward road. “I’m sure everyone’s just trying to keep warm.”

“Ajax, will you carry me?” Tonia asked, shivering from her perch on top of the sled.

“Sure thing, princess.”

“Hey, what about meeeee?” Teucer whined.

“Or me!” Anthon chimed in.

Childe laughed. “Sorry, boys, Tonia already called dibs.”

He crouched in front of Tonia and let her climb onto his shoulders. When she was situated, she reached down and gave him a thumbs up. He felt her turn and crane her neck as he got to his feet. No doubt, looking back home. He tried to jostle her gently, angling himself around the face the rest of the party, feeling like the biggest, meanest jerk in all of Teyvat for doing so. She had a right to look back, didn’t she? But the result would be the same either way. The truth would only hurt her. He could protect her better than he could give her her freedom; he had to protect her. That had to come before everything else.

If she had seen the blaze on the hill, she didn't say anything. Nobody did. Beidou and her crew took over the sled as Teucer jumped into the back, and Anthon stuck close to their parents as they began the long trek to the ship.

Chapter Text

They returned to the ship in solemn spirits, but the sight of the Alchor seemed to rekindle the kids’ enthusiasm, at least. The ship had been turned around in the channel to return to the open ocean. As they climbed up the gangplank, Beef the dog eagerly greeted his returning masters and was lavished with attention and praise from the little boys. Tonia decided to head to bed, and Kazuha showed her belowdecks to Childe's room, which had been specially cleared of elemental energy and set aside just for her. Valeria and Beidou sat together out of the way of the busy crew and gossiped about goings-on aboard the ship in a excitable mix of broken Snezhnij and clarifying hand gestures. Ever-conscientious, Pops requested to see the ship's weapons systems. Suling was delighted at the chance to show him around and gush about every minute nerd detail. Cheif Mate Juza returned the crew's Visions to their respective owners, and Zhongli returned to the bow to clear the channel once again.

Amidst the cheery commotion, it was easy for Childe to slip away. He followed Zhongli up onto the bow, ignoring his growing seasickness, and sat at Zhongli's feet, on the forehead of the carved dragon. The thin ice that had crept up in the path they had carved was far weaker than the glacier it was attempting to replace. Zhongli was able to break it up into harmless chunks with smaller Geo constructs dropped in clusters. Without any major obstacles, their progress back toward the open water was much faster than their approach to the village. Morepesok had completely disappeared over the horizon before Childe's head stopped spinning enough to look back.

He should have been down on the deck. He should be entertaining his brothers, showing them all the pirates' cool toys, giving his parents a much-needed break. All he had wanted for the past two months was to see his family. Now he finally had them back, and he couldn't. His hands shook in his lap. The sea below him, when he wasn't nodding off and could actually see it, was filled with imaginary gore. He was just so...tired. Tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of putting on a mask and acting like everything was okay. He couldn't afford to fall asleep at the wheel, drop his façade and...spoil everyone's fun.

He removed one of his gloves, setting it in his lap as he stretched his hand. The shock of the cold air on his skin felt good, a flash of pain that reminded him that, at least for now, he was alive. For now. He dug his nails into his palm, hoping for more.

Get a grip. It's what his dad would say, what anyone with half a brain would say. But he supposed that's why he wasn't talking to any of those people. He was trying. At least, he thought he was trying.

It was all his fault. All of it. The ice in their path. The smoke billowing up behind them. Nothing would ever be the same. The gods and monsters who had raised him were now his enemies. The people he loved were refugees, his home a pile of ashes to which he would never return. And nobody would ever know the full truth.

He had finally been reunited with his family, and he was still alone.

Zhongli's glow was stronger from up close. The dim orange light surrounded both of them, and made everything outside it a distant blur. Still, Childe kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. Looking out for danger was something to do, at least. Though his vision was blurry, the columns of smoke that rose beyond the glacier were unmistakable.

"Danger ahead!" came the shout from the crow's nest.

Flanking the mouth of the channel, two ships were visible over the wall of ice. Two Fatui battleships, coughing foul smoke from reactor cores that glowed some unnatural non-color through the windows amidships. Kingdom class, by the look of them. Each four times longer than the Alchor and five stories taller, manned by a crew of six hundred fighters, officers, and engineers. Equipped with unmanned, laser-targeted energy cannons and Delusion-powered to accelerate at fifteen knots. Not patrol ships. Warships. This was an act of war.

Zhongli dropped his spears. They tumbled into the sea, dissolving into little blue crystals and then disappearing, forgotten. The light around him faded. Bells rang on the Alchor's deck, signaling to prepare for battle. Childe struggled to his feet, feeling sicker than before. As he stumbled, Zhongli offered him a hand to stabilize himself. 

"You know these people?" Zhongli asked, half-joking.

"It would be just my luck," Childe answered. He was sure Zhongli could feel his racing heartbeat through both their gloves.

Feeling dread set in, he slid back to the deck after Zhongli. Beidou stood at the helm, gathering all the crew that could be spared. The boys waited for Childe at the foot of the bow.

"Big brother, what's going on?" Teucer asked.

"Get belowdecks, buddy," Childe told him, placing a hand on each of his brothers' shoulders. "You two get a room all to yourselves. It's right across from the big fancy captain's door. hurry and get your PJs on, and I'll come say goodnight later, but stay put, alright? No matter what happens, got it?"

"But—" Anthon protested.

"That's on order, crewmate."

Anthon didn't look happy about it, but he saluted Childe and grabbed Teucer's arm, dragging their little brother after him as he completed his mission. Across the deck, Pops gave Childe an approving gesture.

"Captain," Juza asked. "What should we do?"

"There's no need to panic," Beidou reminded the crew. "This isn't our first run-in with the Fatui. There may still be a chance to resolve this peacefully."

Childe muscled his way between two of the pirates, muscling his way to the center of the group. "We can't stay in the channel," he butted in. "If they keep us hemmed in here, we're sitting ducks."

Beidou shot him a stern look. "Same difference if we try and run the blockade," she argued. "Let's not do anything rash."

Childe shook his head. "These guys aren't going to wait for a good reason to start shooting, Captain. They're.." he moved closer, leaning in and lowering his voice just in case his parents knew enough Liyuean to overhear him. "They're here for me."

"We don't know that yet." Beidou shoved him off with her palm on his chest, but she softened her tone. "Don't put all this on yourself, Fatui boy. For all we know, this is just how many people they think they'll need to take on the crew that ended Haishan!" She raised her voice over the last sentence, turning her confidence back to her crew.

"Is it?" Childe asked quietly.

"Trust me, they'll need double, at least." Beidou cracked her knuckles. Childe couldn't tell how serious she was.

"Whoever they're after," Childe conceded, "the Fatui don't take prisoners, and they don't wait for people to wander off their territory. There's no time to sit around and deliberate. We have to take them out before they have a chance to overwhelm us. We have Mr. Zhongli, it'll be cake."

"The old man isn't a weapon," Beidou said, glancing back at Zhongli. "He's tough, but if he's all we got—"

"He's not all we've got," Childe pointed out, feeling slightly miffed. "I'm here too. I can fight. I know the Fatui's tactics better than most." I've thrown up in every corner of the Kingdom Razrushitel' ꙄЭ, he managed not to joke out loud.

Beidou crossed her arms. "If you're got an idea, let's hear it," she challenged him. 

"Fire on the western ship," Childe told her. "Their cannons are powered by Delusion cores. They're strong, but they're volatile. An elemental reaction or even just one good hit can cause a massive chain reaction. Get Kazuha to take care of the big projectiles from the forward cannons, and you'll outlast them easily."

"Kazuha? I'm sure he could handle that, but Zhongli—"

"Zhongli and I will board the eastern ship," Childe interrupted impatiently. "I'd invite Kazuha, but I'm not sure he can keep up. Gomen nasai, buddy."

Kazuha smiled. "Not a problem. I can redirect their attacks, easily."

Beidou narrowed her eyes. "What, are you going to—"

"Walk, yeah," Childe interrupted again. "We'll draw their fire and cover your flank. Sabotage their cannons and destroy their engines. We can drive them off, and we can do it ourselves. All you have to do is keep the other one busy until we can take it out. Simple."

She considered his proposal. "If I agree to this," she said sternly. "I'd be placing a lot of trust in the two of you to keep the rest of us safe. Are you absolutely certain you can pull this off?"

"Trust Ajax," Zhongli said, startling Childe with a hand on his arm and the sound of his true name. "Having seen both the former Fatuus and the Crux crew in battle, I have full confidence in our capabilities. I may not have either of your titles, but Ajax's idea is sound."

Beidou chuckled at his phrasing. "Very well. Juza, what do you think?"

The chief mate gritted his teeth. "I don't trust him as far as I can throw him, but if we've got a boarding party that can walk on water, let's use 'em."

"Fair point," Beidou laughed. "Alright, all hands on deck. Kazuha, you ready?"

"Always, anegimi."

"Okay then, you two. Get going, and we'll follow your lead." she clapped Childe on the back. "Don't let me down."

"Ah, Captain Beidou..."

Childe's mother spoke in a small voice, fighting to make herself heard. Once she had everyone's attention, she continued in Snezhnij: "We can fight too, if you need more hands." She gestured between herself and Pops, who nodded enthusiastically. "We were trained as rangers back in the day, if you can believe it. We can shoot bows and guns if you have any of either on hand."

Childe translated quickly. Beidou nodded. "We don't have any weapons we can loan ya, but if you have some with you, by all means."

Childe didn't need to translate, since his parents seemed to get the gist. Instead, he drew his own bow. The Polar Star was still as brilliantly crafted—and instantly recognizable—as the day it was built hundreds of years ago. It probably wouldn't be the best idea to announce himself as the Harbinger who had gone AWOL. He strung the powerful warbow with a thread of Hydro and sealed it with a ward at either end. After testing the string, mostly out of habit, he passed it to his mother.

"Draw that, and you'll find an arrow on the string," he instructed. She tested the draw weight, and seemed impressed as it adjusted itself to her exact strength. "Pops, what do you want?"

"Might be a long shot, but how about a sighted sniper rifle?"

Childe thought for a moment before conjuring the weapon. It was a perfect copy of the rifle used by the Fatui's slinger class skirmishers, the same one Childe had used and maintained when he first joined the Fatui. He had spent so long memorizing the specs of the weapon, it was easy to recreate from Hydro. He built it with a modified scope, its lens a small bubble suspended in the sight. A laser mounted on the front shone down on the deck in the pattern of Childe's three-leafed Riptide mark. Pops tested the weight, then the scope.

"That'll do," he said simply. 

Valeria wrapped Childe in a bone-crushing one-armed hug. "Take care, lisenok. Don't get yourself into unnecessary trouble, you hear?"

Childe laughed. "I'll do my best. Love you both."

Zhongli tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. Wordlessly, he pointed to the top of his own head, indicating Childe's mask.

"Oh...right." Childe removed the clips on the mask and dissolved it into golden light, stashing it with the rest of his stuff. "Do you think I should drop my coat, too? It might...have the same problem."

"I'm not sure," Zhongli admitted. "But we'll have darkness on our side, and I'd rather you be warm."

"What about you? You think you'll be recognized?"

He shrugged. "I think this qualifies as funeral parlor business," he joked grimly.

Childe rolled his eyes. "You think you're hilarious, don't you? C'mon. Beidou, we're off. If anything happens to my family while I'm gone, you're both breaking your contracts with me, and I get to throw rocks at you."

Zhongli decided not to correct him on that. Childe dropped his coat and tossed it over a barrel, no longer feeling the chill. The thrill of oncoming conflict was what made him shiver, made goosebumps prickle over his skin. Finally, after months of hiding and waiting and stalling, he could finally do something. Finally take his fate into his own hands. He wasn't going to die here. He'd die doing something great, he knew that for a fact. Tonight would be a night for taking lives, hundreds if all went according to plan. Every light he snuffed out would be a sacrifice to prove his power. They'd die on his altar.

The ships were pulling into position. He and Zhongli wasted no time. They leapt from the Alchor's deck and into the turbulent waves, calling forth their weapons on the way down. Childe summoned a bow from pure Hydro, a perfect imitation of the Polar Star. His boots found their purchase on the water's roiling surface as it bucked under his feet like the hide of a raging beast. He found his footing, corrected his balance, and took the challenge in his stride, dashing across the waves. Rushing alongside him, Zhongli's footsteps glanced off the water in bursts of golden light. The warship towered above them, but from the foredeck, Childe heard a call for support. The hull-mounted cannons swung around slowly, creaking under their own weight, and their sights converged on Childe. Bending low, he nocked an arrow. He aimed for the nearest cannon and let fly. His attack struck true, rocking the weapon in its sheath. The Riptide mark bloomed over its juncture with the hull.

All thirty cannons fired. He heard the roar of their fire, the crackle of the bolts of pure energy that sped toward him with laser precision. He allowed them to close in, skimming near enough that he could feel their heat on his face.

Then he rushed forward in a flurry of incorporeal Hydro as the cannonballs converged, crackling as they slammed into the water and burst in a shower of sparks. Already, the weapons were reloading, recalculating their target, their marks never straying from Childe's body no matter how fast he ran. He shot off another arrow, then another, marking each of the weapons for one final attack. Zhongli threw up a shield and took the brunt of the next volley. He hung back as Childe surged forward, too close to the hull for the cannons to risk firing on him. Skirmishers rushed the port railing. They trained their weapons straight down. Much faster than the cannons, they fired on him in a hail of bullets and elemental attacks.

Childe gathered the power of Hydro around himself, wrapping himself in a bubble of water, curving and redirecting their attacks in the current. He guided the water with his bow, summoning a tornado, a storm, to carry him high above the water's surface, where even the snipers couldn't touch him. Then he crashed down onto the deck, carried by the wave that surged through the ranks of the gunmen. In the same motion, he broke his bow apart into two long knives, shredding the unfortunate Hydrogunner who stumbled in his wake. When the man went down, Riptide marked each of his comrades. A few recollected themselves and went for their weapons, but it was futile. Childe tore through their ranks, severing gunfuel lines, shattering masks, tearing limbs and bodies like paper. The fray was over in a few seconds. Blood and water and elemental fuel drenched the scene, washing the bodies clean.

He reconstituted his bow, leaned over the railing, and shot the first Riptide-marked cannon. It burst in a shower of fire, water, and shrapnel that exploded through its comrades, turning the hull into a never-ending chain of destruction. Childe heard Zhongli hit the deck behind him, and a moment later, saw him standing on the deck, his spear at attention.

The deck-mounted cannons turned on them. Zhongli stepped forward, drawing up his Geo power and pulling it into a shield that surrounded him completely. More reinforcements came thundering up from belowdecks. Cicin mages summoned their familiars under the cover of their comrades. Agents in their dark robes led the charge and Electrohammers stormed after them, uncaring of the danger of the cannons. As the regiment rushed to overpower them, Zhongli called forth the meteor that Childe had only ever seen swirling around his shoulders in idle moments. The size of it blotted out the moon, and filled the sky with amber light. It fell as if it were a comet, imperceptibly fast and painfully slow as those within the mark of its impact awaited total annihilation. It crushed the deck and burst into pieces from the immense impact. The reinforced steel caved under its weight and force. What remained of the bodies it had crushed were hideously deformed, turned to stone and frozen in the moment of their evisceration. Basalt effigies of twisted limbs and sprays of stone blood.

And then the cannons fired. The thunder of their barrage was deafening, drowning out all other noise as the fire and steel battered Zhongli's shield and was forced to disintegrate. As the dust settled, he reinforced the shield with a brief burst of Geo, but it hadn't faltered. He stood undamaged, without even a hair out of place.

"No survivors!" the captain shouted. The cry was carried on by the hundreds still standing. "No survivors!" cried the agents who cloaked themselves and ran, invisible, to their deaths by Zhongli's spear. The cry rang across the ship, from the gunners to the engineers, as Childe and Zhongli slaughtered everything that came against them. Childe marked every cannon with his bow, and then blew away the central cannon. Even this chain of explosions could not drown out the manic cried of Childe's countrymen, who trampled each other's corpses to bring their blades and hammers to the throats of the raiders.

"Cover me!" Childe yelled to Zhongli over the blare of the alarms.

Zhongli thrust out one hand, stretching the shield to wrap around both of them. They rushed forward, slashing and shoving their opponents out of their way. As soon as Childe had a second to spare, he summoned the form of his old friend the celestial narwhal. The body of the whale slammed into the deck, the force of its breach crushing the Fatui forces in its wake and washing the rest off their feet. Their path to the interior of the ship was clear. As they reached the bay doors, Zhongli broke apart their shield and returned his own. Standing back to back, Childe positioned himself in front of the doors as Zhongli raised a half-circle of stone steles to ward off their assailants from the deck.

"I'll hold them here," he told Childe, saluting him with his spear as if by habit. "I'll leave it to you to sabotage the core. But please, be safe."

Childe would obviously be fine, but he saluted back nonetheless. "You too."

He left Zhongli there and raced into the interior of the ship. The core room would be at the very center, taking up a good portion of most of the lowest decks. The entrance would be guarded heavily. All the ventilation and fuel supply shafts were lined with one-way baffles that would make them impossible for to fit through. His best bet would be to access the engines, which were lower down than the core but much more easily accessible, without many mandatory checkpoints and usually devoid of officers. The overhead lights had been turned out, a standard measure to deter intruders while allowing the masked skirmishers to navigate using the infrared in their visors. All that illuminated the inner hallway were the red emergency lights flashing every few dozen meters as the siren continued to blare. The tinny echo they emitted hummed off the slick steel of the enclosed space. Already he could hear reinforcements clanking up the stairs at the end of the hall. His footsteps left behind multicolored sludge as he ran to face them, his bow drawn.

At the first bend before the catwalk, he met the force of Anemoboxers. He shot their leader in the face, spreading his mark to his comrades. One of their own put up a shield, absorbing a thrust from Childe's spear.

He gritted his teeth as the rest advanced. He didn't have time for this. If they insisted on standing in his way, he'd cut them down, but the important thing was to get pas them. Zhongli could deal with his leftovers. He let a boxer grapple him and slam him against the wall in the center of the crush. With his Vision, he gutted the man from the inside out. When lifeless hands dropped him, he broke for the catwalk railing and vaulted down into the bridge. The table on which he landed buckled under his weight, but the room was empty. The officers must have evacuated when the ship was boarded. He jumped to the floor and headed into the bowels of the ship, locking and warding the door behind him. He heard that table shatter beneath the weight of the legionnaires as they dove down after him.

The warding would buy him some time, at least if he remembered how to do it properly. Still, they had plenty of people to divide between Zhongli's distraction and the intruder within the ship. It was only a matter of time before he was discovered, if not by on-duty security than by an unknown number of fighters already dispatched to search for him. He wouldn't be too hard to find, either, oozing mud and blood. He had to hurry. He moved on, navigating mostly by feel. The red emergency lights illuminated patches of hallway in short bursts, the ringing of the sirens in his ears making his vision swim.

"Lord Tartaglia?"

Childe stopped dead in his tracks. At the end of the hall, too far away for Childe to see clearly in the dim lights but definitely close enough to see him with night vision, a Pyroslinger waved him over eagerly.

"Who?" was all that made it out of Childe's mouth.

"Lord Tartaglia, I can't believe it's really you!" the gunner said, equal parts excited and terrified. His voice was heavily modulated, but even through the static and the deepening of his voice, Childe could tell this guy was young. His uniform jacket hung loose around his shoulders, and he held his rifle at his side.

Childe waved, not sure how to proceed. 

"Everyone thought you were dead!" the kid gushed. "Ever since you disappeared, even Her Majesty...oh my god, you're covered in blood." The gunner cut himself off mid-sentence, like he'd just noticed that. He shouldered his gun, ready to fire, but he wasn't aiming at Childe. He peered down the hallway behind him. "Were you attacked, sir?" he asked with sudden professionalism. "You need to get to safety. The admiral and all the officers have been sequestered in the brig while we're being boarded. You need to join them immediately."

The thought of being able to wipe out the admiral and the rest of the officers was extremely tempting. But even leaderless, the ship would still be a dangerous piece of flotsam. It had to be destroyed, and that would lead to the same outcome anyway. Part of him still wanted to—the part that usually hungered for the sight of human blood, of course, which he had no reason to bother suppressing now, but a more human part of him, too. A part that wanted to punish them for daring to encroach upon his territory, to threaten his family on his ship outside his village. Maybe that part was the monster too. He couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the mission.

He flopped against the wall, groaning exaggeratedly and clutching his chest, as if he'd been grievously wounded. "E-engine room," he gasped, hacking up a lung for dramatic effect. "I have to get...blegh...to the engine room!"

"What?" the kid stammered. "Um...the engine room and all those floors are being patrolled, sir. If anyone's down there, we'll handle it."

"There's no time," Childe rasped impatiently. "The intruder is too powerful. Only I can stop them. You have to take me to the engine room."

"I-I'm just a patrolman," the kid replied. "I can't leave my post, but, sir, I can radio the admiral for information..."

He reached for the radio at his waist. Childe groaned again even louder to distract him. He shook his head adamantly until the kid moved his fingers away from the talk button. He slid up against the wall, using it for balance as he strode over and held out his hand. "Give me your gun," he ordered. 

"Sir?" The kid took a step back.

"The pirates are already inside. I want to make sure you're prepared," Childe told him. "Give me the gun, so I know you're at least armed in case you're unlucky enough to lay eyes on one of these madmen."

The rifleman obeyed, turning over his weapon with a whimper of, "Madmen? What do you mean? Who are these people? Are they the ones that hurt you?"

"Beidou and the Crux crew," Childe told him as he inspected the gun. "The terrors of the seas. They took on Beisht and Haishan, and won."

"Wow," the kid breathed. "And they're here, on this ship? We must be done for!"

"Don't worry," Childe assured him. "They may be tough, but they're no match for a Harbinger. This ship isn't going anywhere as long as I've got any say in it."

He gave the kid a smarmy little wink. Poor guy was trembling in his too-big boots, but he seemed reassured by Childe's words. Childe opened up the gun's chamber and discovered two bullets of highly concentrated Pyro. He closed it up again, balanced the weight and the trigger, then picked it up and shot the soldier in the head.

The blast melted through the kid's skull, leaving a smoking hole in the front of his mask. The recoil jerked the gun out of Childe's hand. His wrist twisted painfully from the odd angle at which he'd held it, and he dropped the smoking rifle. The sound of the shot, and then the sound of the kid's body hitting the ground, echoed down the corridor.

What a disgusting waste of life. Sure, Childe could have blamed himself for the boy's death. His helmet rolled off and thudded against a doorframe. His hair was blond, but already streaked with Delusion gray. Childe wasn't the villain here. He had killed the boy instantly. If he had survived, he might have earned himself a Vision.

Still, he wished the kid might have been able to put up more of a fight.

He surveyed the corpse at his feet. Blood was pooling beneath its head...beneath everything, actually. Already, it was soaking into the soles of Childe's boots. His jacket was saturated with blood. He didn't think he'd ever get the stains out; his entire suit would be permanently brown. Evidently, though, it was still recognizable as the uniform of a Harbinger. Maybe if he ditched the scarf...but that was hardly distinguishable from the red mass of his coat now. After a moment's deliberation, he shrugged off the jacket and scarf and dissolved item into golden light. His shirt was soaked, but at least it didn't have any specific embellishments.

All that remained was the matter of the body. If he left it here, anyone who came through this hallway would know where he had been and have a good idea of where he was going, but trying to transport and dispose of the corpse would only slow him down. After a moment's deliberation, he picked up the radio clipped to the kid's belt and his helmet where it had rolled away. Despite the hole in the front, it could conceal Childe's face for the most part.

The radio crackled to life a second later. "Pyotr, we heard gunshots," chirped a modulated voice. "Sounded like it was near your post. You good, buddy?"

Childe crammed the helmet over his own head and responded, "Yeah, I heard them too. Sounds like they're heading for the brig. The admiral is in danger!"

"Pyotr? Is that really you? State your badge number."

"Yep, grabbing my badge." Childe kept moving, leaving Pyotr behind as he rushed toward the engine room. "Oh no, I dropped my radioooo..." he threw it on the ground. "And it's rolling awayyyyy..."

Hopefully they'd prioritize the lead on the brig first, and check on the suddenly clumsy patrolman later. He picked up his pace. The adrenaline in Childe's system made him ache with the desire to push himself harder and faster, his feet thundering on the steel walkway. Another set of footsteps clanked up a nearby set of stairs, evidently following up on Pyotr's message, and Childe never saw them. Part of him wished he'd be discovered and have to fight. He had to keep reminding himself that they'd all be dead in a few minutes anyway, and to try and reconcile himself with the clean, rote destruction of the ship. He wanted to hurt people, and he hated himself for it. But if hatred alone could destroy evil, the world and all its cruelty would already lie in ashes at Childe's feet.

He approached the upper level of the engine room, picking off a few patrols with his bow. The most formidable of the armed guards would be posted just outside to prevent workers from leaving as well as to keep unauthorized personel out. Indeed, the bay doors to the fore catwalk were guarded by a single Pyro Agent. Childe watched him from around a corner. He paced before the doors with his back hunched, his hands in a fur muff. Childe realized he was trying desperately to keep warm. Childe was alright in just his damp shirt and pants, especially so close to the furnace, but the agent's years of using a Pyro Delusion had desensitized him to heat. He must have been a veteran; he was shivering like no Delusionaire Childe had ever worked with.

Finally, a good fight.

He nocked an arrow and took aim at the agent. As expected, the veteran moved out of the way instantly, ducking into a column of fire and vanishing completely from Childe’s field of vision. Excellent. Childe drew his Hydro swords, listening for the sounds of the Fatuus’ charging footfalls. Even cloaked, he took the time to step silently, giving Childe no advantage. Childe felt the hot rush of blades shearing toward him, and only then did he jump into action.

He swung his blades, making the agent duck out of their way. The swords flowed into a spear, swiping across the hallway. The agent darted to Childe’s left; he pivoted to the right, catching the Fatuus’ body with the shaft. The front of his uniform bloomed back into view, a single wet patch creeping through the agent’s invisibility.

To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. He brought down his blades again, cutting through the spear and vaporizing it on the spot. In another burst of fire, he dried his clothes. Childe heard his feet land several meters away, and then beside him, and then behind him, and then in front of him—

He saw only the brief outlines of the agent in the air, shimmering like mirages, and then he felt their blades. One caught him in the shoulder, making his weapon flicker in his hand. The shock of pain was as sharp as if he had just woken from a deep sleep, flooding his senses with the thrill, the speed of battle. With his swords, he parried each and every attack, the feeling of their sharpness and closeness electric. Every mirage dissipated, vaporized by his Hydro. He caught the final attack in his crossguard. He expected to stop the real agent in his tracks, but the figure he staggered vanished the instant it slipped. He heard another thunk behind him and whipped around, raising his blades again, but a wave of fire whooshed close by him. He slashed wildly at the agent, but even as the fire rolled off him, he felt a dull impact in his side. His knees buckled and he hit the floor. A vague, stinging pain erupted across his ribs where he had been hit, but more than anything, he was surprised. Not unpleasantly—this was easily the best fight he’d had in…what, thirty-six hours? Thirty-eight? Zhongli hadn’t even been able to knock him down that time.

He let out an impressed laugh. This was exactly the kind of fight he had wanted. He leapt to his feet and pressed his back to the wall as he hunted for visual traces of the agent.

“Yes!” he crowed in admiration. “Yes, good!”

The agent stopped dead in his tracks. He dropped his cloak, appearing directly in front of Childe. "Lord Tartaglia?" he gasped.

“That was very good!” Childe praised him. “I’d give you a commendation if I wasn’t on the run. Let me through and I won’t kill you,” he bargained.

“Then I’ll die,” the agent said, drawing his blades again without hesitation. “No survivors.”

Of course. Of course such a talented Fatuus would throw his life away in a pointless battle. It’s exactly what Childe would have done, but it wasn’t honorable. It was stupid, and mindless, and a waste of decent talent and of human life. And it was all any of them had to replace their self-worth.

Which he supposed made giving the agent his death in battle some form of…kindness? He knew it was what he would have wanted. He faced the agent down, brandishing a Hydro replica of the agent’s own blades.

“No survivors,” he said.

The agent charged him again, faster than any ordinary human even without his cloak. Childe caught the agent's blades in his own, vaporized them, and sent the agent stumbling back with a knee in his stomach. He nocked an arrow, and as the agent wreathed himself in fire for another attack, Childe shot him in the head. The arrow cracked his helmet and made him stumble again. Childe's next arrow hit him in the ribs. He rasped for breath. Childe rushed him in a flurry of Hydro, grabbed the collar of his jacket, and shoved him against the doors. The agent shivered, the chattering of his teeth distorted by his mask's modulator. 

"You want to be a hero?" Childe demanded. "You want to be a martyr?"

The agent's visor met his. Childe couldn't see his eyes, but the way his head moved back and forth gave the impression he was searching for Childe's. His voice was hoarse as he recited, "This body belongs to ice and snow."

Childe returned him to the frost.

The agent went limp beneath him. Childe lowered him to the ground, laying him on his back. He balled his own hands into fists, feeling the agent's blood slick on his gloves. He felt himself shaking as he knelt to the ground and removed the agent's mask from the rest of the helmet. He held his breath as he did so, steeling himself to see a familiar face. The agent's chin was scarred, his hair snow-white. A nose that had been broken a few too many times, eyebrows that grew in patches through rubbery skin. Experience, hard-won. Too slow. The Fatuus’ sightless eyes turned dull blue for just a moment before Childe got a hold of himself. He returned the agent’s mask and pulled his hood up over his head. Protecting his identity was the least Childe could do.

The least that could be done seemed to be all Childe was capable of doing.

He smashed open the lock on the doors and stormed onto the catwalk, keeping Pyotr's helmet on. The engine room was a roiling mass of enormous moving parts, straining and groaning like the ligaments of some enormous living thing. Three decks down, engineers worked to shovel coal from its store in the hold onto the conveyor belt to the core. If anything but coal entered the reactor, the delicate balance of the combustive elements within would be upset with explosive results. As such, armed guards flanked the workers, ensuring that proper operating procedure would be followed religiously. They would need to be dealt with, but Childe really didn't want to have to hurt the grunts just doing their jobs. And it wasn't like he could get any more morally bankrupt in the process, so...

He ducked out and retrieved the body of the Pyro Agent. Dragging him by the armpits, he pulled him to the middle of the catwalk and hoisted him over the side of the railing. Dangling him feetfirst, Childe lined him up with the center of the coal stock, flopped him a little to test the range of the throw, and then chucked him into the coal.

His limp body flew weightless for a moment, cascading down the stories like an ant flicked off a table. Then he hit the mouth of the coalspout, and like a cheaply made doll, one of his legs sheared clean off. He tumbled onto the conveyor belt and began moving up towards the core. The workers panicked at the sudden disturbance. A few of them screamed. Childe couldn't make out the words of the guards over the grinding of the engines, but he saw them gesture to the workers, ordering them to flee. As they rushed for the exits, the guards turned their rifles on Childe, high above them.

Childe had never been scared of heights, but as he leapt down onto the coal funnel, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be dashed to pieces like his fallen comrade. He cushioned his descent harmlessly, flooding the conveyor belt and sending coal flying. The guards redirected their aim, but he ignored them. He called upon the celestial narwhal, driving it up to the chute that ran down to the core. It hammered against the mechanism and shredded it open, and swam uninhibited into the reactor, dragging pieces of the chute in with it. The light of the core burst up around it as if it had leapt into the sun.

The ship lurched as the engines sped up, then stopped, and then began to buckle. The seams began to glow. One burst, spilling out multicolored liquid.

Mission complete. Time to go.

As the guards radioed their commanding officers for direction, Childe wrapped himself in a vortex of water again. He shot himself up, up following the smoke through the chimney at the top of the room. He crashed through the top of the smokestack and down, down onto the deck in a tidal wave at Zhongli's side.

There were still a handful of stragglers left on the deck, but Childe's wave knocked them all down again, if they were upright at all. The deck was carpeted in bodies, pure water sloshing with the motion of the waves. Zhongli set his spear at attention, and then it vanished from his hand.

"What took you so long?" he teased.

"Ha, ha." Childe shivered. The engine room had been so warm...but at least the rest of the ship would warm up soon enough. "Let's get out of here."

As if to illustrate his point, the ship lurched beneath them once again. Childe struggled to get his footing on the slippery ground. His stomach churned like it was full of seawater; his head felt like it was being crushed. He shivered violently. Already, the once scalding hot arterial blood that drenched him was freezing over in the frigid air. Even after being drenched with Hydro, the skin of his hands was stained bright scarlet.

"Are you okay?" Zhongli asked him. "You look..."

"Wet?" Chile joked. "I'm fine. Just...cold..."

"Take my jacket," Zhongli offered, already reaching for the cuff of one sleeve.

Childe shook his head. "No way. We can't let your shirt sleeves get soaked. I'll be fine."

"Alright." Zhongli nodded, and readjusted the hem of his glove. "Let's return to the Alchor, and quickly."

"...The Alchor? Why?"

Zhongli frowned. "We've done our part. We should return to defend the ship."

Childe knew he was right, as usual. This ship would be shrapnel in a few minutes. It couldn't flank the Alchor, but it could still sink it. That was what was important. Protecting the ship and the people on it. Everything else was irrelevant.

They jumped back down to the surface of the sea. The other Fatui ship was still firing unwaveringly on the Alchor, each fiery volley caught up in a whirlwind of red and green and redirected into the water. Childe saw the tiny silhouette of Kazuha floating above the bow, his sword shining scarlet in his hand

As they returned to the ship, Zhongli followed Kazuha up to the bow to throw up shields, and Childe trailed behind. He grabbed his cloak and put it on, quickly fastening it up to cover his soaked clothes. After making sure his hood covered his hair and his hems covered his hands and feet, he mounted the foredeck again.

His parents were posted near the bow, firing unwaveringly on the second ship. They kept pace with the automatic crossbows, their form impeccable even after decades out of practice. The way his mother used her bow reminded him just how much of a war machine she could have been, and still was in some respects. Childe watched them from behind, tracking their shots in his head out of a commanding officer's habit. He saw the opposing battleship's captain run up on the starboard side of the deck, barking orders from an elevated position. His parents seemed to see that too. Without missing a beat, Valeria took her aim. She stuck out her tongue a little bit in concentration. Corrected for wind shear, drew an arrow, and loosed it. For a second, both she and Pops were still, watching the arrow fly. After a moment, the arrow disappeared. A moment later, the captain collapsed, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Pops tackled her in a bear hug, lifting her up and spinning her around. Valeria raised both her fists in triumph. The construct of Pops' rifle dissolved itself, independent of Childe's influence.

Then they noticed Childe standing behind them. Pops set Valeria back down, and while she fixed her jacket, Pops stared at him. Childe could feel the mood shift as vividly as the movement of the ship beneath him.

"What, something on my face?" he teased.

His father set his jaw. "Did you do it?" he asked.

As soon as Childe opened his mouth to respond, a tremendous BOOM shook the air and ocean. The Alchor lurched with the wake; a great colored light burned through the sky. Childe looked up to see the ship he'd sabotaged implode, its smokestacks burst, its hull groan and then split and then tear and then burst. White-hot fire rocketed across the water's surface and up into the clouds. What was left was a fog of smoke, steam, and shrapnel, and the twisted mass of the ship's body slipping beneath the waves, devoid of any viable life.

"Yes," Childe answered. "I did it."

A hail of broken glass and twisted metal rained down from the ship. Most of it sparked off the small jade shields Zhongli threw up, but plenty of shrapnel flooded over and around the screen. The crew hit the deck, scrabbling for cover. Childe and his parents ducked behind the front wall of the bow, and Childe surrounded the three of them in a bubble of Hydro.

They heard a faint all clear after a moment. Childe dispelled the bubble and stood up. The ship he had just blown up was gone. The core had vaporized it, boiling the sea beneath it, staining the water with hydrophobic fluid. The second ship's motors began to drone as it struggled to retreat against the current the first ship's sinking had caused. Childe could see the crew at the helm issuing desperate orders amid the flash of alarm lights. But they didn't stop shooting. Kazuha and Zhongli were still battling the onslaught. Kazuha lighted on the head of the dragon at the bow, dropping to his knees in exhaustion. Zhongli surrounded him with a shield of his own, but he didn't even look up as a volley of cannonballs battered the jade screen.

Childe found himself leaping up onto the railing of the deck. He heard his own voice screaming angry abuse at the opposing ship. He roared at the top of his lungs: "УБЕГАТЬ! БЕГИТЕ, ТРУСЫ! УЙДИТЕ И НИКОГДА НЕ ВОЗВРАЩАЙТЕСЬ! Я УБЬЮ ВАС ВСЕХ! Я УБЬЮ ВАС—!"

His mother grabbed the back of his coat, yanking him off the wall. "Ajax!" she barked, shaking him. Blood roared in his ears, and he gripped the solid illusion of his bow. 

"Get a hold of yourself!" Valeria commanded. "What has gotten into you?"

"They're getting away!" Childe protested. "If we can take out the rest of their cannons—"

"Son," his father asked. "Are you..." his eyes flickered up to the top of Childe's head, looking out for the white hairs that came with his Foul Legacy form.

"I'm fine," Childe snapped. He didn't have the heart to push his mother off of him, but he brandished his bow. "I just want to help Kazuha and Zhongli. Are you gonna help me, or..."

His father shook his head. "They're retreating. Mr. Zhongli has this. It would be dishonorable to attack them while they're running away. You need to cool off."

"I said I'm fine!" Childe shouted. He held up his hands to show off his lack of claws. "I'm not a monster. Just trust me! Why is that so hard?"

"Lisenok," Valeria said, her voice small. "Your face is covered in blood."

Oh.

He pulled his jacket further around himself, gathering his sleeves in his fists. He scraped his face with the fur cuffs—he hadn't realized all the water wouldn't be able to clean him up. He wasn't thinking. Flecks of dried blood came off into his hands.

Not a monster, huh?

Zhongli's shield sparked out of existence, but the firing of the battleship's cannons had stopped. It and the Alchor's. It was over. The fight was over.

"Are you hurt, AJ?" Valeria asked. "You should rest. It's been a long day for all of us, but especially for you. It's no wonder you don't feel like yourself."

"Yeah." Childe stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling his heartbeat thrum in his fingers. "Yeah. It's late. You guys head to bed. I'll be fine, just...I'll be fine."

He brushed them both off, ignoring their troubled looks. Best they saw as little of him as possible. He trudged to the aft deck, under cover of the canopy. He slumped down behind a barrel and peeled off his coat and shirt. Sticky blood covered his shoulder where the Pyro Agent had clipped him, but that would be fine. Even his human body was sturdy enough to handle a simple graze like that. What worried him was the cut in his side. The agent must have gotten him better than he thought. Without the rush of battle to keep his head fuzzy and painless, his wound seared into him. He could tell it was deep. Not dangerously, but when he moved, the edges pulled against each other, tearing the wound further. It hurt. Tears pricked at his eyes. Good. This was exactly what he had wanted. He could feel his life oozing between his fingers. He was alive. He was okay. His body still functioned to keep the people he loved safe.

He let a silent prayer fall through his lips. He wasn't sure who to direct it to, so he let it fizzle out. If Zhongli heard his thanks for the pain, he'd never live it down. Best if it stayed unspoken, like everything else about them both.

With the tips of his fingers, he felt out the edges of the cut. The fatty flesh tingled under his gloves. With the power of the Foul Legacy, he formed a dark iron spike. He used it to staple the wound shut, the barb on the end tearing his flesh open and then sealing it together. His breath hitched with the sting. Much more quickly this time, he followed the first staple up with more. In a few seconds, he patched himself shut from end to end. Only when he was sure the cut wouldn't split did he allow himself to breathe. The little daggers cut into him even as they held him together. They were sharper and harder than stitches of Hydro, but he'd learned the hard way that threads of water tended to osmose the fluid they overlapped and make him bleed out faster, and the stuff the medical officer would be able to give him would tear the second he got into combat again—and he was sure that time would come sooner rather than later.

Gods, what he wouldn't give for the power to heal.

What he wouldn't give for this pain to end.

Chapter Text

Why did he choose the top bunk again?

The space between Childe’s bed and the ceiling was so small it felt like his heart didn’t have room to beat. His breath came in short, deep gasps, his pulse hammering in his throat. It was painful, far more so than the split in his side. He tried desperately to get his breathing under control. Panting and wheezing like this while fighting only the construction of the room was embarrassing.

Kazuha, lying splayed out on the bottom of the opposite bunk, had been asleep for hours. He had simply walked into Zhongli’s room as per the three men’s agreement to divide up the rooms between the new passengers, pointed at a bunk to ask for permission, and then faceplanted into it. Childe had never been more jealous. At some point, Beef had come scratching at the door and Zhongli had gotten up to let him inside. The little mutt had nosed his way under the blankets Childe had thrown down over Kazuha (Zhongli had helped tuck him in, Childe supposed, but it had really been a team effort) and was snoring away happily. The bunk underneath Childe seemed to be the one Zhongli slept in out of habit, judging by the surgical precision with which the other three were made up. It was impossible to tell from Childe’s vantage point if he had fallen asleep. Zhongli never breathed much, and he’d been as still as a rock ever since he’d gone to bed still fully dressed.

“Ajax?” came a deep whisper. Childe perked up. He was still unused to the sound of his name in Zhongli’s voice, but he appreciated the effort to maintain the habit. Evidently Zhongli hadn’t been as lucky as Kazuha in getting to sleep quickly, and his voice was raw and strained from sleepiness. In that coarse tone, Childe couldn’t help but admire the sound of the word.

“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah,” Childe answered. “You can’t sleep either?”

A long sigh preceded Zhongli’s “No.”

“I doubt you’re seasick too,” Childe prodded. “So, what’s up?”

“You're seasick?” Zhongli backtracked. “I hadn’t realized…”

“If you make one Hydro joke—” Childe warned.

“I wasn’t going to!” Zhongli defended himself.

“That’s what they all say,” Childe teased back. He rolled over and glanced down at Kazuha. The little samurai and his dog were both snoring. Kazuha grinned as Beef attempted to run in his sleep, clawing at the front of Kazuha’s robe. The kid was so jumpy and attentive it was hard to believe he’d be such a deep sleeper.

“Are you alright?” Zhongli asked, lowering his voice further.

“I’m fine,” Childe said. “It’s just a little nausea.”

“Is that what’s keeping you up?” Zhongli asked.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Childe pointed out. “What’s keeping you up?”

“I…don’t know,” Zhongli admitted. Then, after a pause: “...Thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing in particular.” Childe couldn’t see Zhongli’s face, but he was willing to bet that statement was more loaded than the old man was letting on.

“Must be nice,” Childe complained, keeping his tone light. “All I can think about is how bad I need to barf.”

He heard Zhongli wince. “That’s…I feel like you don’t need me to point this out, Ajax, but that’s more than a little nausea.”

Childe sighed. The repetition of his name made his stomach churn in a much more pleasant way than the roiling of the ship, but it certainly wasn’t helping him relax. “You worry too much,” he told Zhongli. “I took some medicine and I can take more in an hour or so.”

“If you find my care for your well-being overbearing, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about that.” Childe felt the bed creak, and then a muffled thud as Zhongli sat up and banged his head on the top bunk. “Ow.”

“If you’re getting water, get me some too.” With Zhongli’s head right by the railing of his bunk, Childe took the opportunity to stroke the brown and amber hair. He was probably at least slightly delirious, he decided.

Zhongli stood up, brushing his loose hair over his shoulder. He must have changed his clothes after Kazuha had gone to bed. He wore a loose-fitting black shirt with long sleeves, made of an embroidered silk that would only be economical to wear as pajamas if it was conjured by a shapeshifter.  Childe definitely wasn’t staring at the inches of waist between his hem and the waistband of his matching lounge pants as Zhongli stretched his shoulders. He wore his gloves, but not his rings, and the leather was squashed around his thumbs where they usually sat. It probably wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement to keep the gloves on despite the length of his sleeves easily covering his hands, but Childe appreciated his attention to detail.

“Oh, are you thirsty?”

“What?” Childe blinked. “Oh, uh…not really. I probably couldn’t keep anything down anyway, but it’d at least be something to do.”

Zhongli nodded and sat down, more carefully this time to avoid unnecessary noise. “If that’s so, join me down here. I think I might have a way to help you.”

“Oh?” Childe sat up a little, careful not to hit his head. “What might that be?”

Zhongli chuckled. “Don’t get too excited.”

Childe shimmied down the ladder and deposited himself in a heap on the ground. He hadn’t bothered to get changed, just peeling off his dirty clothes and calling it a night, but he regretted that decision immediately. Zhongli sucked in a sympathetic breath as his gaze raked up Childe’s bare injured side. He hated how naked he felt, even though he knew Zhongli was only as buttoned up as he was to protect them both. He let Zhongli pick him up, and between the two of them, they managed to pile Childe onto Zhongli’s bunk.

“Have you eaten today?” Zhongli asked, bordering on judgmental.

“I would rather die at this point,” Childe muttered.

Zhongli laughed softly. Beef barked a little, as if disturbed, but as they both looked over at the sudden sound, he continued yipping at an imaginary rabbit. Kazuha was still asleep, but the reminder that they shouldn’t wake him or the dog made the two of them just a little bit quieter.

“Nausea?” Zhongli asked.

“That, and…if I slowed down, I’d feel like I’d never be able to start moving again.”

“That makes sense, I suppose,” Zhongli said. “Then, tonight…?”

Childe yawned. “I’ll pass out sooner or later.”

“Is this how you treat yourself as a Fatui Harbinger?”

“Usually worse.”

Zhongli shook his head. “You make it very difficult to be your friend,” he muttered. He faced Childe on the bed, hanging one leg off the side. “Hold out your hands, please, palms up.”

Childe did as he was ordered. Zhongli removed his own gloves quickly, pulling one off with his teeth and the other with the crook of his knee. He took Childe’s hands in his own, his stone fingers cold against Childe’s feverish skin. With his thumbs, he felt the tendons in Childe’s wrists, searching for something. He found a spot between the bones of Childe's forearms, and placed a thumb on each point. Keeping his hands still, he moved the tips of his fingers in concentric circles, gently working the tiny pressure point there. Childe felt the pounding in his head subside, and the churning of his stomach settle. He hadn’t imagined that having Zhongli’s fingers pressed so firmly on his skin would make his head spin less . It was comforting, rather than exhilarating. The polar opposite of all the times Zhongli had pinned him to the Alchor’s deck. Soft, without a hint of playfulness. Childe probably shouldn’t have been reading too much into it. It was probably just the euphoria of not feeling sick for the first time in a month.

“Adeptal magic?” he asked.

Zhongli smiled. “No, just a simple acupressure technique. You can try it yourself, if you’d like.”

Childe pulled one of his hands out of Zhongli’s grip, and Zhongli released the other wrist. Childe brought his fingers to his skin and gently massaged the point.

“It’s better when you do it,” he decided.

He held his hands back out for Zhongli, who took them and resumed his movements. Almost against his will, Childe found himself relaxing into Zhongli’s touch. His breathing quieted, his shoulders relaxed, and for once, he didn’t feel like he should look away lest he vomit all over his friend.

“Your heart rate’s going down,” Zhongli murmured. “That’s good.”

“I haven’t been able to stop…thinking,” Childe admitted. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to say all of this now, but Zhongli gave him a receptive little hum as he waited. The silence left behind was an invitation, to fill or ponder as he saw fit. Childe tried to consider his words as he said them, but they slipped out hurriedly, and nothing bad came of it.

“I’m the biggest idiot on the continent,” he muttered, unsure what brought on this topic of conversation. “Whenever I talk about the Fatui, the people who know me all say the same thing: ‘you were fifteen. Of course you made a mistake. You were a kid.’ But I wasn’t a kid, and…I don’t know if it was a mistake, or when it turned into one. I never should have trusted Pulcinella, and I never should have accepted that Delusion, but…sometimes I think every path I could have taken, I would have messed up just as badly. Everything…” he gritted his teeth. “Everything was my fault. I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be…”

“It’s okay,” Zhongli assured him. “If you need a listening ear, you will always have mine.”

As nice as Zhongli’s touch on his wrists was, Childe wasn’t sure he wanted his friend to have such a direct gauge of his heart rate. His eyes grazed the floor. “I don’t know what I would even say,” he said. “I just do things without thinking about it. Maybe I should start…you know. Thinking.”

Zhongli considered the statement seriously. “I suppose it is only natural to question one’s judgment after taking so many lives.”

“I don’t care about the Fatui ships,” Childe corrected him, more harshly than he meant to. How else was he going to sell the lie? “The Alchor is safe, that’s all that matters.”

“Then what prompted this revelation?”

He ran his lip between his teeth. He really shouldn’t say anything, but he felt like if he didn’t, it would spill out of him at an even less opportune moment. 

“What are we doing here, Zhongli?”

Zhongli removed his hands from Childe’s wrists. He folded them in his own lap, averting his gaze. Something in Childe curled up and died at the sight. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have buried that question so far down he would never even think of it, where it belonged. 

“Nothing,” was Zhongli’s answer. “Nothing at all.”

“That’s not true, is it, though?” Childe pressed him. “I’m not imagining it, but you act like I am.”

Zhongli swallowed, and he shook his head. “No, you’re not imagining anything” he said, his voice unsure. “And I never meant to make you feel as if you were. I feel the connection too, of course I do. I don’t know if any world could exist where I didn’t.”

Childe drew in a breath, grateful that his hands were in his own lap.

“But I also feel your hesitancy,” Zhongli continued. “I don’t know what it is you want, and asking…” he trailed off, seemingly unable to gather more of his thoughts.

“If you asked me, I wouldn’t know,” Childe said. Bowed over in a bunk they were too tall for, Childe in his underwear and Zhongli scandalously ungloved, whispering to keep from waking their friend, they were like teenagers at a slumber party. Childe almost wished the subject of their gossip was his feigned attraction to a girl in his Young Peacemakers unit. Or maybe one on the mainland that his comrades had never met. It would be easier to feel like he fit in if he were lying.

“I’m not…good with feelings,” he admitted. “I don’t…I’ve never…”

Zhongli’s expression softened. “Never?” he asked in a breath.

Childe felt himself flush. “I grew up in the Fatui,” he said brusquely. “I never had time.”

“That’s…understandable,” Zhongli said.

Childe took a deep breath, leaning against the back wall and tucking himself under the loose blankets. “If you want me to tell you…tell the truth, I don’t know if I can do that.”

Zhongli arranged his top blanket around Childe, and pulled the bottom blanket over himself as he moved up against the headboard. “That’s fair,” he said simply. “Even admitting that takes courage.”

Childe buried his face in the sheets to hide from the compliment. “No, it didn’t,” he muttered. “That’s the point. It doesn’t matter. What…” he looked up, facing Zhongli as his friend leaned down over him. “What do you want, Zhongli?

Zhongli sighed, running a hand over the blankets. “There are a great many things I want, Ajax,” he said, his soft, even voice belying a draconic edge. “I am accustomed to getting my way. But the last thing I want is to make you unhappy. I need nothing more than to know you’re alright.”

“Are you happy, Zhongli?” Childe asked.

“I…” Zhongli licked his lips. “It’s a broad question,” he said. “Here, now, with you, I am happy. The future is uncertain, the past complex, but neither can taint this feeling.”

He was right, though, as usual, Childe didn’t want to admit it. Zhongli’s bed was warm, and it was Zhongli’s, and Childe’s was just above it. He felt his head hurting again, and stretched out his hand. Zhongli took it. Without prompting, he moved his fingers to Childe’s wrist, stroking the spot that settled the knot in his stomach. He was so tired. Tired of lying to himself, tired of pretending he couldn’t enjoy something like this. He could fall asleep here. He could die tomorrow, they both could, but that wouldn’t change this moment. This could be good and soft and warm, even if it never happened again.

“Ajax,” Zhongli said gently.

“Hmm?” Childe blinked.

“If you’re going to fall asleep, move over so I can have room.”

“‘M not gonna fall asleep,” Childe defended himself. He pushed himself up on his forearms, then immediately slumped back against the wall.

“If you say so,” Zhongli said, smiling fondly. “But if you’re not going to get up, at least let me lay down.”

“I’m definitely not going to get up,” Childe conceded. He let Zhongli pull out the blankets that were tangled between them and drape both layers over the both of them. He rolled his legs out of the way, and Zhongli lowered his own beside him. Zhongli’s breath ghosted over Childe’s skin as he moved, and the touch sent shivers down his spine; but Zhongli situated himself at the far edge of the mattress. Even hugging the sides of the bed, the space they shared was small. With so little room to lie in, they had to fight to keep their bodies from touching. So…they didn’t fight. They let their hips and shoulders and knees brush up against one another, and they intertwined their fingers. Their hands met in the gap between them in the way their words could not. Not yet, anyway. Childe’s last conscious thought, barely lucid and devoid of reason, was:

He wished he could spend every night like this. 

Chapter Text

Childe woke slowly the next morning, stirring in a sea of warm sheets. Some part of his drowsy mind recognized that that was unusual. He'd accustomed himself to starting every day on the Alchor with a bruise on his forehead from sitting up too fast and smacking his face on the ceiling. A good night's sleep meant waking up without splinters in his hands and face from lashing out in his dreams. A good night's sleep...the phrase spun light and aimless in his head, like a dandelion seed. He blinked in the bright sunshine streaming through the bunkroom window. Its light was much harsher than its warmth, but both were excellent excuses to stay in bed. He hadn't had a good night sleep in...well, eleven years. Now, as he stretched catlike across the bed and pulled his pillow into his chest, he thought that clock might have been reset. He couldn't remember ever having been so rested. He was too...whatever the opposite of 'sore' was to get up. Boneless. Jelly. Relaxed. Content. Something like that.

Wait.

The sun was streaming through the bunkroom window. His eyes shot open, suddenly completely awake. He sat bolt upright and smacked his forehead on the underside of the bunk. The top bunk, where he had gone to bed. He had woken up in the bottom bunk. Zhongli's bunk. He had slept in Zhongli's bunk. 

He glanced anxiously around the room. Across from him, Kazuha's bed was empty and unmade. That made sense; he was usually up before Childe, and Childe was usually up before dawn. But now, the sun was streaming through the bunkroom window. He was piled up against the wall; between him and the edge of the mattress, there was a Zhongli-sized crater in the straw, comically deeper than the weight of an ordinary person could have made. Zhongli's bed. He had slept in Zhongli's bed.

He groaned, and buried his face in the pillow. It smelled like Zhongli. Tea and leather and skin and sweat. He shivered. He couldn't begin to imagine what Kazuha had thought. In most places Childe had traveled to, it was fairly normal for two grown men to share a bed. When there weren't enough beds. When they hadn't almost confessed their feelings for each other, again, and when they hadn't been interrupted by...

He could feel himself turning red. He wished he knew what Kazuha had seen. Or what he'd thought he'd seen. He wished he knew what Zhongli had thought.

Had he slept well too?

Childe rolled out of bed and grabbed his clothes. He threw on a shirt and pants, then wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. He'd need to wash his jacket soon. His boots were bloodstained, but dry enough, and his cloak would cover his feet anyway, so he should be fine. His stitches had held up well. His side still hurt, but his wound was no longer in danger of opening. He'd have to be careful, but for once, he was looking forward to a lazy day off.

It was even brighter out on the deck than he'd expected. Coming up from belowdecks, he was briefly blinded. The sky was clear, but the wind was biting cold, sharp and directional. They'd make good time back to Liyue. Judging by the sun, it was nearly noon. Had he really slept that long?

His mother was sitting in a chair by the door, the aft deck breaking the wind nicely so she could knit in peace. She shaded her eyes with her hand as he approached and waved to him in greeting. "Mornin', AJ! Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Childe yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Maybe too well. How about you guys? Get any sleep?"

"A bit," Valeria shrugged. "Not sure if I've got my sea legs yet."

"You'll get there," Childe assured her. "Where are Pops and the kids?"

"Your dad's working on the cannons with Suling," she said. "A few of them were damaged in the commotion last night. Oh, and the kids are with Mr. Zhongli on the...aft deck? Is that the right word?"

Childe nodded, but his heart skipped a beat. "Mr. Zhongli?" he asked, chewing his lip. "Have you...talked to him at all?"

Valeria leaned back in her chair, taking her sweet time to search her memory. "We talked a bit at breakfast, just the usual small talk, and then he offered to take the kiddos off my hands for a bit, and that was the end of that."

"Oh." Childe tried to mask his disappointment. "That's sweet of him."

"I saw him with that boy Kazuha earlier," she offered. "Your name came up, but I don't know what else they were saying. You should go see him; it sounds like he was looking for you."

Childe swallowed thickly. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks."

"You alright?" his mother asked, cocking her head to get a good look at him. "You look a little nervous. You two have a fight or somethin'?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing that terrible," he assured her. "I should go. Talk later?"

She agreed, and he gave her a hug before heading up to the aft deck. He wasn't sure what he would say to Zhongli. Sorry for hogging the bed. No, not the bed. Your bed. Let's never speak of this again. I'll pay Kazuha to keep his mouth shut. And I'll shut mine too.

He was relieved, to say the least, that Zhongli appeared to be busy.

Back at the stern, behind the covered pavilion, Zhongli and Childe's siblings had set up an old, creaky spincrystal player. Zhongli had his back to where Childe stood, and all three of the kids faced him, standing in line from tallest to shortest. Childe made himself scarce, leaning up against one of the pavilion posts just to observe. He realized that all four of them were carrying spears, or sticks. Tonia carried a broomstick, and the boys each wielded Geo constructs with blunted ends. Zhongli carried the Vortex Vanquisher, though Childe was sure he'd claim it was only a replica if anyone recognized it from the ancient art. As Zhongli finished the set of directions he was giving out, the spincrystal reset to the beginning of the verse it was playing, and the little troupe began to dance.

Childe recognized the style as one he'd seen Miss Yun do on stage, twirling her spear as she sung opera. They must have been practicing for a while. They recited a handful of steps at a time, with only the music to cue them. Zhongli led mostly by example, modeling the simple dance with effortless grace, only stopping to give direction and praise when they'd finished a set.

Childe watched them for a while. His siblings weren't exactly untrustworthy with sharp objects. They'd been raking leaves and shoveling snow since they could walk. The idea of them wielding weapons had kept Childe up night after night since his siblings were babies. In his nightmares, they slaughtered as brutally as their older brother. The art of the spear painted on a bloody canvas, or so his master had told him in one of her more talkative moments. He wondered if she had ever seen a display like this. The spinning spears, glinting in the sun. The way their bearers swayed to support them as if the two were partners in the waltz. Teucer stuck out his tongue and screwed up his face in concentration as he stumbled after his siblings with gusto. Tonia experimented with ways to swish her skirts around her knees, adding a little half kick every measure or so, and Anthon copied her surreptitiously, as if he thought it would be cheating to alter the steps he'd been assigned. Childe's siblings didn't fear the weapons they carried. They were tools. Tools that could hurt—and could certainly hurt more if they hadn't been blunted, which Childe did appreciate—but with care, they could create rather than destroy. Could even become beautiful.

Teucer locked eyes with Childe from across the deck. They shared a knowing nod, but then Teucer froze. After a moment's confusion, he let out a panicked shriek.

"Big brother, you can't look!"

The other siblings scrambled to look like they weren't doing anything. Anthon tossed his spear across the deck like it was a snake that had bitten him, and Tonia concealed her broomstick—which was taller than she was—behind her back.

Anthon pouted. "How long have you been watching?" he demanded as Childe approached the stage. Zhongli turned around and gave Childe an apologetic little smile. 

Teucer grabbed Childe by his coat pocket. "You're not allowed to see until the big show!" he insisted.

"There's a big show?" Childe said. "I hadn't heard anything about it. Did I miss a flyer?"

"Ooh," Teucer said, clapping one fist on top of the other. "We should make flyers."

Tonia nodded, dropping the broomstick and letting it clatter on the deck behind her. "Mr. Zhongli's teaching us an opera dance that we're going to put on tonight with Miss Bai Ling."

"And you can't see it until then!" Anthon repeated.

"Why not?" Childe asked. "What if you guys give me a press pass?"

Teucer turned up his nose. "You're not pressed, silly."

Zhongli spoke up, awkwardly folding his arms. "Many theaters put on preview shows for VIP guests," he pointed out, addressing the kids. "I think Ajax is a very important person, don't you?"

Teucer nodded definitively. "Big brother is the most important person ever!"

"Yeah," Anthon groaned, "but we're not ready."

"Yeah!" Teucer echoed. "We still need costumes, and Miss Bling to sing for us..."

Tonia corrected him: "Bai Ling."

"'S'what I just said." He rolled his eyes at her.

Childe laughed. "If you guys want, I'll go downstairs and cover my ears so I don't hear anything until you guys are ready."

That earned him a chorus of despairing "Nooooooooooooooo!"s "You gotta watch the preview show!" Teucer demanded.

"Alright, alright!" Childe laughed again. "What do we need to get ready?"

Tonia considered her answer with her hand on her chin. Anthon copied her. Childe wondered if they were making fun of the way Zhongli posed, or if this was another inside joke he'd missed out on. "I think Miss Bai Ling is still working," she said. "We need costumes and makeup, and a backdrop."

Teucer offered, "I'll get the backdrop!"

"Beidou keeps them in the captain's quarters," Childe told him. "Mr. Zhongli, you go with him; those things can get heavy. Anthon, you and I can go get costumes if you want to find Miss Bai Ling for us, Tonia."

 "You can't tell us what to do," Anthon complained. "Mr. Zhongli is our director."

Zhongli laughed. "As your director, I say you have to do whatever your brother says."

Anthon stuck out his tongue at that loophole. Childe clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on. I need a big strong man to help me carry stuff."

Anthon didn't seem happy about it, but he followed Childe into the hold. It was usually fairly tidy down here, but reorganizing had gone slowly, and the crates and barrels were scattered haphazardly. Childe lit a lantern and handed it off to Anthon so he could have his hands and Vision free to move things out of the way. He liked having something tangible to do to make himself useful, but he hoped his brother couldn't tell how distracted he was. It was probably nothing, but he couldn't ignore that Zhongli hadn't said anything to him.

"Do you know where the stuff is?" Anthon asked.

Childe shook his head. "No, and I'm not sure where it would be. We've been reorganizing, so everything's a bit messy. Keep your eyes peeled."

Anthon hung back to think about it. Since he was carrying the lantern, Childe stopped to wait for him.

"Your Vision lets you see stuff, right?" he asked.

Childe shrugged. "It lets me use elemental sight, but that won't help us find anything."

"Isn't everything made out of the elements?"

"Sure, but there's a difference between the pure elemental energy my Vision lets me see, and how the elements work together to build everything around us." He rapped his knuckles on the stack of crates beside him to demonstrate. "Even the water we drink isn't pure Hydro. If I look at you with elemental sight, you'd just look like a glowing white blob. You're very elementally complicated."

Anthon puffed up his chest a bit at that. "I know," he suggested, "what if you use your Vision to get everything wet? Like, just enough for you to see what it is?"

"That would be faster than having to open everything up and hunt through it," Childe agreed. "That's a really great idea. Where should we start?"

Anthon considered their options. "If it were me, I'd put the theater stuff close to the door so I could come and get it whenever I needed it, but other stuff I needed more would be closer. I think what I would need more would be...food. And water and beer and stuff, but I wouldn't keep it all close to the door 'cause I'd bring a lot. Once I use what's already by the door, I'd go back further to get more stuff."

"Very good point," Childe said. "And if you had a bunch of barrels of pickled shark, where would you put those?"

"In my tummy, 'cause that stuff's delicious," Anthon replied. "Wait, is that what this symbol means?" He pointed to the label on one of the nearby barrels. Childe nodded. "Oh, that's on like all of these, are they all shark?" His eyes went wide. "Dude, can I have some..."

"There's an open one up on the deck," Childe told him. "We'll grab some when we go back up there; don't let me forget." Anthon nodded. "Tomorrow is supposed to be music night, so the crew shouldn't have left the theater stuff too badly buried. Let's find where the shark barrels are a little thinner."

"And close to the door," Anthon pointed out.

"Right on." Childe gave him a high five. "You go left, I'll go right."

It wasn't long before Anthon found a crate with a character written on it in glitter pen. Childe confirmed it read "music." Together, they pried it open to discover a pile of paper-wrapped tambourines.

"That's a good sign," Childe said. "Want to try your elemental sight idea?"

Anthon nodded. Childe instructed him to stand back, then sent out a few threads of Hydro. Feeling along the sides of the crates, he pushed the lids up a ways and poked at the contents. Elemental sight confirmed that several boxes were full of fireworks, and a few contained flat-packed paper lanterns. He found the box of costumes—or at least, a box of soft, folded blue blobs—on top of a box of candles stacked high over his head. He wrapped a few tendrils of Hydro around it to pull it down safely and deposit it on the ground in front of them.

"That's so cool," Anthon said, staring at the box. "I wish I had a Vision."

Childe scoffed. "You're too cool to need a Vision. The gods only give them out to people who can't get things done without them. It's much more impressive to be self-reliant."

"What about your Delusion?" Anthon pressed him. "Everyone in Snezhnaya would be honored to receive one."

"That might not be such a good thing," Childe said delicately. "Delusions are dangerous. I got rid of mine because as much of an honor as it was, it was hurting people, and that was unacceptable."

"But you have a Vision," Anthon argued back, still just as stubborn.

"And you have a big brother to pick things up for you," Childe pointed out. "And I'm not some far-away god you'll never meet. I'm always gonna be here for you. And I'll never backfire and overload you off a balcony."

His brother laughed. "Did that really happen?"

"Never try fire-eating with an electro infusion," Childe told him sagely. "Call that generational wisdom."

"I call that common sense." Anthon turned up his nose.

"Well, you always were the smart one," Childe teased him. "Let's bring this upstairs."

"Are you gonna carry it with Hydro?" Anthon bounced on the balls of his feet in excitement.

"I think I'll let you do it, big guy."

"Noooooooooooooooooooooooo..."

Childe did carry the crate in a swirl of water. Anthon never took his eyes off the magic, and ran into a doorway watching it. He emerged from below decks with a bright orange rust stain on his coat.

Tonia was waiting for them at a table on the aft deck, and Kazuha was sitting across from her. They both looked up as Childe approached. The sight of the little samurai down on the deck was usually a welcome surprise, but Childe felt his heart sink. He had no idea what Kazuha was thinking about him. He wanted to ask what Zhongli had said about him, and in Liyuean he probably could without being overheard, but he didn't want to seem clingy. He'd have to play it cool.

"You're finally awake!" Kazuha greeted him. He didn't sound sarcastic, but Childe could already feel the color rising to his cheeks. He set the crate of costumes down and let Anthon pry it open, then stashed his Vision in his cloak pocket to make sure he didn't use it around Tonia.

"Yeah," he said. "How'd you sleep?"

"Well, thank you." Kazuha bowed a little. "I had wondered about you—I thought perhaps Mr. Zhongli had squashed you to death in your sleep."

Anthon looked up. "What about gospodin Zhongli?"

Childe rolled his eyes. "Very funny."

Kazuha laughed shyly at his own little joke. "He was looking for you," he informed Childe.

"Well, he could have said something when I went and saw him," Childe bristled. "What did he want?"

Kazuha shrugged. "He didn't say."

"Of course not," Childe muttered.

"What are you guys talking about?" Tonia asked.

Childe shook his head. "Sorry, it's nothing. Did you find Miss Bai Ling?"

"Beidou said she's busy and she won't get off until like six," his sister told him. "So I got us an understudy!" She grabbed Kazuha's wrist and lifted both their hands over her head. "Uh, I think so."

Kazuha bowed again. "Your sister knows a lot of Nihongo," he said proudly.

"'Cause of all the manga you sent me," Tonia explained. "And Miss Yoimiya sent along that little dictionary with it...I figured out enough to get my point across."

Kazuha covered the side of his mouth with his hand and whispered conspiratorially: "She's a weeb."

"Hey!" she protested. "I know some of those words."

"I don't know any Inazuman, except what Kazuha taught me," Childe pointed out. "and Kazuha only knows the Sneznij I taught him. So I think we're all even."

Tonia turned to Kazuha. "Okay," she bargained, gripping both his hands to command his full attention. "Anata...oshieru?" Kazuha nodded his encouragement. "Watashi ni Nihongo...i ya nachu tebya Snezhkomu?"

Kazuha nodded eagerly. Tonia pumped her fist. "Ha! Take that, Ajax! I'm finally gonna learn something you don't already know!"

Kazuha laughed. "I hope I will soon understand enough to know what she is saying now," he told Childe.

"I don't know what she's saying half the time, and I'm her brother," Childe replied.

Tonia stuck out her tongue. "Ask him to sing in the play for us," she instructed. "But, like, explain it better than I can."

Childe clarified what they were trying to do. Kazuha agreed enthusiastically. He said he'd seen the play in question while on shore leave—well, "beach abandon," but Childe got the gist—and could probably sing it decently well with some prep, as long as the kids wouldn't be too bummed about not having a professional on board. All four Sorokov kids offered him their support. He went to ask an off-duty Shield team member for help with the reading, and the little troupe began their preparations.

It was probably for the best that they started early. Just finding costumes that might fit the kids, with enough safety pins and prayer, was hard enough. Getting them into costume, and making sure Teucer stayed that way, was another struggle. Childe was sure night would have fallen by the time they finished their makeup. Zhongli did Teucer's, and Tonia did Anthon's, and Childe's job was reminding the boys of guys who wear makeup and still look tough. They all agreed that Mr. Zhongli was prettier than he was manly, but Beidou's spiky winged eyeliner made her the coolest, fiercest lady around. Childe handed out mirrors of water for them to check the results, and they seemed pleased. Once the boys were done, Zhongli helped Tonia with her makeup while Childe and the others grabbed a snack of pickled shark and set up chairs around the stage.

It wasn't just in his head. Zhongli hadn't said a word to him since he'd come back here. He met the old man's eye every now and again, and they exchanged wan smiles. They were busy. They were busy. Zhongli definitely wasn't avoiding him. That was the kind of immature stunt Childe would have pulled, and he was trying not to pull it. He wanted to clear up any misunderstanding—honestly, he just wanted to talk, but there was no time. And the longer they avoided it, the more it festered, like soup boiling over on an unattended stove. Childe watched the boys try to climb stacks of folding chairs, and listened to Zhongli recount the history of dyeing eyeshadow in a pleasant drone, and felt himself scorch and plaster to the bottom of the pot. 

Everyone on board who could be spared came to the opera. Childe took a seat at the front, with his parents on either side. He and his father made a pinkie promise to lead the crew in a standing ovation when the performance was over. He bribed Little Yue and Donghai to operate the screens that hid the performers from view. As the music on the spincrystal swelled, the curtains were rolled away, and the dance began.

The performers faced away from their audience, cast in sunset shadow. One by one, they turned, brandishing their spears. Teucer, executing a double spin with the momentum of his weapon. Then Anthon and then Tonia, kicking out their robes with flair. And then Zhongli. The light refracted through his spear, glowing like the sun itself, but Childe thought the old god might have been casting his own radiance. He was showing off too, but only for Childe. He wore his own clothes, and only Childe would get the irony in a play about the adepti. Kazuha's warbling voice sang of calamity and steel, of the adepti and their seclusion, of devastation and redemption. Zhongli played the role of narrator, framing the action as the kids shared the role of the divine damsel. Together, they told the story of a young human girl, raised by the adepti to return to the human world. It was breathtaking. Childe hadn't seen the original Lantern Rite performance, but he couldn't imagine a more beautiful performance even on the stage at the Jade Chamber.

Childe never felt as if he had any right to be 'proud' of his siblings. Pride, in his mind, was a recognition of an accomplishment. He could be proud, he thought, if it had been him who had taught them this dance. This was all them. He had no part in it, he was only a member of the audience. But still, there was no other word for how he felt but pride. He didn't know how to explain it. He loved his siblings as if they were a part of him, and loved their accomplishments as much as his own, or more. Maybe that was selfish, but Childe could live with his selfishness.

When the curtains fell, Childe and his Pops didn't need to manufacture a standing ovation. He and his parents were the first to jump to their feet and whistle their approval, but they weren't the last. The dancers took a bow, and Anthon made sure to drag Kazuha onstage to take his bow as well. Childe scooped up his siblings in a group hug from which Zhongli and Kazuha attempted to abstain, but which Valeria crushed them into regardless. Even Miss Bai Ling came once her shift was over to congratulate her dancers and her understudy.

Childe managed to steal Zhongli away as soon as he was free. He asked the others to wait up for them at the mess hall and dragged Zhongli back behind the backdrop of their stage. Zhongli seemed confused, but Childe said nothing until he was sure they were alone. 

The sun was setting almost directly behind the ship, painting the sea and the sky in umber and red. Clouds were moving in over the horizon. It would be a cold, dark night. Childe took a breath to steady himself and the cold, sheer wind bit his lungs. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he waited for the sounds of the crew to die down.

"Childe," Zhongli spoke up. "What's going—"

"I need to say something," Childe blurted. He had no idea what he would say to Zhongli now, he hadn't had time, but he had to say something, or he'd explode. "You wanted to talk, right? So let's talk."

Zhongli frowned, but he didn't seem upset. "Okay...sure. Is everything..."

"Look," Childe interrupted him. Zhongli took the hint to let him finish, but his brow furrowed. "Look," Childe repeated. "I'm sorry for falling asleep on you. I mean for literally falling asleep on you—" His face burned. He felt like there was a sea slug crawling up his throat. "But also for letting our conversation end where it did."

Zhongli took a step back. Childe put both of his hands in his pockets; Zhongli mirrored him, leaning back against the railing.

"That's quite alright," Zhongli said lightly. "You were tired from a long day, and I certainly wasn't disappointed by your company."

Childe shook his head. "No, that's not the point. I mean, I wasn't mad about it either, but..." he shook his head again, as if he could shake the awkwardness off. He met Zhongli's eyes, and the old god softened his stance. He took one hand out of his pocket and fingered his thumb ring as Childe continued.

"You said it didn't matter what you wanted," he told Zhongli. "That just seeing me happy was enough. That's...no offense, sir, but that's not good enough. I do care what you want. I couldn't live with myself if I just let you hang around and wait for me to..."

"Reciprocate?" Zhongli finished for him.

The word wasn't as flowery as Childe would have liked, but it'd do. "Yeah. You deserve better than that."

Zhongli smiled, thinly but warmly. "I can be patient," he said. "I understand the circumstances—"

"It's still not fair to you, though," Childe argued.

"Fairness is not an easily navigable topic," Zhongli said, and the formality of it all made Childe want to crawl into a hole and die. "So long as all parties are satisfied—"

"Well, I'm not."

A pause. Zhongli's face turned stony. Childe held his breath.

"I see."

"I don't want to have to lie to everyone about you. I don't want to lie about any of this. But the stakes..." Childe balled his hands into fists. "This is bigger than you and me. This is my family. I can't let them know who you are, or they'll want to know how I know you, and why, and then...they'll want to know who I am."

In some way, that made Zhongli a part of him too. His identity was so inextricably linked with Zhongli's that if either of them were to be revealed in all their monstrousness, neither would be able to hide any more. The thought of laying his secrets at Zhongli's feet was terrifying. But he was keeping Zhongli's too. That had to count for something. Reciprocity, he decided, or...he still couldn't think of a word. He couldn't think of anything except that he loved Zhongli, and that he was more sorry about this than he'd ever been about anything else in his life.

He'd killed people. Surely he should have cared about that more. He really needed to get his priorities straight. 

He should have prioritized Zhongli, a nagging voice nagged from inside his head.

"Are you breaking up with me, Ajax?" Zhongli asked, and as much as it stung, it was a really good joke. Childe allowed himself a bashful grin.

"Can't, if we're not together," he pointed out. "And we shouldn't be. Not for the foreseeable future, at least. I'm not saying it's impossible, I'm just asking you...not to get your hopes up. And I won't get mine up either."

"I appreciate your honesty," Zhongli said. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes trained between the wing tips of his shoes. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," Childe cut him off again. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's all my fault. It wasn't fair of me to pretend like this was possible and...lead you on. I want you to be happy. I want everyone to be happy. But neither of us will be if we just keep doing...you know. This."

"Listen." Zhongli captured Childe's hands in his own and let them hang between them. "I understand that this is your choice,"  he said, much more serious now. "If this is truly what you want, I will respect it, and I won't bring it up again, but—and please don't take this the wrong way, but, Ajax...are you sure it's really in the best interest of all involved to hide yourself so completely from your family?"

Childe prickled. "What exactly are you accusing me of?" he demanded.

Zhongli shook his head. "You misunderstand me," he said. "I know you're not selfish, or malicious. I just don't want to watch you continue on such a destructive path if it won't protect you from more pain. Can you really be sure you'll be rejected for who you are, or are you torturing yourself for nothing?"

"It's not about me," Childe argued. "I want my parents to feel safe around me. I want the kids to know the world is full of good things and good people. That may not include me, but I can protect them from that fact, and isn't that enough?"

"You are good," Zhongli told him, squeezing his hands. Childe looked away. "Why shouldn't you share that?"

Childe pulled away and turned toward the railing. He felt the warmth of the setting sun cross his face and realized his lashes were cold with the remains of tears. "You wouldn't understand," he scowled, hating how bitter he sounded. "You don't have a family. Maybe you have people you love, people who depend on you, but these five people are all I have in the world. You have everything. You could never understand."

Zhongli leaned his arms on the railing next to him. "I know," he said, lowering his voice. "I know I'll never be human the way you are. All I know is what I've seen from the outside, but I know they love you."

"Let's keep it that way," Childe muttered. "We'll never have to find out what they'll think if we can keep it to ourselves."

"How long?" Zhongli asked. "How long can you keep your secrets? And what will you have to do to keep them?"

"We can talk after we make it out of here," Childe bargained. "Everything will be different then."

Zhongli considered the concession. "Alright," he agreed. "When we get home..."

Home. Childe didn't know if Zhongli knew what the word meant to him, or what the sound of Zhongli's voice added to that meaning. Home in Liyue was over the foggy expanse of the horizon, intangible as water vapor. Childe's home in Snezhnaya, his home with his family, with the people he loved, that felt as close as the stitches in his side. He'd keep them close, even after they went their separate ways.

"We will talk," Childe promised. He held out his pinkie finger and Zhongli entwined it with his own. "I just want to make sure we're all okay. We have all the time in the world to figure out what that looks like."

Chapter Text

The next few days were as busy as Childe had predicted, but he was pleasantly surprised by how the crew of the Alchor took to their new guests. He and his parents always had a few extra hands to help out with the kids. They kept busy with Shield team activities, learning languages with Kazuha, dancing with Zhongli, and Childe took them net fishing on the open ocean for the first time. The Alchor sailed into warmer waters, where Snezhnaya’s winter winds carried them swiftly toward Mondstadt. Childe was learning to appreciate the relative warmth. Maybe those winds would bring change for the better.

He didn’t sleep in Zhongli’s bed again after that night, but Kazuha was such a heavy sleeper that the two of them could talk for hours in hushed voices. They kept it light. So long as they remained at arm’s length, their dynamic still had the same friendly ease. Childe was learning more about his friend every day. He’d slept well every night that week, and though he’d never stop worrying, his racing thoughts were quiet, even when he was alone.

Still, he was glad he didn’t have much time to spend overthinking things. Most of his time was spent with his siblings, the way it always should have been. Today, he was demonstrating a few flashy sword moves for Tonia to use in a piece she was writing. The boys followed along with sticks, and Childe borrowed a pair of wooden training swords, his Vision stashed safely away. It was a clear, sunny day, but the waves had gotten progressively choppier the whole morning. Childe had had to lash one of his ankles to the posts of the awning to keep his footing. Tonia’s typewriter was heavy enough to stay put, but she had lost a few spools of ribbon as they rolled down the pitching deck. Even the dog had plastered himself to the floor to keep from being knocked around, and the boys had joined him after a while. Still, Childe thought nothing of it until the cloudless sky began to rain.

“Aw, man,” Tonia complained. “I hope my papers don’t get wet.”

“Better head downstairs,” Childe told her. He untied himself and tucked the rope into his pocket. Pulling off his glove with his teeth, he reached out to feel the rain where it swept under the eaves of the awning. It was fine, falling in such small droplets that they evaporated off his warm skin, but fast, stinging like hail with how hard it had been whipped up. Whatever caused this, it wasn’t natural. “I should go find Captain Beidou. Do you have everything here?”

Tonia stretched a hand out after him, and gasped. “Ow!”

“Pure Hydro?” Childe asked.

She nodded, sticking her fingers in her mouth. “Yeah. Sharp Hydro.”

“Keep your hood up,” Childe told her. “Take the boys down with you, will you? Tell them to execute Operation Electro. They’ll know what you mean.”

“Does this operation involve me getting electrocuted?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing they can set off on their own,” Childe assured her. He helped her pack her typewriter into its carrying case and handed her his stash of dog treats before heading up to the foredeck.

It was really coming down now. His hair was soaked through before he even made it to the helm, but the sky was just as clear and blue as ever. The noonday sun hung overhead like a spotlight.

Most of the crew were gathered at the railings. Childe came to stand at Beidou’s side. Below them, the ocean’s surface had turned to froth, some invisible force churning beneath it. Childe thought he saw something peeking out of the waves, purer blue than the open water. At first, he thought it might have been a little lost Oceanid, maybe nine to twelve feet tall. Nothing to sneeze at, but then another appeared, and then another, and each was taller than the last. Their surface shifted like the side of a melting glacier, but they kept their shape as they cut through the waves. They were jagged, spiny fins that cut through the water with eerie silence. All anyone could hear were the waves they stirred up, and as the Alchor was buffeted on swells that threatened to dwarf each of the fins themselves, they began to grasp the magnitude of what lurked beneath.

Beidou gripped the rail with white knuckles, her red Blackcliff claymore at her side. She greeted Childe with a jut of her chin. “Heya, kid. Ready for a fight?”

“Always?” Childe told her.

“Keep your head on,” she instructed. “Kazuha’s going to to grab our Visions from the lockbox, Mr. Zhongli’s too, and then we’re going to engage. Where are the kiddos?”

“Pranking your quarters,” Childe told her frankly. It would be a bummer to spoil the surprise, but he couldn’t afford to leave out details his commanding officer needed to know. “Nothing serious, just balloons. They’ll be down there blowing them up all afternoon and they want to watch you pop them all with lightning.”

She smiled, baring her teeth. “Alright, let’s keep ‘em out of our way. Follow my lead, and follow my directions exactly, and you’ll be fine.”

“I can handle myself,” Childe bristled.

“I know,” she said. “I’m counting on you to handle the monster.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at the rail, directing Childe to grip it with both hands as the shape in the water began to move. It drew itself up through the foam, shapeless and bright, and in its wake the Alchor was tossed aside like nothing more than a bath toy. The monster drew itself up higher than the masts and Childe saw its true form for the first—and hopefully last—time.

It was the skeletal Hydro mimic of some strange fish, its head wide and doglike with a broad mouth full of razor teeth. Only its empty, jagged ribs followed it out of the water, but that was enough to dwarf the Alchor. Childe wasn’t sure how much was still moving under the waves. For all he knew, it could extend all the way down to the seabed. It opened its yawning maw and let out a deep, gurgling roar as the ship’s bells began to ring. Beidou let out a mad laugh, her own battle cry.

“You know this guy?” Childe shouted over the roar of the waves.

“This is Haishan,” Beidou told him, cracking her knuckles. Behind them, the cannons began to fire on the monster, pelting its watery hide with bright white energy bolts. “Looks like he’s back for a rematch!”

“I thought you killed Haishan!” Childe yelled back. Despite the lurid detail with which the Crux crew lovingly encountered their last encounter with the monster, no one had ever told him that Haishan was a water elemental. He’d be out of his depth here, pun intended.

She smirked, gripping the hilt of her claymore as she stared Haishan down. “Oh, no. Old monsters like that don’t stay dead. It’s mortals’ job to keep ‘em that way.”

“Stand back, Beidou."

Neither of them expected the command from Zhongli, but they moved out of his way without thinking twice. Zhongli strode past them to the railing, already gathering the power of Geo in his hands. It overflowed, obscuring the shapes of his fingers, shrouding him in opaque golden light. Childe didn’t miss the empty chain on his waist where his Vision would have hung. He drew up his power and cast it out in one fluid motion, summoning in the blink of an eye the biggest shield Childe had ever seen. A giant wall of brightly glowing Geo, etched with a mural of Haishan’s last defeat. Cast in translucent gold relief, Beidou was depicted on the prow of the Alchor, lightning arcing around her as she struck the beast between its wide, terrified eyes. The panorama surrounded the entire ship, scenes of that legendary battle decorating every foot of the massive barrier. The monster roared, bashing its head against the wall in rage at the taunting way it had been denied access to its prey, even as the cannon fire continued to pummel it through the shield. Zhongli kept his feet planted, his hand outstretched, feeding more and more power into the shield to fortify it against the onslaught.

Beidou readied her claymore. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.

Childe shrugged. “I thought you knew who he was?”

“I thought he was an adeptus,” she said. “Wait, what is he?”

Keeping his arm up to the barrier, Zhongli turned to look at them over his shoulder. “My apologies for the deception, Captain Beidou. I hope you can forgive me for concealing my true identity as the former Geo Archon.”

“As the WHAT?”

“It’s no big deal,” Childe said quickly. “It can’t hurt to have him on our side.”

Beidou whistled under her breath. “You’re tellin’ me.”

Kazuha came in a flurry of Anemo to perch on the rail behind them. He handed Beidou and Childe their Visions. Childe returned his to his belt and used it to summon and string his bow. The monster was chewing on the barrier now, unhinging its jaw so completely that it slammed the back of its throat into the pulsing wall of energy. Zhongli struggled to keep his footing as the ship rocked in its wake.

“What’s the matter, old man?” Childe called. “No one’s going to get you a cane.”

“Without my Gnosis, there may not be much I can do,” Zhongli replied. “I hope I can entrust this battle to you all.”

“Alright,” Beidou said. “Childe, cover...good god.” She pinched the bridge of her nose in disbelief. “Cover him and make sure the shield stays up. We’ll keep Haishan off us until we can shoot off grappling hooks from all four cannons. We’ll wear him down, pin him to the deck, and execute him, just like last time.” She pointed a proud thumb at the image of herself high above. “Kazuha and I will be on the front lines, so make sure you don’t stick us, got it?”

Kazuha saluted briefly and took off. He launched himself into the air, passing through the barrier like a fly through amber, then jumped a second time, grey-green Anemo trailing in his wake. His sword flashed red against the monster’s bright blue, and Haishan recoiled in rage and pain. Beidou bolted after him a burst of violet lightning, mounting the prow and raising her claymore in challenge. She cut as imposing a figure as if she herself had been carved from stone by a god, silhouetted in black and red against the rain, bathed in the sun. The Alchor righted itself to follow her, charging the beast.

Childe joined the crossbows in beating Haishan back, pulling two physical arrows from his stash. Haishan had no visible weak points, its body a uniform construct of Hydro like most Childe had faced, but just like them, its structural integrity could be worn down. He aimed for the monster’s jaw, hoping to break its teeth to draw its ire and make sure that if Kazuha fell, he wouldn’t impale himself on them. His arrows pierced one of Haishan’s large upper fangs, making it gurgle in anger. Kazuha dropped down to the deck. He wasn’t able to keep himself aloft for long, but he threw himself at the monster’s bottom jaw, hacking at the rows of razor teeth. Haishan’s head was so big there was at least another Kazuha between the top and bottom fangs. Childe didn’t need to worry about hitting the kid as he hammered away at the top teeth. They fell into a good rhythm. Between the two of them, no matter how Haishan gnashed and writhed, it couldn’t get close enough to the ship to bite at Beidou and stop her constant lightning strikes on his carapace.

Then Childe’s fingers grazed empty air. He searched the whatever-space where he usually kept his weapons but there was nothing. Not even a scrap of displaced fletching. He was out of arrows.

He didn’t think he’d used that many. He’d had to use some breaking up the ice from the glacier, and on the patrols aboard the Fatui ship, and he might not have bothered to shoot pure elemental energy as much as he thought while dealing with the fray on the deck, and he couldn’t exactly have shot water underwater while shark hunting...still, there was no way he’d used his entire stash of arrows. He usually restocked wherever he was stationed, and scavenged whatever was usable after a battle. He must have lost track of his inventory aboard the Alchor. The crossbows fired energy bolts, so there was no reason for them to stock anything he might even try to shoot. He halfheartedly shot an arrow of Hydro at the monster, but Haishan didn’t seem to notice the impact even as the Riptide mark bloomed across its chest. There was nothing more he could do. As Kazuha dropped down to the deck, Haishan took its opportunity to snap at the prow, slamming its forehead into the shield and drenching Beidou and Kazuha with the pure, thick water dripping from its slavering maw. Zhongli dug in his heels to keep the barrier up, letting out a hoarse grunt.

Childe shouted to Zhongli: “Let me take over the shield!”

“What?” Zhongli called back. From his tone, Childe knew Zhongli’d heard him.

“I’m out of arrows!” he explained. “One of us needs to throw stuff at that thing.”

“Do you know how to maintain a shield?” Zhongli grilled him. “I’ve never seen you use one for more than a moment.”

“I’ve watched you do it,” Childe pointed out, banishing his bow. “You make it look easy.

Zhongli only frowned. “It isn’t.”

“Then I’ll need you to watch my back while I do it,” Childe told him definitively. “Come on. Show me how it’s done.”

“Very well, but let me take over if you can’t handle it,” Zhongli agreed warily. He motioned with his head for Childe to stand next to him. Childe reached out with one hand, copying his posture, gripping the rail with the other. He focused on the Hydro energy in him, in the sea around him, and in his Vision. It built in his hand, and he clenched his fist around it, not letting go. Water seeks the path of least resistance. Childe usually used that to his advantage, following it where it wanted to take him, but now, he bent it to his will. The gods had given him the authority to command the Hydro element. His friends needed him. His family needed him. He could not fail.

He heard the water roar in his ears, and opened his eyes, not sure when he’d closed them. His hand overflowed with bright blue energy, spilling between his fingers just like Zhongli’s, although he was a little disappointed that the rest of him didn’t seem to be glowing too. Outside of the barrier made by Zhongli, Childe gathered the water around the ship. He dodged around the hull rather than letting it phase through. The water he dragged up rose slowly, cutting through the foam, enveloping the masts, folding over the sails. He pulled it into a perfect bubble, forming a dome high above the ship and deep below where he could feel it fighting against the monster’s wake. At the apex of the dome, the sun bore down in blinding watercolor.

“I did it,” he gasped. “I did it, right?”

Beidou stopped, backing off the prow as she took in the sight of the Hydro that blotted out the horizon in all directions. Childe quickly learned that he didn’t have that luxury. Haishan roared, slamming into the barrier, and though Zhongli was still keeping up his own shield, Childe felt the brunt of the attack ripple through the dome and push against his power. He hooked his knees into the slats of the railing to keep himself upright.

Beidou drove her claymore into the prow. Lightning flickered around her, and she directed it into the barrier, electrifying the water. This time, when Haishan bashed its head against the wall, it leapt back with a high-pitched scream as it was electrocuted. Childe made a mental note to part the water to let Kazuha through.

“Great work, kid!” Beidou called back down to him.

“I’ve got this,” Childe told Zhongli. “Go, give ‘em everything you’ve got.”

Zhongli clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back,” he said. Evidently, Childe hadn’t earned his praise yet. Zhongli stepped back, and the Geo shield sparked away into nonexistence. His glow didn’t fade, though. He rose into the air, crossing his arms over his chest. In the amber cloud that gathered above him massive stone spears blinked into existence like just as many stars. They joined the crossbow’s fire, cutting through the monster’s mimicked flesh.

It screamed in pain, its Hydro shivering under the force of the attacks. It dove under water, trying to shove the Alchor out of its way again, but Childe held the ship firm in its position. Instead, he felt Haishan grinding its spines along the outside of the bubble, ramming into it in search of a weak point. The cannons swung outward, hunting for their target.

“It’s trying to break through!” Childe shouted to Beidou.

“Kazuha!” she barked. “Cover the aft!”

The samurai streaked over the decks, posting himself on the roof of the pavilion. Childe felt Haishan ram into the bubble and drag against it, now hunting for weaknesses in the ship itself. It swam parallel to where it knew the Alchor was positioned, heading to catch the ship where it stalled.

“It’s coming up from behind!” Childe shouted. “Zhongli, the kid--!”

Above him, Zhongli readied his giant puzzle box in the sky above. Kazuha drew his sword and braced for impact. The monster emerged like a rocket from the water, its wake alone hammering the barrier so hard Childe’s teeth hurt. Zhongli dropped the meteor. The boulder sheared through the air, its confident arc meant to cut through the monster’s ribs. Instead, Haishan ducked under the water and reemerged after only a moment, battering the shield again. It was smart. It wouldn’t be caught unawares, but it was realizing that it couldn’t hold out against their onslaught forever. Childe parted the water just enough to let Kazuha through. The samurai drew Haishan’s attention, managing to take out a few of its teeth. This time, they stayed gone. The plan was working. Childe watched carefully to let Kazuha in the second he fell back. That was all he could do. If Haishan had been any other elemental, Childe could have torn it apart. All he could do was be the best backup he could manage.

He ripped the shield back open to let Kazuha safely hit the deck. Haishan dove for where the seam had been, ramming it so fast that his face disintegrated for a moment before he composed himself again. He dove under the water with a massive splash, nosing along the bubble for another weak point. Childe found he could pull the water along the barrier’s side to meet Haishan, making it stronger wherever the monster expected to find a weakness. He could taunt Haishan, pulling the shield back just enough that it lunged to seize on a perceived opening before Childe turned its prize as hard as stone. This way, he could weaken the beast and keep it distracted. And Zhongli said he was all offense.

Haishan jumped into the air like a scraggly breaching dolphin, clearly furious. It bore nose-down on the shield, as if to crush it from above. Childe gathered a disk of water at the point of impact, pulling from the Hydro around it to make it as thick as possible. Just as expected, Haishan bounced off harmlessly. As it hit the ocean’s surface, spraying a plume of foam, it flicked its tail.

The water close to the surface was exactly where Childe had pulled from, he realized with a start. The thought didn’t have time to complete itself before he felt the impact like Haishan had torn open his body instead. It roared in agony as Beidou electrocuted it, but even so, its sharp spines shredded the thin membrane of the shield. Childe watched the light in his hand flicker. He felt himself losing hold of his power, like he’d been holding one end of a climber’s rope and it had suddenly gone slack. The barrier flickered. Childe threw everything he had into maintaining the shield, but Haishan battered the opening relentlessly with its tail. Its powerful fins cut deep wedges into the Hydro construct, tearing it effortlessly, the impact of every blow juddering through Childe like a bursting shell.

He felt the barrier break before he saw it. Something snapped inside him, and then his shield was gone, scattered into the rain stirred up by the monster.

“No!” he shouted. He moved up over the railing, trying to draw yet more power, but without his stabilizing force, the ship careened wildly in Haishan’s wake as it dove down, scraping the hull. Childe hit the deck, and his head hit the helm, making his skull echo with a loud crack. He looked up to see the beast’s maw bearing down on him, could already feel its cold breath and smell the acrid steel of its imitated saliva.

He summoned a spear of water, hoping to jam it into the monster’s teeth. Lightning hit the back of Haishan’s throat as Beidou rushed to cover him. Haishan ignored her, its bizarre, empty eyes trained on Childe even as they watered with the pain. With no barrier to stop it, it extended a long, slimy tongue and scooped Childe into its mouth.

Zhongli tossed up enough of a shield to keep Haishan’s lunge from altogether bowling the Alchor over on its side, but Childe heard a distinct crunch from the ship’s hull even through the watery cavern that surrounded him. Both Kazuha and Beidou streaked over the deck to try and get a hit on Haishan. Despite the cannon fire, it was impossible for them to pin it down. Childe watched through Haishan’s nearly-opaque teeth as it thrashed, whipping up towering waves and bounding after the ship as it cascaded away. Zhongli kept it busy with a dizzying flurry of spears, but no one could get Haishan to drop Childe without risking an elemental reaction that would boil Childe like a succulent new potato. There was nothing more he could do. The only thing keeping the monster from tearing the ship apart with its teeth was how much it wanted to eat Childe. It could spit him into the water, but it wanted its revenge. Its massive tongue fought to swallow Childe down, but he fought back with flailing limbs. He could hear Beidou shouting orders on the deck, but couldn’t make out any of the words. Was she trying to get him back? She shouldn’t be. She should be righting the ship. She’d be wasting her time trying to rescue him. He was already gone.

He’d been gone for eleven years.

Childe’s mind went blank with the thought. He didn’t know if he’d been injured, or if the pain of teeth in his ribs was only a memory. It was all he could do to keep himself from drawing on the power of the Foul Legacy. To transform here, in front of these people, would be worse than being eaten by the monster. That, at least, would be a familiar feeling. Even Zhongli had the good sense not to transform. He had to get free. He had to get back to his family, and so he didn’t hesitate. He called on the name of the one person he knew could free him, just as he had back then.

“Aether!”

Chapter Text

No sooner than the word had left his throat than he felt himself falling through empty black space. It was a sensation he had only felt a few times in his life, but he recognized the portal as Abyssal. Several seconds later, he was deposited on his knees on the foredeck of the Alchor, soaked from head to toe in slime. He hacked up a lungful of Haishan’s slobber.

A familiar figure stood above him, waiting for him to get up. Perhaps too familiar. The prince hadn’t changed since Childe had last seen him, eleven years ago. Aether had always been smaller than Childe, but he looked minuscule now. It hit Childe for the first time how young the prince was, how young they had both been. He hadn’t known Aether was Lumine’s sibling at the time, but the resemblance between the twins was uncanny. Haunted yellow eyes, a round face, a slim build with dainty hands bulked up by weathered gloves. Childe could picture him checking in to the Adventurer’s Guild every day with Paimon at his side, though he carried himself with a haughtiness that would have looked out of place on his sister. Now that Childe knew them both, Lumine’s self-satisfied smile would have looked more natural on her brother than the prince’s detached stare. There was a strange, spiky sword in his hand and an armor-clad Abyss Herald trailing in his wake.

“Devouring Deep,” Aether addressed him solemnly. Childe wasn’t sure what language he was speaking. When they had first met, Childe had assumed the prince was speaking Abyssal, or at least that was how he remembered it. He’d only been able to speak Abyssal and Snezhnisk, and assumed the Abyss Prince would speak his own native tongue. Now, though, Childe spoke several languages, and he seemed to hear Aether in all of them at once. The blank look on Aether’s face crinkled to confusion as he seemed to take in how much Childe had changed. When they had last met, Childe had been a teenager lost in the Abyss. Badly injured, delirious, and bound by his master’s spells. He couldn’t have looked more different. Still, Aether seemed to read his thoughts, just as he had that day. “...How long has it been?”

Rough hands grabbed Childe by the back of his jacket and hauled him to his feet. Neither Aether nor his Herald moved or even acknowledged Beidou as she formed her own Electro shield. As Haishan reached to snap her up like it had Childe, she cut its his tongue in half. Childe drew a spear of water, but she clearly didn’t need his help. Haishan had been expecting another weak point, but she wasn’t one. It dipped under the ship, bullying the hull from underneath, and reappeared on the other side, where Zhongli engaged it with another volley. Childe realized its face was barely corporeal, a sizzling hole shining in the back of its throat where the portal had formed to get him out. The unstable Abyssal energy, trapped in that confined space, had been unable to release the pressure of the collapsing tear in spacetime and exploded. Childe was glad the portal hadn’t collapsed while he was in it. He could have been...well, he’d been lucky enough not to find out what could go wrong with the Abyss’s infamously unreliable portals just yet, but given the purple smoke that curled from Haishan’s head, it probably wouldn’t have been survivable.

“Nice trick, blowing it up like that,” Beidou told Childe proudly. She raised her sword in a tepid greeting to Aether, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinized his appearance, and the monster that shuffled awkwardly behind him. “You look familiar. Where’d you come from, kid?”

Aether stared at her, and said nothing. Childe moved between Beidou and the prince, just in case she decided to attack. “He’s a friend of mine,” he told her. He placed a hand on Aether’s shoulder and addressed him in Liyuean. “It’s been a while,” he said. Aether flinched at the touch. “Glad you don’t seem to have forgotten me.”

Zhongli’s shield shattered in a devastating swipe of Haishan’s tail, and he staggered back in the air, throwing sparks of something back at it. Beidou flashed over to support him, with a parting: “Be good!”

Aether shook his head in wide arcs, like a little kid. “No,” he said, continuing to ignore Beidou. “I never forget a debt.” Lightning cracked, and Haishan roared, the sound distorted as his mouth was pummeled by a hail of stone spears. Aether looked up calmly, like he’d only just noticed the fight going on around them and wasn’t too concerned with who won or lost. “Seems you need my help this time.”

“You told me to call your name,” Childe reminded him. “You owe me.”

“I will fulfill my promise to the best of my ability,” Aether said magnanimously. “But the Leviathan…”

Kazuha went flying from a bash from Haishan’s snout and clattered to the maindeck wrapped in shields of Geo and Electro. Beidou shouted something in Inazuman after him, but he didn’t respond. “Don’t you have any of your own giant monsters to sic on that thing?” Childe demanded.

“I used to,” Aether replied indignantly. “I could have had more, if he had not seen fit to involve himself.” He pointed his sword up at the glowing figure of Zhongli up among the masts. “Don’t tell me you’ve allied yourself with the Archons.”

“Just the one,” Childe told him. “And we’re just friends.”

Aether frowned, parsing the statement, but then he brushed it off. “My full power has not yet returned,” he admitted. “If I were to challenge the beast by your side, I’m not sure how much help I could be.”

The tide of the battle had turned. There was nothing to stop Haishan from taking a bite out of the side of the ship, tearing out chunks of the hull with its teeth and nearly tipping it on its side. Childe tangled himself with the railing to keep himself upright, but Aether wasn’t so lucky. He slipped on the wet wood and nearly tumbled down the deck as it pitched at a forty-five degree angle until the Abyss Herald, who simply stepped into the air, grabbed him and set him on his feet. The lower decks would already be flooding. Even if Childe could get another shield up, the people belowdecks would be in danger just from the damage that had already been done to the hull. And if he lost his grip again, it might already be too late.

“Then help me evacuate the ship,” Childe shouted to Aether as the ship careened back the other way. “There are civilians on board, and kids.”

Aether frowned, keeping close to his bodyguard. “My promise was to you,” he said.

“My family is here too,” he told the prince. “My parents and my siblings. I know it doesn’t technically fall within our contract, but—”

Aether cut him off with an insistent nod. He saluted in the Khaenri’ahn style, and Childe saluted back, mostly out of habit. “Say no more,” Aether said, a hint of warmth creeping into his voice. “I know how it feels to be separated from family. You have my support.”

“I owe you two now,” Childe told him. “We’ll drop everyone off in Liyue, and then I’m coming back to help Beidou."

Aether jutted his chin at the Abyss Herald. “Harry, help the captain and wait for me.”

The Herald bowed low. “Prince,” he rasped, before dashing off to engage Haishan at Beidou’s side. Childe wondered how they intended to communicate, but he assumed the prince had some telepathic tricks up his sleeve. Aether made a hand signal to Childe, one he didn’t recognize but seemed like a Khaenri’ahn military thing. “We should hurry,” he said serenely. “Before we are lost to the depths like every sinner.”

Childe grinned. He’d waited eleven years to call on the strange kid, and now, Childe finally had backup that could keep up with him. He vaulted over the railing, partly to avoid the stairs and partly to show off for his little friend. Aether followed him. As soon as he hit the floor, stinging pain shot through his head. He thought the violent shaking that nearly knocked him to his feet was just from him hitting his head earlier, but he watched as several unsecured barrels rolled down the slope of the deck and burst open with the force with which they hit the port railing. A shower of golden sparks followed. Childe looked up to see Zhongli’s shield hammered apart. The old man slammed into the mainmast with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. A scream built in Childe’s throat, but died on his lips as he realized it wasn’t his friend’s body that had broken. The mast itself splintered at the point of impact, scraps of bark shorn from the trunk as the old wood fibers were wrenched apart. Zhongli was able to drag himself back up into the air again, thank god. He retaliated with a hail of stones, trying to get back the ground he had lost. The mast was falling. It could no longer support its own weight as the gash in its side was dragged open like a gaping mouth by the force of the wind in the sails. It was falling on the maindeck. Childe calculated the arc in his head as he ran and realized, almost too late, that it was going to crush the doors to the interior.

He shot himself across the deck. Slamming into the doors, he pulsed Hydro to keep the mast off of him. It rolled onto the deck with a thud, the expanse of the sail enveloping Childe in wet white cloth. A dozen sword strikes flashed through it faster than the eye could track, and Aether cut his way through to join him on the other side.

Childe shoved open the doors. The lights were all burned out, their smoke still hanging in the air. Aether summoned a tiny star map above his hand to light their way. Childe had seem Lumine doing the same, though he probably shouldn’t comment on that. Letting it slip that he knew the prince’s sister—or the Traveler’s brother—would only complicate things, or so his excuse had always been.

“I should get someone to teach me that trick,” he muttered. They divided up the hallway between the two of them, Childe opening the doors on the right and Aether on the left, searching for the evacuees. Childe had been told where civilians were meant to shelter during a battle at some point, but he’d mentally discarded the information, since he knew he’d be fighting on the front lines.

“Shame your training was cut short,” Aether said. He grabbed the hem of Childe’s jacket to stop him from moving as the Alchor shuddered and a lantern rattled free of its bracket on the wall. It shattered, and its kerosene spilled across the waterlogged hallway. “Seems you still have a lot to learn.”

“Whose fault is that?” Childe snapped. As they walked, he gathered the glass and oil into a ball of water and sealed it to float in the air, harmlessly out of the way of other hazards. Better safe than sorry. “Besides, I trained with the Fatui, and we had night vision.”

Aether glanced up curiously at his phrasing. “Had,” he repeated. “Did you escape?”

“That remains to be seen.”

The prince opened the door to the captain’s quarters and a dozen balloons drifted out. “Everything you say is so cryptic,” he said. “It makes you unapproachable.”

“I’m cryptic?” Childe ribbed back incredulously.

“You’re a human,” Aether observed. “Humans like to be approached.”

“I need some friends my own age.”

“We aren’t friends.” As soon as Aether stepped onto the stairs to the hold, something hit the hull beside his head. Childe looked up to see the ceiling above them buckle and a beam snap loose. He ducked out of the way, grabbing Aether and hustling them both down the stairs. Debris tumbled after them, choking the air with wet dust.

When the chaos stopped, the stairs behind them were completely blocked. It might be possible to dig their way out, but the damage to the hull couldn’t be ascertained. They might just end up doing more damage. Childe set Aether down at the foot of the stairs, Aether shook out his hair like a disheveled cat. “Great,” he muttered, sounding more like a normal teenager now. “I can’t open the portal down here.”

“We can still use the windows,” Childe said, trying to sound encouraging. He led Aether into another hallway. There was about an inch of standing water on the ground, splashing almost to the ceiling with the motion of the waves. The wallpaper was already starting to bubble and peel. The doors rattled open, swinging on their hinges and then slamming shut.

“Hello?” Childe called.

“Big brother?” echoed Teucer’s muffled voice.

“In here,” Childe told Aether. “Come on.”

After taking a moment to watch the doors, he grabbed the handle of the only one that stayed shut. It was locked, just as he expected. He pounded on the door. “It’s me,” he said. “We gotta go, come on!”

Childe’s father opened the door. His family was hunkered down around a small room Beidou used for storage overflow. With the door shut and shored up with raincoats, the flooding wasn’t so bad in here. Anthon and Teucer got to their feet, Anthon brandishing a small gold letter opener.

“What’s going on?” Pops asked tersely.

“We’re going to evacuate the ship,” Childe addressed them all. “My friend here is going to take us straight home. Anthon, hand over the knife.”

“Beidou said I could have it.”

“Anthon.” Valeria snapped her fingers. “Give me the knife.”

Anthon handed the knife back to his mother. She set it in a box on the shelf behind her. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Who is this? All they told us was that we were under attack.”

“We are,” Childe said. “Beidou has it under control, but I want you guys out. This is my friend Aether. He’s going to open a portal so we can evacuate straight to Liyue.”

Pops narrowed his eyes, taking in Aether’s unusual clothes and weapon. “And you couldn’t have gotten this friend’s help sooner?” he complained.

“We’re not very good friends,” Childe said. “But we can trust him. Aether?”

“If I open the portal here it will explode, killing all of you,” Aether said helpfully. “The hull is flooding, so we should return to the deck where the sea monster is attacking.”

“Aether!” Childe barked. Aether gave him an annoyed look, like, what did you expect me to say? Childe rolled his eyes. “He’s good at what he does,” he told the others. “We’ll keep you guys safe, no matter what. Trust me.”

His mother stood up and smoothed her skirts, offering a hand to Tonia to help her do the same. “Alright,” she said. “What do you need us to do?”

“We’re going to climb out the window,” Childe said, gesturing to the back of the room. As soon as he did, a fin hit the pane, shattering the glass and sending shards flying. Childe ducked aside and covered his face as he felt water and glass pummel his shirt. He waited a beat, sure he’d hear one of the others scream in pain, but everything seemed to be okay. Pretty lucky, then, that the window opened up for them just like that. He put on a smile as he stood up. “Yeah, that window,” he joked. “Everyone ready?”

Aether swung out of the window and shimmied up the hull, seeming to stick to the slippery wood like an acrobat who obeyed completely different laws of physics. The hand that reached down to help the others climb belonged to the Abyss herald. Childe lifted Teucer up and passed him to Harry, who stood in the air and passed him to Aether. Childe could hear Aether telling Teucer to stay put and keep his head down. Anthon climbed out next, then Tonia, then their parents. Childe followed last, pulling himself past Harry with his own rope of water.

As he hit the maindeck, so did Haishan. Harpoons lodged in its head, rooted by ropes to the cannons that had fired them, dragged Haishan down to the deck amid the wreckage of the mast. A dozen more sailors ran with hooked ropes to tie the monster down as it writhed against its bonds. Just its head stretched from one side of the ship to the other, its jaw crushing the railing on the opposite side. It locked hungry, watery eyes with Childe and roared, snapping two of the cables connected to its face. Childe stuck his tongue out at it and used a tendril of water to lash down its bottom jaw, pinning its mouth to the deck. Tonia yelped and hid behind Childe, but Teucer and Anthon followed him in making rude faces at the monster.

Zhongli and Beidou landed on the deck, approaching from opposite sides. Zhongli balked as he saw Aether, but the prince paid him no mind, reaching out for a ley line to use in his spell. Zhongli reached out his own hand in similar fashion, gathering up Geo energy. One by one, a circle of steles sprouted up around the monster’s head. Golden energy ran between the posts, sealing Haishan within the barrier they created. A shining seal bloomed over the deck, lighting Haishan from beneath and turning his blue Hydro a sickly green. At Zhongli’s signal, Beidou raised her claymore.

Wreathed in lightning, just as so many years ago, Childe knew this would be the blow that ended the beast. The others kept close behind him, watching in rapt fascination. How would it die? And how long would it be until it returned?

Haishan pulled desperately against its bonds in anticipation of what was to come. His rage was what had brought him back from the last time, after all, and he was not going down again. He struggled to find the weakest link in his chains. Childe saw an intelligent glee in its eyes as it tore the Hydro lash around its jaw into useless water. With his mouth free, he crushed one of the steles with his jaws. The Geo construct burst in a blinding flash. Each of the steles shattered in a chain of explosions, and Zhongli, struggling to maintain the seal, took the brunt of the blasts. He lost his footing and was flung back over the railing. Childe reached out and grabbed his arm before he could tumble into the frothing sea, and dragged him back onto the deck.

He heard the portal whoosh open behind him. He felt Tonia let go of his jacket, and turned around to see Aether shepherding the others through. As each one passed through the amorphous purple-black mass and disappeared, Childe could only trust that Aether would be true to his word.

Zhongli got to his feet and threw a shield around himself and Childe. Haishan shredded the ropes that were holding it down, and then lunged after Zhongli again. Its snapping jaws sparked off of the shield, shoving both of them back. Childe slipped on the wet wood and felt the portal at his back, pulling him in. He grabbed Zhongli’s arm and tugged him back. The power of the Abyss enveloped them both. Undeterred by the imminent loss of his prey, Haishan snapped again, and this time, its teeth broke through the portal.

Childe felt the portal shatter, pieces of his body and mind scattered like broken glass. Zhongli crashed into him, falling through the portal with him, but Childe couldn’t feel the impact. He opened his mouth but no sound came out. The world broke apart before him in an instant. Darkness overtook him. Pain wracked his body, though he wasn’t sure his body still existed. He knew just enough about what was happening to know it shouldn’t be. He might have just killed everyone, scattered their atoms throughout the Abyss or worse.

He wasn’t sure when he blacked out, or whether he was still alive, because the thought echoed in his head long after the pain became so unbearable he could no longer feel it and his consciousness slipped away:

It’s all my fault.

Chapter Text

His master was right.

When he had first emerged from the Abyss, three inches taller than when he had fallen and bandaged with gangrene and the remains of his coat, only an hour had passed since he had been driven into the old well. The wolves were still howling for their dinner outside the village. Maybe the men had driven them off, or maybe they were waiting just outside the gates, waiting for their next young meal.

With mittened hands, he held the strange, spiny red mask the blond-haired boy—Aether—had given him. The biting, familiar wind of his hometown made the last three months feel like only a nightmare. His wounds were nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that could not have been done by the wolves who had chased him here, but the mask was evidence of where he had been, what he had become. The Abyss. He didn’t even remember if he knew that word back then. Still, he knew he couldn’t be caught with the remnants of that place. He tucked the mask into his coat, praying he wouldn’t need to wear it. Vowing never to wear it again. As far as his family knew, nothing had happened. Their boy had only been gone for an hour. Their little Ajax was fetching water at the well. How could anything have changed, in such a short time?

But he wasn’t their little Ajax anymore. You belong to the depths, his master had told him in her rasping, hollow voice. You belong to me. She wouldn’t let him go. That place wouldn’t let him go. The shape of the ruins was burned into his eyelids. The Foul Legacy’s claws were burned into his hands. Scars—no, they weren’t scars yet, though Childe could hardly remember the pain of the wounds whose shadows still scored his body. A defense mechanism, he hoped. But they were burned into him, marks that heralded his curse. And, tied with hard-won Rifthound sinew around his waist, glowed the Hydro Vision that had kept him alive those long months, even when he’d wished it hadn’t.

So many of his memories were as visceral as the day they’d happened, playing over and over again like a broken spincrystal every day since, but the one thing he wanted to remember had vanished that night: who was Ajax before the fall? The one that emerged from the well wanted only to kill, to hurt someone before they could hurt him. He had the power now. Those wolves that had forced him to fall, the dragon that had torn him apart and left him for dead…he could hurt them all now. Let them dig their claws into him—the pain made him feel alive.

He could hurt his family. He could summon knives of water and cut out his father’s heart, drown his mother in her bed, drive a spear through the baby and pin her to the wall. It would be so easy. The power was throbbing at his fingertips. He couldn’t contain it. Just reaching out his hand could call down a massive whale to flood an Abyssal cavern and take out a Hilichurl encampment. And if he did that, he would be punished. Maybe his Vision would be taken away. He couldn’t survive without it. And if the Abyss came to take him back, there would be nothing he could do.

All Ajax had wanted was to run up the hill to his family’s farm, collapse in front of the fire and feel warmth for the first time in three months. He wanted to see his mother and father, his older siblings Ruby, Petya, and Brioc, to tell them how much he had missed them, how much he loved them, and he wanted to hear them say the same things. But they couldn’t. They couldn’t have missed him, he was only gone an hour. And they couldn’t have loved him.

He was a monster.

He turned his back on Morepesok, and walked into the forest, dragging his rusty sword behind him in the snow. One trail of rust followed him, and one of blood. He walked into the forest, and in a rock shelter that reminded him of the Abyss, he collapsed from exhaustion. It was two days before he woke up, and another day before hunters from the village found his footprints. What they found was an emaciated boy, delirious from the cold, but determined not to tell anyone what had happened to him.

Ajax never told his family about the Abyss. After their questioning went nowhere, the men concluded that he must have been attacked by wolves, that night at the well. He had run away and gotten trapped in the snow. Sure, he was taller, and his hair was longer, but it would only reopen old wounds if they pressed him.

It was obvious to everyone, though, that the boy they had found in the cave wasn’t the one who had gone to fetch water three days earlier. Those first few months after his escape were the hardest. When the doctor set his broken bones, disinfected his wound with lye, when his mother cut his hair, it hurt. Between moments of clarity, all he could do was defend himself from their punishments. He locked himself in bubbles of water, kicked and scratched at anyone who came near. If they didn’t hurt him, he wouldn’t hurt them, but…they just kept coming back. His father had a bruise on his chin for months, but every night, he would come to his room with fresh borscht, and sit patiently outside the door until he had finished the meal and returned the empty bowl. It took months for him to speak again, but the first word he was able to stammer out was a quiet ‘thank you,’ as his mother cut him a slice of fresh-baked bread.

The truth was, he hadn’t hurt them. He had been terrified that he would kill someone, that he would have to kill someone, if the Foul Legacy came back, if they had tried to punish him for the monster that he was. But no matter how he had fought to keep well-meaning people away, he had never lost control. He had never used his power to hurt someone he loved, and they hadn’t hurt him either. All they wanted was to help him. Such unselfish motivations were foreign to him after what he had seen in the Abyss, but he had learned to remember, at least, what that kind of love felt like.

Childe knew he was a monster. He had killed countless people, countless monsters, but his family loved him. Even when they fought back then, even when he was conscripted to the Fatui, they had always loved him. And he loved them. He couldn’t love himself. But his family was everything to him. He couldn’t protect himself, but he could protect them. He had to protect them. No matter the cost, as long as they were safe, so was he.

Now all his fears were coming true. He had brought the Abyss to them. Worse, he had brought them to the Abyss. He wasn't sure when he realized he'd left the portal, when the nothingness of the void became a familiar something. He wasn't even sure whether he was awake or unconscious. All he knew was that he was home. If the others were here with him, they would have to depend on him. They weren’t warriors. They had no Visions. They were farmers. And his siblings were so young. Even Tonia, the oldest, was younger than he was when he had fallen here the first time.

He didn’t know if he could protect them, but he had to try.