Chapter Text
It had been a week since Kaeya arrived in Snezhnaya, and to his mild surprise, everything had been proceeding rather smoothly. The days passed without incident, and he'd taken the time to send letters back to Mondstadt—short but sincere updates to his friends and comrades who no doubt wondered about his wellbeing.
Kaeya spent much of his time wandering through the vast halls of the palace, a strange but not unwelcome routine. If the Tsaritsa wasn’t preoccupied with state matters, she would occasionally summon him for tea—those moments filled with quiet but layered conversations, always delicately balanced between cordiality and unspoken truths.
Loneliness, however, never managed to settle in—not with Childe around. Ever the relentless force of energy and enthusiasm, the Eleventh Harbinger had made it his unofficial duty to keep Kaeya company. Without fail, he’d barge into Kaeya’s room on a daily basis, dragging him out for walks or conversations that meandered through topics ranging from war tactics to Snezhnayan cuisine.
It amused Kaeya to no end, but it also made him curious. While Kaeya’s own role in the Pact was still somewhat fluid—half spy, half prince of a ruined kingdom—he was fully aware that the other Harbingers had their hands full with preparations of all kinds. And yet, Childe always had time. Did he operate on a lighter schedule due to being the youngest of the Harbingers? Or was he simply shirking responsibilities with impressive consistency? The answer eluded him.
Today, unlike the routine days before, Childe had extended a peculiar offer—one Kaeya found himself accepting without much resistance.
“I’ll give you some help,” Childe had said earlier, grin ever-present, “so you can get to know the Harbingers a little better.”
It was something Kaeya had indeed considered—meeting the Harbingers directly, forming impressions for himself beyond whispered rumors and polished reports. But he had been unsure of how to approach such powerful and unpredictable figures without causing unnecessary friction. Thankfully, Childe had taken it upon himself to bridge that gap.
As they walked together through the frost-kissed corridors of the palace, the light echo of their footsteps filling the silence, Childe tilted his head slightly toward Kaeya.
“So,” he began, casual as always, “who do you want to meet first?”
Kaeya didn’t hesitate. He had already thought it through.
“From the most aggressive to the least,” he replied coolly, folding his hands behind his back.
Childe chuckled, clearly impressed. “You actually planned this out. Not bad.” His lips curled into a grin as he added, “Then our first stop is The Knave—Arlecchino.”
The snow-laced wind howled gently against the frosted windows of Zapolyarny Palace, but the inside buzzed with quiet movement—documents passed, orders given, boots tapping on polished stone floors. The palace, though regal, hummed with military tension.
Kaeya adjusted his gloves, exhaling a thin breath. “I hope she won’t throw me out the second she sees me.”
Beside him, Childe grinned. “You’re with me, remember? I’m the responsible adult here.”
Kaeya gave him a side glance. “That’s very reassuring.”
"Just remember," Childe said as they walked through the northern wing, "she's not as terrifying if you don’t show fear. Think of it like walking into a lion’s den, but the lion might let you pet her... if you don’t mess it up."
"Comforting," Kaeya deadpanned.
They stopped before a tall, metal door. Childe knocked once, then let himself in.
The heavy doors groaned slightly as they opened, letting in a breath of cold air and the quiet footfalls of two men—Childe leading the way, Kaeya just behind, hands folded behind his back.
Inside, Arlecchino stood by a large operations table scattered with reports and marked maps. A single Fatui agent stood beside her, quietly delivering updates before respectfully stepping out at her signal.
"Arlecchino," Childe greeted with ease, his voice casual. "Hope we’re not interrupting."
"You are," she replied, glancing up. Her gaze flicked to Kaeya. "But not enough to complain about it."
Kaeya smiled faintly, tilting his head in acknowledgment. "I thought it was about time I stopped lurking around and properly greeted the ones I’ll be working beside."
Arlecchino’s red eyes studied him for a moment longer. “You’ve been in the Palace for a week. I already know who you are, Alberich. Everyone does.”
Kaeya wasn’t surprised, nor did he flinch under her directness. "Still, formalities can go a long way. It felt rude not to say anything personally."
"You’re polite," she noted, though the word didn't come out as a compliment or insult. Just a fact. "Not something I expected, but then again, your bloodline is full of contradictions."
Childe leaned on the wall, arms crossed. “He’s trying to make friends.”
"I’m trying to be professional," Kaeya corrected smoothly, shooting Childe a side glance. "You’re the one acting like a tour guide."
Arlecchino let out a soft huff—maybe a laugh, maybe not. “Tartaglia’s methods are chaotic, but not ineffective.”
A short silence passed. Arlecchino turned back to the documents on the table.
"Anyway," she said, casually flipping through a report. "You’ve picked a hell of a time to start making introductions. Everyone’s up to their necks in work. Don't expect tea and handshakes."
"I wasn’t expecting anything," Kaeya replied. "Just wanted to show my face. A proper ally is better than a mysterious guest."
Arlecchino nodded once. "Good. I prefer knowing who’s in the room when everything falls apart."
Childe stretched. “Well, I’d say that went better than expected.”
Kaeya offered a polite smile to Arlecchino. “Thank you for your time.”
She waved a hand dismissively, already returning to her reports. “Don’t waste it.”
Without another word, Kaeya and Childe turned and made their way out, the heavy doors shutting quietly behind them.
"She's absolutely intimidating," Kaeya remarked, letting out a slow breath. "Honestly, she reminds me of Rosa—before we became friends."
"Intimidating?" Childe repeated with a lopsided grin. "That’s not quite the word I’d use. She was surprisingly gentle with you. I didn’t expect that, to be honest."
Kaeya shot him a dry look. "I’m not even going to ask what part of that counted as gentle in your book."
Childe simply laughed, waving a hand dismissively. "That’s just Arlecchino for you."
Kaeya wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the Knave. If he had to put it into words, she carried the weight and presence of a strict guardian—unyielding, razor-sharp, and thoroughly unafraid of confrontation.
The descent into the underlevels of the palace was quiet, save for the low hum of machines pulsing behind thick metal doors. The air smelled of chemicals and ozone, sterile and sharp.
Kaeya walked with Childe through a narrow corridor where the walls were colder, harder, less like a palace and more like the inside of something alive and watching. Lights buzzed overhead, blinking in unnatural hues.
"Our next stop will be Dottore. Arlecchino might’ve had a blade to your throat if you sneezed wrong, but Dottore? He’ll take you apart with words… or worse."
Kaeya exhaled softly. “Now you’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m trying to warn you,” Childe replied. “He’s not like the others. He's always testing something. Or someone.”
A door slid open on its own ahead of them with a hiss. The room inside was bright, sterile, and empty—at first glance.
Then came a voice from above, from behind, from everywhere at once.
"Ah, so the peacock prince finally flutters into my domain."
Kaeya didn’t flinch. He merely looked up to where the real Dottore—or at least a segment of him—stood on the upper balcony, leaning lazily against the railing with surgical gloves half-peeled from his fingers.
“I’ve been called worse,” Kaeya said, eyes calm, hands behind his back. “Though I wonder if you always greet guests with metaphors.”
“Only the interesting ones,” Dottore replied, voice smooth and sharp like a scalpel dipped in honey. “And here I thought you'd continue playing ghost within these halls.”
“I like to observe before I act.”
Dottore descended slowly via a spiral staircase, each step echoing as if the room itself was listening. “A trait we share, then. How charming.”
Childe leaned against the wall, arms folded, clearly choosing to stay out of this one.
Kaeya turned to face the Harbinger properly. “I came to speak, nothing more. You already know who I am.”
Dottore smirked, a glint of something unreadable in his crimson eyes. “Oh, I know far more than your name, Kaeya Alberich. Prince of a ruined lineage. Spy turned knight turned... something not quite defined. I wonder, what shape do you plan to take next?”
Kaeya’s voice didn’t waver. “That depends on the role I’m allowed to play.”
“How diplomatic,” Dottore mused, circling him slightly. “But tell me—do you come seeking approval? Or answers?”
“I seek familiarity,” Kaeya replied calmly. “That’s all.”
Dottore chuckled. “In this place? Among us? You're more likely to find madness.”
Kaeya raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I’m already halfway there.”
There was a silence, then Dottore tilted his head, curious now.
“You’re different from the rest of your bloodline,” he said. “You… you simmer. I wonder what you’re keeping beneath that ice.”
Kaeya said nothing.
Dottore stepped back, folding his hands behind him. “You’re not here to beg, bribe, or threaten. That earns you… a sliver of respect. I’ll remember that.”
Kaeya inclined his head. “That’s all I ask.”
Dottore walked over to a terminal, typing something without looking. A mechanical whirring began somewhere deep in the walls.
“I won’t pretend to be your ally,” Dottore said, tone shifting, cooler. “But you are intriguing. And I like to keep interesting puzzles close. Should you ever want to be... examined further, I promise to keep most of your pieces intact.”
Childe coughed pointedly from the corner.
“Tempting offer,” Kaeya replied smoothly, not rising to the bait. “But I’ll pass—for now.”
Dottore’s grin widened ever so slightly. “Shame. You’re missing out on some fascinating self-discovery.”
Kaeya turned, coat sweeping behind him as he walked back toward Childe.
“I know enough about myself already,” he said quietly, and then, to Childe, “Let’s go.”
Childe gave Dottore a mock salute. “Pleasure as always, Doc.”
As they stepped out into the hallway once more, Childe let out a low breath.
“You handled that pretty damn well,” he said. “Most people leave that lab sweating.”
Kaeya only smiled, taking in the compliment.
"Who's next?" He asked.
"That would be Capitano–the Captain."
The faint clang of steel rang through the cold air, echoing off frost-covered pillars like a bell tolling discipline.
Kaeya followed Childe silently down a stone corridor. His boots clicked softly over the polished floor, the hem of his coat brushing the frost-slick edges. He could feel it before he saw it — the atmosphere ahead was different. Tense. Respectful. Like a cathedral of war.
There, among black-armored Fatui soldiers and agents, stood the man himself — Capitano, the Captain. Towering. Silent. His armor absorbed the light, matte black and worn with time and purpose. His back was turned, hands clasped behind him as he observed two agents sparring with brutal precision. Neither one dared falter.
Kaeya could sense it. Every breath in the yard was pulled tight. Every movement was calculated. Capitano’s mere presence made even the falling snowflakes feel like they needed permission.
Together, they crossed the courtyard. Capitano’s head turned as their footsteps neared, but he didn’t stop watching the soldiers—until Kaeya stepped just within reach.
“Captain,” Kaeya greeted with a polite nod. “Kaeya Alberich.”
Capitano stood silent for a moment, helmet reflecting the courtyard lights.
“You’ve been watching the training?” Capitano’s voice was low, but it carried with no effort. Like a mountain speaking.
Kaeya smiled politely. “Only just arrived. But I imagine it’s always like this under your supervision.”
“Efficiency requires consistency,” Capitano said simply. “Who you are in war should reflect who you are in peace. Otherwise, you’re only pretending.”
“Wise words,” Kaeya murmured. “Though I wouldn’t say I’ve had much peace to draw from.”
Capitano stepped forward, each movement precise and unhurried. “You’re the Prince of Khaenri’ah.”
“No need for formalities,” Kaeya said, shaking his head lightly. “Just Kaeya is fine.”
“You’re familiar,” Capitano said, voice even. “There’s something in you I’ve seen in soldiers who lasted — the ones who break later than everyone else.”
Kaeya looked thoughtful. “I hope that’s a compliment.”
“It is,” Capitano replied after a pause. “You walk like a soldier, but think like a king.”
That silenced even Childe for a moment.
Kaeya bowed his head slightly. “Then I’ll take that as encouragement.”
A faint rustle — Capitano moved toward a weapons rack nearby, picking up a training sword and running a finger along its edge.
“I won’t waste your time with meaningless speeches. I don’t trust easily, and I don’t need to.”
Kaeya stepped forward, not shrinking under the intensity. “That’s fair. I wouldn’t expect less from a man like you.”
Behind them, Childe stretched his arms lazily. “Well, isn’t this a heartwarming chat between the quietest man alive and Mondstadt's most charming.”
Capitano turned slightly toward Childe.
“…He talks too much,” he remarked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Childe grinned. “You’ve said.”
Kaeya gave one last look toward Capitano. “Thank you for the time.”
The commander inclined his head slightly—neither dismissal nor farewell. Just acknowledgment.
As Kaeya and Childe turned away, the faint sound of barked orders resumed behind them, training back underway.
“Anyway, ready for the next one?”
“Who’s next?”
“Pulcinella,” Childe said, taking a sharp turn down the hall. “He’s tucked away with the paperwork. Probably trying to balance a nation’s economy while ordering boots for half a continent.”
Kaeya raised a brow. “That doesn’t sound like a job one person should have.”
“That’s exactly what I said. He gave me a five-minute lecture on the importance of task delegation—then handed me ten reports.”
They rounded a corner, this one dimmer, with thicker walls and oil lamps glowing steadily against the cold. The palace had many wings, but this one had a scent Kaeya recognized, the scent of aged parchment, burning candles, and pine filled the room. Military advisors spoke in hushed voices around a long table cluttered with maps, ledgers, and sealed letters. At the head, Pulcinella — short, aged, but far from frail — scribbled a signature onto a letter, his hat casting a shadow over his narrow, observant eyes.
Kaeya hesitated at the threshold, watching the old man work with mechanical efficiency. Childe stood beside him, his arms casually crossed.
"Don’t let the wrinkles fool you," Childe murmured. "He's probably signed more war declarations than I've fired arrows."
“I wouldn’t doubt that,” Kaeya replied with a small smile. “But he seems... approachable?”
Childe smirked. “Approach with purpose. He likes that.”
Kaeya stepped forward just as Pulcinella set his quill down and reached for a document sealed with black wax. Before he could open it, Kaeya cleared his throat softly.
“Sir Pulcinella,” he greeted, polite but not stiff.
The fifth Harbinger looked up over his spectacles, eyes sharp despite his age. He blinked once, then smiled faintly beneath his curved nose.
“Prince Alberich,” Pulcinella said with a cordial nod. “Or should I say, Kaeya of Mondstadt?”
“I’ll answer to either,” Kaeya replied. “But Kaeya’s easier on the tongue.”
Pulcinella chuckled. “I suppose it is. Come in, come in—though I can’t promise I won’t keep one eye on these reports while we speak.”
Childe leaned casually against the wall. “We won’t take much of your time. Kaeya wanted to greet each of us properly.”
“I appreciate that,” Pulcinella said, tapping the side of a ledger. “Not every prince makes the effort to greet a tired bureaucrat.”
Kaeya chuckled. “You seem far from tired, sir.”
“Only on the outside,” Pulcinella waved a hand. “War logistics keep even old dogs pacing. Snezhnaya’s not built to march alone—someone has to oil the gears.”
He adjusted his glasses and turned his gaze on Kaeya more closely.
“I hear you’ve taken well to the Palace. Making yourself useful?”
“I hope so. There’s a lot to catch up on. History I was never taught.”
Pulcinella nodded slowly. “You come from a land of wine and festivals, but your roots are fire-forged. Khaenri’ah blood doesn't sleep.”
Kaeya’s expression shifted, thoughtful. “You speak as though you’ve seen it before.”
“Oh, I’ve seen many things,” Pulcinella mused. “Before this city, before the Harbingers. But nothing quite prepares you for a return like yours.”
There was a pause — not awkward, just heavy with unspoken things.
“Still, you’ve got potential,” Pulcinella continued. “Whether you wield it for Snezhnaya, Khaenri’ah, or something else entirely, is your decision.”
Childe raised a brow. “You’re not usually so complimentary.”
“I’m old,” Pulcinella replied dryly. “Let me hand out wisdom like candy while I still can.”
Kaeya smiled, tilting his head slightly. “Thank you. I’ll remember your words.”
Pulcinella glanced back to the documents. “I’d offer tea, but unless you enjoy drinking with a dozen bureaucrats and my headache, I’d recommend saving it for a better day.”
Kaeya chuckled. “Some other time, then.”
“Some other time,” Pulcinella echoed with a nod. “Go on, now. I’ve got numbers to wrangle and armies to clothe.”
Childe opened the door again with a grin. “Next stop, Kaeya’s diplomatic parade continues.”
Kaeya followed him out, glancing once over his shoulder as Pulcinella resumed his work — quill scratching softly against paper in the cold silence of duty.
“Are you sure this is the right wing?” Kaeya asked, his steps slowing as the two passed under an arch carved with intricate, mechanical symbols. The corridor was darker than the rest, dimly lit by pale magenta lamps humming with electro-static pulses.
“Positive,” Childe replied, glancing around with mild discomfort. “If you start hearing tiny metal feet behind you, don’t run. They’ll follow.”
“How reassuring,” Kaeya murmured, already spotting a small figure shuffling down the hall ahead of them—no taller than a child, porcelain-faced, its eye sockets glowing soft blue, and arms clicking at the joints with every step.
The puppet turned its head toward them and paused, tilting slightly.
“Welcome,” it spoke. The voice was mechanical, soft-spoken, but surprisingly articulate. “Madam Sandrone is just inside.”
Without further instruction, the puppet turned and began leading them down the hallway.
Childe leaned closer to Kaeya, whispering, “See? I told you they talk. But don’t ask them questions like ‘how are you,’ or they’ll start reciting Sandrone’s personal philosophy on mechanical evolution.”
Kaeya exhaled through his nose, hiding a smirk.
They were led into a vast chamber — not a study, not a throne room, but a workshop. Machines lined the walls, some shaped like humanoid torsos, others resembling beasts of burden or weapons-in-waiting. The scent of oil, metal, and faint electricity hung in the air.
At the far end of the room, elevated on a platform, sat Sandrone — motionless in her ornate mechanical chair, surrounded by elegant puppet attendants. Her porcelain-pale face was unreadable, her long lashes lowered like a doll’s. She didn’t speak, but one of her maid-like puppets stepped forward and curtsied gracefully.
“Welcome, Prince Kaeya Alberich,” it said in a tone far too polite for the eerie setting. “The Master has anticipated your visit. Please, do not step on the white tiles. They are pressure-sensitive.”
Kaeya raised a brow.
“The last agent we brought here stepped on one,” Childe whispered, “and got locked in a closet by mistake.”
“Charming,” Kaeya muttered under his breath.
The puppet gestured toward a safe path marked with brass tiles. “Madam Sandrone sends her regards. She is currently in the middle of puppet finalization for the northern regiments. They require reinforced plating, frost resistance, and heartbeat recognition—”
“She can’t just say ‘I’m busy’?” Kaeya whispered.
“Nope,” Childe said, trying not to grin. “She prefers efficiency. If she’s not talking through puppets, she’s probably working on disassembling one.”
As they reached the platform, another, slightly larger puppet stepped forward. It looked more humanoid, with a faint resemblance to a palace butler.
“Madam Sandrone remembers your lineage,” it said. “Your family’s legacy in Khaenri’ahn engineering is not forgotten.”
Kaeya blinked, slightly surprised. “I… see.”
Sandrone moved slightly in her chair at that, raising her gaze to meet his. Her eyes—too vivid for something so expressionless—lingered on him. Silent, but assessing.
“She says your blood holds the same brilliance,” the puppet added.
Kaeya gave a small bow, courteous but reserved. “That’s… a generous compliment.”
Childe leaned over again. “Trust me, coming from her, that’s like saying you’re the only human she wouldn’t dismantle.”
Kaeya kept his composure. Barely.
The puppet bowed again. “This concludes your visitation. The Master appreciates your initiative.”
As they turned to leave, another mechanical maid stepped up and—oddly—presented Kaeya with a tin canister shaped like a gear.
“She requests you sample her new war-ration prototype,” it said. “Flavor: artificial almond.”
Kaeya held it with both hands, unsure whether to thank her or hand it back. He chose the safest option: smiling politely and walking away quickly.
Once they exited the workshop, Kaeya finally exhaled. “I’ve had warmer welcomes from Abyss creatures.”
Childe clapped a hand on his back. “You did fine. She didn’t sic the murder-bots on you. That’s practically affection in her language.”
Kaeya eyed the ration canister. “Think she’d notice if I gave this to someone else?”
“I would,” Childe said with a grin. “Now, ready for your next charming encounter?”
“Define charming,” Kaeya said, brushing a bit of dust from his coat.
Childe only smirked as they turned down a corridor where the temperature dipped subtly and the light turned soft — tinted lavender from overhead crystal lanterns. The hallway was adorned with flowers frozen in glass and portraits painted in watercolors, each exuding a romantic yet melancholic air. Gentle singing drifted faintly through the air — ethereal, hauntingly sweet.
Kaeya paused. “That’s her voice?”
“Yep,” Childe said, folding his arms as they approached an arched door with floral engravings. “Don’t let the lullaby sway you. She’s as dangerous as the rest of them — just wrapped in a prettier package.”
Kaeya tilted his head. “And we’re visiting her because...?”
“You wanted to meet them all,” Childe said, knocking twice before pushing the door open. “Well, you can’t skip the Damslette.”
The room beyond was bathed in soft lavender light. Flowers bloomed unnaturally fresh in ornate glass vases, despite the Snezhnayan cold. On a dais beneath a sheer canopy, Columbina lay reclined sideways on a velvet couch, fingers lazily plucking a harp’s strings. Her gaze lifted slowly as they entered, languid and unreadable.
“Ah... company,” she murmured, voice barely louder than a whisper. “And not just any... You’re the one Her Majesty introduced, aren’t you? Kaeya.”
Kaeya offered a small nod. “I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Columbina.”
“Oh~ so polite. I like that.” Her smile was faint, curling like mist. “Childe, you’ve brought me a little snowflake.”
“I figured it was time,” Childe said casually. “He’s meeting everyone.”
“How lovely.” She sat up slightly, resting her chin on her knuckles. “I’ve heard... interesting things about you.”
Kaeya raised a brow. “All good, I hope.”
“Mmm,” Columbina hummed, swinging her legs gently off the couch. She padded across the plush carpet barefoot, her movements as graceful as her voice. “That depends on who’s speaking. But I don’t listen to rumors too closely. They... ruin the mystery.”
Kaeya offered a small chuckle, amused and cautious. “Mystery keeps the world turning, I suppose.”
She stopped just in front of him, tilting her head like a curious doll.
“You have very vivid eyes,” she said. “I wonder what they’ve seen.”
Kaeya didn’t answer right away. Columbina didn’t seem to mind — in fact, silence seemed to please her.
“Would you like a song?” she asked suddenly. “Something soft. I was just about to compose one for the coming war. A farewell, perhaps... or a lullaby.”
“That’s kind of you,” Kaeya replied. “But we didn’t mean to disturb.”
“It’s not a disturbance. I enjoy... visitors,” Columbina said, voice lilting like a dream. Then, more distantly, “Especially ones so interesting.”
Childe stepped in with a clap of his hands. “Well, we’ll come hear your lullaby next time, yeah? Kaeya’s still got more Harbingers to charm.”
Columbina gave a small sigh. “Mmm... very well. Run along, little snowflake. But I’ll remember your voice.”
Kaeya gave a respectful nod as they turned to leave. Her humming resumed the moment they stepped outside, soft and slow — and just a little bit eerie.
Childe shut the velvet-trimmed door behind them with a sigh of relief. “Alright, that’s one dreamy death lullaby survived,” he muttered.
Kaeya exhaled in agreement. “She’s... menacing.”
“She is,” Childe said. “But you’ll find the next one’s a bit more grounded.”
They turned a corridor toward the upper level — a far colder aesthetic. Stark black marble, silver accents, and a giant stained-glass window featuring the Cryo symbol reflected light over stacks of ledgers, papers, and polished coin trays. Pantalone’s wing.
Two well-dressed agents bowed and stepped aside as Childe and Kaeya entered a vast room. Inside, Pantalone was seated at a black desk with inlaid gold, pen scratching across a ledger with rhythmic precision. A tray of untouched tea sat nearby, still steaming.
He did not look up immediately.
“Give me one moment, please,” he said smoothly.
Kaeya and Childe waited. Pantalone finally set the pen down and looked up, a smile blooming that felt practiced — not unfriendly, but deliberate.
“Kaeya Alberich,” he greeted, standing with graceful poise. “What an exquisite surprise.”
Kaeya smiled slightly. “I hope we’re not interrupting.”
“Oh, you are. Constantly,” Pantalone said with a chuckle, brushing off his lapel. “But I do enjoy interesting interruptions.”
Childe smirked. “Figured you'd say that.”
Pantalone circled the desk slowly, eyes sharp with appraisal.
“I've had the pleasure of reviewing your signature on the documents,” he said to Kaeya. “Impressive penmanship. Though I must admit, I was more interested in what lay between the lines.”
“I try to write clearly,” Kaeya replied.
“I wasn’t referring to the ink,” Pantalone said. “But of course, I wouldn't expect someone from your lineage to be straightforward.”
Kaeya’s expression didn't falter. “You think I’m hiding something?”
Pantalone’s smile widened. “Oh, I know you are. Everyone in this palace is. That’s what makes us valuable — we have things worth keeping secret.”
He gestured to the tea tray. “Would you like some? It’s infused with a rare mint from Liyue’s upper cliffs. Very refreshing.”
Kaeya politely declined with a shake of his head. “I’m just here to meet the people I’ll be working with.”
Pantalone clasped his hands. “Very wise. Acquaintances can become leverage, after all.”
Kaeya narrowed his eye slightly. “You see people as leverage?”
“I see potential in everyone. Call it a financier’s instinct.” He offered a courteous nod. “And you, Kaeya Alberich, have enormous potential. If I were allowed, I’d put a price on your head — for academic purposes, of course.”
Childe snorted. “He’s joking. I think.”
“Mostly,” Pantalone said with a wink.
Kaeya remained calm. “Glad to know I’m an asset.”
“Oh, not just an asset. A symbol.” Pantalone’s tone became more serious. “To those who remember Khaenri’ah, your presence is reassurance. To those who fear it, your presence is a warning. Either way... you’re power.”
There was a long pause before Pantalone resumed his cordial tone. “But enough theatrics. I do hope this visit helps you feel more... at home among us.”
“It does,” Kaeya said honestly. “Thank you.”
“Then my work here is done.” He bowed slightly. “Until the battlefield.”
As Kaeya and Childe exited, Childe leaned in with a grin.
“He was measuring your value in mora.”
•°.✯.°•
Kaeya was just about to return to the headquarters, boots crunching lightly over the frost-kissed marble. Childe had been summoned away by Pierro for some clandestine business that Kaeya was fairly certain he didn’t want—or need—to pry into. Thus, he found himself strolling alone through the dimly lit corridors of Zapolyarny Palace.
As he neared the main doors, intent on heading back to his quarters for perhaps a rare moment of rest, a voice called out to him.
“Prince Alberich, forgive my intrusion.”
Kaeya paused mid-step and turned. An agent of the Fatui—clad in crisp uniform—bowed respectfully, one gloved hand pressed to his chest.
“Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa, requests your presence in the private garden.”
Kaeya’s lips curled into a polite, if weary, smile. “Inform her that I’ll be there momentarily.”
The agent inclined his head once more before retreating down the hall.
Left alone, Kaeya exhaled a long sigh, breath swirling in the cold air. Though bone-tired from a long day filled with endless reports and diplomatic maneuverings, he couldn’t refuse a direct audience with the Cryo Archon. Especially at such an ungodly hour. Something must have warranted this late summons—perhaps intelligence he was yet unaware of.
He navigated the hushed, icy corridors, his cape trailing behind him as moonlight spilled through tall arched windows, painting patterns on the floor. He knew these halls far too well by now, every opulent sconce and frost-etched arch burned into memory from a week of pacing them.
Finally, he arrived before an ornate door—a sweeping structure of frosted glass framed by intricate wood carvings that seemed to dance with frozen flowers. Kaeya pushed it open gently.
There, bathed in silver light from the full moon above, stood the Tsaritsa. Her elegant figure faced the towering glass panes of the conservatory, her breath visible in the cold as if the night itself bowed to her presence.
“You summoned me?” Kaeya asked softly, voice carrying just enough playful lilt to disguise his weariness.
She inclined her head, a subtle gesture beckoning him closer.
“I have news,” she began, her voice a melodic whisper that still managed to command the air.
Kaeya approached, tilting his head with a slight, sheepish grin. “Then I’m all ears. Though forgive me—I fear my eyes are threatening to close.”
A gentle, knowing curve graced the Tsaritsa’s lips. “You may wish to remain wide awake for this.”
Kaeya’s brows rose with mild curiosity.
“You will not need to travel to visit your family after all.”
It was a simple sentence—but it crashed into Kaeya like a wave of icy water. He blinked, his easy grin faltering, shoulders stiffening under his cloak.
“…Come again?” he managed, voice catching faintly.
“Allow me to finish, little snowflake,” she said, her amusement delicate and motherly. “I meant—you won’t need to journey to them. They will be arriving here instead.”
It felt as if the ground shifted beneath Kaeya’s boots, a tremor of nerves slithering up his spine.
“They… will come here?” he repeated hollowly, almost as if the words had to be wrung from his lungs.
“Yes,” the Tsaritsa confirmed with a warm smile that seemed almost out of place on her ethereal, frosted visage. “I have spoken extensively with Elle, and your father. They both agreed—quite eagerly, in fact.”
Kaeya stood rooted to the spot. The notion of reunion swirled in his mind—bright and hopeful, yet jagged at the edges. A thousand tangled emotions clawed at him. Joy, dread, an ache he didn’t have the language for. After all, it had been so long. Since he was six, he’d been torn away, severed by destiny and kingdoms’ cruelties. Those childhood memories had long been buried under snowdrifts of time, fragile and threadbare, like a single golden string fraying under the weight of years.
He swallowed, blue eye shimmering with something brittle. Happy? Yes. Overjoyed? Perhaps. Terrified? Undeniably.
But how could he not be, when a family he barely knew anymore was about to walk right into his new, carefully reconstructed world?
•°.✯.°•