Chapter Text
Their hands clasped together for a moment and Tartaglia tugged, pulling the Owl to his feet. For a moment the man wavered trying to find his balance on the boulder, but Tartaglia wrapped a hand around his back, bracing him so he wouldn’t fall.
The Owl looked up, eyes cautions but he didn’t resist his touch. They were so close together Tartaglia could feel the heat rise in his face and quickly pulled away, leading the Owl down by his hand.
Stepping carefully down into the snow, Tartaglia made sure he didn’t slip on the smooth stone underneath. Watching the snow melt with each footstep the Owl took, Tartaglia had to ask, “Are your feet cold?” He started to reach down to remove his own shoes.
“Not really,” the Owl said, “The... Delusion spirit keeps me warm I think. ”
“Can you tell what god its power might have come from?” Tartaglia asked, curious about the power he’d gained.
The Owl shook his head, quiet for a moment before he said, “It feels more like a collection of malice and hate than an actual consciousness. It’s... leaching off me, using my body to sustain itself." He shivered, “I think even the form it takes is from my mind.”
“Oh, the phoenix? Why a bird?” Tartaglia asked.
“The Falcon of the West, it’s a creature I revere and consider powerful,” the Owl explained. “When I used a Vision, I molded the pyro into a similar shape.”
Tartaglia swung his head toward him with a grin, “So you do have a Vision!”
“You saw the sword I used.”
“Well, your Delusion could summon chains. Who said it couldn’t also give you a claymore? I’ve seen stranger,” Tartaglia shrugged. The man only grunted in response. It was strange to find a Vision holder without their Vision. Hesitating for another moment, he asked, “Did the Fatui take it?”
The Owl shook his head. “No... that was something I gave up myself.”
Tartaglia blinked, “You wanted to take down the Fatui without your Vision?” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Now who’s the one holding back?”
The man rolled his eyes, but let out a sigh, “It was from a life I’m no longer a part of... My Delusion was stronger anyway.”
Tartaglia didn’t say anything, but as someone with both a Vision and a Delusion, he knew how exhausting it was to use a Delusion. He was impressed that with the state he’d been in, the Owl hadn’t collapsed weeks ago.
Trying not to stare too much at the Owl as they walked, he asked, “Say you decide to leave Snezhnaya, is there somewhere you’d go?”
The Owl paused, a frown pulling at his lips, “I don’t know...” With a swallow, he added, "Either way I’ll figure it out. I can make do with whatever I find.”
“You have proven your skill at that. I won’t have to worry then.”
“...Right,” he glanced away as he spoke, something lingering in his voice. “Next time you're in a fight, keep better attention on those around you. If you'd let your target go to try and save one of your men, then you need to make sure they aren’t placed in danger.”
Tartaglia blinked, lifting his eyebrow in surprise, “Is that advice you’re giving me? Are you sure you want to be helping a Fatuus like myself?”
“You’re too softhearted,” he said quietly. “I’ve heard you called the ‘Tsaritsa’s Weapon of War’, but you have far too many feelings to be just a tool. A weapon doesn’t have family.”
“I can be both,” Tartaglia argued.
The Owl shot a glare toward him, but the look seemed more frustrated than angry, “People who try to save others die first. Have you wondered why the other harbingers sent you instead of going themselves?”
“I was sent because I am capable. The Tsaritsa gave me this mission as a sign of her trust in me,” Tartaglia said with a laugh at the man’s suspicion. “Are you forgetting how many times I’ve almost killed you? Yours would not be the first life I’ve taken.”
The Owl didn’t flinch, “Are you a wolf hunting her prey or a dog bound by her leash?”
“Does it matter?” Tilting his head, a small smirk pulled at Tartaglia’s lips, “Is this your way of saying you’re worried about me?”
He huffed, eyes quickly darting away, “Don’t die a pointless death.”
Tartaglia’s eyes widened in surprise at the words of relative compassion. His gaze lingered on the back of the man’s head, until he stole a look back and their eyes locked together, both searching for... something, before becoming all too aware of the other and breaking eye contact.
The small wood cabin started to come into view and Tartaglia cleared his throat. “Like I said earlier, my family doesn’t know what I do. I don’t want them caught up in this. So... while you’re here, you're my friend.”
“Friend...” the Owl seemed to ponder over the word.
“Can you do that?”
“I can be subtle when I need to,” he said. “And innocent lives don’t deserve to be dragged into your mess.”
Satisfied with his response, Tartaglia stepped up to the back door and pulled it open. Inside he found Tonia and his father busy in the kitchen, arguing over which spices to use. By the fireplace it looked like his brothers were helping Felix pack their supplies, though perhaps ‘help’ was too generous a word to use as they seemed to be making more of a mess.
“Is that dinner I smell?” he called as he stepped inside.
Tonia whirled around, her eyes lighting up as she saw him, “It is! You better be staying to taste it-” she paused as her eyes landed on the Owl, becoming more cautious, “and... your friend is too?”
“Yes, we thought it would be good to stay the night and then we can leave first thing in the morning,” he said.
There was a grunt from his father, but he didn’t make any argument.
Looking back at the Owl, Tartaglia stared at the man’s bare chest under his own coat and coughed lightly, “Ah, let’s see if we can find you some clothes that fit? Ninochka, you bought an extra coat, right?”
“I did and a pair of gloves with a hat too. Tyoma helped pick them out.”
He smiled, glancing at his younger brother as Tonia handed him the article of clothing, “Oh, these are nice and warm too. It was a good pick, Tyoma!” Holding the coat up, he looked between himself and the Owl, trying to decide which one of them it would fit better. Finally, he said, “You can keep mine. It was a little big for me anyway.”
Grabbing the Owl’s hand, he pulled him all the way into the house. It felt like trying to coax a feral cat indoors as the man’s eyes darted around the room, flickering toward the door then the window. Every noise seemed to make him jump slightly. Bringing him up the stairs, back into the attic room, he seemed to calm considerably.
“Who was Fatuus in there?” he asked as soon as Tartaglia shut the door.
“That is my subordinate, Felix Kirovich,” Tartaglia told him as he started looking through some of the drawers. “I thought you said you could be subtle.”
“I was.” There was indignation in his voice.
“You looked like you’ve never set foot in a house before. The townsfolk are going to say you were raised by fae spirits.”
The Owl avoided his gaze, “It’s... been a while...”
Tartaglia snorted, tossing him a pair of clothes. “Here, these used to be my eldest brother's. See if they fit. Let me know if there’s anything in particular you prefer wearing.”
Catching the clothes midair, the Owl cautiously looked them over, “I don’t have a preference. As long as it's functional.”
Tartaglia turned, giving the man privacy as he changed. He wondered how long it had been since the man had slept in bed. Just how long had been running on his own for?
The sound of fabric rustling paused and he tilted his head, not quite looking back, “You finished?”
The Owl gave a grunt, “Yeah. It fits.”
Turning, Tartaglia gave him a once over and nodded. It did look well fitted and the style looked comfortable enough, though something told him the Owl would probably be able to pull off anything. Even shirtless he didn’t look that bad.
“I’ll grab some extras to take with you.”
As his gaze rose, he found himself looking the Owl in the eyes. The man stared at him with a frown, “Won’t your brother notice his clothing missing?”
Tartaglia smiled, a somber laugh on his lips as he responded, “Those clothes are of no use to my brother anymore. Better that they get used than eaten by moths here.” He’d never been very sentimental about objects.
Hesitantly accepting the clothes, the Owl seemed to look at them with a greater reverence before following him back downstairs. Tartaglia handed off the extra clothes to Felix to pack away for him.
“Dinner’s ready!” Tonia called out, bringing out hot stew, bread, and steamed vegetables.
The younger boys rushed up from the fireplace, swarming the dining table for food. Tartaglia led the Owl over, sitting next to him. Tonia took the seat on his other side and their father sat at the head. Felix lingered by the fireplace, unsure whether the invitation had been offered to him or not.
“Come join us!” Tartaglia called, waving him over.
The food was delicious, the sweet flavor of home feeling with Tartaglia with the warm nostalgia of childhood. Whatever disagreements everyone had, they were all put aside to enjoy the good food. Tartaglia smiled. It had been a while since he had been back home. He should make sure to visit more often. Anthon and Teucer seemed to grow a several inches at least every time he blinked.
The only one who seemed less than excited to dig into the meal was the Owl. He slowly brought the soup to his mouth, taking the spoonful and mindlessly chewing for a long moment before finally going for another. After what felt like barely more than a few bites, his eyes dimmed and he set his spoon down.
Rising from his chair, he said quietly, “Please excuse me. I believe I should retire for the evening.”
Tartaglia wanted to be impressed by the proper turn of phrase he used, but he was more worried that the man had barely eaten a thing. He caught the Owl by the wrist as he tried to flee. A spark of purple flashed across his eyes but it quickly began to fade. There was no sign of any black fire.
“Why don’t you stay a little longer?” he asked. “Is there something else you’d like to eat?”
The Owl shook his head, but slowly sat back down, his eyes firmly staring down.
Looking over, Tonia asked, “Did you think my soup tastes bad?” she glanced toward their father and signed ‘I told you not to put so much dill in it.’
Their father rolled his eyes as he signed back ‘The dill is the most important flavor of the soup. How could I ‘put too much’ in?’
Apologeticly, the Owl mumbled, “I apologize, it tastes good. I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Well, then try the bread,” Tonia cut a slice of dark colored loaf of bread, and passed it to him. “You can dip it in the soup to soften it.”
Hesitantly, the Owl did as instructed. He took a bit of the soup soaked bread and gave a small nod. It was enough that Tonia let out a breath of relief. Apparently she’d been just as worried as Tartaglia about how little the man had eaten. By the end of dinner, he managed to completely finish off the meager slice of bread. Tartaglia wasn’t going to push him into eating more. It was possible this had been the first thing he’d eaten in a while.
After they finished cleaning up, the young boys turned to play and Tartaglia joined them. The Owl hovered at the edge of the room, quietly watching, a distant smile on his face. Tartaglia’s father kept his distance as well, apparently giving up on trying to control what his son was doing, but the guarded look never fully left. Eventually Tonia called the boys to go to bed and the room fell quiet, only the crackling of the fire filling the silence.
As Tartaglia turned to the Owl, he found the fondness that had warmed the man’s eyes had turned to somber sadness.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he approached.
The Owl blinked and looked up, his face shifting back to indifference with a thick swallow and a sigh. “Yeah... is there somewhere for me to sleep?”
Tartaglia nodded, “You can take my bed. I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He glanced toward Felix, “Do you want to join us? The floor’s a little bumpy in the attic but I have plenty of blankets.”
The soldier looked around awkwardly, “Could I just use the couch down here?”
“Suit yourself,” the stairs creaked as they made their way up. Tartaglia let out a long sigh as he stepped into the room, grabbing blankets for himself. Despite the smile he put on for his family, he was exhausted. The strain from his transformation made every minor ache and sore feel like a broken bone. He just wanted to sleep for a week and let it all go away.
“You don’t have to give me the bed,” the Owl said, watching him.
Tartaglia waved his hand, “It’s fine. You don’t know when the next time you'll get a chance to sleep in a bed will be. Might as well enjoy it now.”
The Owl was quiet but reluctantly lifted his legs onto the bed and pulled the sheets over himself.
“Good night,” Tartaglia said, laying his head back against his own pillow.
Just before he slipped away into darkness he heard the Owl whisper back, “Good night.”
Tartaglia wasn’t sure what had woken him, but his eyes snapped open. He didn’t move, but his eyes scanned across the room. A shadow fell over him as something moved. Sitting upright, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in from the window, the Owl’s head turned.
On some instinct, Tartaglia snapped his eyes back shut. He could hear movement and then footsteps creaked across the room, carefully stepping over him. As he heard the door click, Tartaglia’s eyes flew open again. The Owl was gone.
Waiting for another moment, Tartaglia rolled to feet and followed the man. He turned the doorknob slowly, careful not to make a sound as he opened the door. Perching himself at the top of the stairs, he had a perfect view to watch as the Owl rummaged through all the supplies Felix had packed for them. He grabbed several bags and then made his way to the front door.
Once he was gone, Tartaglia bounded down the stairs, avoiding the creaking steps in between. Reaching the bottom, he glanced toward where Felix was sound asleep, before continuing to the door. He stepped outside and found the Owl standing in front of the sable, starting to tack up the horse.
“After everything I’ve done, you’re going to steal from me?” Tartaglia called, finally stepping forward.
The Owl flinched, his hand twitching as he shifted to defensive stance. Leveling a stare, he muttered, “Didn’t you say you were going to give me this anyway?”
“Yes, but there’s a difference between me giving it to you and you sneaking away in the night without a word with it,” Tartaglia watched him, curious. “I’m not trying to keep you here so I can turn you over to Fatui, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“It’s not...”
Tartaglia tilted his head, stepping closer, “Then why are you trying to run away?”
The Owl swallowed whatever defiance he’d put on slipping as he looked away. “Why did you bring me to your family?”
“You need food and shelter.”
His eyes darkened, “I’ve tried to kill you before. I could have hurt them.”
“But you didn't.” Tartaglia shrugged, “And you said it yourself, you don’t like dragging innocents into this.”
The Owl turned away with a sigh, apparently unable to refute him. His hand tightened on the stable door as muttered, “You don't need to all this. I'm fine on my own.”
“I didn’t break you of Dottore’s little lab just so you could get captured again.” Tartaglia tried not to think about how the Fatui would likely not waste their time capturing him if there ever was a next time. “You won’t be able to cross the border on your own, so let me help you.”
Keeping his back to him, the Owl’s voice was quiet, something breaking in his voice as he said, “I don’t deserve that.”
Tartaglia stared for a moment, taken aback by the statement. He couldn’t help his laugh of disbelief, “You’re fine stealing, but I can’t help you? I thought I was your enemy. Use me if you have to. I’m just another Fatuus, right?”
There was a long silence before the Owl asked, “Have you ever killed someone you cared about?”
Blinking, Tartaglia almost scoffed as he answered “What kind of question is that? I might be a Fatui harbinger, but I won’t kill someone just because I'm ordered to. I only kill someone if I want them to die.”
“I’m even worse than a Fatui harbinger,” the Owl said to himself with a dark chuckle. “Then you don’t know what it feels like to have the warm blood and life of someone you love cover your hands, or listen to their last breath of air whisper into your ear, knowing you can’t give it back. It feels like taking a dagger and plunging it into your own heart. I wish... it had been me who died instead.”
“Who did you kill?” Tartaglia asked slowly, watching the man’s shoulders shake as he described his pain. His hand lifted, looking for some way to offer comfort.
The Owl took a long breath, slowly inhaling and then letting out a long exhale as he turned to face him. “I killed my father.”
Tartaglia looked at him, trying to understand, “I thought you said...”
“Do you know what happens when a Delusion backfires?” The Owl asked quietly.
As a soldier, he’d heard his share of horror stories about the effects of Delusion, consuming their user or twisting them into monsters. He’d never seen it himself but from the haunted look in the Owl’s eyes he knew he had.
“I don't know how I can ever let go of the guilt of what I’ve done,” his voice choked as he struggled to speak, “but I know I can’t live like this anymore.”
Purple light flared across his eyes and he grabbed his head with a groan. Flickers of black flames flickered across his body.
“Hey, stay with me!” Tartaglia reached to grab his shoulders but the man slapped him away.
“Stay away from me!” The Owl snarled at him as the flame began to swell. “I’m dangerous. I hurt people!”
“I don't care what you've done,” Tartaglia yelled back, trying to step closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The violet light of the Owl’s eyes darted back and forth before settling back to his gaze. “You... it's always you. How do you always find me?”
Tartaglia let a small smile slip out as he tilted his head, “I guess I keep looking for you.”
His eyes widened and with a shuddering breath, the glow in the Owl’s eyes faded. His knees began to give out, Tartaglia caught him before he could collapse. “It’s so loud,” The Owl hissed. “Even when it stops talking, I can still feel it thinking- like it’s a part of me.”
“Don’t listen to it.”
“I don’t know what to do..” there was a flicker of vulnerability in the Owl’s eyes as he looked up, “even if I could go back... How could I go back there like this?”
Tartaglia wasn’t sure exactly where the Owl was referring to but by his tone, it was somewhere important to him. “You’ll learn how to control that Delusion spirit. I’m sure there’s some way to use its power as your own.”
The Owl raised an eyebrow, skeptical at his confidence. “Really?” he scoffed, “And what happens the next time I lose control? You won’t be there then.”
The question made Tartaglia's voice catch in his throat for a moment, but he smiled instead, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You always find a way to survive.”
“What is the point of survival if all I can do is hurt people?” the Owl muttered quietly.
Looking at the despondent expression that had fallen over his face, Tartaglia gave a small sigh. Helping him back to his feet, he nodded away from the house with his head, “There’s something I want to show you.”
The Owl gave him a questioning look, but he refused to elaborate. He took several steps before looking back, waiting until curiosity got the better of the man. With a slightly miffed expression, the Owl followed after, watching him with interest.
Tartaglia led him along the edge of the small fishing down. At this time of night, it was all quiet except for the general clamor spilling out from the local tavern that probably wouldn’t die down for a few more hours. Leaving the merry lights behind, they followed a snow covered trail up alongside the shore until they reached a cliffside overlooking the sea. Looking back the entire village of Morepesok was visible from here.
Tall frost covered stones surrounded them as their footsteps broke through the fresh snow. Although it was only a short walk, few came up here without reason. Tartaglia knelt in front of one of the stones, gently wiping away the snow that had accumulated. Underneath, the name “Lyubov Artemiyevich Volkova” was meticulously hand carved into the stone’s surface.
Stepping closer to see what he was doing, the Owl stopped as he realized what he was looking at.
“It’s... a grave.”
Tartaglia nodded. Unclipping his Vision from his belt, he held it in his hand, looking at the swirling hydro within the blue orb. “This wasn’t always my Vision.”
The Owl blinked, before somber realization came over him. “Oh.” He seemed almost at a loss for words on how to offer his sympathy.
“When my eldest brother came of age, before he left he promised to write letters and visit often... but that was the last time I saw him. My mother left to find him. She made a promise that she’d come back. I believed her because she’d never broken a promise to me before.” He swallowed, “One day a sleigh bearing the insignia of the Palestar came to our house and all they could return to us was her empty Vision.”
Tartaglia could see the way the Owl’s jaw set, anger sparking in his expression. He knew what conclusion the man had jumped to. “You know the Fatui do more kill people. They try to protect them too.” He sighed and shrugged, “I’m a Fatui harbinger. I’ve dug around and there are no records of her death within the Fatui.”
“Maybe whoever didn’t think it was significant enough to record,” the Owl said coldly.
“Perhaps... It was years ago, but then why return the Vision?” he asked, flipping the Vision so it dangled from his hand. “I was only fourteen when she died. My mother was the heart of our family. She knew how to get my father to smile and the young ones to quiet down, keeping the peace between everyone. And she had a fierce temper if you managed to anger her. You didn’t need to understand sign language to know you needed to run,” he said with a small laugh.
Glancing toward him, some emotion seemed to simmer just under the surface of the Owl’s expression. Looking away, he muttered, “It must have been difficult to lose her.”
“It was hard for my family, especially my father. He became despondent. In my young mind, I felt I had to do something to help. And when I touched that masterless Vision that had once been my mothers, it reignited.” He looked down at the Vision in his hand again, “I took it as a sign and set off into the woods to become an adventurer.”
“Why an adventurer?”
“My father used to tell me stories about an adventurer who found treasure and used it to help those who needed it. And my mother had spent her younger years as an adventurer, exploring the furthest edges of Teyvat. I suppose to me, it felt like my destiny,” Tartaglia answered with a shrug. “But my adventure was short-lived. I was attacked by rifthounds and fell into the Abyss.”
The Owl blinked, taking a second look at him, “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I like to say I make my own luck,” Tartaglia grinned. “I managed to survive long enough to run into a woman who took pity on me. She trained me and taught me how to use the power of the Abyss. When I finally made it back, my family found my temperament was different, wild and battle hungry. I picked a fight with almost everything that moved.”
“That does... explain a lot.”
Tartaglia chuckled at his response, “That choice I made to leave home, it changed me. I can never go back to being that boy who dreamed of nothing but adventure and glory. But that’s okay. I would never have gained the power I have now and become a harbinger if not for that choice. I would never have been able to save you.” He looked at the Owl, “And maybe, one day you’ll find something that you would not have been able to do if not for that Delusion's power.”
The Owl seemed to consider what he’d said, but his brows still pinched together. “I once thought I had everything I needed. But none of it could help me get the revenge I wanted.”
“Is that still what you want?”
The Owl glanced toward the Vision, his hand reaching out with curiosity. “I don’t know...”
Tartaglia held out his vision, letting the Owl touch it. As his finger brushed across the crystalline surface, he yanked hand back with a hiss of pain.
“What the...” his brows drawn into a frown, as confused Tartaglia was.
Tilting his head, Tartalia started to ask, “Are you hurt-”
“I think it's...” he attempted to touch the Vision again, this time with his whole hand. His body jolted and he jumped back. The color of his eye flashed purple as sparks of black flame flickered around him. As he blinked, the color and flames faded but his confusion did not as he finished, “... your Vision.”
“Are you okay?”
The Owl nodded slowly, looking at his hand, “I don’t think the Delusion spirit likes Visions that much. It felt like my body was... trying to reject it.”
“But you feel okay now?”
He paused and then nodded, “As long as I’m not touching it, I’m fine.”
“That’s one new thing you’ve learned about your Delusion spirit,” Tartaglia told with a small smile, as he tucked his Vision safely away into a pocket. As he looked back up, another thought occurred to him. “Will that mean... you won’t be able to use your own Vision?”
The Owl frowned, his brows furrowing as he looked away, “I don’t know...”
“Right, you said you left it behind. I guess whether you can use it or not isn’t much of a concern right now.” Tartaglia hummed, “Do you ever think you’ll go back there?”
There was a distant look in the Owl’s eyes. “I can’t imagine it. I-” his breath caught in his throat before he let it go, his eyes falling as he whispered, “I’m not the same person that I was. The people I knew, they don’t need someone like me in their lives.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re in mine.”
The Owl looked up at him, blinking in surprise. But the light in his eyes dimmed as his gaze fell, “After I leave... I suppose it’ll be for the best if we never see each other again. I won’t let myself get captured again.”
“That’s good,” Tartaglia said with a small snort, but a small smile crept across his expression as he turned to the Owl, “I won’t go looking for you again if you promise me something. We never got to finish our fight. You almost killed me a couple times, but I got you back too so we can call it even.” He tilted his head, “I can’t stand a tie. One day, when you’ve gotten a hang of that new power of yours, I want a rematch.”
The Owl stared at him, frowning for a moment before a smile pulled at his lip, “Very well. Don’t expect it to be easy. I won’t run away next time.”
Tartaglia grinned, “I promise I’ll have new tricks of my own then too. I can’t wait to see if you can withstand my Foul Legacy-" a cold shiver ran up his spine, a brain freeze shooting through his mind, and suddenly he wasn’t standing by the ocean in front of his mother’s grave.
The smell of salty sea water and the sound of crashing waves was replaced by a frigid cold wind that seemed to tear through him. Walls of ice surrounded him, a crystalline balcony overlooking a fjord, ever frozen in ice. A woman stood at the railing, her hands curled around the cold ice as she looked out across the landscape that stretched before her. Her hair spilled across her shoulders and down the back of her elegant white gown, delicate snowflakes adorning the locks. Letting out a soft sigh, no exhale of breath was visible in the cold air.
The Tsaritsa turned away from the view to face him, “Hello, Tartaglia.”
Instinctively, Tartaglia tried to kneel, but found himself unable to move. He had no body. He wasn’t physically there, but he could feel his consciousness held there by the archon’s power.
“I apologize if I interrupted something, but we need to speak.” She smiled but the expression was cold, the curl of her lips offering no kindness. “You have been unfaithful to your oath.”
Tartaglia wanted to answer, but he had no mouth or hands to form words with.
“There is no need for words here. I will know what you know,” the Tsaritsa said, as if sensing his thoughts. “Il Dottore has already informed me of what happened at the Haeresys, but I wish to give you a chance to explain. Did you let the Owl go when you could have captured him?”
He hesitated. Technically he could have captured the Owl if he had transformed, but he had been trying to conserve his strength. A tug pulled from within his mind, drawing out the response out of him. His voice echoed in the space around them like a ghostly after image. “I did not want to use the full extent of my powers. I would have caught him eventually.”
"Want" hadn’t been the word he had tried to use but as he tried to form any other, he couldn’t change the word he spoke.
“Why did you take so long to capture him?”
“I was having fun.”
There was a sigh from the Tsaritsa that made him cringe. It reminded him of his mother’s disappointment when he got in trouble. He tried to avoid the piercing cold of her gaze, but even his vision could not shift away.
“Did you free the Owl after Il Dottore had captured him?”
The answer was pulled out of him, “Yes.”
“What do you intend to do with him?”
Tartaglia tried to resist, but the tug within him grew intense. It almost felt like something was ripping before the words spilled free. “I’m going to help him across the border and escape Snezhnaya.”
The Tsaritsa froze before stepping closer, the dismay in her words growing sharper. “Why would you do such a thing? The Owl is a threat to the Fatui. He has killed our people and destroyed that which we’ve worked so hard to build. Our plans have been delayed because of him. Must our people wait even longer in this flawed world?”
He writhed in discomfort as if the pressure of her disappointment was crushing him. Pin pricks of ice buried into him, shifting and stabbing as he tried to pull away from the cold. “I didn’t want Dottore to have him-” Feelings choked in his throat, fighting to break free, “It wasn’t right. I didn’t want to see him like that- I couldn’t let him die- I...”
The tension burst apart and something hot and painful poured free. It felt like he was bleeding, his guts spilling out before her, unsure of what the mess in front of him even was. He gagged, unable to make a sound as the raw emotions were torn out from him
Regret formed across the Tsaritsa face, sadness tainting her expression, as she understood the feeling he could not put to words. “You love him.”
Was that what this was? This burning feeling felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside. It brought such warmth, he wanted to keep it close, yet it was scalding to the ice inside him.
“It is only a mere seed at the moment,” the Tsaritsa said, “But should it take root, he will pull you from the path you have sworn to walk. Remember your oath. Your heart must remain pure.”
The sound of Tartaglia’s voice had turned to rasp, as he asked, “How?”
“Pluck out the seed and crush it.” Her voice was gentle, as if carefully helping him pull out a sliver from his finger. “If you wish to fulfill your destiny, let him go. Grant him mercy and lay him to rest. Only then will you be able to face the fate before you.”
Tartaglia shuddered, burning hot and freezing cold searing him from within. He knew what she was asking. He didn’t want to do it.
“What will you choose, my dear Tartaglia?” her voice softly whispered.
The question curled around his mind like a frigid mist and then the connection between them broke, the sound of crashing waves rushing back into his ears. Tartaglia gasped, his body trembling as it shrugged to move. The cold that had felt like it had pieced his body remained, his entire body limp and heavy.
Red eyes looked down on him in worry, brows creased with concern. It took him a moment to realize that he was lying in the Owl’s arm, the coat he’d given him wrapped around his own body, keeping him from the snow covered ground.
“What... happened?” he mumbled.
“You collapsed!” There was panic in the Owl’s voice. “Your body temperature started falling and I couldn’t do anything- I thought you were going to die.”
Tartaglia blinked, feeling almost confused by the way the Owl spoke. Shifting, there was glittering ice that fell from his hair. Looking down, he realized frost had formed across his skin. It was a stark pale color and his fingers had begun to turn a deep purple.
“Oh.” For a moment he only stared blankly up at the Owl as his body slowly began to warm. He could feel the heat radiating off the man. It felt so nice a part of him just wanted to snuggle up with him and go to sleep- Blood flushed his cheeks at the thought. He pushed away, trying to stand. Igniting his hydro Vision, water curled around Tartaglia’s hands and formed two sabers. The Owl stared at him, brows furrowing into a deeper frown.
Those red eyes he had become so familiar with, usually burning with anger, had softened, the burning embers cooling. Worry and confusion pulled at his expression, trying to understand. This man that Tartaglia had saved, bandaged his wounds and watched over, now looked to him, concerned over his health.
Tartaglia could end it all here. He wouldn’t even need to transform. A single well placed slice across the neck and it would all be over. There was just one issue.
He didn’t want to.
With an exasperated sigh, he let the water disperse. “I can’t do it.”
The Owl blinked, confusion turning to suspicion, “Do what? What’s going on?”
Tartaglia took a deep breath, lifted a hand to his collarbone. It was cold to the touch. Unbuttoning his shirt, he revealed the cryo mark seared into his flesh. “I took an oath when I became a harbinger. I was marked with the Tsaritsa’s power. Apparently... she can use it to communicate with me.”
The Owl’s eyes widened, outrage rising in his voice, “That was the Tsaritsa? She almost killed you!”
Nodding, Tartaglia gave the man a solemn look, “She asked me to kill you.”
At once, the Owl froze, looking up at him and lifting his left hand as if ready to summon a weapon. But he paused, the implication of what he’d first said finally dawning on him. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Tartaglia promised. “I told you I’d help you cross the border and I intend to keep my word.”
“Won’t that anger the Tsaritsa?”
“She’s not the issue,” Tartaglia said. The Tsaritsa had given him a choice. She would not interfere either way. “The problem is my colleagues.”
The Owl instantly understood, “The other harbingers will come after you.”
“We're not supposed to fight each other, but... if I can’t do this, I will lose the protection of the Tsaritsa.” He sighed, “I’ve already interfered in Il Dottore’s territory. From the report at the Fatui outpost here, it sounds like he’s already put out a warrant for me.”
“Right...” The Owl looked at his hands, almost apologetically. “Is there anything you can do?”
“Offer myself up as his test subject instead?” Tartaglia muttered sarcastically, shaking his head. “I could hide out in Nod-Krai for a while I guess, but I doubt that would stop them for long. Dottore has always wanted a chance to get his hands on my Foul Legacy. Maybe I could fall into the Abyss again and hide there for a decade."
“That doesn’t sound like a plan.”
“I need to think this over,” he muttered. “Let’s talk again in the morning. Maybe by then I’ll have... thought of something...” He trailed off, trying not to show how uncertain he was.
The Owl stared at him for a moment, something seeming to flicker behind his eyes but said nothing as they left the graveyard.
Tartaglia really didn’t know what he could do. The second harbinger would be coming for revenge. There wasn’t even the hope to test his strength, since the Doctor was the type to fight dirty. Poison and manipulation were his specialty, only using force as a means to an end. Against the Doctor, there would be no real fight.
And without the title of harbinger protecting him, losing against Dottore would mean becoming a puppet for the second harbinger. He would be chained and brought to heel, turned into a dog for the man.
As the path winded around the edge of town, two shadows made their ways in their direction, the glow of a lamp light jostling with each step. Tartaglia considered taking an alternate path to avoid them when the lamp lifted, light scattering across the snow.
“Is that... the lil' Volkov boy?” A slurred voice echoed in the quiet night. “Who’s ‘at with you?”
The man lifted the lamp higher as they approached, shining into their eyes, but also clearly illuminating the forms of both Borya and Rudolf. Tartaglia could smell the alcohol on their breath. They must have been heading back from the tavern.
He did his best not to grimace, “You look like you’re having some trouble walking. Why don’t you hurry back home? Who knows what you’ll run into the dark.”
Rudolf squinted at him, his face twitching, “Like a fey freak like you?” His eyes darted toward the Owl, “That there must be one ‘em changelings you're inviting in... Don’t think we can’t see right through you and your little tricks.”
The lantern flickered as Borya took a step closer, “Hey, didn’t that Fatuus say the harbinger they been looking for was a redhead?”
A silence clamped over them and Rudolf’s eyes widened as he noticed the blood red locks of hair spilling across the Owl’s face. His hand shook as he pointed, “That’s him! Red hair! You brought a wanted man here. I knew it! I knew you were just some back stabbing, fish spined, fae that couldn't be trusted!”
That accusation put Tartaglia in a difficult place. They believed he smuggled the wanted Fatui harbinger here. He couldn’t very well explain that Owl was not a harbinger, but in fact a different man also very wanted by the Fatui. Either way, when the Fatui came, these two would point straight to him.
And if he weren’t here, the next place they would look would be his family.
He gave a long sigh, glancing toward the Owl. The man looked from the drunk men and then back to him, understanding the situation they were in. He gave a solemn nod, letting him deal with this how he saw fit. Unfortunately, there was only one way to make sure these two would not go spilling their guts to the next Fatuus they saw for a couple bottles of beer.
There was a flicker of blue light as Tartaglia vision ignited and hydro condensed in the air, wrapping around his hands as they formed into sabers.
“Let me ask you one thing,” he said lightly, watching fear begin to dawn in their expressions, “if one of us is a rogue harbinger, how are you planning to live long enough to tell anyone?”
The lamp light scattered, splashing the snow with illumination as Borya turned and ran. Rudolf began to stumble back, but the terror seemed to have frozen him in place.
Glancing at the man, Tartaglia gave him a thin smile as he pulled back his saber. The weapon twisted into a spear and he threw it. There was a gutted cry and the lamp fell, extinguishing itself in the snow. Looking back to Rudolf, he could see the man was blind in darkness, eyes darting around in fear.
Leaning close, Tartaglia whispered, “You were wrong. That man is not the rogue harbinger. I am.” And with a quick slash across the man’s neck, red swirled into the hydro of his blade. The body collapsed, dead.
Tartaglia flicked the blood from his hands and let his weapons disperse. Now he just had to clean up this mess he’d made. Grabbing Rudolf’s body he dragged it behind him as he walked over to where Borya had fallen. Confirming the man was dead, hydro swirled in his hand, forming a ball of water. He let it crash down onto the snow, washing away the pool of blood that had begun to accumulate. Taking both bodies, he started making his way toward the shore.
This time of night, the tide was beginning to rise. Tartaglia heaved the bodies into the surf, knowing the rising waters would soon carry them out to sea. The riptide would drag them away and take them miles from here.
“This isn’t your first time hiding a body,” the Owl commented, watching him from the edge of the water line.
“I had hoped it would never be something I’d never have to do here.” Tartaglia muttered, “But to keep my family safe, I’ll do whatever I have to.”
He might have saved them from the direct danger, but he knew the disappearance of the two men would be noticed. Even if there was no evidence, there would be whispers of suspicion. Wherever he went, danger would follow. Washing the blood from his hands in the icy water, Tartaglia gave a long sigh, frowning at the red color beginning to mix with the surf, “I can’t stay here any longer.”
“Then come with me.”
Tartaglia blinked, wondering if he’d misheard the man, but as he turned he found the Owl holding a hand out in offering.
He stared, surprise shocking him still. “You want me... to leave with you?” he clarified.
The man grumbled, huffing as he started to pull away, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand that we’re not allies or anything...” his hand hesitated. “I just thought we could watch each other's backs for a little longer.”
Their eyes met again and this time they could not avoid the stare of the other. Tartaglia felt warm blood flush his cold cheeks and he couldn’t help remembering what the Tsaritsa had said. He wouldn’t call it love, but he would admit, he had grown fond of the Owl. He cared about this man. He did not want him to die.
Stepping out of the surf, Tartaglia took the Owl’s hand, letting him pull him away from the bloody waters. “The hunt begins again,” Tartaglia said, grinning despite himself, “except, we’re both the prey this time.”
The Owl grunted, rolling his eyes as they stepped into the white snow. “As if you were ever the hunter.”
“What, did you think that was you?” Tartaglia teased, chasing after. After another moment, he added, “I’ve wanted to tell you, my name’s Ajax.”
“Ajax,” the Owl seemed to consider the weight of the name, “like from the myth.”
“Exactly!” Tartaglia laughed, “I’m surprised you recognized it. You don’t really strike me as the scholarly type.”
The Owl looked over at him, his mouth seeming to quirk in what might have been a smile. “I’m actually fairly well read. My background is probably not what you’re imagining...”
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” Ajax brushed up against his shoulder, leaning close. “If we’re going to travel together, then I suppose we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”
“Then you should start with my name,” the Owl said, his voice warming, “Call me Diluc.”
The two of them slowly made their way back from the shore, making their next plans together.
The front door creaked open as Tartaglia snuck inside. The room was exactly how he’d left it, Felix still curled up on the couch with a warm blanket, all their supplies except for what the Owl had already taken sitting beside him. Creeping over to the young soldier, Tartaglia gently shook him by the shoulder.
“Huh? The morning bell hasn’t even rung...” Felix mumbled starting to turn over before his eyes snapped open. Seeing Tartaglia, he sat up in alarm. “My Lord, are we in danger?”
“Shhh,” Tartaglia gestured for him to lower his voice. “Nothing like that. But we do need to leave. And I’d like to do that without waking my family.”
The soldier quickly blinked the sleep out of his eyes and nodded. “I’ll go and ready the sleigh,” he said as he started to grab their supplies.
Tartaglia grabbed a couple of the bags, looking through the contents, “Put these ones with horses; the rest can go on the sleigh.”
“Yes, my Lord.” He blinked and paused as he noticed the plural word, “Horses?”
“There’s been a change of plans. I’ll explain after I’m finished with a few things in here.”
Nodding, the soldier grabbed the gear and quietly stepped outside. The Owl was already out there, tacking up the horses. Apparently he had quite some experience riding.
He looked around the old house, memories of growing up here so warm in his mind, yet so stark to the dark room he found himself standing in. Swallowing the nostalgia, he quickly grabbed some paper to write a note. It was brief, only explaining that he had to leave suddenly and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Alongside it, he left a pile of coins as well, smiling as he knew that his father would be unable to refuse them this time.
Giving one last look at this place, he turned away and slipped out into the night.
Outside Felix was hitching the reindeer up to the sleigh as the Owl led the two horses over. The second one, they had picked up on their way back to the house. Given the late hour, Tartaglia thought it better instead of waking up the owner to negotiate a price, he had simply left an ample sum of mora in the horse’s place.
“I just finished preparing the sleigh. Everything else is ready. We can leave at your command,” Felix said as he turned to face him. “Where do you wish to go?”
“Ah... thank you, but we will not be taking the sleigh,” Tartaglia told him.
Felix blinked, “I’m sorry?”
“You will be.”
“Me? But what about you...” he trailed off, finally understanding why there were two horses. “Oh, I see.”
“I was only going to send the Owl out with some supplies, but... our plans have changed,” Tartaglia said. “I will be joining him.”
“Will you be coming back?”
“No.”
A frown spread across Felix’s face but he slowly nodded. “What are my orders?”
Tartaglia pulled out a pouch with the last of his money on hand and handed it to the young soldier. “Take the sleigh and go back. Tell the Fatui whatever you need to- I threatened you or I left in the middle of the night without a word- just please don’t mention Morepesok. I’m doing this for your family so I’d appreciate it if you left mine out as well.”
“Yes, Lord Childe.”
Tartaglia gave him a smile, “From now on, you don’t have to call me that. I am not your superior.”
Felix nodded and took a step back, looking back as he climbed into the sleigh. “Good luck, Gasha. I wish you safe travels.”
With a crack of the reins, the reindeer took off, snow flying into the air as the sleigh pulled away. Tartaglia watched its shape dwindle and eventually disappear.
Looking back to the Owl, his expression slipped a bit, but he tried to brush it aside, “I suppose we should be off.”
“Do you have everything you want?” The Owl asked, looking back toward the house.
“Want? I didn’t expect you to be so sentimental, Diluc,” Tartaglia smiled to himself as he practiced using the Owl’s real name. From the man's reaction, it seemed he needed just as much practice to hear it used again, blinking almost in surprise.
Clearly his throat quietly, he clarified, “For most people, when you're far from home, bring something along with you to remind you the place can bring comfort while you are gone.” He spoke distantly, as it was something he had no experience with.
Tartaglia prodded, “Did you bring something from your home?”
The Owl’s gaze dimmed as he answered, “No... nothing that I still have.”
From his tone, there almost seemed to be regret laced into his words. Perhaps he wished he brought something more. But for Tartaglia, there was nothing here he wished to take, though he wished there was something more he could leave behind.
“Then no, there’s nothing else I want, nothing else I can take with me at least.”
There was a click and the creak of the front door. The Owl looked past him, expression softening, “I think there is one thing you missed.”
Tartaglia turned to see the face of his youngest brother staring up at him, eyes brows pinched together. “Gasha, where are you going?”
The question was so innocent, only concern in his voice. His heart squeezed tight as he tried to answer. This is why he tried to avoid goodbyes. He gulped and bent down, looking Teucer in the eyes. “Do you remember Father’s stories? About a boy named Ajax...” Hydro swirled in his hand, forming a small whale, a horn at the tip of its snout. He made it swim around the boy, distracting him from noticing the expression Tartaglia was unable to hide. “He went on a grand adventure across the sea, discovering unknown lands and finding treasure. I... I’m going on an adventure like Ajax. I’ll get to see all sorts of places outside Snezhnaya. And if I find any treasure, I’ll save it just for you.”
A pout spread across the boy’s face, “But why? You just got here!”
“I know, I wish I could stay longer-” his voice choked up and he tried to regather himself. “I have to go. I have to keep you safe.”
“But you’ll be back, right?”
For a moment Tartaglia froze, his body as still as when the Tsaritsa had almost turned him to ice. But he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his brother, squeezing him tight. “I don’t know when... it might not be for a long time, but one day, I’ll come back, okay?”
A spark of hope flickered in the young boy’s eyes. “Pinky promise?”
“Pinky promise.”
As their smallest fingers locked together, Tartaglia felt something in his chest break. He would make sure he kept this promise, one way or another. He reached out toward the construct of a whale he had created, infusing it with enough energy to make it come to life. Guiding it to Teucer, he told him, “Here, this whale of the deep will stay by your side while I’m gone. It’ll watch over you.”
The whale swam through the air, dancing around the boy. Teucer gave a giggle, watching it with wonder. Tartaglia smiled and stepped back. The Owl helped him up onto the horse, before climbing onto his own. His heart was still heavy as they began to trot away. Risking a glance back, he could see Teucer waving to them.
He left his goodbye on the wind, unheard by no one but the winter frost, “Goodbye, Tyoma. It may be a long time till we see each other again, but perhaps you’ll come find me before that.”