Chapter Text
In a frigid Snezhnayan winter, the sea winds of Morepesok do nothing but intensify the cold. The wind that had been tamely nipping at Childe’s face for the past few months had now picked up unto an uproar, lashing out at Morepesok’s poor residents in a harsh flurry of ice and frost. The air is freezing too; Childe’s face is numb and his hands are near-frozen. He brings his scarf up higher in a futile attempt to warm up his earlobes, which feel as though they’re on fire. By the time he reaches the dirt path leading to the secluded cottage where he and his three siblings live, a thin layer of snow has already begun to form on the ground.
It’s in such conditions that Childe considers himself lucky to be on a rare vacation. Following his successful return with Morax’s Gnosis, Tsaritsa had granted him a short break from his duties as a Harbinger as reward. At first, he couldn’t believe it- he’d much rather be training again in the familiarity of her barracks, honing his fighting skills, but instead it was like she was dismissing him. He could do nothing but dip his head and thank her in front of the other harbingers. But once he’d gotten over his initial moping, it had actually been nice to have some time to himself and his family. He’s been able to spend more time with his siblings, who he’s proud to find have been growing up strong and brave without him. And he can take leisurely walks around his hometown, reminiscing the little of his past that he can remember. It should be great. Would be great if his conscience weren’t punching him in the gut every time his mind flitted to his time in Liyue.
A year ago, he wasn’t even sure he had a conscience. Not that he really cared back then.
He’d always been the bloodthirsty, prideful Tartaglia ever since he’d met the Tsaritsa on that fateful night, which was really the night he began to live. Everything before that is a haze to him, but he vaguely remembers the cold nights spent hungry and afraid, huddled next to his baby siblings. Crying in confusion, they had reached out with their little hands for reassurance, something that he as a half-starved nine year old had been unable to give. They had come face to face with death before they’d even understood what life was.
He’d fought partly for them, so they would never have to live with that sort of fear ever again. Upon receiving his first promotion bonus, he immediately bought an old cottage bordering their hometown where they had a view of the sea. It was safe there, and once they’d all worked at patching up the place, it felt a bit like the home they’d never had. Teucer, Anthon, and Tonia settled in well, and several of the old ladies in the seaside village took it upon themselves to check in on the children once in a while while Childe was off on another mission. They’d grown up faster than Childe liked to admit, and now Anthon had his first job apprenticing for a local blacksmith. He’d never explicitly told his siblings what he did to support them. Anthon and Tonia knew he worked for the Tsaritsa, but nothing else, and Teucer still thought Childe worked as a traveling merchant. He wasn’t about to destroy his younger brother’s view of him and the world, so he kept his mouth shut and told Anthon and Tonia to do the same. He’d explain everything to them one day.
But while he fought for his siblings, he also fought for himself. He’d detested the feeling of being weak and powerless in a world where the people’s hearts were frozen solid. He could do nothing while his siblings slowly starved to death. He had only been a child, but even then his heart was filled with cold resentment for the people who’d walked past them on the street as if they didn’t exist, who saw dying children yet stood by and did nothing. So he felt no remorse when he’d killed a man in cold blood for kicking his sister with an armored boot. She had been too weak to even cry out, though blood dribbled from her mouth and a dark bruise blossomed across her skinny ribs. He’d ambushed the man when the night was darkest, as the man was stumbling home on the rain slicked streets. Childe had crept behind him, stabbing him in the neck with a piece of glass from the wine bottle that the man had carelessly dropped. He’d listened to the man’s desperate gurgles grow weaker and weaker, and when the man slumped to the blood-covered ground, he noticed that the cerulean Vision at the man’s waist had gone dark.
His first thought had been to laugh. A despicable man like this, granted a gift from the gods? He had run his fingers over the smooth glass, and to his surprise the dull blue began to glow softly underneath his cautious touch. The Hydro Archon was known as the God of Justice. Maybe, then, the gods had finally realized his worth.
It was like this that the Tsaritsa had found him; a scrawny child, splattered with blood that was not his own, clutching a Hydro Vision like a lifeline. Maybe he’d taken her hand that night not just because he needed her help to keep his siblings alive, but because a new, dark, ambition was flickering awake inside of him.
He grew up under her cold, strict guidance, learning to master all forms of weapons and use his Hydro vision to conjure instruments of death out of pure water, all while discarding his past identity and taking up the new name of Tartaglia. Countless skirmishes added to his natural ability to cause chaos fostered his taste for blood and his love for battle. He’d clawed his way up from the lowest rung to the top, because he’d promised himself never to be weak again. He owed his life and his siblings’ life to the Tsaritsa. And it was all worth it.
That is, until he’d gone to Liyue with the task of stealing the Geo Archon’s Gnosis. He still keeps thinking back to that time, and how long has it been since he left? Three months? Maybe it was Zhongli’s eyes. That deep amber always seemed to pierce through his soul, to its darkest corners. Too bad he won’t ever be able to look at those eyes directly- no, not in a million years-, since he was the one who had betrayed them all.
Childe’s making his way through the snow with a bit of difficulty now- in the time that it’s taken for him to hike up the hill to the house, the gale has whipped up the flurry of snow into a full-blown blizzard. He’s longing for a hot drink by the time he reaches the wooden door. Tonia’s sbiten never fails to impress, and what he really needs right now is the warm and homey taste of honey and jam. He raps on the door, and Tonia instantly swings it open, a disapproving look on her face. Whoops.
“Where have you been, big brother? It’s freezing outside!”
Childe cracks a smile. “Just walking around. Look,” -to change the subject, he pulls a small bag of colorful crochet yarn out of his pocket- “I got this just for you, Tonia.”
Tonia instantly lights up, and Childe smiles inwardly. She’s recently taken up knitting small things for her brothers. “Thank you, big brother! I love it!” She cradles the gift to her chest just as Anthon and Teucer come running over.
“Big brother!” They both chorus, bright smiles on both of their faces. Teucer sneaks a glance at the yarn in Tonia’s hands. Just barely, but Childe notices anyway.
Since Childe is a good big brother and therefore has prepared for inevitable jealousy, he pulls out two more gifts from his satchel, the product of his wanderings today. “Anthon, I got this short blade for you, to celebrate you getting your first apprenticeship. It’s mostly ornamental, but can be dangerous, so be careful.” Anthon takes it with undisguised excitement, but with all the solemnity of a seventeen year old.
To Teucer Childe hands something he had custom-made at the forge: a Mr. Cyclops figure. It’s an inside joke between them- once, when they were younger, Childe and Teucer had stumbled upon a ruin with a ruin guard in it, and Teucer had called it “Mr. Cyclops”, thinking it was some sort of giant toy and not realizing that it was a dangerous machine. They’d escaped, but not without a few scratches and bruises. Even so, they’d burst into a laughing fit once they reached the safety of their home. “This is for you, Teucer.”
Teucer grins, obviously remembering that day, as he takes the figure from Childe. “Thanks, big brother! I’ll treasure it when you’re away.” Childe gives him an approving smile in return. He’s proud of what his siblings have become.
Tonia takes the opportunity to put her disapproving face back on. “Big bro Ajax, you’ll catch cold! I’ll make sbiten for you since it’s your favorite. Sit down!”
Ah… Ajax . He abandoned that name- his birth name- when he became Tartaglia, but it’s nice to hear his siblings call him that all the same. It still feels like part of him, anyway.
Anthon interrupts. “Hey Tonia, can I have some too?”
In response, Tonia puts her hands on her hips. “Make yourself some later.”
Anthon pulls a face at her, tousling her hair. “Aren’t I your big brother too?”
“Only by a year! And you’re never any use around the house.”
“That’s no fair.”
Childe chuckles at his siblings’ antics. It’s good to be home after all.
He drapes his scarf over one of the worn wooden hooks attached to the wall and follows Tonia’s eager beckoning into the warm, pine-scented kitchen. Anthon and Teucer trail behind, no doubt looking to pour themselves a mug of sbiten when Tonia isn’t looking. His siblings usher him into a seat at the wooden table and Tonia sets a kettle on the stove.
Tomorrow morning, if the blizzard has passed, he’ll go ice fishing. Maybe he’ll take his siblings with him- they haven’t had a chance to experience the meditation that comes with fishing. He’ll bring some fire-water for himself, maybe. For now, surrounded by the relaxed chatter of his family, he almost feels at peace. The snowstorm lashing at the windowpanes pales in comparison to the crackling fire in the house.
Tonia pours the hot sbiten into a mug, and Childe’s fingers wrap around it just as there’s a knock at the door.
Childe frowns, setting it down. “Are we expecting anyone today?”
His siblings look equally perplexed. “Not that I know of,” Anthon replies.
“To go out and about in a storm like this.. there sure is a fine line between bravery and idiocy,” Teucer remarks. He has a point. Whoever’s at the door is probably a seasoned crosser of said line. Who goes up to a random cottage on a cliffside during a blizzard?
“You think maybe it’s someone from the village?” Tonia asks.
“Probably not, but I’ll check anyway,” Childe sighs, getting up from his comfortable seat. His siblings trail him, curious about the mysterious visitor. Childe’s curious too, but for sure not so curious that’d he’d forgive this person for tearing him away from a perfectly nice hot drink.
And if this person is a threat to any of their safeties…. well.
“Hello?” He swings the wooden door open without looking at who’s there. Honestly, he’s more focused on facing away from the icy blast of air that instantly enters the house. His eyes sting, and the gust brings snow with it too . That’s going to be wonderful to clean up .
“Hello, Childe.”
By the Archons.
Childe knows that voice. He would recognize that voice anywhere. His head snaps back so quickly that it almost gives him whiplash. A man with amber eyes and long brown hair.
“Uh,” Childe says, extremely eloquently. Fuck.
Zhongli stands at the door, in a brown muffler and a thick Snezhnayan fur coat. He quirks up a corner of his mouth at Childe’s siblings staring wide-eyed from behind him.
“..May I come in?”