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Summary
Above him, beyond the frozen surface, Childe can see it in flashes. A brutal storm of violent purple lightning and blinding golden lights that would leave the oceans themselves churning. It echoes in clashing metal and broken war cries. If Childe were to focus through the muffle of the water, perhaps he could even make out a pleading shriek of his own name.
Though he can’t be sure. Even as the war rages and the Golden House crumbles, from Childe’s position it is nothing more than strange shadows and low, pulsing beats. It’s almost calming.
For now, he is safe. Distant. Closing his eyes, Childe allows himself to rest. Just for a little while.
