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Ajax thought about the series of events that led up to his current situation: crouched down behind a fully grown apple tree, hiding among berry shrubs and blending in with the shadows casted by the looming concrete walls that protected the inner circle of houses. He tried not to look over at their burning chimneys and lit windows, silhouettes of running, screaming, happy children passing through. It was a stark contrast to the memory of his siblings at home, most likely all huddled up in a corner with only a large quilt and each other for warmth. More urgently, he thought about Tonia, lying in bed with a high fever while Anthon cradled a teething Teucer to his chest.
With the plague that ravaged their village, leaving no survivors in its wake except for the lucky few—or unlucky, he would bitterly think on nights when his stomach had been so empty it would shrivel up on itself—prices for medicine had begun to skyrocket, feeding the pouches of the rich while cutting down on the mouths of the poor. Even with the odd jobs he was doing, it would take days, maybe weeks before he had enough money for medicine, and he wasn’t willing to take the risk.
Tonight, he would sneak in and steal what he needed for Tonia.
You have been gifted with a Vision, Ajax. Use it well.
He shook his head, willing his late father’s voice away from his mind. Law or not, he could not find it in himself to feel bad about using his Vision to obtain medicine for his sister, especially not when the law for some reason would allow for the inflation of essentials in a time of crisis.
Quietly, he observed the inside of the pharmacy through the small window on the side of the building, watching as the two ladies inside began packing up. Earlier on, he’d walked in, memorising the opening hours on the sign and asking to take a look at the fever medicine they had in hand, purposely pretending to check the bottle against another random medicine he’d grabbed from the shelf, before sheepishly returning both to the receptionist after claiming to have forgotten his coin pouch at home.
Yet, if one were to rummage through his belongings, one would find the fourteen-year-old boy’s savings tucked neatly in a corner beneath the salt and pepper bottles, not at all heavy with Mora. He had spent the day’s salary on bread, potatoes and seasoning, and the leftover was not nearly enough to buy a smile, much less a bottle of golden elixir.
And so, he waited in the shadows. As the minutes ticked by, his wrists grew numb and stiff, the cold crawling up to his fingers, the skin of his face slowly losing feeling until he was no longer in his own body, but a mere host to the harsh Snezhnayan winter. Goose pimples popped up like miniature dendro slimes on his neck, hair raising and brushing against the fabric of his collar, yet he didn’t so much as shiver; the only movement that gave away the fact that he was still alive was the even shift of his abdomen, breathing in and out through his nose. Sometimes, he even forgot to blink.
Then, the chimes by the pharmacy door rang in the distance, and the two ladies stepped out hand-in-hand, with the lights going off not a minute after. Slowly, the boy’s consciousness came back to him. His frozen fingers twitched, and that sudden, singular movement threw him into a full-body shiver. He righted himself immediately, scanning the area to reassure himself that there was no one around to witness his coming crime.
He waited a while longer, watching the couple’s backs while breathing hot air on to his wrists. The heat went as quickly as it came, but he had no time to worry about that. The moment he could no longer see the women’s figures, he dashed forward, hugging the groceries to his chest and rolling and pressing his back against the door. Closing his eyes, he checked for sounds once more. None. Steadying himself, he held a finger up, concentrating as he formed a needle of water on his fingertip. Then, inserting the thread into the keyhole, he willed the water to move around, tinker with the right spots until to his elation, the door opened with a click.
A rush of excitement coursed through him. Immediately, he dashed forward, jumping over the counter to open the cupboard he’d seen the lady go through. Even in the darkness, it didn’t take long to find the blue packaging, with hydrostar written on it and a picture of a figure lying in bed with a towel over their head.
To minimize suspicion, he took some other unrelated medicines as well, including painkillers, potions that warmed you up and herbal mixtures that could be added to soup for extra nutrients, so that the pharmacists wouldn’t tie back the loss of one fever medicine to him. Just in case, he rearranged the contents in the cupboards meticulously as well. Perhaps the pharmacists wouldn’t be immediately alerted, and it would blur the time between the theft and the actual reporting.
Just you wait, Tonia, Big Brother will be right ba—
"Hey! Who goes there?!"
The hand that was closing the last of the cupboards froze for a second, and then finished up without the boy turning around. He didn’t answer, only gripped the satchel on his shoulder tightly.
"I said, who goes there?!"
So, he was the one being talked to.
Ajax had two options, and neither eliminated the risk of being seen by whoever it was behind him. So, he walked around the counter, head down, and asked, "What’s wrong? I’m only closing up."
"A boy like you, closing up?"
A tight laugh. He still refused to meet the man’s eyes, instead fixing his gaze down where he could tell from the man’s stance that he was a guard of some sort. "I’m an apprentice, see."
"Really? Then, show me your license." The man was suspicious, but whatever weapon he had, he wasn’t aiming it at him, at least.
"Sure," Ajax chirped, "let me just get it in my bag." Digging his hands into his satchel, he pretended to scour the bottom for the license card he didn’t have. He sighed and grunted as he kept on searching, all the while channeling his energy into his hand.
"Well? Hurry up."
"Found it," he said, and took his hand out to slash the man across the chest with a fully formed sword and enough force to send him flying.
Then, he made a run for it.
"Hey—kid! Stop!"
But he didn’t. He ran towards where he’d been hiding, hoping to shake his trail off in the darkness. To his horror, two masked figures came up from round the corner, spotting him. Though they didn’t immediately call out to him, the shadow of suspicion rested on their tense shoulders, and the boy knew he was done for. Behind him, he heard more footsteps and a second voice yelling after the first.
If he wanted out, he’d have to fight.
And fighting was the one thing he was good at.
To avoid getting ganged up on, he charged for the two in front first, fast and undeterred by the dark. Thrown off by the boy’s speed, the guards stumbled, and he used that opportunity to knock one down with a head to the chin and the other with a kick to the groin. He danced around them, the force of his water hitting their bare faces enough to make the men cry out in pain. The way he fought was like the sea itself, slipping between cracks and engulfing everything that stood in his way. They fell to his rhythm, back hitting concrete.
Too easy, Ajax thought smugly—
—only to find himself stuck.
"What—!"
Looking down, his swords had been frozen over, the ice extending from the ground all the way up to his elbows. As much as he struggled, cursing his own carelessness, he could barely move an inch against the blocks, and trying to twist to see who had hit him was just hurting his neck.
"What’s all this ruckus about?" The irritation in the new person’s voice was imminent. Ajax decided he didn’t like her already.
"Lady Signora!" the guards who had run over from the pharmacy cried. He hadn’t gotten a clear look earlier on, but now, Ajax could see that they donned the same attire as the other two—black robes, black masks. The two who had been groaning on the ground scrambled to regain their senses upon hearing the woman addressed.
"This child looks no more than… what, twelve?" I’m fourteen! "And four aspiring Fatui couldn’t even take him down?"
Ajax’s struggling ceased at the woman’s words. Fatui?
"L-Lady Signora—"
"Quiet, you useless mice. You would let Her Majesty walk the streets before having it cleansed of vermin? You should be—"
"Signora, that’s enough."
Once again, Ajax froze. Not from any more Cryo attacks, or the annoying lady lashing out, but because the latest voice was so… girly.
She couldn’t have been much older than him.
"Your Majesty! Please, let us handle—"
"He’s just a boy. Let me speak to him. Stay still." The last part was addressed to the boy, who suddenly didn’t dare make a sound. He’d heard of the Fatui, and of course, the ruling Cryo Archon of Snezhnaya, the Tsaritsa herself; he’d heard of her frosty demeanor, how with a flick of her finger, she could lay waste to an entire mountain, burying it in endless snow.
Now, she was going to hurt him, blackmail him, giving him a taste of her iron fist—but Ajax was resolute; he would never give his family away—
"There. You’re free."
"Wo—ahh!"
Ajax found himself losing balance as the ice disappeared—no, melted, sending him tumbling and falling face first into the ground. His swords all but evaporated; when he turned around to meet the Tsaritsa, his fists were raised on instinct.
Immediately, the guards came forward, restraining him. "How dare you, insolent brat! When Her Majesty showed you mercy even after your thieving and violent ways!"
To his surprise, Her Majesty was no more than a girl, who couldn’t have been more than five years older than him. The robes she adorned fitted her perfectly and overwhelmed her at the same time. Her face was a perfect blank canvas, not a blonde hair out of place. Though it was probably in part due to his own tall genes, she barely came up to his eye level, staring up at him with a blank face.
"What did you steal?" she asked, as if enquiring a child—which he was, but the contrast between her tone and the situation was jarring, to say the least.
The words left his mouth before he could help it. "Medicine. For my sister."
For a split second, the Tsaritsa’s eyes widened. Even in the darkness, the surprise that flashed across her eyes did not go unnoticed, before a gentleness unexpected of someone in her position settled in those golden orbs, and then, her voice. "You’re a big brother."
A statement, not a question.
Ajax hesitated. "Yes."
"How many?"
"...The stuff I stole, or my siblings?"
The queen blinked, and turned to cough into her fist. Initially, her trembling shoulders made it look like she was sick— can an Archon even get sick? —but in an unexpected turn of events, Ajax came to realize that she was laughing. And it must have been a rare sight too, because the shock on his face was just as well reflected in those of the guards and the head bodyguard.
Little giggles were escaping the Tsaritsa’s mouth, warming the air around them, and something in Ajax melted.
Even the lady from before seemed flustered. "Y-Your Majesty?" she asked, watching in awe.
"Sorry, sorry." Taking a deep breath, the Tsaritsa righted herself. When she met the boy’s eyes, she was smiling. "I won’t ask about the medicine. Your siblings. How many?"
The cautious part of Ajax’s brain, the part that had led him to thrive and survive all these years, warned him that he would be giving information away to the enemy. But there was a more hopeful part deep down, buried six feet under with the youth he’d lost to the winters, that compelled him to Her Majesty, to meet her eyes and answer her truthfully.
"Four, including me."
"And where are your parents?"
"Dead." Something in the air shifted, and the hands gripping the boy loosened just the slightest. "They were taken by the plague."
Her Majesty’s face fell, while Signora fixed him with the ugliest glare she could. "Your Majesty, I advise that we—"
"Take me to see them."
"Your Majesty!" Signora cried.
Ajax was dumbfounded. What on earth would an Archon want with four kids? Despite his initial suspicions that she was going to hurt them, there was no threat in her eyes, only a firm resolve and—if he dared place a finger on it—an apology.
He nodded, despite the other woman boring holes into his head. "Alright. Follow me."
It’s been years since his fateful meeting with the Tsaritsa, and each time he looks back on the memory, it’s with fondness and adoration.
The Tsaritsa— Lumine, as she prefers to be called in private, though no one still has the balls to do so, and he only ever fantasizes about letting the word leave his lips—hasn’t aged a bit, which shouldn’t come as a surprise, whereas Ajax—or Childe as he goes by now—has shot up like a poplar tree, and he finds it endearing when the Archon complains about having to strain her neck to look up at him.
Today marks the historic day of Childe finally, finally returning to work, much to his colleagues’ welcomed distress—after a grueling two weeks of having to stay still because he was arrogant enough to unleash his Foul Legacy Transformation in its testing stage. He’d gotten an earful from Signora about it, which was the worst part, but then Lumine had stormed in with an even bigger earful and Childe had thought the injury was worth every second of sweet scolding he got from Her Majesty.
"Got you a snack, Your Majesty," he chirped, laying down a plate of crab meatballs next to the Tsaritsa’s papers.
The rest of the Harbingers looked like they had something to say, but as usual, only Scaramouche bothered opening his mouth. "Is this really an appropriate time? What are you, her butler?"
"Why, yes, actually. I’ll have you know that in the last two weeks I’ve even learned to prepare her favourite drink—"
"Tartaglia, sit down," the Tsaritsa sighed, and the boy happily obliged, shamelessly taking the seat next to hers. From an outsider’s point of view, Childe’s actions would come across as obnoxious, treacherous in their casualness even, but most people privy to the affairs of the Fatui also know about the history between the Tsaritsa and the youngest Harbinger—how she’d healed his younger sister, Tonia, and the rest of the surviving villagers; how she’d offered his family to stay with an elderly couple whose own children were old enough to take care of the new additions; and especially, how the eldest orphan vowed to repay his debt by joining the ranks of the Fatui.
A few years ago, those who heard his declaration had laughed out loud.
Today, those who laughed now work under him.
"Now that Tartaglia has recovered," Lumine begins, popping a meatball into her mouth and unabashedly relishing the taste, stroking Childe’s ego, "I wanted to talk about our plans going forth. Specifically, how we’ll be gathering the gnoses of the other Archons. We’ll most likely start with Barbatos, as he’s currently the weakest of The Seven, and—"
"Wait, wait, wait," Scaramouche interjects, receiving glares from the other Harbingers despite their shared confusion in the air, "We’ll be gathering the gnoses? How?"
"Most of us have it in our chests."
Childe snickers. Scaramouche pretends he doesn’t exist.
"Barbatos is weak, but the same cannot be said for the other Archons. Rex Lapis himself is millennia old, and Inazuma—"
"Scaramouche," Signora cuts in, "Are you questioning how or why?"
Without missing a beat, Scaramouche answers, "Both."
"And I’m here to answer all your questions," the Tsaritsa says, "In fact, I have the papers here, detailing how we’ll go about each case." She passes copies round the table, allowing the Harbingers to digest the information given.
"As expected of Her Majesty, this is a well thought out plan," Signora praises, smiling at the queen, "With this, Snezhnaya will surely acquire enough power to reach new heights rivaling the Celes—"
"Dibs on Rex Lapis," Childe says.
"Raiden," Scaramouche follows.
They barely miss the icicles flying towards their solar plexus.
"We will not rival Celestia," Lumine speaks up, with such clarity that it brings all their attention to her once more. A spark of something ignites in Childe’s chest when she sits straighter, chin raised, and declares:
"We will overthrow it."
"So unfair."
For the nth time, Lumine sighs. Although the boy has long since grown over a head taller than her, he still reverts to a manchild on occasion, especially after a particularly sore loss. "I’m sorry, Childe."
"Quit your whining, and most importantly, quit monopolizing Her Majesty. She has more urgent matters to attend to than you," Signora snaps.
Childe turns his head to scowl at her. Baring their teeth at each other, they’re the picture of cat-dog animosity. "Hey! You know as well as I do that I hard-carried that show in Liyue."
"Hmph. All that effort and you still didn’t know what was going on behind the scene. Is there anything that goes on in that head of yours other than fighting?"
"Why don’t you and I duke it out, huh? I’ll beat you like I did the first time I— owowowow!"
"This would hurt less if you stopped talking," Lumine sighs exasperatedly, moving on from Childe’s no longer torn shoulder to concentrate her healing near an almost-busted rib instead, "Signora, why don’t you step outside? I’ll join you shortly."
"Of course, Your Majesty." Bowing, Signora excuses herself, though not without flipping the bird at Childe, who sticks his tongue out in retaliation.
When the door closes, the Tsaritsa asks, "Can’t you two get along?"
"Nope."
"Figures," she mumbles, resuming her effort. They have been in the infirmary for over an hour now, and in the back of her mind, Lumine does wonder if she’s showing blatant favoritism towards Childe. However, surely it isn’t her fault that he apparently refuses to be treated unless she comes over personally? Childe has never directly asked her to treat him, but according to the other Harbingers, outside of their sessions, Childe has never sought treatment after battles, only licking himself up like a wounded cat and claiming that scars were a mark of honour.
"I still can’t believe you told Signora about the plan and contract but not me," Childe grumbles.
"Are you mad?"
"Ugh… I guess not. You got the gnosis in the end, which is all that matters."
Lumine chuckles, and gently pats Childe’s face. Immediately, his frown turns upside down. "Why did you continue fighting when you knew the gnosis wasn’t even there?"
A little blush adorns Childe’s face. "I thought they were tricking me."
"That’s a lie."
"...I wanted a good fight."
"That’s better," Lumine laughs, starting to put away the medical supplies, "So who was this person? Must be pretty strong if they got you all excited."
"They beat me up pretty badly even before I’d unleashed the monster against the adepti," Childe grumbles, "And when I challenged them for a rematch the week after, they beat me up again. What use is my Foul Legacy Transformation!"
"You do realize using that two weeks in a row is what brought you here."
"Yes, yes, I know," Childe says. It was pretty stupid of him, but he got caught up in the heat of the battle and didn’t want it to end even after he had his butt handed to him in Vision and Delusion forms. "You know, Your Majesty, the guy I was fighting had an uncanny resemblance to you." The hair and robes were different, of course, but Childe remembers the shiver that went down his spine when he first laid eyes on the traveler. "You don’t happen to have a long lost brother roaming around Teyvat, do you?"
The question was a teasing one, rhetorical even, so Childe feels the gears in his head stop turning when Lumine replies, "I do, actually."
"Wha—"
"His name is Aether, right?" Childe blinks, opens his mouth, and then closes it back. He nods. "Aether… is my older brother."
No way. Immediately, Childe sits up straighter, ignoring the pain in his side and Lumine’s reprimand. "That’s great! Why didn’t you say so earlier?! I’ll write him a letter and—"
"No. Absolutely not." Seeing the way Childe’s face falls, Lumine’s panic subsides, her body language softening. "Look, if he knows I’m the Tsaritsa, he’ll try to get me to give the gnoses back before our goal is complete. And I can’t have that, not when his— our survival depends on it."
Although he doesn’t understand completely, Childe’s heart pains at the desperation in her voice. It’s when she gets anxious like this that her name sits in front of his tongue, as if yearning to be called human, scared and touchable . "You never told us why you wanted to take down Celestia."
She laughs, fiddling with the frills of her dress. Childe recognizes shame amongst the emotions laced in her voice. "It’s all for selfish reasons, in the end." Her tone, the faraway look in her eyes tells Childe that he’s better off dropping it, and he does. It’s not like he needed to know why either; his loyalty to her would remain unwavering, regardless.
Ever since their first encounter—how his suspicion and hatred of her had dissipated immediately when she took Teucer in her arms and cradled him, the touch of her hand so gentle that Tonia had nuzzled against it. Before that, he never gave much thought to the Archon, and when the plague came, there were times he even questioned if she existed—for if she did, why hadn’t she come sooner?
It was only when he saw her vomit blood while healing the rest of the villagers that he understood.
"Let me help you chase that selfish dream."
To Lumine’s surprise, the Harbinger holds a pinky up to her, a comedic gesture in contrast to the seriousness in his face and words. He isn’t smiling, and he slouches just enough so that they’re at eye level, dark blue meeting gold.
Like this, she wonders how much exactly he’s grown, and how much he hasn’t. Throughout the years, Lumine assumed the boy’s adoration would subside, perhaps even disappear completely. Yet, his fixation has only seemed to grow stronger, and now the boy whom she caught stealing from pharmacy now sits by her side at the round table, discussing Snezhnaya’s policies and future.
It was almost flattering, the lengths he took to catch up with her. Especially now that he towers over her, yet still looks at her as if she was already high up in Celestia.
The Cryo Archon smiles fondly. Instead of finalizing the bet however, she leans forward to kiss Childe’s temple, mumbling a thank you. Her small hand rests on the exposed skin of his shoulder, squeezing gently, before she pulls away and makes to leave.
As the door shuts behind her, Childe remains frozen for all but five seconds, pinky twitching before he slumps down, groaning into his pillow and bemoaning how uncool he looked.
Stupid, stupid! A pinky promise, really?!
But the touch of the Tsaritsa’s— Lumine’s lips lingered on his skin, and the sensation branches out from his temple, fingers of warmth crawling down his neck and making their way to his heart.
Childe closes his eyes, and envisions his queen smiling without the burden of the world on her shoulders, wondering if he would ever see her laugh the way she did when they’d first met, unbidden by frost.
When the world is finally yours—
Will you then be mine?