Chapter Text
I. Prologue
The continent of Teyvat was vast and distant, containing a total of seven nations united as one empire, known as the Teyvatian Empire. Located in the frosty, bitter cold north was the nation of endless winter storms, Snezhnaya, where one of the most influential noble families lived, the Harbinger Family.
Notoriously infamous for their cruel nature and cunning schemes, Marchioness Tsaritsa and her family were not people to mess with. The marquisate was blessed with their own military force, the Fatui, by the 50th monarch of Teyvat which gave them authority rivalling that of the royal family. Stationed far and wide across the empire were soldiers of the Fatui under the guise of business associates, allowing the marchioness access to a plethora of news and gossip. Even with so much power underneath Tsaritsa’s fingertips, nobles were always so nitpicky and judgemental.
Without an heir of her own, what use is a powerful army when there’s no one to carry the marquisate legacy.
Despite the protests, the sneers and looks of horror at her proposal of having commoner children, let alone orphans, as a Harbinger, Marchioness Tsaritsa adopted eleven children into her family. Eleven children, each with a different origin, who were strong and ambitious enough to carry out the marquisate’s legacy. Who needed bloodline when these children of hers were worthy enough to wield such power in the future. It was easy to spot the eleven Harbingers, with their uniquely designed masks that they donned on their heads. Despite it being the sole reminder of their commoner blood, as it was those masks which gave them magical powers all nobles had, they wore it with pride and honour.
Among the eleven Harbingers was the marchioness’ youngest child, named Tartaglia—codename: Childe. A naturally brutish, bloodthirsty and strong young child of 16 years whose prowess was nothing short of amazing. Not only was his physical strength and bloodlust incredible, he was the only child who had innate magical abilities which immediately caught Tsaritsa’s attention when she first found him. Although word had spread of the new addition to the Zapolyarny Palace, it merely fueled the stigma of the Harbinger family once everyone found out that the young Tartaglia was arrogant as he was cruel and impulsive.
A brat, as his elder siblings called him behind his back, and sometimes to his face. But they often called him ‘my dearest Tartaglia’ just to ignite his ire and watch in amusement as he threw another one of his tantrums.
Right now, Childe was at the training grounds, beating up every soldier who was unfortunate enough to train that day. Though the Fatui were a force to be reckoned with, not even the best of knights do well to entertain Childe’s insatiable need for bloodshed. He sneered arrogantly as the Fatui soldier he was fighting against bit his tongue to keep himself from screaming at his newly broken limb. Scouring the grounds for new victims, who weren’t already sent to the medical centre, Childe clicked his tongue in annoyance once he saw no one and haphazardly threw his bloody sword to the side—not bothering to clean it or place it back in its stand.
“Boring,” The redhead muttered as he walked off from the scene.
Just before he could step off the grounds, a voice called out “Lord Tartaglia!” from behind him. Childe turned his head to the side, looking back at the person who dared call his name. It was the commander of the 3rd division. The commander walked up to the Harbinger with a disapproving, and very punchable, face.
“What.”
“Forgive me for my impudence, my lord. I would like to address that the number of seriously injured soldiers made by your lordship is simply absurd. They are still trainees and their injuries will greatly set back their progress, even permanently ruining their chances of becoming a proper Fatui soldier. So, for the future of the Fatui, I would like your lordship to hold back your strength from now on.”
The air surrounding the two grew heavy, enough that the servants nearby had to take a step back or hide away. Childe balled his hands into fists, his nails digging moon-shaped markings onto his palm, and his face was dark. Heated blue eyes glared at the commander, who found it unnerving that those eyes belonged to a 16-year-old.
“You dare order me, a Harbinger, around?” His voice was low, laced with anger, “I have the highest authority between the two of us. I will do what I please. You should be lucky that you’re not a lowly soldier, else I would have your head and hang it on the entrance gates of the training grounds to set an example. Now get out of my sight before my mood gets worse.”
As quickly as he came, the commander left. Now in a foul mood, Childe stormed out of the training grounds and out of the Zapolyarny Palace, into the ice forest. Dark spruce branches weighed heavy with the freshly fallen snow. When Childe slammed his fist into the trunk out of rage, the tree shook and snow toppled onto the ground. His knuckles stung and bled, staining the ivory floor with red, yet he ignored the pain as he traversed further into the forest.
He soon reached a clearing, where a frozen lake laid in the middle. The ice was thick and smooth, unwavering when Childe stepped on it without a care in the world. As he inhaled, his lung screamed at the bitter cold, but he was used to it. Finally calm, he looked down at the icy lake he was standing on and saw himself reflected on the other side. However, as he squinted, he started noticing things.
He was sure he appeared threatening when his brows were furrowed and his eyes narrowed into slits. Yet the reflection beneath him had a solemn look, soft, sympathising. Childe raised his foot and stomped on it. Disgusting. The ice barely trembled and Childe noticed how dark the water underneath looked. Like a black abyss ready to swallow him whole.
Crack
The Harbinger’s eyes widened as the ice fractured like fragile glass underneath his foot. He barely had a second to react when the floor shattered and he was consumed by the freezing darkness. He tried swimming up, but it felt like gravity was working against him, pushing him further down the more he struggled. He couldn’t breath as the water flowed into his lung, choking him. His vision blurred, then he met black.
Childe felt a gentle pressure over his eyes before realising it was his own hands. The air was cold and he could feel the vapours leave and he breathed out. The frost licked his red cheeks, but even then, it was pleasant. Much more pleasant than the harsh winters of Snezhnaya that slashed through skin. His ears picked up the sounds of childish giggling and light footsteps scattered around him before they stopped.
“You can open your eyes now, big brother!”
On cue, he removed his hands from his face. Light flooded his vision and in front of him was a delightful surprise. Sitting on the snow were four snowmen made with questionable quality, all lined up from smallest to biggest. The smallest one had a brown ushanka resting on its head, the second had little fluffy earmuffs, the third had lopsided glasses made out of small twigs and, finally, the fourth and largest snowman had a red knitted scarf wrapped around its neck. On each of the snowmen’s faces were big wonky smiles made from pebbles.
“Goodness, are these snowmen who I think they are?” Childe laughed as he walked closer, leaning in close and admiring each snowman with a large grin on his face, “Truly a masterpiece, you can’t even tell the difference!” He joked, squatting next to the biggest snowman for comparison.
The two little boys in front of him laughed and nodded with enthusiasm, “We spent a lot of time making you, big brother! It’s three giant snowballs high.” The youngest patted the snowman and reached his arm up, going on his tippy toes to emphasise the size. He then tugged on Childe’s bloodless hand, “Big brother! Let’s go make Mr Cyclops together!”
“What?!” The older boy grabbed his other hand and pulled on it, “No way, we were going to have a snowball fight! Big brother!!” The child whined.
“Now now, you two, you’re going to rip me in half with your pulling!” They didn’t stop pulling, which in turn, made Childe wrap his arms around, scooping up the little rascals and hugging them tightly. He chuckled at their squeals when they were lifted off the ground.
“How about this? Let's make some Mr Cyclops and we can get Tonia for the snowball fight, alright Anthon? After all, isn’t a snowball fight more fun with more people?”
Anthon pouted slightly since Teucer was chosen first but eventually agreed with his big brother that a snowball fight with more people was always going to be more fun. Teucer wanted to make a giant Mr Cyclops, which almost ended up toppling over from the unbalanced weight. After calling Tonia and having their snowball fight (started after Anthon threw a snowball at a reluctant Tonia), Childe tucked them in his own bed, a large thick comforter wrapped around the sleeping children. Something like warmth bubbled in his chest, the redhead smiled as he gave each sibling a kiss on the forehead.
─── ✧ ───
“What is this, Tonia?” The young girl jumped at the sudden voice, that was not part of her game, and grumpily looked at Childe who was leaning on the doorframe. She put down her controller and crossed her arms, “Big brother, you should learn how to knock!”
Childe laughed and walked into the room, plopping down next to Tonia, who shifted aside to create more room, and leaned on the bed frame. On the TV screen was a title written in a large pink plush font with a shiny golden outline drawn with intricate decorations. “My Noble Love,” Childe read out, cringing internally from the name, “Is this a video game?” Judging from the interactive buttons and settings below.
“Yep! It’s an otome game and it has so many good reviews from people who have preordered it.” Childe had never heard of an otome game before but after Tonia explained it to him with much detail and vigor, he got the jist of it. He only frowned slightly when he listened to her, when did his little sister become interested in these types of romance genres? Tonia picked up the controller again and moved the cursor down to create a new save game, “Because you’re here, I want you to play with me,” She shoved the controller into his hand, “Just pick a character you want to be with and get the good ending!”
Around 30 minutes had passed and Childe would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying the game. But for a different reason. It was because the villain of the story was awesome. An absolute asshole, but still super cool. Despite his previous thoughts of ‘My Noble Love’ being ‘just another romance game’, the plot was quite intricate and God only knows how endless the company’s budget is from the high quality cutscenes and animations. The villain, Tartaglia, was a skilled fighter and adept at many different kinds of weapons. There had only been one battle cutscene with the villain so far but man did it do Tartaglia justice. His prowess, fighting knowledge and sheer awesomeness was shown just from the 15 second clip. However, once they got into the romantic aspect of the game, his appreciation for the character dropped. Tartaglia was the shittest character Childe had ever seen. A pretentious, cruel, arrogant noble who didn’t know his place.
Sigh, they had to make this a romance game and not an action one. Childe would love to play as Tartaglia in some open world RPG game. Maybe buy him a new personality while they’re at it.
“Big brother, you can’t just flirt with him! He’s a total blockhead and stuff like that would float over his head.” Tonia said about Childe’s chosen love interest, Prince Morax.
─── ✧ ───
His hands shook as he attempted to bring up the piece of tofu to his mouth, using nothing but two sticks as utensils. Childe’s hand was cramping at the unfamiliar hold and before he could break it, he stuffed the food into his mouth and set the chopsticks down with a loud exasperated sigh, “Can’t I ask for a fork?” Childe pouted, eyeing the Asian dishes with hunger then glared at chopsticks that were the bane of his existence.
A low chuckle left the lips of the man in front of him. The man set his cup of tea down after taking a sip, “You need to learn how to use them if you want to truly enjoy Asia’s gastronomy. Although we may have to ask for one just in case.”
Childe’s pout only deepened, “Any tips on how to improve my chopstick-holding skills?”
“Of course,” The man stood up and walked around, sitting next to the redhead and giving him the chopsticks. He gave out simple instructions, taught Childe how to move his fingers so he could pick up the food. He was still very rusty but at the very least his hand posture was mostly correct.
“Ohh,” Childe grinned, “Thank you, professor!”
The man gave a soft smile in return, “You do not need to worry, Ajax.”
Childe blinked. His mouth was slightly parted as he stared at the man with a blank face. The man’s features were indiscernible. What did he look like again? Childe swore he knew just a second ago. But now, he couldn’t tell even though he was staring directly at the man. His mind wandered back to what he said.
Ajax.
That’s right. His name was Ajax. His little brothers were Teucer and Anthon, and his little sister was Tonia. So then… who was the man in front of him?
Childe—no, Ajax—closed his eyes.
The atmosphere was too warm. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t meant to be here. It’s meant to be cold. Freezing. He was meant to be dying in the middle of a lake.
Ajax felt his unconsciousness slip.
“—ord!”
“Lord—glia!”
“Get the medics in—re”
The voices cut in and out, the words were barely decipherable. He felt a thick blanket over his body and his body had been patted dry with a towel. Childe stirred, face scrunching up at the distracting voices. He opened one eye to see two people panicking in his room. One of his bodyguards, Nadia, and his personal maid, Ekaterina. Without a sound, he closed back his eyes and his mind rushed back to what he saw while unconscious.
A series of dreams? Future visions? No. That can’t be the case. Everything was too familiar, too vivid.
In a frenzy, the door was slammed open and footsteps rushed in. A flare of indignation burst from within him, yelling how dare they disturb his thought process and enter without his permission. However, a feeling of calmness washed through him when he quickly noticed that the intruders were only his other bodyguard, Vlad (who was soaking wet), rushing in with one of the Palace’s resident doctors. For some odd reason, he couldn’t bring himself to feel rageful like he usually would.
“My lord, you’re awake!” Ekaterina breathed out in relief. Something tells Childe she wasn’t relieved for his safety—more for hers—and something foreign began festering in his heart. Ah, it was guilt . The doctor made his way next to Childe, hesitantly asking if the Harbinger could give him his wrist. Without another word, Childe did as he was asked.
After a thorough check up—checking his pulse, temperature, injuries, and tending his hands—the doctor kept his head down as he spoke to Childe, “Lord Tartaglia, your body temperature is currently below normal. I would suggest you take a warm bath to get it back up to decrease the risk of hypothermia, though be careful not to wet your hands as it is still healing.”
The doctor was tense by the time he finished his words, fully expecting Childe to lash out, scream at the doctor for telling him what to do or even throw one of his violent temper tantrums.
“I see,” the Harbinger winced at his raspy voice, “Thank you, doctor. You are dismissed until further notice.”
The doctor froze on his seat. The staff behind him were sporting obviously shocked looks at their lord’s decision as well, so he clearly wasn’t the only one.
Childe raised a brow, “Well? And Ekaterina—” The woman in question straightened up, “—prepare me a warm bath.”
“Yes, my lord!” The doctor and Ekaterina saluted in unison, quickly leaving as they were commanded to. The Harbinger then turned to Nadia and Vlad who stiffened up. Seriously, were they always this on edge around him?
“You two may leave,” Childe ordered. Before they could fulfil his wishes, Childe called out again, “Vlad. Dry yourself up and get a check up in case you develop a fever.”
Even with the mask on his face, Childe was sure Vlad’s expression was like a deer in headlights, “Y-yes? Yes, my lord!” He finally responded. The two bodyguards then ran out without another word.
The redhead sighed to himself. Now that the distractions were temporarily gone, he was able to collect his thoughts. Whatever happened in that abyss wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Maybe it wasn’t a dream or a vision, but memories? Childe rubbed his temples, head beginning to throb. There was too much to process and a nice warm bath sounded very inviting right now. Thankfully, Ekaterina emerged a few minutes later with the bathtub filled and a new set of clothes had been placed on the side.
“Your bath has been prepared, my lord.”
Childe hummed and slid off the bed, “Thank you, Ekaterina. You are dismissed.”
Okay seriously, the amount of fear and shock in his servants’ faces were starting to get concerning. He irritatedly sighed into his hand and waved her off. Entering the bath, he stripped away his dirty clothes. His foot dipped into the water, testing out the heat before he slipped his body in.
Memories. It seemed like the most plausible answer, despite how insane it sounded. Maybe it was from his past life. Childe lifted his head from the water and muttered the name “Ajax” to himself. It fell from his tongue naturally, his mind and being welcomed the name with familiarity. He remembers a world much more advanced than the one he lives in now, where they have modern technology such as phones and laptops; vehicles that moved without horses and the source of all answers available right in their hands in the form of the internet.
Childe needed to write this all down, he wanted to document all these precious memories. So he hurried up his bath and drained the murky water. Childe patted down the excess water on his body with a white fluffy towel before changing into his new clothes. The time for dinner was nearing and he needed to scribble everything down before it got clouded by something stupid or random.
The Harbinger threw himself onto his rarely used chair, grabbing an empty notebook and quill. He swinged his legs as he wrote down everything. Drawn at the side were stick figure doodles of his little siblings, with defining features of them. Reaching a certain point of his memories, Childe furrowed his brows, racking his brain to remember the features of the man from his last memory. His hand stopped.
His… ‘professor’, as Childe remembered Ajax calling him, what did he look like? Did he have dark hair or light hair? His eyes were sharp but Childe couldn't place a colour on them. It was a warm colour, right?
“Ah, professor. Why are you the only one I can’t remember.”
The sound of knocking broke his train of thought and Childe’s head snapped up. Permitting the person to enter, Ekaterina bowed, “Young master, dinner is ready.”
The scowl on Chide’s face did not go unnoticed but the maid didn’t mention it, “I would like to have dinner in my room.”
“My apologies, my lord, but Lady Tsaritsa wishes to see you at the dinner table.” Childe froze at the words. Usually, the eleven Harbingers didn’t have to eat at the dining room together since many were busy with their own things, and mother had better things to do than round up the children to dine with her. Only when she had important business to discuss did she want everyone to be there. He sighed and got up from the desk, shutting the notebook and sealing it.
“I will be on my way.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Childe steadied his heart, each step on the marble floor felt heavier than the last as the door to the dining room grew. The guards by the door opened it for him, bowing as they did so. Of course, everyone was there except for Childe. He always showed up fashionably late with much gusto, probably greatly annoying his siblings and making a complete fool of himself. Childe stomped down the feeling of embarrassment, maintaining his emotionless face as he greeted his mother with a bow, “Greetings, mother. I deeply apologise for my tardiness.”
There was a moment of tense silence. Childe missed the raised brows of his siblings and the looks of confusion between the servants. Tsaritsa nodded, her face as cold and listless as ever, “Take your seat, my Eleventh.”
Letting out a breath, Childe sat down on his seat. Now that he was finally here, Tsaritsa picked up her silverware and the others followed her actions shortly after. The dining room was silent, save for the clanking of utensils. The youngest was very much aware of the stares he was getting from his siblings as he neatly sliced his meat and ate it. No messes, no complaining, no throwing things around.
“You may be wondering why I called you here,” Childe almost jumped at the marchioness’ voice, “As you all know, the royal family have been looking for potential suitors for the first prince. As a way to better develop the relationship between our family and the royal family, they have requested an arranged marriage with one of you.” Tsarista’s face darkened as she uttered those words.
The hairs on Childe’s body stood up when he felt mother’s gaze fall onto him. No.. it couldn’t be. He swore it could be just another insignificant memory, the content didn’t matter as long as it showed his relationship with his little sister. But putting the pieces together, it made sense. My Noble Love had a character. A character who goes by the name of Tartaglia Harbinger.
“My dear Eleventh, Tartaglia, I have decided to appoint you as a potential suitor for the first prince, Morax.”
He, Tartaglia, would be a suitor for a prince named Morax. He, Tartaglia, was one of the major villains of the game ‘My Noble Love.’