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Ajax clutched his dagger, trotting through the snowy forest. His breath puffed out in front of him, meshing in with the snow falling. It was cold, one of the coldest months in Snezhnaya. Yet Ajax promised his siblings a hunt and headed out for a prey to find. Else his family was going to starve. His parents didn’t show it, no, but it was in the subtle shifts of his father’s features, the fretful whispers of his mother in the kitchen.
Besides, this proved to be an adventure. One he had been looking forward for months. And if he proved himself to his parents, perhaps he’d get the permission to travel Snezhnaya... no, all of Teyvat.
The wind howled as the snow threatened to fall harder, halting Ajax in his footsteps. He clenched his teeth, powering through. He could barely see his feet anymore, blindly heading into the darkness of the forest.
And then he fell.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, that even a scream couldn’t tear out of his throat. He clutched the dagger closer to his chest, his fall proving to be excoriatingly long, his limbs bumping time and time again into pebbles and stray sticks.
He crashed as soon as he thought of grasping at a handhold. His fall was however cushioned with leaves, and his only injuries consisted of scratches here and there.
He looked up, facing the darkness ahead of him. It was cold... Colder than above. A cold that pierced the atmosphere and enveloped the dark further around Ajax. He tugged his coat closer to his body, standing up, and delved into the darkness.
Screams greeted him. Raw, loud, alarming and screechy. Ajax looked around in panic, stumbling on his feet. He didn’t have the time to comprehend, for his vision was immediately swarmed with gruesome colors. Monsters of red and purple and orange attacked his vision, and all Ajax had was the dagger, so he used it.
He rammed it, albeit inexperiencedly, into the creatures, splattering blood. The creatures screamed as they got stabbed, a terrible ringing symphony, and Ajax screamed back. He screamed for the monsters never seemed to stop coming at him, he screamed for his vision was bathed in blood.
He screamed for adrenaline alone pushed him ahead, one hand attacking with the dagger, the other fisting in the darkness.
And then he heard the voice, a laugh so low, so cold and yet so gentle.
“H-Help!” Ajax sobbed, tears as droplets forming in his eyes.
“You have a weapon,” The voice returned. “Use it.”
“There’s too many!” Ajax was desperate, voice climbing octaves high as a creature grabbed him from behind, then tossed him aside.
“Find a way.”
Nausea rose up in his throat, threatening his vision to fade to black. But then, he’d be beaten, possibly eaten alive, and there would be no hunt for his siblings. No food. No survival.
So he found a way.
He rammed his dagger into the creature behind him, allowing those in the front to engulf him. He stumbled then from behind, finding a gap to slide through. His feet carried him to the far corner, where his eyes found a tree branchthat had fallen along his own fall.
Ajax grasped the long, thick branch in a two-handed grip, his dagger clenched between his teeth, and slammed it with all his strength. There was more room to move by then, gaining him the capacity to study his surroundings. But there was darkness everywhere, and nowhere to survey any holes to hide into. So Ajax simply threw the branch, and hurried to the wall. If he had fallen, surely there was a way to climb back up.
His hands bled through his gloves as he grasped at stones and climbed his way up. His feet slipped every now and then, but he had this. He’d find a way out. Before he died.
A claw pulled at his foot and jolted him down, and Ajax screamed.
The darkness was about to swallow him whole.
“Idiot child.” The sigh accompanying the remark was suffering.
Then he saw it, a figure had blown the creature –the thing- with a hand, towering over Ajax. Then, with a snap of her fingers, summoned water icicles and gripped every creature in the vicinity, eventually freezing them off.
Ajax gaped, hands finding purchase in the dirt beneath him.
“Hmph,” The figure stood over him, eyeing him like a prey. “There’s blood all over your face. At least you fought them off, I'll give you that.”
The woman turned away, Ajax stayed frozen in his spot. Blood was running down his face, the creatures’ blood, though he could feel his face throbbing faintly. He got himself injured.
“What are you sitting there for?” The woman stopped, glancing back coldly. “Have a death wish?”
Ajax stood wobbly. “I’ll... I’ll climb back up.”
The woman smirked, then a chuckle escaped her lips. “Foolish child, indeed. If only it was that easy. Come.”
Ajax was too exhausted, too terrified to disobey. So he walked a safe distance behind her, blood dripping down his chin in endless streams of gore.
***
Her name was Skirk. She was a cold woman, that was Ajax’ first impression. Much colder than Snezhnaya’s climate, much deadlier than the plague. She dissected him with her very eyes, and Ajax never felt so invaded before.
She’d explained that this place was called the Abyss. Darkness incarnate. Monstrosity submerged. She wiped the blood on his face in the same breath as she spoke of the life she led. She was a huntress, a swordswoman, and at times the prey as well. If she was not careful, this place would eat her alive and chew her out.
That meant, Ajax had to be on alert.
She was cold and deadly, but she was gentle enough to allow Ajax to accompany her. Though she never called his name, never addressed him while looking him in the eye. She led the way, and he followed.
Ajax begged her to teach him the sword, he knew he had to protect himself. He knew there was no one to protect him here. Skirk made it clear the first time. “Find a way”
Skirk agreed, almost too easily, and put him through harsh training in the sword, the bow, the spear and the lance. His first time holding a sword consisted of him fighting a monster slime the size of a bear. It was not of regular size, as far as Ajax knew from his father’s stories. By the time he found a way to take the monstrosity down, he was left with a split lip and bruises all over his body. Skirk simply watched, boredom in her eyes. And Ajax, once again, found himself bathed in blood.
It was unsufferable, if Ajax had to describe it using one word. It was long and enduring and he was scared, all the time. He wanted to see his family. His parents were worried sick, he was sure. His older siblings must be looking for him, his younger ones weeping over their brother. When Ajax dropped his spear and sobbed, overwhelmed by the endless baths of blood, Skirk kicked him with her heel, glaring down at him.
“Wipe those tears, child.” She demanded, voice of steel clashing together.
Ajax did so, sniffling.
“Down here, you receive no mercy,” Skirk went on, hand on her hip. “The moment you’re down, the darkness will feast on you. The moment I deem your training done, I'm not sticking around forever.”
Ajax stood with a tremble in his knees, clenching his eyes shut, willing his tears back.
“I just...” Ajax allowed himself a moment of weakness. “I miss home.”
Skirk pulled her lips down at that, eyes for a moment resonating with solace. “Leave it behind. Your thoughts of home, of your family, leave them behind. With them, you’re weak. Maybe one day, this place will find pity on you and spit you out, but as long as you’re here, you are not to think of home.”
Ajax nodded, biting down on his lip.
Skirk handed him a spear, and he hefted it in his hands, calloused and bloody. With a tip of her chin, signaling behind Ajax, she said, “Finish him off.”
Ajax turned around, eyeing the creature in front of him. He didn’t wish to understand what kind of creature it was, he only took in the size, the sharpened teeth, and knew he had to cut it down. He did many times before, this was no different. It was one giant lump of blood, another bath of gore and fear and horror.
He finished it swiftly, albeit with effort, but the numbness that accompanied the slaughter helped with the exhaustion. He looked at his hands, covered in blood. His clothes, dripping at the edges with blood. His feet bleeding in his shoes. And in the darkness, too, there was red.
In the name of her Majesty the Tsaritsa, Ajax saw nothing but red.
He smiled at the prettiness, raising his hands above his face, allowing the blood from his fingers to drip on his face too. And he reveled in it, breathed it.
It would make a perfect backdrop in the snow of Snezhnaya.
He caught himself thinking of home again, and stared holes into his hands. He couldn’t have that. Skirk couldn’t have that. There had to be someway to push it all to the back of his mind. Let it fester all there.
“Well done, childe.” Skirk’s voice was low, but a hint of pride played in there.
Ajax’ eyes widened, facing the swordswoman. There was no smile on her lips, but Ajax saw through her. The hunger for fight, the pride she took in his actions.
He had longed for that. He had no idea how long it has been here, his sleep perturbed by fatigue and fainting. But for sure, he had longed for a form of praise. A form of acceptance. A form of rebirth.
He was but a child learning to walk again.
Childe looked back at his hands, clenching them closed.
***
It took less and less between bouts for Childe to find consistency in controlling his laboured breathing and finding less time to pass out. His hands were always occupied with a weapon, be it day or night. There was no time for rest, no need for rest, not when his blood ached for more.
Food was a luxury, they couldn’t always afford the time to cook. Starting a fire could alert a monster if not careful, and Skirk was strict about survival. Childe had no choice but to fight off the hunger with another kind of delicacy.
The blood of his enemies. Every crack in this darkness threatened... no, gave an opportunity to a new foe. And he was eager to jump at it everytime.
Although one time, his spirit wavered when a small creature, barely past his knees, presented itself in a corner. It wasn’t threatening, nor had it any fangs or claws to bare. It simply sat there, screeching softy. If Childe had to guess, it was hungry.
Skirk was off inspecting the area ahead, so Childe was alone when he picked up the creature with the end of his spear. Pearly eyes bored into him, and Childe brought it closer for inspection.
There proved to be no danger, no drawbacks. So Childe allowed his shoulders to ease down, finding himself comparing this strange creature to his baby brother Teucer. It was nothing like a human, but the size, and the cuteness, were alike.
Skirk raised an eyebrow when Child presented his discovery, though she said nothing. Simply turning her back, ordering Childe to follow her.
Childe found some food for the creature, a monster of its own kind he had sliced open. His friend nibbled obliviously, and Childe smiled. As much as Childe despised it, the creature reminded him of home. Of baby Teucer and his family, the overwhelming need to look after them. Childe couldn’t have this weakness, but a part of him exhaled in relief.
Ajax was still there in his mind. Festering, but still there.
So it was all the more painful when the creature bared its fangs at him, betraying him completely.
It had somehow called over the other monstrosities in the vicinity, informing them of the prey that was Skirk and Childe. Childe had woken up to a swarm of monsters gazing down at him, and he immediately remembered his first day here.
He glanced over to where Skirk was supposed to be guarding, but she was nowhere to be seen.
Childe gulped. Had she left?
Childe hefted his sword in his hand, eyeing it hungrily. His eyes cut to the creature, the disgust burning in his chest. This should have been expected... But no, he was still a weakling. He eyed it with disgust, then stared down the army of monstrosities that came over.
He was a weakling still, but he wasn’t the naïve boy he was the first day he’d stumbled in here.
Childe grinned, a terrible, vicious grin.
“Huge mistake.”
***
Skirk found him in the same gore of everyday, though this one proved quite tiresome and long . Childe didn’t get himself a breather, and went over the edge, thanks to nothing but his hunger. His hunger to draw blood.
Childe turned his gaze to Skirk, panting slightly. “... You’re here?”
Skirk walked over to him, eyeing the catastrophe then back to Childe’s face. Her eyes widened just slightly. “Your eyes.”
Childe didn’t have the strength to ask.
“They’ve... changed.” Skirk elaborated, referring to the dullness in his blue orbs. She sighed, then put a hand on Childe’s shoulder. “Good. You’ll need that bloodlust.”
Childe said nothing, instead nodding and dropping his sword, letting in clang to the floor. “You didn’t leave.”
“No.” Skirk returned. “I just let you take care of this mess.”
What.
Childe studied her, and then it clicked, his eyebrow twitching just slightly. “You knew.”
Skirk remained impassive. “Creatures of the Abyss shouldn’t be trusted, no matter how small. Of course I knew it was dangerous. You had to understand how dangerous they were yourself, without me telling you.”
It sounded so logical, so simple. So... right. Childe was but a child, he was told to abandon his feelings and trust no one, but he still committed this stupidity. And Skirk gave him a punishment, a timeout to grasp the meaning of the Abyss.
Childe, like any child, should have thrown a tantrum. He should be angry, or annoyed, or rebellious. But he wasn’t.
Childe instead grasped at her hand, his bloody, hers gloved. He tainted the cloth with his grimdark blood, brought the hand to his lips and kissed it. The highest form of respect.
“I won’t do it again, master.”
Skirk remained stoic, but to Childe, she gave a faint smile.
***
Ajax was completely abandoned to the wolves. Childe was his resort, his fall-back, his true self .
Childe walked the Abyss like its challenger. Come too close, and he’d cut everything down. His body was wearied down, his clothes nothing but a rag, his eyes deprived of childhood innocence.
Childe was a walking catastrophe, and he was enamored in his new self.
Everyday tasks had become everyday indulgences. He no longer remembered the time showering in blood wasn’t a normalcy for him. Fighting, fighting and more fighting. It was addicting. Far too addicting. And Childe wasn’t tired from it. He was far from getting tired. He was just getting started.
That had been a reason he was dazed when awoke in a pile of snow, hands dripping blood and facial features frozen. Voices called him, hands shook him repeatedly until he wanted to growl.
He opened his eyes, expecting Skirk, yet warm eyes met his dull ones, concerned and fretful.
Childe couldn’t move. “What...”
“Oh, thank the Tsaritsa, he’s alive!” His sister worried.
“Ajax, are you okay?” His mother held his cheek, hand warming his frozen off flush.
Ajax.
Who was that? Childe didn’t recognize him anymore. That was but a boy in the back of his mind who festered with childhood dreams. Childe had abandoned him. He didn’t want him back.
Childe couldn’t move, but if he could have, he’d knock them all out of their feet and hurry back to Skirk. To that darkness that promised him delight and epiphany.
And Ajax wailed, deep inside of him, begging him not to hurt his family in any way at all.
Childe simply numbed his mind, disoriented and uncomprehending.
“Hungry...” He murmured, and his mother let out a wet laugh.
“That’s my boy. There’s food at home.”
Not for food, Childe thought, being carried by his weeping father. Blood.