Archive of Our Own

In Snezhnaya, people didn’t cry. Well, that might be an exaggeration--people did cry--but the temperatures often ran so low that one risked literally having tears frozen to their face if they were so foolish as to shed tears in public.

Childe, however, has long since learned not to. Quite understandably, really, if you live in a country so cold that even your breath freezes mid-air into miniscule crystals of pale light, shimmering as it falls, solid, to the equally frozen ground. A country ruled under the iron grip of a goddess who has no tolerance for weakness among her people. And Childe would be lying if he said one didn’t weigh more heavily on his mind than the other.

His Hydro Vision was already a mark of weakness--the very environment in his home country was a danger to him. Who ever heard of a Hydro user thriving in the coldest country in Teyvat? It was laughable, really; Childe must’ve been conceived as a joke from the Archons. 

And yet he had fought; he’d clawed his way up into the higher ranks and won himself recognition and authority as one of the youngest and strongest Fatui. Snezhnaya had strengthened him, growing up alone in a land where the people--hardened by years of bitterness--had no love left to give. And Tsaritsa, the Cryo Archon herself, had taken him under her own wing, had recognized his desire for strength--it was she who had transformed the sniveling orphan into the eleventh harbinger. He owed her his life; so why did he still fear the cold--her cold? Why did his insides shrivel up each time she beckoned to him with her cruel, beautiful white hands? 

He could never truly forget the first time he and the Tsaritsa had met, on a harsh rainy night with blood slicking the streets under a cold white moon. He had been nothing but a skinny, weak child, perhaps eight or nine years old; clutching his newly gained prize--his Hydro Vision. Her gripping his chin with her cold claws, examining his dull blue eyes; her extending a hand to him over the remains of his first kill, the other hand disintegrating the body of the fallen man; her telling him-- “I will make you great. ” The memories linger in his head in shards, like fragments of ice. Perhaps her declaration that night had not been a promise, but a guarantee.

He had not forgotten how she had pitted him against Signora the very first time she had introduced him to the rest of the Harbingers (how old had he been? 15? 16?), how she had gazed upon him at the end of the fight with her unreadable, unchanging eyes; how she had uttered a single two words-- “Very good, ”-- before leaving him lying on the training floor struggling to breathe from the frost lacing his lungs and bleeding from his many minor wounds. At the time, he had been too tired to do anything but smirk up at her before he flopped back onto the frozen floor.

He had not yet forgotten how she had given him his Delusion; him kneeling in front of her icy throne with hands twisted behind his back to hide their trembling from the cold; her reaching with a single terrible hand to grip the back of his neck, the other extending into her chest to bring out her Gnosis; her shoving her hand with one terrible thrust into the center of his chest, ignoring his choked gasp--where a new dark power flickered to life and extended its icy, foreign tendrils throughout his veins until he was sure his insides were on fire. At the end of it all, something new and spine-chilling pulsed in his chest, reminding him-- you are mine, Childe. And if you betray me-- 

No, perhaps it was impossible not to fear the Tsaritsa.

But Liyue is different from Snezhnaya. Where there used to be the harsh, bitter wind, there are now gentle sea breezes, salty smelling and full of life. Where in Snezhnaya there were only greys and whites and dark blues as far as the eye could see, in Liyue there are reds and greens and yellows and the most gorgeous shades of pure aquamarine blue. Childe feared he was growing too soft--he often found his carefully crafted facade slipping, which was a dangerous sign. 

So Childe had found himself reluctantly yet undeniably being drawn to the beautiful mountainous region filled with people who had never truly known the cold, with smiles as warm as the occasional thaw back in his home country. But most excruciatingly, he found himself being drawn to a single mysterious man with fathomless amber eyes, eyes that spoke of centuries and centuries--eyes that, every time they filled with a rare gentleness, caused foreign flickers of warmth in Childe’s chest.

It pained him to think that this man--Zhongli--was in fact the geo archon Rex Lapis, the very one he had been sent to target.

-

It’s his last night in Liyue. 

The year Childe has been given to complete his task has slid through his grasp like water, and now he has only hours. There’s a part of him that wants to stretch out his last few moments; maybe find a way to delay another day or two before someone comes to forcibly drag him from the Harbor of Stone and Contracts back to the cold of Snezhnaya. The other, more rational part reminds him that if he doesn’t return anytime soon, Pulcinella will probably rip off his head and present it to the Tsaritsa on a silver platter. It’s not the most pleasant mental image to ponder.

He and Zhongli are in a teahouse somewhere-- Qingcao Teahouse, or something. Childe isn’t completely sure on the name; Zhongli had been the one to pick it out. They had been seated in a comfortable room and left alone to enjoy the serene atmosphere. Childe has to admit; for a random hole-in-the-wall place, the tea selection is surprisingly vast. But then again, Zhongli has somewhat of a talent for picking out obscure restaurants that actually are of startling quality.

Childe observes Zhongli, drinking in his every detail; the way the light filtering in through the window drapes itself in streaks of light gold across his face; the way he curls his hands around the porcelain of the cup; the way he blows once, twice, on his tea before taking a measured sip. 

Zhongli must notice Childe’s (intense) gaze, because he looks up, his eyes questioning. “Are you not going to drink your tea?” 

Childe waves the question aside. “Of course. It was a bit hot, so I was just waiting for it to cool a bit. Don’t worry, I wasn’t bored. In the meantime, I satisfied myself by gazing upon your face.”

If Zhongli is affected by Childe’s teasing, flirtatious remarks in any way, he sure hides it well. Childe stifles a sigh, lifting his cup to his lips.

“You have a unique way with words, Childe,” Zhongli observes, amused. 

“You’re one to talk, xiansheng.” He lets the conversation trail off into a comfortable silence as they sip their tea. He doesn’t want to look at Zhongli, so he stares elsewhere; at the low-set table, at the ornate carpet, at the cup of tea in his hand.

He can’t stop thinking about the inevitable.

Childe had once told Aether, the blond traveler, that he didn’t agree with Signora’s methods. It had been the truth. He respects the woman as he would a viper, or a scorpion. But nonetheless he dislikes her. She is too ruthless, too arrogant, too manipulative. 

But is Childe any different- any better? He’s been manipulating and bribing the people of Liyue for months. It has been at least half a year since he realized Zhongli was the Geo Archon, so why does he find himself unable to tear himself away? Why does he form these meaningless emotional attachments when he knows he will inevitably have to sever them, like a blade through a satin thread?

“Childe.”

When Childe finally faces Zhongli, will he be able to do it? What will he see in those beautiful amber eyes? Childe has often pondered what it will be like to feel his fingers close around the smooth sandglass. Sometimes, in his minds eye, he sees himself lying bloodied on the ground, helpless under the wrath of the archon. 

A part of him hopes this is what it will be like: Zhongli will turn his fury, like an unbridled wave, onto Childe, and Childe will be incinerated in moments. After all, a pile of ash wouldn’t have to do any more plotting or betraying, now would it?

“ Childe. You’re crying.”

Zhongli’s concerned voice drags Childe back to reality. He shakes his head to clear it, reaching one hand up to touch his cheek. His gloved hand comes back wet. 

“Ah.” 

How long has it been since he last shed tears? Fifteen years? No, twenty?

Zhongli reaches out across the table to cup Childe’s cheek in one gentle hand, the soft afternoon light making his golden eyes radiant against the worried furrow of his brow.

Oh.. Childe thinks in a daze, finding it difficult to return Zhongli’s gaze. His hands are so soft. So different from his own, covered in scars and calluses from past fights. There’s a reason he wears gloves--they’re not just for cosmetic purposes, as some might assume. Distantly Childe feels for his facial features to make sure they’re still in an acceptable position. Luckily, they are. Thank Tsaritsa. He can’t.. cry in front in front of the man he will betray in a few hours. No, he doesn’t deserve that. 

“Zhongli,” Childe says, “I’m okay. Probably got something in my eye.” He blinks a couple of times to emphasize the point. In reality, Childe feels as though if Zhongli’s touch lingers on his skin just a moment longer, his feelings will go into overdrive. And since that would likely result in him doing something unthinkably stupid, he’d rather that it not happen. It’s almost funny to think how he and Zhongli are both awful with their emotions, in completely opposite ways.

The lone tear that had trailed its way down Childe’s face dries quickly. In Snezhnaya it probably would have stung, like a burn. 

Zhongli nods hesitantly, removing his hand from the other’s cheek. “Alright.” His brow is still creased with a lingering trace of worry, and Childe, for a single wavering moment, is filled with the unbearable desire to smooth it out with his own unattractive scarred hands, kiss Zhongli gently and tell him… I’m sorry.

Luckily, the feeling passes.

“I apologize.” Zhongli tugs on the hem of his gloves, a barely perceptible gesture Childe has come to recognize as unease (if uneasy is even a word that can be used to describe Zhongli.) 

“Hm?”

“You’re leaving Liyue tonight, and I have not yet done anything to repay you for all the favors you have shown me.”

Favors … The phrase leaves a bitter taste in Childe’s mouth. Favors indeed.

Instead, he lets his expression slide into an easy smile. “Oh? There’s no need for retribution, you know. I helped you and Aether out because I felt like it. Besides, you have helped me--and quite a few times, at that.”

Zhongli refuses to back down. “I insist. For your last night in Liyue, come dine with me. Of course, I will bring the Mora.” He smiles softly, and Childe feels his defenses practically melt away. 

“Haha, but we’ve had lots of meals together, haven’t we?” Childe doesn’t even let Zhongli open his mouth before he continues. “However, of course I accept. It would be a pleasure to spend my last night with you.” His smile relaxes into a genuine one.

Perhaps Zhongli notices the change too, because he smiles as well. “Very well. I shall meet you at the restaurant in two hours.” He rises from his seat gracefully, and exits the room, leaving Childe alone to his thoughts.

-

Childe gets to the corner-side restaurant approximately 10 minutes earlier than they had agreed to meet, but somehow Zhongli is already there. The taller man waves him over, appearance as impeccable as always. Childe, on the other hand, is slightly out of breath and his scarf is a bit more tattered than usual. He’d encountered a ruin guard on the way.

Childe slides into his seat next to Zhongli. Several steaming platters of food have already been laid out, and he takes an approving whiff of the delicious aromas. 

Zhongli looks him over. “You look tired.”

“Well, we can’t all be monstrously strong like you. It took me more than one hit--perhaps even a couple--to beat that ruin guard.” Childe props his chin up with one hand, idly fiddling with his scarf with the other. 

He thinks back to the first time he’d seen Zhongli fight--it had been a shock, to say the least, when he saw Zhongli literally summon a meteor and obliterate a particularly strong Ruin Hunter in a single blast. The force of the impact had just barely missed Childe himself, who had been perched on the crown of the mechanical humanoid with his Hydro blades stuck deep in its core. That was (admittedly) the first time he’d started to suspect that this absent-minded, old-fashioned, always-out-of-Mora gentleman was actually Rex Lapis in disguise.

“Zhongli.”

“Yes?”

“Couldn’t you have started with that?” Childe had asked, leaping down from the now-partially-encompassed-by-Geo Ruin Hunter. It had started to smoke, which Childe suspected was their cue to get the hell out of there and collect their payment before the ancient robot exploded, or worse.

Zhongli had shrugged, looking sheepish. “You didn’t ask..”

Zhongli shakes his head in confusion. “It’s your last night here, and you’re… fighting ruin guards?”

“Mm… it was fun.”

In reality Childe had needed something to clear his head, and the poor ruin guard whom he had stumbled across served as a decent distraction. He may have… gone slightly overboard. There might just be a mutilated pile of chaos circuits and rusty metal lying where that particular guard used to stand. 

Zhongli picks up his steaming cup of tea, taking a careful sip. “So, Childe.. After tonight, you are planning to return to Snezhnaya, yes?”

Childe lets out an uncharacteristic sigh. “Yep. Though I can’t say anyone will be glad to see me back.” Actually, Pulcinella might just try to rip his face off as soon as he sets foot back into the palace. And Signora will absolutely gloat about the fact that it had only taken her little over a week to steal the Anemo Archon’s Gnosis (he’d received a letter shortly after the deed had been done, and the half of the two-page letter had been her bragging about it. The other half had been her telling him to hurry up, or else . He’d ripped the letter into shreds.) Childe, on the other hand, is nearing a year in Liyue. He is honestly astonished at how fast his time has trickled away -- one month left.. two weeks left... two days left, and now only hours left before he must return. And with the Gnosis in hand, or else. And Childe doesn’t like to think about what “else” might possibly pertain to.

“Hm.. I have never been to Snezhnaya, personally. What is it like?”

Slightly startled by the question, Childe raises an eyebrow. Zhongli’s never asked about Snezhnaya before. 

He picks up his fork (he still doesn’t know how to use chopsticks, despite Zhongli’s many attempts to teach him. Just how are you supposed to manage two wooden sticks in one hand?) takes a bite of his food thoughtfully as he thinks of a proper answer. Suddenly, it seems as though there aren’t any words to properly describe his home country.  

“Cold. Very cold. And also very dull. It’s not colorful like Liyue. There are also lots of mountains, I guess… but that’s where the similarities end.” And the people aren’t nearly as interesting--nor as attractive , Childe is tempted to add. 

Zhongli hums, picking up his own pair of chopsticks with ease while Childe pretends like he’s not looking on in jealousy. “You make it sound very unpleasant, but I am sure there is more to life in Snezhnaya than shivering in the cold. Surely there are also good aspects to your home country.”

“Yeah, I suppose I could think of a couple things if I thought hard about it…,” Childe muses.  “The food is unique, and you always wake up wide awake because of the chill.” Unique as in bland, maybe. He eats another mouthful of his jewelery soup, relishing the refreshing taste of the tofu. “I guess you could also say the scenery is alright, if you like seeing lots of snow.”

“I believe the snow is beautiful,” Zhongli says, taking a bite of a jade parcel. “It reminds me of a fresh start. In winter, it is as if the world is slumbering, and in the spring, it is reborn again. Without the winter, there would be none of the beauty of spring.”

Wow. Zhongli is even more poetic than usual tonight. Childe wonders how it had taken so long to realize that Zhongli is, in fact, not an ordinary person, and why no one else has noticed it . Maybe it’s because the people of Liyue are so used to seeing Rex Lapis’s abs on full display that as long as he keeps himself fully covered, no one will notice. 

Childe , he reprimands himself, are you seriously thinking about Zhongli’s abs right now? And then, because he’s embarrassing himself by following the train of thought, he quickly turns back to the conversation with a laugh.

“Well, sorry to break it to you, but there isn’t really a ‘spring’ in Snezhnaya. It’s more like… winter, winter, maybe a brief thaw, and then winter again.”

“But there are still periods of warmth, no matter how brief those periods are.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. But whenever it comes, you hear nothing but complaints. It’s not uncommon to hear things like, ‘it’s so hot!’ and ‘when will it snow again?’. I suppose everyone’s too used to the cold to really enjoy the warmth when it’s there.” Childe snorts, shrugging. He takes a spoonful of black-back perch stew and sips it, letting out a hum of contentment as he does so. “Or we Snezhnayans just like to complain. That might be it, actually.”

“I see.” Zhongli chuckles. “Perhaps I am just too used to the warm weather to properly judge the cold. How likely do you think it would be for me to freeze upon walking into Snezhnaya?”

Probably not likely at all, since, you know, you’re a god. “A good chance, at least,” Childe jokes. “If you froze into a solid block of ice, just know I wouldn’t be to blame.”

Zhongli laughs, and flickers of amusement dance in his eyes. It’s almost unbearably pretty. Childe looks away, because apparently he can’t handle being within a foot of Zhongli without acting like an infatuated schoolgirl. Just when did these feelings begin?

They fall into silence for a while as Childe tries to stuff down as much food as he can. Zhongli, on the other hand, doesn’t eat nearly as much, instead opting to sip at his tea instead. It’s a stark difference from their usual dynamic; Zhongli usually eats an alarming amount in an impossibly short time frame. The first time they had met was due to an accidental encounter at a food stand where Zhongli was trying to order fifteen sweet buns, but had forgotten his wallet at home. Childe had been understandably curious as to who could possibly need so many buns, so he had offered to pay. 

He’d seen with his own eyes how Zhongli had practically inhaled the first bun in two seconds flat, followed by two more in quick succession, and then the rest. And they weren’t small by any standard, either. Childe had genuinely been afraid that the other man would choke to death and he would be responsible for the death of a citizen of Liyue. Luckily, that hadn’t happened. By some miracle from above.

Now that he thinks about it, is that some sort of godly power? Not having a gag reflex? And because his mind is traitorous, he almost chokes on his food from a sudden thought. Swallowing harshly, he takes a big gulp of tea.

“Are you alright?” Zhongli asks in a concerned voice.

Childe waves off the concern mutely, still trying to regain his composure. He takes a few more sips of tea to calm himself down. “Just ate too fast.”

Zhongli smiles. “I would advise you to be more cautious, but it’s understandable. Liyuen cuisine is truly delicious.” And with that, he goes on a tangent on how some of the traditional dishes were passed down from the very founding of Liyue, including stories that no mortal funeral consultant should know.

Zhongli could be reciting a dictionary, and still make it interesting, Childe thinks. Childe regrets that tonight will likely be the last time he’ll hear that velvet voice.

When Zhongli pauses, Childe smiles into his cup of tea.  “You know, I’m going to miss Liyue.”

When he looks up, Zhongli is smiling gently, his eyes warm in the lamplight.

“And I’m sure Liyue will miss you.”

(It’s a sappy statement, and probably not true, but Childe feels his face heat up nevertheless.)

-

As they’re leaving the pavilion, having finished their dinner, they happen to run into Aether and his floating fairy-like companion--her name is Paimon, if Childe recalls correctly.

“Aether!” Childe waves good-naturedly.

The traveler gives a startled jolt at hearing his name, turning around. He and Paimon had been sitting near the dock, observing the last few ships entering the harbor for the evening and quietly chatting. “...Childe? And Zhongli. What are you two doing out so late?”

Zhongli answers. “Childe plans to leave Liyue tonight. We just finished dinner, and we’re taking a short walk before he boards his ship.”

The blond traveler stares suspiciously at Childe (and for good reason, Childe thinks). “You’re leaving tonight?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Childe lets out an exaggerated sigh that is only half pretend. “You’ll miss me, won’t you?” Childe tousles Aether’s hair, but the other makes no comment, just a slight huffing noise.

“I’ll miss your money, that’s for sure,” he replies in almost a teasing voice--or maybe that’s just what Childe wants to hear.

“Well- Paimon still doesn’t trust you!” Paimon declares. Lowering her voice to a conspiratory whisper (that’s not much of a whisper at all), she turns to Aether: “We should totally follow him and Zhongli, Aether! You know… what if he decides to attack Mr. Zhongli? ” She says the last part in a low hiss. Luckily, Zhongli doesn’t appear to hear anything, but Childe does.

Oops. Childe sighs internally. Maybe he shouldn’t have called out to Aether. He knows the traveller is known for his strength; after all, it was he who had helped to defeat the dragon Dvalin that was plaguing Mondstadt’s lands. But if he hadn’t, he probably would have regretted it; he’s grown admittedly fond of the young traveller over the last few weeks. “Alright then, why don’t you come along with us?” He lowers his voice, winking at Aether; “But be warned, you might have to witness some sappy romantic exchanges between me and Zhongli xiansheng.”

Aether snorts. “Romantic? Between you two? No offense, but Zhongli has the emotional intelligence of a rock.”

Childe laughs out loud in his surprise, because, well-- Aether’s not entirely wrong. Most of the time, Zhongli does act like he has the emotional intelligence of a rock. And the times when he doesn’t-- Childe would rather not think about those, because they make his face heat up against his will.

“And you .” Aether raises an eyebrow at Childe. “You’re just the playboy type. You two would be the most unlikely combination in Teyvat.”

Childe’s grin drops a bit, because yet again, Aether is right. Although it stings to admit it. Maybe the reputation he’s built around himself is too good.

Zhongli, who is walking some distance behind the two, glances up at their voices. “Hm? What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Childe manages. “Just chatting.”

Zhongli nods distantly, smiling. “Aether, I believe you too shall be leaving Liyue soon. Where are you headed next on your journey to find the Seven?”

Aether ponders this for a moment. “Inazuma, I suppose. It’s ruled over by the Electro Archon, right?”

Paimon answers before either of the other two can. “Yeah, the Immortal Shogun! I’ve heard Inazuma has lots and lots of tasty food… Aether, we should leave first thing tomorrow so Paimon can try Inazuma’s snacks!”

“Okay, okay… you have a one-track mind, you know. For emergency food, you sure talk a lot about eating.”

“HEY!! For the last time, Paimon is NOT emergency food! Or any food at all!” 

“Hmmm. You sure?”

Childe chuckles, slowing down to match Zhongli’s pace. “They make quite the interesting duo, don’t you think?”

Zhongli laughs as well, a quiet, melodic sound. “Yes, they’re very lively. They sure are close.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence. Paimon and Aether are also quiet, and for a while the only sound that can be heard is the crunching of leaves underfoot. It’ll be winter in Liyue soon as well.

It’s a while before any of them speaks again. Aether breaks the silence when he pulls Childe to the side to whisper in his ear. “Childe.. I’m trusting you to not hurt Zhongli. Please… for his sake. I know you know he’s the Geo Archon. I don’t want what happened to Venti to happen to him.”

Silence.

Childe gives Aether his best attempt at a reassuring grin. “..I won’t. I care about him too. You might not see it, but I do.” And he really does--what other reason could he have for being so reluctant to leave Liyue? The people, the scenery, the nice weather--those were all reasons for Childe to like Liyue, but Zhongli… Zhongli was what had drawn him in.

Aether is unconvinced. “Promise me.”

So Childe does.

But it’s a mistake to trust any member of the Fatui, and Childe, for all his carefree words and easy smiles, is no exception.

-

“The Tsaritsa is calling for you.” Signora perches lazily on Childe’s bed, blinking smugly at him. She gestures to the sparsely furnished room. “Didn’t know the almighty Tartaglia lived in … such a place.”

Fuck off , Childe thinks. Irritation and resentment race through him in equal amounts. Archons, the other harbingers think they own the entirety of Celestia just because they were initiated earlier.

Childe smirks, arching an eyebrow at the pale woman lounging on the bed-- his bed, for Tsaritsa’s sake.  “Y’know… I do like you, but don’t you think I’m .. ah, a bit young for you?”

Signora’s expression instantly becomes nasty. “As if I’d want anything to do with a brain-dead twat like you. You’d better go answer the Tsaritsa before she snaps your neck- although, that’s the one sight I’d pay to see.” She sweeps out of the room.

Childe forces himself to calm down before he destroys something. That damn woman knows all too well how to get on his nerves. Unfortunately, she also has a point. If he doesn’t go see the Tsaritsa, worse things could happen than him getting his neck snapped. Although he’d prefer it if she didn’t put her icy hands anywhere near his neck.

He steps out of the room, adjusting his scarf and closing the door behind him before glancing down the shadowy hallway. He strides down the corridor and makes a left turn, directing himself to the Tsaritsa’s throne room. The imposing door towers over him, several tons of heavy steel and oak.

He knocks sharply; one, two, three times. He doesn’t have a chance to gather his nerves before a Fatui guard swings it open. The guard turns his head, eyes impassive under his mask, and announces, “The Eleventh Harbinger has arrived to speak with you, Your Royal Highness.”

“Let him approach.” The Tsaritsa’s cold and regal voice rings out through the hall, echoing off the high arches of the ceiling. It’s very impressive, honestly. Childe’s voice doesn’t do that.

The guards in the hall turn their heads, pretending not to stare at him but staring nonetheless. Childe walks forward, feigning confidence as he steps up to the Tsaritsa’s marble throne and kneels.

“Your Highness,” he murmurs reverently.

“Stand,” she commands. “I have a new assignment for you, Tartaglia.”

He dutifully obeys, lifting his blue eyes to meet her icy grey ones. “What is it, my queen?”

She fixes her gaze on him, piercing straight into his soul. “Go to Liyue, and bring me the gnosis of the Geo Archon.”

Childe’s mouth falls open, but he quickly snaps it shut. “Your Highness, I beg your pardon?”

“Do not make me repeat myself. You will set out for Liyue in the morning.”

He dips his head, fire beginning to pound in his veins. “To hear is to obey.” 

“Good. I will grant you the authority over Northland Bank, so that you may establish a base in Liyue and work under the guise of a diplomat. You have one year to complete your objective.”

“Yes, your Highness.” A grin spreads across his face. Finally, a chance to prove himself!

“Go then, my loyal harbinger.” She reaches out her icy talons, tilting his jaw upwards. A chill shudders through his body. “And you know what will happen should you fail..” 

-

Less than thirty minutes later, Childe breaks his promise. He knocks Aether out first, ignoring the furious betrayal burning in the traveller’s golden eyes as he attempts to fend off Childe’s attacks, the light in his eyes growing weaker with each passing second. 

“Childe… I trusted you. And you still…?!”

“I’m sorry, Aether,” Childe says truthfully, sighing apologetically. “I wasn’t lying when I said I cared about him. But I…. I have to do this. My Lady’s command… I can’t ignore it.” 

With a brutal slash of his Hydro polearm, he strikes; the force of the impact sends Aether flying backwards to slump on the ground, unconscious.

He turns to Zhongli, who has nothing in his amber eyes, no look of betrayal, no look of sadness. Childe manifests his Hydro into twin blades, and leaps forward, cursing the muted ache in his heart. I must do this.

Zhongli’s polearm materializes in his hands, but he makes no move to use it to defend himself in any way. He doesn’t say anything, or make any sudden moves; just stands there-- allowing Childe to overtake him easily.

It’s the worst part of it all. Zhongli is a god , the oldest and wisest of all the Archons--he could have easily destroyed Childe in a single hit, as he did with that Ruin Hunter so long ago. Childe would have preferred if Zhongli had gotten angry at him, or if he had slain Childe in a single earth-shattering blast. He deserves it, for doing this. So-- why, Zhongli?

Childe gazes down at the battered figure on the ground, arms pierced through by his blades of Hydro. Why aren’t you fighting back?

He kneels down to come face to face with Zhongli, expecting to feel triumph or maybe shame. Instead, he feels nothing. Just an empty void where his heart should be. Drawing power from the well of dark magic pulsing just beneath his veins, he shrouds his arm in the Electro power gifted to him by his Delusion. Staring Zhongli straight in the eye, blue meeting amber, he smiles with some difficulty, before he thrusts his hand in a single motion deep into Zhongli’s chest.

There is a moment of resistance, then of nothingness, and then his fingers close around a cold, smooth object -- Zhongli’s Gnosis.  

“... Sorry.”

A sharp claw of ice stabs his heart and twists as he sees Zhongli’s clear amber eyes blur and glaze over as his face grimaces in what must be pain greater than the pain of a thousand knives. Still, Zhongli says nothing, not when Childe pulls the Gnosis straight out of his chest; not when Childe releases him and stands; not when he collapses haphazardly on the ground, coughing up a mouthful of blood.

Childe turns the glowing sandglass over in his hands. It’s of some material purer than any metal he has even seen before, and the substance within it--divinity in a tangible form, Childe thinks-- glows a fierce, pure amber. It’s beautiful, in its own ethereal way, but all Childe can think of are Zhongli’s eyes. He’s filled with a sudden repulsion. He wants to throw the Gnosis as far away as he can, but alas, if he did that, Tsaritsa would make sure he suffered a fate worse than death.

Unable to look at Zhongli or say anything more, he turns to leave--

“... I... forgive you..” For a second, he thinks he’s imagined the weak, whispered phrase, before Zhongli utters it a second time.

A second talon digs deep into his heart. Unable to stop himself, Childe lets out a short bark of a laugh, turning around. Zhongli still lies there, bloody and making no move to get up. He looks up at Childe, his eyes so … so full that Childe has to blink harshly to prevent himself from letting the turmoiled knot of feelings in his stomach overflow.

“You shouldn’t,” Childe whispers, despite himself.

There’s a story he’s heard that’s commonly told to children across Teyvat: A farmer, in the dead of winter, comes across a viper that is mortally wounded. 

The farmer, taking pity on the poor creature, takes the viper back to his own home and nurses it back to good health during the next few months, feeding it from his own bowl and giving it the warmest spot to lie, right next to the fireplace. 

In the spring, the viper is fully healed, and the farmer takes it back to the exact spot where he had found it. As soon as he releases the viper, the creature turns back on him, biting him lethally on the hand. The farmer clutches the wound, but can do nothing to stop the slow spread of the poison through his bloodstream. 

“Why would you do such a thing?” The farmer asks, to the creature he had given so much to; “I nursed you; I fed you from my own bowl and allowed you the most comfortable spot in my home.”

The viper replies; “You, who knew who I was and what I was capable of, were the one who brought me to your home. Why are you surprised? If you were not such a fool, you would have left me here to die.”

To Childe, the moral of the story is clear: kindness is wasted on evil. He has heard it countless times, in many different variations, but the ending is always the same. The viper bites the man who had saved its life.

Once, only once, Childe had come down with a fever after overworking himself revising Northland Bank’s financial plan. Zhongli had taken it upon himself to take care of Childe, despite Childe’s many protests that he would be perfectly fine within a few days. While Childe was lying in bed trying to force himself to sleep (which was not easy, considering Zhongli was there), Zhongli had been reading at Childe’s bedside. 

“Ah,” Zhongli said, upon noticing the other’s gaze. “It’s quite the interesting tale. Would you like to hear it?”

“A new tactic to get me to sleep, hm?” Childe chuckled. “Not that I have any complaints, though, so go for it.”

“As you wish,” Zhongli said, with an amused smile that caused tendrils of warmth unrelated to the fever to brush over Childe’s face. Zhongli reopened the book to a familiar story, a story about a farmer and a wounded viper, and began to read.

At the end of the story, Zhongli closed the book with a gentle ruffle of the pages. Childe stretched, a bit drowsy from listening to Zhongli’s comforting, rich voice. It was a childish tale he had heard many times before, but for some reason, with Zhongli reading it, it felt different.

“Quite a depressing choice for a bedtime story, no?” Childe smiled, lacing his hands behind his head.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, no matter the variation, the tale always ends with the man dying. It makes you wonder--why did he save the snake in the first place? Why sacrifice so much for such a creature who had done nothing to deserve it, and then expect that it had changed just because of that?”

Zhongli let out a thoughtful hum. “It is true; the farmer would have survived had he not rescued the viper. But I do not believe he was wrong in deciding to do so, or in harboring the belief that the viper had changed.”

Childe leaned his head back against the cushions, pondering the thought. “Why not? He was a fool, and he lost his life for his folly.”

Zhongli turned to stare directly into Childe’s eyes, amber piercing into the depths of the blue; “Would his sacrifices have been worth it had the viper really had changed?”

“..I suppose so.”

Zhongli smiled, gently brushing Childe’s hair away from his hot forehead. “It is in our nature--and rightfully so--to hope for the best, instead of constantly fearing for the worst. Perhaps the man regretted it in the end. Perhaps he didn’t. I think that is where we must take away our own interpretation. But the truth stands: even though he lost his life, he was able to save the life of another. 

“So, had it been me, I believe I would have been content.”

-

“Why must you be so kind to me?” he murmurs almost imperceptibly under his breath, but of course Zhongli hears anyway, because he has an unfortunate tendency to hear these things.

The corners of Zhongli’s mouth quirk up in a faint smile as he struggles against the waves of unconsciousness lapping against the corners of his mind. “Because I care about you… Childe….”

“ You shouldn’t, ” Childe snaps angrily in a sudden outburst, surprising them both with his intensity. His smile, which he had been trying to hard to keep on his face, slips off and is replaced with a pained grimace. How can Zhongli... “How can you say something like that?” 

Zhongli is clearly struggling to stay conscious at this point. His words slur slightly together. “... Because.. Because I know you. And you….  are a good person.” His amber eyes slip half-closed beneath his eyelids, his breathing growing labored. “You… matter to me.”

Childe grips the sandglass in his left hand harder. “I have your Gnosis .” He spits through gritted teeth. “I betrayed you.” He’s shaking, not that it matters. Zhongli has finally passed out, either from the pain, or from losing his divinity, or from an ugly combination of both.

Childe slides to the ground next to Zhongli, trying to stop his stupid, stupid hands from trembling. The power of his Delusion has ebbed away, leaving behind a throbbing pain in his arm and chest. Deep breaths, Childe. You have his Gnosis. You can just walk away now, return to the Tsaritsa, and never have to come back to this confounded country again.

He glances down at Zhongli’s prone form, looking so vulnerable and small against the muddied ground. Childe allows the Hydro blades that had pierced through Zhongli’s skin to dissolve into harmless drops of water, and stands. 

For moment he just stands there, hesitant, before he kneels down again, lifting Zhongli’s chin gently and wiping a smudge of dirt from his cheek. He wavers for a second, only a second, before he leans down and presses a trembling kiss to the bloodied lips. I’m sorry …

Childe grips the Gnosis tighter as he slips it into his pocket. Closing his eyes, he clenches his fist and takes a labored breath. His nails dig into his palm, drawing blood in his attempt to prevent the rising tide of emotion from spilling over. 

From nearby, Aether lets out a pained groan as he stirs, and Childe takes it as his cue to leave. He exits the tiny clearing the only way he knows how: quietly--and alone.

-

It’s only in the cramped, swaying cabin beneath the deck of a Snezhnayan ship, fifty kilometers away from Liyue, that he bows his head and allows the first of his bitter tears to fall.

The amber of the Gnosis--Zhongli’s Gnosis--glints dimly in the murky, filtered light. Childe closes his fist around it and stands, going above deck where murmurs of the winter chill can already be felt in the air. The wind whips his face and tousles his hair, as if welcoming him home. 

The familiar cold nips at his ears and nose, and he gingerly shields his hands over his eyes, squinting towards the distant horizon. The first hints of dawn peek out over turbulent waters, its faint whispers of pale sunlight reflecting off the waves. 

His tears have already dried.