Chapter Text
Childe would like to say it started the moment he walked into Angel’s Share bar, but that’s not true.
It starts with ‘betrayal’, and an unobtainable gnosis.
No, it was more than that. It was the way Childe’s throat closed up when he stared at Zhongli with such duress, as the other man avoided his gaze with a cool demeanor. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think, and perhaps he should have snatched the gnosis at that moment, if he realized what exactly had happened. He could’ve claimed it was all a result of his involvement, and returned to a delighted Tsaritsa. But he stared instead. He stared, and forced himself to level his tone as he made bitter remarks Zhongli completely ignored.
Zhongli was an… acquaintance. Even with all his secrets, Childe felt safe from putting on his usual personas. With his type of work, it was hard to be honest, wasn’t it? He was under the impression nobody could tolerate him for too long, with his unruly behavior, his recklessness, his bloodlust. He had thought Zhongli, perhaps, understood, but he was wrong. He felt the beginning pangs of resentment.
(Secretly, Zhongli had simply been waiting. Giving Childe time to process, to hurt, to be angry. He knew there were mistakes on both of their parts, but his apology would seem insincere if he simply raced after Childe, no?)
That was Zhongli’s next mistake.
Childe was not the steady stone Zhongli was, still and waiting in the process of time, as it grew softer and worn. Childe was like a rushing river, always moving, always eroding, evaporating into thin air for days and returning in a raging storm, raindrops trickling back into the icy waters of Tsaritsa’s mighty sea. Poetic, almost, if it wasn’t so dangerous. While Zhongli’s golden glow was like sun warming his calm waves, now, there was only dark.
Childe never thought of Zhongli as any more than a companion, and yet, his empty heart screamed in protest, devoid of the commune he so desperately wanted. To feel heard, at all, to feel as if any person could have but a morsel of care for him. His family loves the person he used to be. The person he pretends to be. The Tsaritsa only cares for Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger. The person he wishes he was.
(The Abyss used to care about you. Skirk used to care about you. Her cold hands brushing against your curls, as you unfurled and came undone, breaking apart at the seams-)
Childe ignores the intruding thought as second-nature. It had only been two days since Zhongli handed his Gnosis over to Signora, and despite his snarky claim of taking another boat than Signora back to Snezhnaya, he walked along the icy paths of Dragonspine, his breath comfortably turning to mist with each step.
After all, he wasn’t elated at the idea of being caught walking merrily by the venomous Diluc Ragnvindr’s estate, and how else was he supposed to get to Mondstadt’s capital?
~
It truly was fate, Childe thought, that the Traveler had caught him before he went tearing through Liyue’s treasure hunter camps in an effort to blow off steam. He was already at the gates, his fists clenched into white balls, and she had calmly followed, chatting to Paimon casually all the while. Only a moment’s hesitation in his steps was enough of an opportunity to chat.
“You’re leaving already?”
Childe looked back with a scowl, but his murderous glare dimmed slightly. Lumine, despite all her disapproval and fury towards her actions, had been just as in the dark as he was. And just as upset with Zhongli, judging by the slight soured look on her face as she talked to him quietly after the ‘trade’. Even after he had released Osial, she hadn’t looked at him any differently. Her slightly blank stare, full of curiosity and hope, made Childe think that perhaps there was hope for him too. It was ridiculous.
“Thought I’d enjoy the Liyuen cuisine and natural ‘wildlife’ one last time before returning to Snezhnaya. Not like I can hang around the city for long.” He gave her a scorned grin, crossing his arms behind his head. Lumine looked a bit surprised, then thoughtful.
“They know you released Osial?”
“Well, it’s sort of a no-brainer, don’t you think? I’ve made my presence very clear, and who else would have the balls to do it?” He laughed bitterly. “Besides, I couldn’t enjoy myself knowing Rex Lapis was walking on the streets around me.”
Lumine’s expression dropped back into something more blank, almost like she was containing herself. She seemed to struggle with her words for a minute, and there was a brief flash of pity in her expression, and Childe’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t you dare try any self-righteous, soft bullshit, Lumine-“
“Then why not come to Mondstadt?”
Childe would have never expected those words to leave her mouth. He stood there in stunned silence for a moment, Lumine looking back at him expectantly, and he choked out a laugh.
“Are you- Are you kidding me? The moment I walk through the city gates, I’d get tackled by guards. The only reason the Fatui is tolerated in Liyue is all the extensive contracts we’ve signed. The city of freedom? I’d get mobbed. ”
Lumine looked at Childe with a bored expression, like he was acting irrationally. Childe absolutely was not ! This was common knowledge.
“You know, if you didn’t walk around with a Fatui mask on the side of your head and typically Snezhnayan clothes, people would probably be a bit more receptive to you. Not considering the fact that you proclaim yourself to be a Harbinger every five-”
“I do not do that! You’re overexaggerating.” Childe seemed to ignore everything she said except for the last part, accompanied by a pout. Lumine felt a little bit better that his posture wasn’t so tense and murderous anymore. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Besides, that’s always kind of been my style, you know? Are you telling me to not care about my culture, Lumine? That’s quite rude.”
“So you care more about style than getting ‘mobbed’.”
“Hey, it’s not like I couldn’t take all of them on, it’d just be way too easy. Not to mention, I’d have another diplomatic crisis on my hands.”
Lumine looks vaguely frustrated, and Childe decides he’s wasted too much time avoiding an actual answer. He blows air out of the side of his mouth, grimacing with a roll of his head.
“I dunno… Seems like a lot of trouble. There’s more big baddies here, and I've been dying for a chance to cut them open.”
“It’s the Windblume Festival.” Lumine replies, smoothly, without missing a beat. “The bars all have discounts and I’ve heard the decorations are beautiful.”
Childe raises an eyebrow at that, giving her a deadpan stare. She stares back. The traveler has given plenty of criticism before, unafraid to meet his dangerous eyes, and does so without even flinching. Still, this is the most ridiculous topic they’ve ever argued about.
“And you think I care about discounts and pretty decorations? Come on, Lumine.”
“Are you really going to feel better staying here, in the one place literally oozing with the energy of ‘Rex Lapis’ ?”
“Well, if I kill all the monsters around, isn’t that sort of like killing a part of him?”
Lumine sighs, putting a hand to her forehead. “Childe, you need to calm down. I’m trying to do this for your benefit. As long as you don’t cause trouble..”
Childe pauses, letting Lumine’s words wash over him. Usually, his first response would be a snarky comeback, and maybe he’d leave in a huff. But he knows that as blunt as Lumine was, she was truthful. And though she looked annoyed, there was also a sort of weariness to it, like she herself was expecting rejection.
His empty heart pangs. Maybe she cares.
“...I’ll think about it.” Childe finally grunts out, and Lumine’s eyebrows raise a little, looking at him skeptically. He throws his hands up. “I will! But if I did, I’d need at least a day or two to plan it out. Would I ever lie to you?” He purrs, batting his lashes. Lumine grimaces.
“You absolutely would. You have many times.”
“Lumine, you wound me! I consider that more ‘changing the subject’. I’ve changed my ways!”
Lumine glances down to the bloodstain on the side of his boot. Childe, not at all subtle, scuffs said boot against the ground, and she huffs.
“...Right. I’ll see you in a few days, then?”
Childe groans dramatically, rolling his eyes. “I said perhaps! Though, honestly, I thought you’d want to stay in Liyue longer- I guess you’re sick of it too?”
Lumine simply shrugs, and it seems that’s the end of the conversation. Throughout it’s extension, the adrenaline and rage had simmered down to warmth in Childe’s veins, and he finds himself drained of energy. As she waves goodbye, warily walking to one of those weird, archaic-looking ‘waypoints’, Childe finds himself standing dumbly in the middle of the dirt path, feeling lost.
“Ah… Bye.” He mutters.
Windblume Festival… Love… Sharing drinks… The Tsaritsa would hate it.
Childe doesn’t dare consider that as part of the reason why he books a night at the Wangshu Inn. Doesn’t think hard about it, as he packs all his bags and informs his fellow bank consultants he’ll be gone for ‘some’ amount of time, despite their gazes tinged with concern and disapproval, and stashing bags of mora in his coat. Because if he thinks too long about it, the fact that he’s standing in front of his lacking closet with an annoyed expression on his face as he plans what little outfits he’ll have, he’ll shove everything in said closet and abandon the concept of ever going to Mondstadt.
He makes a plan. The trip to Mondstadt should take about 2 days on foot, if he makes good use of his vision and mora. Best to take the less traversed roads, to avoid attention. He’ll have to stop somewhere in Mondstadt to pick up some clothes, given that he’ll look like a mismatched foreigner if he walks in with his poor excuse of varying outfits. He studies the map of Mondstadt, and does not think about the fact that if the Tsarita sends a letter for him, he will not be able to read it immediately. He’ll stall, and that’s no good for his work career.
He starts on the road, a traveler’s bag slung over his shoulders, dressed in Liyuen weather-appropriate attire, with a serape wrapped around his neck, and begins to walk.
It’s almost too easy for him. Childe, as headstrong and cocky as he is, isn’t the type to chase battles when he has an objective. He stays on the boring, insufferable path, obliterates any trace of aggressive monsters in his way, and walks until his feet pulse with agony. When that happens, he stuffs himself with what limited food he clobbered together for his travels, and purifies the passing streams with his vision to drink. And he continues. And continues. And continues.
It gives him time to think. He hates it. He starts running at some point, just to occupy his mind, and he ends up getting to Wangshu Inn 4 hours before nightfall.
He puts on his most disarming smile, making sure his Fatui mask is safely clipped away from prying eyes as he orders from the restaurant below the establishment. The waitress serves him without hesitation, and the taste of beef, fish, and broth linger on his tongue, but he still feels invisible eyes trained on him as he walks up to his room.
He still feels them in his room, locked tight and impossible to barge in, searing into the back of his neck. Like snake eyes. In a sick way, Childe is reminded of the Tsaritsa, and the horrible comfort he gets from it is enough to lull him to sleep.
(He dreams of a better world. A better world, where the hand running through his hair is not rotting and dead, but lightly frosted and terrifyingly alive. Her voice is so fond, so different from the icy dread that seems to seep out from every word.
“ My dearest Child.”)
Childe wakes up, and the fleeting memory of the dream forces an instinctual dissociative haze to spread over his mind. It disappears from his brain, fading to black, and he knows he will never remember that dream again.
He gets out of bed, takes a shower, leaves with a comfortable emptiness in his mind, and he is at peace for the moment.
~
So. Childe is freezing to death. Slowly.
Usually, that statement alone would be a cause for concern, and yet it’s only a fleeting, conscious thought that passes through Childe’s mind as he navigates Dragonspine with effortless ease, laughing and whooping all the while. Childe has no idea why anyone would have trouble getting here, as long as they had a hydro vision. After all, water freezes.
So what, he might’ve made his own personal slip and slide, and he was skating around the mountainous rocks and winding cliffs at mach speed? He’s Snezhnayan. This is his element, and really, is it playing with danger if it’s part of his trip?
And sure, he isn’t stopping to catch his breath by the fiery torches, but-
When have we ever not been self destructive?
The freezing air burns into his skin. It wraps his hands in numbness, his cheeks are frostbitten, and his eyes are watering from how the snow sears against his eyelids. The wind is whirling, and each breeze like slashes against his skin, even with his thick Snezhnayan coat wrapped around his form. He takes a shaky breath, and laughs, even as his foot brushes against the ice’s hard edge, sending his position off kilter.
Even as he falls, he laughs, because his mind is spinning. His mind is racing with the prospect of danger. Every single fiber of his being can feel the cold seeping into his bones, his mind, the thrill of falling, the threat of death.
Right before he hits the icy slope, water from a nearby stream careens into the air, tendrils effortlessly flowing beneath his body to break his fall, and he slips down the makeshift slide as it freezes into a ramp of sorts. He instinctively finds his footing, launching himself off the end of said ramp, before leaping over the stream, his feet finding solid snow beneath him. He’s breathing hard. In a moment of vulnerability, seeing so unseen, he collapses onto the biting snow beneath him, on his back with his arms outstretched as he giggles.
What a shame, isn’t it?
See, Childe never liked being alone.
Even if it was his Fatui underlings, or a merchant, or the children playing by the wharf, he almost always hung around people, conversations barely whispering against his ears as he passed, tricking his mind into the comfortable lull of society. It occupied his thoughts. It feels like that’s all he cares about, nowadays. And maybe, just for a moment, he likes the thought that even if a person looks into his soulless eyes, they see him as human.
Not anymore. Not in Liyue.
As he catches his breath, the cold starts to really set in. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, he contemplates, blearily, as he sits up slowly, straggling to his feet as he clumsily makes his way to the nearest torch. Even as his body vaguely aches, the chill biting against every atom of his being, he gives a bitter smile, because he knows he’s been through worse. So much worse.
The cold is inside him. His skull is encased in divine ice. Nothing goes in, Nothing goes out. He never learns, never lets go.
The warming station feels like fire is licking his skin, threatening to engulf him in agonizing flames. His palm, so lightly pressed to the pillar to give him unneeded stability, burns like the hot Liyuen sun against his scars.
Never heals.
Perhaps, if he was around people, he’d pretend to have to sit down and take a breather. Perhaps he’d pretend to be a little shaken by his own display of recklessness. Or maybe he’d make a witty comment, and quirk the edges of his lips up, in a charming smile, to cover the nothingness he felt as the torch soothed every edge of frostbite that had begun his heavenly descent to death.
He stares at the torch for a moment, before lifting his hand, and continuing on the flat path ahead of him, the green hills and grasses of Mondstadt in the distance. If it weren’t for his vague promise to Lumine, he almost would prefer to stay here, with the lingering comfort from the similarity to home, and the chance he might-
“I’m trying to do this for your benefit.”
Childe takes one step at a time, hearing the press of grass blades underneath his feet, and lets the mask lift up to his face once more. A boyish smile, and twinkling eyes, betraying the abyss that crawls in his mind once he’s alone.
I suppose it’s showtime.
~
Mondstadt really is the city of freedom, he thinks, when he treks into a small town on the edge of Dragonspine covered in snow and ice, and nobody gives him a second glance.
The townspeople are invested in their craft, whether reading books, going over maps, cooking, or forging. It isn’t until Childe approaches them with a sheepish smile, his face going pale with blue, that they take the time for introductions in the form of making him a warm, spicy soup that sears his throat, and sitting him by the fire, in which he’s momentarily hypnotized by the sparking flames. He’s been protesting all of this the whole time, pleading that he isn’t cold, and he could continue if they’d just inform him of the nearest ‘garment store’- But secretly, he wonders if it’s supposed to be like this. People being nice to him, worried for him. It certainly doesn’t feel right, and it puts him on edge, even when their stares are tinged with slight wariness.
“Please, you’re all really too kind. I’m Snezhnayan, the cold doesn’t bother me at all. If anything, it’s about to get far too warm for my comfort, while I’m on my way to the Windblume Festival.”
Their expressions turned to that of recognition, a young woman in purple raising her eyebrows.
“You traveled all the way here for the Windblume Festival? You must be on a conquest for love, surely.”
Childe nearly barks out a laugh, but he holds it in with a cocky smirk on his face, despite knowing he has absolutely no interest in the concept. He wonders what the best way to play this is. Act innocent? Coy? Dare he even say, mockingly flirtatious? The people talk faintly around him, but his mind is occupied on the cards he holds, the masks he collects.
“Snezhnaya is a nation of love, despite the assumptions made of our customs. I simply wish to see Mondstadt’s idea of it.” He says, mysteriously, and while the people look ever so slightly confused, after some careful conversation, Childe finally gets the name of a tailor over in Springvale. He thanks all of them so earnestly, shaking their hands and handing over pouches of mora plentiful enough to make each of the townspeople’s eyes go wide, that he knows without a doubt as he sets off on the road, that he’s got nothing to worry about. They were so busy fretting over his wellbeing, they didn’t even get a chance to get his name.
Foolish. Innocent. Pure.
He inspects his map once more as he traverses through the woods of Mondstadt, his own planned ‘backway’ to the town of Springvale, as he ponders over the chances of the Knights being present in the town , considering it’s near the city. I’d really not prefer to start a scene before I even get in my disguise, he thinks, wearily, as he pokes his head around a tree and takes a glance around the town. It’s peaceful. There’s a few people milling about, but their expressions are carefree and simple, and he takes that second cautious step.
It’s the same routine. Smiles and friendly gestures, as he navigates his way to the Tailor’s shop, with a little direction from the townspeople. It’s only to be expected, when he gives his falsified story of a foreigner with a desire to see love, that he’s being fretted over with the same fervor of the last town. The tailor is rushing around the store, holding up shirts and pants to his body with a swiftness that disabled Childe from even getting a glance at the fronts, and Childe falls into his unfortunate habit of obedience as she commands him to strip and try all the outfits on. Still, he won’t go silently.
“Does it really matter how it looks? I just don’t want to burn up in my suit.”
“Darling, you’re going to the Windblume Festival. It’s practically free advertising for me.”
Replacing what was what Childe considered a ‘tasteful antique’ earring given to him by his mother, a simple jade stone on a hook was adjusted onto his ear. Childe isn’t quite sure what that means, so he says nothing and bites his lip, but later, he almost regrets it. By the time he leaves the shop, he’s dazed and holding a cloth bag that feels 50-pounds heavy with clothes, and he’s been done up in a loose white button up, exposing part of his chest, and even looser, sashed, tan pants, the cuffs sitting uncomfortably above his ankle. It’s a miracle it isn’t falling off his hips with it’s baggy style, but the tailor had said something about it being ‘excellent for his figure ’, so he didn’t think much of it. But now, stepping outside and feeling the warm spring air hitting his bare skin, the wide-eyed glance the woman standing in front of a pot gave him, before she looked away with a flush, made him reconsider how he got there.
Maybe I shouldn’t have given her that sob story about love. She must’ve gotten the wrong idea.
His hair is mussed and fluffy, styled charmingly, but Childe can only feel annoyance as his bangs drop completely into his eyes as he turns his head to look around. That damn tailor must have tried to pretty him up when he was in his uncaring state of compliance, but it was fine. Childe’s used to getting stared at for other reasons anyway, so he ignores the looks he gets as he makes his way down the road, only giving them waves and little winks to keep them yearning.
Lumine didn’t say it’d be this much trouble to be a friendly stranger.
~
By the time Childe reaches the bridge that leads to the city’s gates, he’s already come up with his story. His name is…Sumere Polanski, a humble Snezhnayan adventurer with a fondness for games and drinks. Harmless and good-looking, friendly, but too reserved to get close to. He’d be in and out in a few days, maybe hang out with Lumine a few times outside of the city, give a few trinkets to the local kids, and Sumere would disappear into nothingness the moment he left, never to return to Mondstadt.
Nobody was on guard with such a celebratory spirit going on- The plan was nearly perfect, all things considered. Childe has to admit, as he passes the glittering waters on the bridge and glances at his reflection, that his mussed up hair is the cherry on top to make himself look almost completely unrecognizable. Even if his Fatui subordinates were good at staying quiet, he doesn’t have complete faith they won’t start bowing down to him in the middle of the street. As he raises a hand in casual greeting to the guards, for the first time, all he gets is a slightly wary glance, before they nod and allow him in the city. Internally, it’s so startling, Ajax feels his paranoia start to edge into his brain.
Even as he walks the lavishly decorated streets, full of smiling and happy people, the anxiety remains, and Childe swears it’s never been so difficult to avoid stopping and scanning the streets with a hostility reminiscent of a predator. It’s not the sort of paranoia common folk have, the anxiety, the delusion of a threat; it’s ingrained inside of him, a constant tether of the abyss, his survival instincts kicking into action. After all, he’s always preferred going places in full uniform for a reason: to make the threat amongst them known, and to give a warning sign to those who thought they could get the upper hand on him. The cheerful and joyous air that wafted along Mondstadt’s streets was unfamiliar, and therefore, dangerous, to Childe. The nonexistent threat of people knowing who he was, simply playing along as he walked into Barbato’s gnarled jaws, Mondstadt…
The mask. Put on the mask.
No, Not his Fatui mask, but the blinding smile that charmed even the most hardened of warriors, returning a gruff nod of their own. The women stared at him from afar, so longingly (or perhaps in fear? In wariness?) as he fondly watched children play and run along the streets, and one gasped at the sight of him, running over to his side to tug at his sleeve. He looks down with a smile, only to see a young girl donned in a red dress and hat, her innocent face grinning up at him, full of excitement.
“Klee has a flower crown for you!”
Childe blinks down at her, expression that of momentary surprise as she holds out said flower crown in her hands. It’s made of blue and white flowers, and while it seems a bit clumsily crafted, the petals haven’t wilted one bit. It must have been made that day. He keeps his smile up, but he probably looks a bit confused.
“Ah, are you sure you want to give such a pretty flower crown to a stranger like me? Don’t you have friends to give them to?” He says, in a soft voice, but Klee only pouts.
“Klee has lots of friends! But Mister Stranger is the only one with eyes the color of Lamp grass! Maybe not at night, though…”
She seems disappointed by this thought. Childe has no idea what Lamp grass is, but he assumes his flower crown is made of it, and she’s explained her reasoning well enough, so he relents, gingerly crouching down while she squeals in delight. Her chubby fingers adjust the crown on his head with a little difficulty, and he can feel it tilting against his hair, but the action alone brings a little flicker of warmth to Childe’s heart.
Teucer would probably get along with this ‘Klee’.
“Your name is Klee, you said? I’m very grateful for this gift, Klee. It’s a beautiful crown.”
Klee giggles and hops in place.
“Yup! Mister Stranger looks beautiful now! “
Childe just laughs at that good naturedly, ruffling the girls hair, because he knows it's a joke. Children were so innocent, so naive. He wanted to protect that innocence, always, to keep them from straying to the trail he took. It takes every fiber of his being to hold back from looking around in paranoia, wary of any looks of disgust or resentment like he usually gets. But when Klee gasps, he instinctively whirls around, searching for danger.
“What-”
“Oh no! Klee forgot!” She wailed, covering her face. “Klee isn’t supposed to talk to strangers, but she did! Oh no, Klee is gonna get in trouble!”
And just like that, Childe relaxes, covering up his surprised laugh with a cough as he pats Klee’s shoulder lightly. “It’s alright. You’re not going to get in trouble for giving a stranger a flower crown. Besides, my name’s, uh, Sumere. Now I’m not a stranger, am I?”
Klee peers up with him with wide eyes, blinking a few times, before beaming. She claps in delight, eyes lighting back up.
“Mister Sumere is so smart! That’s right, if I know your name, you’re not a stranger!” She agrees, enthusiastically, before sighing in relief. “Oh, Klee was so worried, but now she feels fine. Ok, bye Mister Sumere!”
And just like that, the crisis is resolved, and Childe finds himself shaking his head fondly as the little girl scampers off like a bolt of lightning, most likely to share more flower crowns, or perhaps make more. To be honest, Childe’s relieved too, mostly because if the Knights found a little girl wailing right next to him, they might assume the worst.
Maybe Lumine is right. I probably do need to calm down.
So he keeps the flower crown on his head, even when the abyss whispers ‘ but how do you know it’s not toxic to the touch? that it’s searing a crown into your skin?’
He runs his fingers gingerly against the edges of the petals, as if taunting the horrible rattles in his skull, and grits his teeth as he walks up to the Boars Head, returning the hostess’ smile as he orders vaguely ‘your local specialty’. Chokes down his food with relaxed motions, only barely tensing as the Acting Grandmaster herself and another classy looking witch of sorts passed him on the street. They both give him friendly, distanced waves, and he returns the gesture with his eyes clenched shut in the illusion of joy, grin so plastic he can feel the edges of it digging in his skin, and as their footsteps fade away, Childe can do nothing more but let the expression fall completely, as he stares blankly at the table, sticky honey roast half-eaten.
This is why I hate going incognito.
What joy could he derive from the world around him, when he couldn’t even be himself? The thought constricted around his heart, a constant in his way of life, and even as he attempts to stop searching for opportunities to prove himself right, the pieces fall into place anyway.
Nobody could ever want you for what you really are.
And yet, even as those words bounce around Childe’s skull, he doesn’t find himself even the slightest depressed. There is no hurt, no anger, just simple acceptance that comes in the form of white noise blurring his eyes and train of thought. He finishes his sticky honey roast, and yet there’s no sweetness, no savoriness on his tongue. He wishes the hostess a good evening, and it really is; the sun has just dipped below the city’s walls, and the lanterns are slowly buzzing to light, and the clouds look as white and fluffy as the wool they used in Snezhnaya. The air is warm and moist against his skin, but his body is cold. Ice cold.
I need a drink. Childe wearily realizes, wiping a few droplets of sweat off his brow with a casual gesture, striding down the streets of Mondstadt with the familiarity of a local. Eyes stopped on him momentarily, lingering, then flicked away. He could feel it, crawling against his skin, as he spied the Angel’s Share tavern down the path.
I’m in disguise, aren’t I? No way Dickluc could recognize me, if he’s even in the bar tonight. The Fatui intel from Mondstadt had to be good for something, anyway. Some of the Knights might be in there, but they’ll be drunk, so it’s probably fine.
‘Probably fine’ is about as good of a green light as Childe is going to get, so he untenses his shoulders as he greets the doorman, all megawatt smiles as he swings the door to Angel’s Share open. On instinct, he pushes back a few strands of his bangs as he ducks through the doorway, blinking as the warm colors of the establishment started to soothingly fill his vision-
And then-
The Abyss.
Childe freezes in front of the doorway, pupils shrinking to the size of a needlepoint as he stares numbly into the room, and distantly, he can feel his fists clenching into hard balls as the painfully, agonizingly recognizable scent of death, stars, and nothingness fills his nostrils and sears his lungs. His vision stutters, blackness edging from every corner, as if it threatened to consume it entirely, leaving him blind and lost. His pulse jumps erratically, and Childe has to force his next inhale to be level and steady, not the gasping breath for air his body yearns for with such an oppressive, traumatic presence.
And yet, Childe can see so clearly, almost too clear, with the way his eyes seem to hyperfocus on every detail of the man across the room. Despite the Abyssal presence almost claustrophobic with both of their shared existences, this man… the trace is faint in comparison to his, or perhaps, simply different. It oozed from his form as if mist, wafts of beautiful, inky nothingness brushing against the gilded designs of his coat and pants, disappearing into flecks of stars as it evaporates into the air around him. And though his single eye was wide with horror, dread and recognition , it only made the appearance of his iris more visible, and Childe- no, Ajax , can see the telltale diamond shape that this man and his master shared, so striking, so haunting.
~
Ajax does not try to think too hard about what he’s seen.
Or done, really, given that his muscle memory will do the work for him. His clothes are always drenched in rotting blood, his body covered in cuts and blisters, but his eyes are alive, more alive than he’s ever been. Even with the haze of the abyss consuming his mind, softening the pain, Ajax feels so vivid, so real, so visceral the moment his blade draws blood, and as he feels the insane grin on his face pull at the wetness dripping out of his skull, he wonders if this is what true happiness feels like.
But what happens when there’s nothing left to cut?
Skirk’s hand rests on top of Ajax’s crown, as his head is gently maneuvered onto her bony lap, the rest of his body crumpled on the ground as his fingers twitch and jerk from time to time. His feet twitch, like he wants to move, but he’s too tired to even drag himself off the ground. The blood drips off his forehead, into his left eye, down his face and to his neck, but to Ajax, blood feels like nothing on the skin. It feels like a second skin, if anything.
“You have done adequately.”
Her guttural, sickening voice is so soft, so deceptively fond, as she scrapes her gnarled nails gently against his blood-clotted hair, and his breathing is labored, yet quiet in the stillness of the room. He struggles briefly, trying to pick himself up, but his head is kept firmly in place by her hand.
“There’s… more to kill…”
“This lesson has been finished. There will be another, later.”
Ajax feels a deep, soulbending sense of relief with these words, even if his instincts scream and moan to get it over with, begging, pleading, threatening. His mind is a cascade of emotions; gratification, sorrow, longing, satisfaction, bloodlust and pain. Even with all of this pain, even with all of the violence Skirk thought he couldn’t withstand, he’s alive and been warped into unrecognition, and yet, he is so pitifully raw and real.
“Please don’t leave me.” He whispers, in a choked out tone, thin tears mixing with blood as they trickle down his face. He closes his eyes, waiting for the pain, waiting for the punishment for daring to vocalize his weakness. Even if she beats him one more time, it would be enough.
Instead, he can only hear the smile in her voice as everything starts to slip away.
“Oh, child… My disciple … We shall meet again soon.”