Chapter Text
The first time Zhongli met him, it’s when he’s donning his true form drinking some water from a waterfall. The boy came out of nowhere. One second there was nobody, the next a boy toppled out of the bushes and rolled in front of Zhongli.
Zhongli looked down at the boy and said, “What mortal dares taint these lands?”
“K-K-Koschei!” the little boy yelled as he got onto his feet and nearly tripped backwards. “It’s Koschei! It’s really-”
Koschei? Zhongli thought in between the screams and the sobs and the irritating pleads for mercy. He straightened himself up as he glanced down at the boy. “Koschei?” he said as much. “Who are you calling Koschei?”
“Why you, of course, mister!” the boy yelled and then shrunk at Zhongli’s narrowed eyes. “The kids always talk about the Deathless who wanders in the forest and eats children’s souls. You’re Koschei!”
Zhongli huffed at that as he approached the young boy. The young boy jumped onto his feet immediately and attempted to run, but Zhongli muttered a soft incantation underneath his breath and had the boy trapped within a barrier before he could even escape. “Koschei,” Zhongli said serenely, walking around the young boy. The young boy looked up with his cerulean eyes. “If you knew Koschei lurked the forest, they why, little mortal, would you dare walk through these lands?” Zhongli summoned his spear on instinct. It fell in his hands with practiced ease. “If Koschei wanted you to be his dinner tonight, what would you do?”
The young boy shuddered and curled in his position. He looked up at Zhongli wide-eyed as he stuttered, “I-I-I’m not delicious, I swear.”
“Aren’t you? You are a child, after all.”
“I’m not delicious!” the boy reiterated again. He tangled his fingers together. “I swear. Koschei likes delicious innocent children, right? Well, I’m not innocent. I’ve seen things.”
That caught Zhongli’s attention. He frowned as he lowered his spear as he played along. “Things?” he said. “What things?”
He expected something stupid like I’ve seen other kids hit each other or I’ve seen people yell at each other . He didn’t, however, expect: “I… have seen my mother and father murdered before me. They--” the boy paused, swallowing his words, “They died protecting me and my siblings, so they’re all that’s left. I’m the oldest one of them all. I’m all they’ve got.”
At that, Zhongli opened his mouth and closed it. To see your parents die at such a young age. Zhongli tilted his head as he asked, “When was this precisely? When you lost your parents.”
If Zhongli had been anymore human, he would’ve known it was not apt to question a human child of their traumas, nor was it reasonable to make them remember the worst moments of their lives. But this child looked fiercer than any other child he’s ever seen, and Zhongli was not mortal. He scraped his spear against the ground. “Well?”
The young boy lowered his head. “Seven,” he said, far too softly. “I lost them at seven.”
“And your siblings? How old?”
“Four, three and one.” The boy twisted his fingers again. “I-I need to go back to them. I need to--”
Zhongli huffed and released the barrier. The young boy toppled onto the ground, shocked, as he glanced up at Zhongli and watched the man in his black cloak turn away. The spear vanished into nothing, scattered into dust as it seemed to dust against the earth. The young boy exclaimed, “You’re… you’re letting me go?”
“Koschei does not like eating harmed children. Nor does he enjoy the taste of suffering,” Zhongli replied smoothly. “Also, Koschei has a more detrimental look to him: he looks, and moves, like a willow tree. I am anything but.”
“But you do look like a tree.”
Zhongli turned back with an incredulous look on his face. “You thank your lucky Archons you haven’t met a true Koschei tonight,” he said with deep severeness. “I would not know what to do if you met a beast as awful as him, nor if you would even be savoured as his meal with the way you spoke back to me. Be careful.” He added the last part with a tinge of softness. “If anything, I am here to protect you.”
The young boy opened his mouth and closed it. He watched as Zhongli turned away, prepared to leave, when he yelped out, “Wait! Mister! What’s your name?”
Zhongli paused in his steps and suppressed a laugh. Name? He supposed it was only apt that a human wanted his name. “Morax,” he said. “Or Zhongli. Whichever you prefer.”
“Zhongli,” the boy reiterated his name, awed and touched. He kneeled onto his feet as he said, “Mister Zhongli. Thank you.”
Zhongli tilted his head as he whirled away and walked towards the woods. The waterfall fall beside him, cascading down like curtains, as they seemed to beat to the thrum of the earth. Yet, all Zhongli could hear with his supersonic hearing was the silence of the woods and the young boy that breathed in his very direction. He tasted the name again. Koschei .
Indeed, if there were any other Archons that looked Deathless, perhaps Zhongli would be it.
The second time Zhongli met the boy, he’d bumped again accidentally into the boy. “Koschei!” he yelled again and, through his squinted eyes, stared at Zhongli carefully. He saw Zhongli’s golden eyes, his dark sweeping hair, and gasped, “Mister!”
“Little child,” Zhongli said as the young boy stumbled up to his presence. This time, the boy had grown. Instead of that measly thing Zhongli remembered at their first meeting, the boy grew just slightly by a good inch, and he stood up proudly with what looked like a makeshift dagger. Zhongli raised an eyebrow at the weapon.
The boy lifted the dagger and laughed. “Oh this?” he said, twirling the stone dagger. It looked badly carved, what with its jagged edges and it’s barely present hilt. “I made it myself!”
“I can tell,” Zhongli said mildly as he turned away again and proceeded to make his way through the woods. Instead of being allowed peacefully like last time, the boy behind him yelped, “Wait!” and Zhongli paused in his steps. He turned around again.
The young boy fumbled with his weapon as he said, “Can I walk with you, Mister Zhongli?”
Zhongli raised an eyebrow, though he questioned the boy no more. He simply gestured at the empty spot next to him and the young boy beamed before trailing after him.
They walked in silence for a while. Step by step, breath by breath, they coursed through the arts of the woods, the crevices of Mother Nature. Zhongli got to pass by a few of his favourite spots, too--the slab stone that sat a few miles into the centre of the forest, the hushed undercurrent river that coursed underneath bushes--when the boy eventually paused and said, “Do you know anything about Koschei, Mister Zhongli?”
Zhongli paused in his steps again. He found that derisive sigh building up inside of him. But instead of sweeping away the mortals--like he usually did in any case--he turned to the young boy and met those eyes again. They looked back up at him, depthless, as Zhongli said, “I know about Koschei. Plenty of things, truthfully.”
“Really?” The young boy jolted upwards. He grinned with his teeth winking. “Then… can you tell me about him? Anything would do.”
Why is this child so hellbent on learning about Koschei? But instead of questioning those intentions, Zhongli shrugged and said, “Koschei is simply a depthless phantom that wanders through the kingdom. He goes from village to village, pillaging their homes, haunting house owners with no reason. Occasionally, he carries out his favourite hobbies--stealing lovers--as he draws them deep, deep into the forest before he devours them whole. In some ways, he is no more but a monster devourer.” Zhongli looked down at the boy. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“Yeah,” the boy licked his lips, looking down at his dagger. He clutched against it. “I--um. Do you know if there are, ah, hints that Koschei could’ve possibly appeared somewhere close to a village? Maybe around here?”
Zhongli frowned abruptly at that. “Koschei’s near the village?”
“No, no!” the boy fumbled with his weapon. He laughed. “No, I just wanted to know. I, ah, think I have a big fear of him. Kind of.” The boy looked down at his feet.
Zhongli tasted his lips as he looked up to the sky and stared at the blueness of it all. How lovely . “Koschei,” he started, carefully, “Leaves no trace. Though he is a phantom, he can assume a human form if he wanted to, and he could travel around anywhere looking like anybody else. He could even be your brother,” Zhongli added that last part with a glance. “There is no way to trace if he’s there.”
“Nothing?” the boy looked up at him hopefully.
Well. “There is one way,” Zhongli said, “but it’s the most inefficient way of them all.”
A long time ago, when Koschei roamed these lands, he laid a hint among the Archons and the mortal world. My soul , he said, may be hidden in the needle that is hidden inside the egg, the egg is in the duck, the duck is in the hare, the hare is in the chest, the chest is buried or chained up on the far island. In other words: it simply meant that he was immortal. Thus his name Koschei the Deathless. Zhongli tilted his head. “You would have to stab everyone and see who doesn’t die,” he said bluntly. “Drive a weapon through their hearts and see if it ever stops beating at your behest.”
The boy widened his eyes at that. He opened and closed his mouth as he said, “That’s it?”
“That’s it.” Zhongli narrowed his eyes at the boy. “What are you doing with this information, mortal? I am certain Koschei hasn’t come close to these areas for a long time.” After all, it was Zhongli that fought Koschei at one point of his life, Archon against deathless, spear against blade. He remembered the stormy nights, the inevitable sealing of the deadless god’s soul underneath the mountains.
The young boy shuddered. “Nothing,” he eventually muttered, looking away. He clutched against Zhongli’s sleeves. “Nothing at all, really.”
Zhongli narrowed his eyes at the boy, but prodded no further. Instead, he said, “Don’t you have siblings to go back to?” The boy had yelped at that, nodding, before he darted out and vanished back down the pathway where they walked down. It left an empty spot next to Zhongli--like an open cavern--as Zhongli frowned and looked at the indents the boy’s feet left, two small holes in the pristine earthen ground.
Zhongli moved away and noted how his feet never left footsteps.
But of course, he thought. Gods do not leave traces, even if they wanted to do so. Koschei had told him as much. To think that you could be normal is tantamount to sin. Why do you think I have become so?
“Koschei,” Zhongli said aloud again and hummed underneath his breath. Indeed, old Archons were strange things. But perhaps it was that strangeness that continued the cycle of the birth of more gods. Zhongli shook his head and twirled into the forest again. He vanished into the shadows--as he should.
The third and fourth time the boy came to him, it slowly built up into a habit. The fifth time came, then the sixth, then the seventh. Each time, the boy asked him the same things: about Zhongli; about Koschei; about life.
“Do you know my name?” the boy--now man, really--asked one day, raising an eyebrow. He sat by Zhongli’s side like a fixture in his life. “I just realized I’ve never really heard you call me anything but little mortal and I think it’s a bit derogatory.”
“Then what would you like me to call you?” Zhongli asked as he scattered some bird feed onto the ground. Little crows zipped down to the earth as they pecked on it, making Zhongli frown . Where are the colourful ones?
The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Childe would be nice? Or Tartaglia.”
“Tartaglia,” Zhongli curved his lips over that name and frowned. “What an odd name.”
“Is it?” Childe smiled. “Also congratulations, you know my name now.”
Zhongli shook his head again as he threw more bird feed onto the ground and shifted on the tall old bark. He said, “You must be incredibly bored, Mr. Childe, to want to come into the forest every day to come meet this lonely being sitting in the woods.”
“What can I say?” Childe grinned. “I’m attracted to weird.”
“I am not weird,” Zhongli defended, even when his brain reasoned otherwise and said, Indeed, no normal human would simply live in the woods and.... stay. Unless they had innate hunting capabilities to sustain them . “I am good at hunting and at hiding. The woods is a perfectly normal place to stay.”
“Mm, I beg to differ.”
“I am not odd.”
“Say that, but louder.”
“Childe,” Zhongli said, exasperated. “Surely you must have better things to do than to spend your days here in the woods with me?”
At that, Childe fell silent. Although, he shrugged as he said, “No, not really. You’re a really nice person to talk to. And besides,” Childe grinend as he lifted up two bags from his back. “I got us food. Since my siblings are rarely home these days thanks to school, I have all the time in the world to spend my life eating with you.”
Zhongli wanted to protest and say something about how Archons don’t need to be fed. Then, he held back his words, remembering how as an Archon, he really wasn’t supposed to reveal that he was a God in front of a mortal. Then he remembered the boy had seen him once with his stone arms and black cloak. “I do not need nourishment,” he finally settled for and he lowered his head in bashfulness as he did so.
Childe rolled his eyes. “Nonsense. You like it when people bring you food.” He ushered up the bag. “Here. Eat some.”
Zhongli opened his mouth to protest again when Childe shoved a piece of bun into his mouth and he nearly choked on it. He grabbed the bun with one free hand as he raised another one to summon a spear out of sheer spite. Childe grinned as he jumped back. “Did you taste it?”
“You shoved this in my mouth.”
“Yeah, but did you taste it?”
“I--” Zhongli sniffed again. He looked down at the bun. He took one more chew from it as the flavour of pork exploded in his mouth and he snapped his eyes wide, looking down.
Childe looked down at him smugly as he said, “Told you.”
Zhongli chewed and chewed and chewed. But even then, it felt like a disappointment to swallow it, as though losing that flavour felt like sin. He swallowed it anyway, saying, “I am assuming the offer of food comes with a request on your side.”
“What? How could you think of me as a conniving thief?” Childe grinned even as he settled down and many thoughts zipped through his irises. “I just want to hear more stories of Koschei.”
“It’s always Koschei,” Zhongli said with some level of exasperation. “It’s like after that one time you spotted me, you’ve been fanatic about his folklore. May I ask why?”
Childe fell silent at that. He looked up to the sky, where birds seemed to zip through as he curled and uncurled his fingers. He smiled. “Just a passing interest,” Childe said, even as his ginger hair glowed gold in the sunlight. He turned to look at Zhongli. “I just wanted to know.”
Odd mortal, Zhongli thought, but went back to chewing on his bun. He savoured the flavour again, missing the moment Childe eyes flickered and then dimmed.
Childe’s visited him so many times that the one time he never visited him, Zhongli found him with an incredulous time to spend. As a living Archon, he supposed time wasn’t supposed to be a shocker for him given that he’s often got so much of it. But occasionally, he’s reminded of his longevity and he wondered, Will there ever come a day where I won’t descend like Koschei?
Though many folklores depicted Koschei as a wife-thieving immortal, before that, the phantom had truly been an Archon. Zhongli remembered when he first saw Koschei, a depthless being with black mist as his true form. They stood at the end of a cliff as they overlooked another collapsing civilization, all at the hands of the Archon War.
Do you not think about dying one day? Koschei had asked Zhongli once, under his white eyes that saw nothing. His body swirled with the wind around them. Do you not think about being mortal and then living a normal life, as all mortals do?
Sometimes, Zhongli remembered saying. He had donned an armour, that time. Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t an Archon .
Koschei smiled at him even when he owned no face.
Now, Zhongli laid on a particularly tall branch as he looked up to the sky, where eternity sat without any mercy. Humans often searched many ways to be immortal--alchemy, religion, heresy--yet, have they ever thought about finding death past immortality? Nothing could kill Zhongli unless the world willed him to, and nothing could stand by his side for long as the longest living Archon. Nobody would see me rise and fall as I have with civilizations, Zhongli thought with a start, slightly bitter. He would never be remembered the same way Gods remembered mortals. They would never remember the true humanity that laid in being inhumane.
Zhongli sighed as he moved around the forest again. He thought about Childe, who pestered him numerous times about Koschei, and the way his eyes seemed to gleam at every information of it. He also remembered how Childe would laugh and look away when Zhongli pestered him about his need to know. He wondered if Childe planned something dangerous.
He probably is, Zhongli thought with a start. He paced around the forest again, thinking about the vicious mistake of indulging the boy so much, probably out of the need for company. He probably wants to find Koschei, if he can.
What if he does?
Zhongli didn’t know how to explain to anyone if Childe simply chose to hunt Koschei and find nothing but a sealed soul underneath the ocean. He didn’t know how he would explain to himself.
What if he died?
Zhongli frowned, feeling a small ache in his chest. He ran a hand over his chest carefully, thinking hard, as he paced faster and faster. Eventually, feeling that the mortal body held too many confines, turned into a dragon as he shot into the air and roared so loudly, the earth itself would have shuddered.
He wondered if Childe would know it was him, frustrated so many miles away.
Eventually, Childe visited him again soon after that roar. “Zhongli?” he called into the depth of the woods, back to the spot where they met for the first time. The waterfall hissed in soft companionship. “Zhongli, are you there?”
Zhongli sat by the base of the waterfall as he stared at the water thrum and thrum. It pulsed against the lake, moving outwards like a perfect pendulum. He breathed in the fresh air, closing his eyes. Then, with a careful clarity, he asked, “What will you do about Koschei, Childe?”
Childe froze at that, smile in place. “Excuse me?”
“You ask me many things about Koschei. You pester me more when you hear the truth of him. Tell me: Are you intending to find Koschei yourself?”
Childe twitched at that, so Zhongli assured himself one theory right. He did want to find Koschei .
Childe stuck his hands into his pockets. “I heard so much about him from you,” Childe said from a start. “I simply wanted to learn more.”
“And you as a kid,” Zhongli started, glancing upwards, “You searched for Koschei in the woods even when you knew you shouldn’t. You had three siblings. Tell me: Why risk your life when you know you’re all they’ve got? Even a child wouldn’t be as stupid as that.”
Childe shuddered, rubbing his hands against his pants, as he said, “Zhongli. You sound upset.”
“I have been alive for a long time and I have been exploited by many. Tell me: Why are you looking for Koschei?”
Zhongli wanted to look the other way. He really did. But sometimes, the fear overwhelmed him more than others--that visceral need to know that Childe would not look for Koschei. He didn’t know how the idea hadn’t wrapped itself around his head at first, but now--now that he saw it--it was all he understood.
Childe licked his lips. “I can’t tell you that,” he said.
“Is it for power? Immortality?” Zhongli started. “You won’t get it. Koschei isn’t that kind.”
“I’m not looking for power.”
“Then for knowledge? He will pass you nothing as I did to you.”
“I’m not looking for that, either.”
“Then what are you looking for?” Zhongli snapped and the silence came out as quicksand. Childe frowned as he fumbled on the spot.
“Why are you so worried?” Childe asked quietly and, honestly, that’s the brilliant question, wasn’t it? Why Zhongli feared for the little mortal, even when he felt his whole existence to be meaningless and fleeting. Like all other humans , he thought. Like all his other friends.
Zhongli clenched his fists. “Then you may go,” he said with dangerous peace. “But if you go, I cannot promise you that what you meet will be what you want.”
“I don’t even know where Koschei is,” Childe smiled. “You told me his hint before, too, remember? His soul is in a needle in a hare, in a duck, and in wherever it is in today’s world. I’ll never find it.”
“You won’t?” Zhongli asked, with apt curiosity. He shut down his thrashing emotions before it got the better of him. “I believe I’ve told you enough stories about my time as an Archon for you to guess where his body lies.” Then, against all better instinct, he turned away and walked towards the wood.
Childe lashed out and grabbed his wrist. Zhongli flinched at that, feeling the warmth of a living body after so long. Oh .
Childe looked up at Zhongli. “I swear, whatever you think I’m going to him for, it’s not what you think.”
Are you not going to die? But Zhongli lowered his eyes, said, “Then do whatever you like. If there’s anything you need, I will simply be right here, in these woods.” Then, without further ado, resumed walking into the woods again, into that deep cavern of green where nobody--and nothing--will find this ancient Archon, ever again. He felt tired even after all these years of rest. “Stay safe, Childe.”
Childe stood there, in the centre of the woods, as he breathed in and breathed out. He looked up into the blue sky--so endless--and lowered his head. “Zhongli,” he said, then pulled away. He walked out of the woods--out to where the humans stayed.
Zhongli heard nothing from Childe the next day, and the next, and the next. Silence plagued his forest like never before. He got antsy at times, and went out hunting more than usual.
He did anything to sweep his mind clean. He fought in his stances. He looked for threats. He flew around looking for tiny little quests--like guiding a Traveller across the woods one time--and seeked for little pleasures like shiny objects caught in between tree roots. He hoarded them all in his cave, where he paced around and brushed his gloved fingers against his makeshift stone shelves. They stayed there, dustless, with their thick presence gleaming down their bodies.
Eventually, so much time passed that Zhongli couldn’t take it and went to the village where Childe stayed. He’d never ventured into the mortal world--he avoided it as much as he could--so you could imagine his shock as he got carted left and right from stall to stall, ushered in by people and merchants, and eventually guided by what definitely was not human to a small little building.
“This is a funeral parlour,” the little girl--Qiqi, she called herself--said. She smiled in her ghastly form. “Of course, it’s a little hard for things like us to blend in with the crowd so we, ah, find places like these and inhabitate them. I can assure you half of the people than run this parlour aren’t even human.”
“None?” Zhongli said with a raised eyebrow. He glanced around the antique place.
“None,” Qiqi replied. “So if you want to find a home, Old Archon, do come here to stay.” With a soft smile, Qiqi patted against his sleeves and slipped out to the village. People still milled here and there, glancing at Zhongli, no doubt rumouring about him since he was an outsider and a royal-looking thing.
Zhongli suppressed a laugh as he slipped into the parlour. In there, empty shelves sat with open desks. A few spirits lingered by, but that was all. It was relatively a quiet place.
Zhongli inhaled the air again--thick with dust, uncleaned--and then he thought, I must furnish this place . Without another thought, he whirled out to the village and headed towards his cave, which he knew still sat in those mountains, pristine clean but oh-so lonely. Perhaps if I shifted my things…
Eventually, Zhongli bumped into a young boy that yelped and looked up at him. For a moment, Zhongli felt like he was suffering deja vu--the boy looked just like Childe. But on a closer inspection, the boy looked nothing like him--his hair and his eyes looked the same, but his features, which looked more careful than carefree, shot out a spitting fact that he was certainly not Childe with a degraded body.
The young boy yelped and then said, “I’m sorry, Mister!”
So like his brother . Zhongli caught the boy by the arm as he said, “Little one.” He tilted his head, wondering if his voice sounded too godly. “I would like to ask you something.”
“I-I-I didn’t steal anything, I swear!” the little boy said. “If you want anything, you can ask my sister!”
“I’m not asking for your sister. I’m asking for your brother. Your older one.” At that, the little boy’s face contorted into confusion as he studied Zhongli’s dark hair, his dark cloak, and a sudden bright clarity swept his face. Then, with a loud yell, he jolted back.
“Koschei!” he hissed, almost vicious. He pulled out a familiar stone blade. “Koschei, you-!”
“I am not Koschei,” Zhongli said with eternal suffering. Why me? “I am simply looking for your brother. Childe Tartaglia. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
“My brother,” the young boy hissed, “isn’t here anymore. Didn’t you hear? It’s been weeks since they deported him.”
Deported? “Where?” Zhongli asked frantically. He clutched against the boy’s arm. “What do you mean deported? This is a fishing village, nobody should--”
“The Tsaritsa,” the boy started, “had long released an edict that all healthy men under the age of twenty one should be enrolled and serving her royal guard. He’s out there in the war, Koschei. He’s dying because you didn’t help him. ”
Koschei? “I am not Koschei,” Zhongli said weakly, thinking about all the times Childe came to visit him and interrogate him on Koschei. He thought about those eyes and the determination to find something . “Why was your brother looking for Koschei?”
“Why? Because he was a fierce warrior, that’s why!” the boy exclaimed. Everyone in the street turned to them. “Koschei was a wife-thieving bastard, yes he was, but he was also a warrior , a fighter . Those who truly read his folktales knew better. He would have never lived this long if he hadn’t been great.”
“But he was immoral, in your stories,” Zhongli said quietly.
“Immorality does not matter in wars, only strength does. And all my brother wanted to do was to survive for us. So get lost .” The boy shoved Zhongli away. “Brother was always going out to talk to someone. I should’ve known. He would’ve even bartered his soul to Koschei if it meant knowing how to fight like him.”
Zhongli really wanted to emphasize that he certainly was not Koschei , but then he thought about all the times Childe's walked up to meet him and to talk to him. All the times where he seemed to be growing stronger even under the guise of normalcy. I swear, whatever you think I’m going to him for, it’s not what you think . Zhongli laughed under his breath and then looked down at the ground.
Stupid mortal. If he’d wanted to fight, Zhongli would’ve taught him a long time ago. Yet he didn’t. Stupid, stupid mortal .
Zhongli thought all the times Childe showed up at his forest side and the way he beamed like a thousand suns. The times where he shoved buns in Zhongli’s mouth and Zhongli had half a mind to spear his weapon right through Childe, only as a knee reflex from times of old. A mortal must know their place . But was Childe ever just a mortal to him?
Zhongli looked away and tilted his head at the child. “Good day,” he said as the child looked at him funny and yelled, “Hey! Koschei!”
The people whispered at him as he passed by. They glanced at him fearfully, wondering if he truly was the embodiment of the Deathless God, of the spirit that Zhongli once fought by and then watched descend. Koschei, after all, had been his friend. Now, he simply was a thing.
Are you happy, Koschei? Zhongli thought as he weaved through the crowds. Are you happy that humans call you Deathless? That you never did live normally even when you tried to transcend your body into something more mortal? He wondered if Koschei rested peacefully down in those oceans, where he sealed the Archon on his dying breath.
If I cannot die, he said, then at least let me slumber. Let me choose my end.
Of course, my friend, Zhongli responded. Of course .
Zhongli thought of his spear shoving down and the hot white-gold flame that glowed in the sky, so everlasting. He thought of the ocean parting and closing like it did in those religious texts of humans--of Moses and his ability to part the ocean like eternity.
Zhongli walked back to the funeral parlour and found Qiqi waiting at the doorstep. “Welcome!” she said. Zhongli bent his head and entered the parlour.
Years later, the fishing village would become nothing but a myth. The Tsaritsa would see to that. In return, Zhongli battled against her when war broke out across the frozen lands of tundra, and Zhongli would bargain with her, if you let me have this village, the forest is yours .
The Tsaritsa, seeing ample opportunities in the deal, accepted it without hesitance.
Zhongli continued to live on in the village even as the people whispered about him and called him Koschei the Deathless. As much as Zhongli tried to suppress that outcome, it became almost impossible. With his ghastly black hair and his long flowing cloak, he looked almost like a phantom himself, flitting from home to home, staring at stall to stall. They always said they’ve never seen him eat.
Meanwhile, Zhongli decided to live his life as always. He helped around the parlour. He gave advice to anyone who sought him. He got so good at advice-giving, apparently, that he got another nickname, the Funeral Man . Not a particularly lovely name, but not as dreary as Koschei, at least.
Zhongli spent time with Qiqi and occasionally a co-worker called Hu Tao. They were eccentric individuals, yes, but Zhongli supposed eccentricity was better than boring. He knew that from his long lasting experiences.
He also occasionally met up with Childe’s siblings. Though from afar, he made sure they got everything they needed--food, water, shelter. He’s not exactly the best in scheming--truth be told, Zhongli was as good at scheming as he was in keeping his identity secret--but he knew some politicking from his times of old, days where he would sit at a long table with all the other Archons after the long raging war. He used that to his advantage and made sure children in general benefited in this village, but truly, he did a selfless thing out of a selfish need.
Are you out there, Childe? Zhongli thought as he coursed through the streets one day. The fishing village was no more. Where small huts and huddled people used to live, now a decent thriving town exists. Trade came in and out, investors huddled here because, for some reason, this village had insane luck when it came to finance. Zhongli tilted his head when he saw a merchant bustling the other day, eyes wide, as he proclaimed, “This is the land of the wealthy!” and cheered with everyone else. Zhongli understood nothing.
Either way, the fishing village no longer existed. And Childe’s siblings, at least, had a decent life. Wherever Childe went, Zhongli supposed, was up to the man, but sometimes--in the darkness of his parlour--Zhongli prayed, Come back safe . It was so odd for a God like him to pray.
So one day, when Zhongli sat at his desk, sifting through familiar notes as he thought about the next funeral procession, the front door rang and Zhongli said, “If you are here for an appointment, I am closed for today.”
“Even for an old friend?” a deep voice rumbled as Zhongli snapped his head up and looked up. There, healthy and whole, Childe smiled with his crinkled eyes and his tired face looked almost ghastly, but there he was. Alive. Whole.
Zhongli stood up.
“Childe,” he said, and he pinpointed the moment something odd stuck out to him like a sore thumb. It was in the air, somehow, like a malevolent thing. It hissed and crackled at his being, and for a moment Zhongli swore he felt the familiar powers of an old friend. He pricked his ears up.
“Koschei?” he muttered.
Childe rubbed against his neck. “It’s a long story,” he said, tugging against his scarf. He wrapped it so tightly around his neck that Zhongli felt like he was going to choke himself on that thing if he didn’t let it go immediately. “I… have experienced a lot of things. Not very pleasant, but here I am.” Childe’s face beamed. “It’s nice to see you again, Zhongli.”
Zhongli had many questions. For one, why on earth does Childe reek like an abysmal phantom? He smelled almost of old power, somehow--of ancient power. Then there’s that look; that haunted look that seems to flicker on Childe’s face, like an old mask he’s worn all his life. Zhongli needed to get to the bottom of that eventually.
But Childe’s face dictated he wanted to show nothing more. And his smile was more than enough.
Zhongli tilted his head as he gestured to the closest seat. “Come,” he said. “Sit.”
Childe beamed again and slid into the seat. And when Zhongli sat from across him, engulfed in his splendour of books and globes and wondrous art, for a moment, everything seemed whole. Everything was perfect, and this silence, Zhongli thought, was all he needed. He sunk into his seat.
Childe looked at him. And grinned.
And for a good moment, the scene felt as though it was dipped in hot white-gold.A slice of trascendent peace.