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The Abyss was so unbearably lonely. There were only harsh winds at night that sounded like his mother’s whispers, atrocities that wanted him dead, entities that a mere 14 year old couldn’t even begin to fathom, and his unwavering determination.
In the Abyss, the only things he could rely on was his now rusting sword and how fast he could run. Then, he met Skirk. His new master had to be the only being there that wasn’t out to get him, the only one to guide him through the never ending void Ajax had walked into. The Abyss wasn’t so lonely anymore, even when that company left him bruised and bleeding and crying, he anchored onto the presence of Skirk.
Once he returned to the surface, leaving Skirk all alone and him with the family he so longed to see, his newfound power left him more lonely than he was during his time in the Abyss. With no-one stronger than him to guide him, no one to understand and challenge his strength, Ajax was lonely again, with only his rusted sword in hand.
Tartaglia had no time to worry about being lonesome. To be a Harbinger was to be independent and strong, and being lonely was a blessing. The other Harbingers were terribly strung up all over themselves, afterall. So Tartaglia ignores the biting nights when the Abyss is all he can think about, ignores the times when all he can do is rewrite letter after failed letter at night to distract himself from being so lonesome.
To be a Harbinger was to be strong, and Tartaglia was strong. He’d refuse to be anything else if he’d gotten this far, so he sits still and obedient for the Tsaritsa with a loyalty that will never waver. Not even for the closest friend who’d know everything about him. Sometimes at night, he wonders if he’d betray his family for the Tsaritsa, and wonders if he’s lost more of Ajax than he thought he had. Even then, Tartaglia recognized that tying himself down to companionship was enough to leave him vulnerable and less fearsome.
If he’d forever be a lonely warrior like his mentor, so be it, for when he’ll hold the world in his hands he’ll have all the time he wants to be an equal among others. Until he’s got all he’s wanted and more in the form of the nations of Teyvat under his watchful gaze as proof of his power, until he’s finally all he can be and more. Until he’s more than pitiful Ajax, who’d been a fool.
Until all he is is Tartaglia, fearsome warmachine of the Harbingers, serving underneath the Tsaritsa and the Tsaritsa only, Tartaglia is a man with no care for friendliness, and it will stay that way. For now he brandishes bloodlust on his sleeve and serrated blades in his grip, and he wonders why he felt so lonely anyways.
Childe is not so lonely anymore. Betraying his own beliefs as Tartaglia, he casts aside his loyalties to indulge for a second more, for the weapon of the Tsaritsa is weak to Zhongli and his eyes. So weak to Zhongli, the funeral consultant who’s unbelievably patient to a man who’s committed crimes too heinous to name.
Childe has not been rendered so useless like this until companionship, after desolate years of nothing and no-one. With Zhongli he feels safe, like he’s Ajax again, like he’s got nothing to lose and that the world hasn’t thrown people like him away. To Zhongli he promises to conquer the world with him, offer him all the starry skies and peaceful waves, everything Zhongli would want and more. Anything mora is unable to purchase, Childe would give it to him, as soon as he has the world in his hand and Zhongli’s hand in the other.
Because with Zhongli, Childe doesn’t feel so lonely anymore, and it feels like he’s the ruler of Teyvat already. In Zhongli’s eyes is an understanding rather than judgement, and Childe feels like he could dethrone Celestia and conquer the heavens already. Childe is selfish, not only for complete power, but for Zhongli, because he’s greedy and he doesn’t really want to be lonely anymore.
Childe is less alone now, and where all types of weapons would fit snugly and comfortably in his grip, lies the gloved hand of Zhongli. To be unarmed and defenseless, yet feel so safe… Childe wonders if this is the feeling of friendship.
Ajax feels like he’s drowning. He feels like Osial’s head has been shoved down into his throat and he’s drowning. He has to be. In the hand of Rex Lapis is the gnosis, the same hand he’s held with vulnerability he’s never shown anyone before; in the hand of Zhongli is the reason he is here.
And it hurts. It hurts . Betrayal has never stung so badly, and he feels the feeling intensify as if the weapon that punctured him has been twisted and turned, as if he’s a malfunctioned mechanism with loose screws. As if he’s a puppet to the Archon’s divine plan, to the Archon he’s trusted. With a heavy heart and rage seeping away to reveal mourning, he leaves behind his anger, his only true friend, the gnosis, his colleague, and the traveler.
Perhaps if Ajax had been smarter, he’d have figured it out faster, that Zhongli’s wise eyes that seemed to see through years of Ajax’s suffering weren’t only because of his knowledge. That Zhongli knew so much because he’d lived through everything and more. If only Ajax had been less ignorant, he could’ve distanced himself before he was used as a pawn.
He wishes he just stayed lonely forever. He wishes he had been less naive, he wishes he saw sooner. He wishes he could’ve smothered away his sudden anguish with his hydro blades and fight it face to face. Most of all, he wishes that he didn’t think that he’d go through it all again to feel Zhongli’s hand in his for a moment longer.
Alas, Ajax only wields the relievingly cold hydro blade in his hands rather than Zhongli’s warm and comforting grasp, only surrounding himself with the jarring and cutting feeling of his own weapons. All he has now is his lust for battle to guide him rather than Zhongli’s amused ramblings of Liyue.
It would’ve been much better to stay in the Abyss. Teyvat is so unbearably lonely, Tartaglia thinks.