Chapter Text
Kazuha remembered being homesick.
The first thing he's learned about Snezhnaya is its lifelessness, as expected of somewhere that harbored absolutely no warmth. A nation of desolation, in his own perspective. This sort of animosity surely stemmed from the general frigidness, especially cruel in nature for someone who was so unfamiliar to it.
If it weren't for his vigilance to survive, he would've surely perished, he's sure. A much too common outcome for others, who lacked this survivability. There were far too many factors at which he felt unwelcome, apart from the unforgiving landscape.
Some of the cold he felt was still attributed not to Snezhnaya, but rather a certain circumstance. One that ensured he was trapped here in a seemingly perpetual sense. A confinement of sorts, dictated simply by a contract made between his own clan and the Fatui.
There were multiple occasions where he's reminded himself of this, of the more drastic measures that brought him here, in which this felt like more of a sacrifice of sorts. The truth was that his clan had already sworn allegiance, in the simplest terms. A necessary exchange to keep their fortune, or so it seemed. There's plenty of value in a vision bearer, especially one directly in the Kaedehara line. Kazuha inherited these duties, a sacrificial lamb in this sense, he figured.
Kazuha hated being homesick.
Home was a perpetual ache, particularly within his hands. There were then bruises etched out upon his palm, left clearly by the hilt of his sword. There was only thing he learned in this life thus far, and it was how to fight. An obvious unsaid expectation for a samurai, one too terribly ingrained at this point. This was interwoven deeply with the pressure of becoming a far too promising heir to the clan.
Home was the family that set him upon this path, in direct ties with the Fatui. He's only ever been a candidate, Kazuha knew. His vision ensured his viability, specifically within the Fatui's ranks.
The truth was that Inazuma was just as unforgiving, in a similar sense. A nation only dictated by eternity, in a very detrimental sense. An everlasting storm, almost like a blight upon the land.
Some of this contempt was born instead from his own cynicisms, Kazuha is aware. The reality was that he actually enjoyed very little, a more significant consequence of his given circumstances.
The second thing he learned about Snezhnaya is it was the opposite of eternity. A nation also of greater technological advances, he's quickly determined. He'd show a grander sense of amazement towards the technology, if only he didn't carry a general lack of interest for it. There's always billowing smoke in the distance, something he could only regard as pollution.
He'd sought refuge in a seemingly abandoned home, just sturdy enough to provide basic survival, the general necessities for which he can fare on his own. There was the obvious aid of rations he'd receive, as a member of the Fatui. He had stopped counting the days in which he spent in this region, when they all seemingly blurred together at some point in time. Kazuha guessed it was at least a few months, with no evidence that this was correct.
There was a bird perched upon the windowsill yesterday, Kazuha still recalled with near perfect clarity.
A bird worth contemplation, specifically why it had flown here. Snezhnaya's terrain wasn't particularly welcoming, given the region's bleaker and more wintry characteristics. It spoke much of the bird's freedom, he mused. A freedom in which Kazuha no longer carried, to migrate anywhere.
Each day passed had reminded him of this, of his own confinement. There wasn't any ease, not a single shred of repose in bitterness felt in response. A bitterness he loathed, but nestled within him regardless, something akin to the glacial atmosphere. A cold that sank into his bones.
Kazuha was that bird in another lifetime, departing into a cardinal skyline inlaid with snowy white.
He saw that same bird, not long after. It had perished seemingly like everything else, a consequence of the environment. It simply reiterated the sense of bleakness that followed him, as he wandered around Snezhnaya. It furthered his own cynicisms, especially now. Was he still akin to that bird, now lifeless in a bed of snow?
It's only a matter of time, he's certain, before he too would perish in much the same way.
There’s a gathering, or rather, an initiation of sorts. It’s only from obligation that he attended, as a newer recruit. Kazuha peered around only slightly at the other handful of recruits. He’s already aware they all similarly appeared as compliant, akin to cogs within a machine.
This was more of a reminder of the rules, Kazuha figured. A reprimanding, possibly more so in his case. It was especially apparent with the added arrival of a harbinger then.
He was truly foreign, in a far too prominent sense. There wasn’t a worse moment to appear noticeable, in every possible fashion. His attire was still clearly of Inazuman origin, a keepsake he couldn’t abandon. It could be argued that it wasn’t suitable for the cold of Snezhnaya, but Kazuha persisted.
The harbinger he locked eyes with stood out in a much similar way, except it was more from his status. An obvious show of his rank when the other recruits expressed only true reverence, although Kazuha knew it was born more from fear than adoration.
It’s noticeable, then, when he stared back with disdain and nothing more. A contrast established in his utter indifference, unlike others within the lingering crowd. Kazuha knew the harbinger was looking, especially with all he’s offered as a disparity.
He hardly even listened to the supposed lecture, due to indifference and a general lack of interest. This was a mistake, he quickly figured, and yet he couldn’t bother anyway. He hadn’t registered a single word before making a departure, in the midst of the speech.
There wasn’t anything more he’d like to be taught, of the Fatui’s abhorrent principles, The samurai’s already told himself. He wandered off just then, within the confines of a nation he was bound to. It was less of a joy, considering these such confines.
He's only seen boundless snow in everlasting winter, brumal insignias for Snezhnaya as he's already discovered.
There arose a subtler stench of blood, masked by the fragrance of this snow. Kazuha loathed the fact he recognized the scent remarkably well, to a terrible degree. A fleeting sense of disgust, then quickly replaced by alarm. Someone was approaching, he'd already detected. His hand swiftly moved to the hilt of his blade, a preparatory measure. If there's anything he'd been taught the most, it'd be to always be on his guard.
This was followed the familiar crunch of footsteps in the snow, as clear to him as ever. He'd grown wary of such a sound, and the general knowledge of someone else's presence. There's only a single moment spared in short-lived hesitation before Kazuha turned fully to face them. The scent of blood worsened slightly, although still faint in nature.
He was still in unfamiliar territory, ever since his arrival in Snezhnaya. He's met with an unfamiliar person, Kazuha observed with the utmost caution. The only thing he's gathered thus far is that the other was a harbinger, majorly notorious only in rumors. A terrible reputation to have, he's already convinced. This already bred some sort of hostility, shown in the very way the samurai composed himself in the harbinger's presence.
Eleventh of the Harbingers, he recalled. That subtle smell of blood still clung to him, lingering repugnantly even now. The same harbinger he observed earlier.
"I was not yet aware I was commendable enough to warrant a visit from a harbinger himself." Kazuha spoke, only slightly too bluntly.
"It's not so surprising when you've garnered quite the interest, you know." Childe replied, with an abnormal sense of enthusiasm. An abhorrent glee, almost.
"I presume you're here to request something of me, harbinger. There's no other reason for you to be here, otherwise. "
"Your presumptions are correct, as you already knew. You're rather ... blunt about it, though.".
Kazuha slowly returned his hand back to his side, withdrawing it entirely from the sword's hilt. A small resignation of his previous caution, at least for the time being. "I do surmise it would be more beneficial if you made your request already, then." He muttered, a much too obvious sort of animosity still in his tone.
"Don't get too blunt, now. I'll only ask this. Entertain me for a moment, would you?" Childe finally requested in return, with an undying grin. He was seemingly closer now, Kazuha noticed.
He then hesitated momentarily, an appropriate response to such a request. Kazuha quickly stepped back in that moment, with an obvious apprehension.
"It all depends on what your idea of entertainment entails." A simpler answer, as that same apprehension carried to his voice.
"Spar with me. If I want to learn anything about you, may it be through combat. I've been in need of an interesting fight, you know." He explained, and there returned the impetuous enthusiasm regarding a fight. A quality Kazuha knew he could never possess, not to that degree at least.
There was no longer any hesitation, still, in the way his sword is drawn. The samurai wielded it with near perfect form, evidence of all of his practice, surely. He then only needed the hope the winds were in his favor, to then further his abilities.
"This is far too much conversation for someone only wishing for a fight, don't you agree?"
The samurai only wasted a split second before he burst forth in a sudden motion, accompanied by baleful winds as they quickly sent up a flurry of snow. Childe barely managed to shield himself from the incoming onslaught, whilst defending against this attack. It took a perfectly timed safeguard to thwart the ambush. There's an immediate clashing of weapons, procuring a sound that reverberated within the vicinity surrounding them.
Childe swiftly emerged, wielding both of his blades in duality. A bellicose grin, unveiled, simply at the true excitement of combat. "This makes things more interesting! Don't hold back, now." He exclaimed, with a definite euphoria even in his tone. All of his strength directed towards fending off Kazuha, in order to end the current stalemate where neither of them yielded.
A billow of falling snow encircled them in that moment, in the height of their conflict. An aftermath of what the winds had stirred up, violent in their wake.
"You truly don't have to ask. I wouldn't have held back regardless." Kazuha commented, with a hint of excitement of his own. He'd already been partially swept into the whirlwind of the harbinger's glee. A violent, atrocious exhilaration akin to a spreading blight. If there was anything the samurai seemed familiar with, it would be this particular heat of battle.
He's finally then pushed backwards, in a way that slightly caused Kazuha to slip. A vulnerability then presented itself, for Childe to strike. He barely managed to parry this, in his own measure of defense. It proved his unfamiliarity to this particular terrain, there was always a general difficulty to fighting upon snowy ground.
A definite disadvantage, and yet he persisted. Kazuha leapt backwards slightly, aided by a small gust of wind. It created distance, so that he could properly gain control again. A small tactical retreat, of sorts. A short lived one, when he made his next move just as quickly.
He clashed with Childe again, their weapons meeting briefly in repetition. Neither of them had the upper hand, it seemed, only proof of their equal footing in terms of combat. A perfect display of the chaotic beauty of battle, on which they were both raised upon. It was inherently in their nature, this willingness to fight.
"I'm amazed you've held up this long." Childe remarked, with an ever worsening glee. It only served to intensify Kazuha's steely gaze, growing crueler and crueler by the moment. It hardly any effect, and yet this sort of resentment persevered regardless.
"You've underestimated me, then." He muttered, still then carrying complete concentration on each swing of his sword, calculated and cautious in his approach. He couldn't allow another vulnerability, giving the certain unpredictable nature of his opponent.
"It seems so, doesn't it?" The harbinger responded, with that same fixed truculence. It was only an obvious attempt at banter, in a more good-natured sense. A small shift of attitude, and suddenly Childe laughed right then. It had a false kind of quality to it, and yet Kazuha faltered nonetheless. It was warm, even if deceitfully so. It proved only of how truly starved he was of such warmth, in a now ruinous sense.
He suddenly made another minor misstep, although somewhat critical in the moment. Childe seized that exact opportunity to strike again, as if he was aware this would be the outcome of his supposed charm. Kazuha quickly dipped down in an honest effort to dodge, with barely successful results. There's a minor severance of platinum blonde tresses, as the blade sliced directly through them.
"Yet, it was much too easy to trip you up." He continued, with now only an overconfident grin. This was surely because everything was now in his favor, with consideration of Kazuha's lack of focus. He inched closer in obvious preparation for another attack, given this opportunity.
Kazuha struggled to steady himself, then. He arose again, tightly clutching the hilt of his sword in a deep sense of frustration. He nearly trembled, not knowing if it was more a result of the return of the cold, or because of the surge of infuriation felt. A mixture of both, perhaps. He then took in a breath of attempted repose, so that he could collect himself. A smile then developed, a newly shaped hint of confidence.
Another gust awoke in that moment, as ordained by him. It sent a second flurry of snow hurtling in Childe's direction, a sordid kind of hindrance then created. There's already a calculation, then, that the harbinger would easily bypass this, in way of bolting past the debris in pursuit of a perfect ambush.
This is the one thing Kazuha counted on, so that he could anticipate it accordingly. A hint of satisfaction, then, when Childe precisely rushed forward as if on cue. He slightly propelled himself upward upon another rush of wind, a measure that allowed him to avoid the attack in perfect time, with the additional advantage of acquiring the higher ground.
The samurai then countered the attack quickly, from this airborne position, with an active guidance from the winds. He drew forth his blade, only to then strike in a downwards swing of the sword. It provided very little chance for evasion, as he had hoped. Childe barely escaped by a fraction of a hair, swerving quickly in a sideways motion. Kazuha landed behind him, instead, with hardly anything to show for the endeavor. A small sliver of hope, maybe, that this was enough to cause the harbinger to falter.
Both of them moved again, a coordination founded then when they turned towards each other. A synchronization made in the the pursuit of conflict, except Kazuha proved swifter in his movement. An advantageous sort of momentum, driven still by his own confidence. He's gifted then, finally, a successful strike.
His blade stopped just short of Childe's neck, and suddenly the both of them stilled. A perfect conclusion to the conflict, as it seemed. Snow still drifted around them, a discordant sort of backdrop for such an acute end to the battle. It evoked serenity, normally, except for when it didn't. Kazuha only felt exasperation in lieu of more easeful emotions. His eyes displayed a cold amber, even as they met Childe's.
"Checkmate. You win."
Kazuha's breathing steadied only then, in the light of his confirmed victory. It hardly felt like a win, even still, considering it was only by the smallest of margins. He could've lost just as easily, he knew. There was still a sense of unpredictability specific to what might happen, so he remained on his guard. There's a cautionary measure in the way he kept the blade against the harbinger's neck. "Was this suitable enough as entertainment, then? A rematch could be arranged, if you'd much rather continue."
"There's very few who have bested me in battle, so truly this was more than enough. I'll save a rematch for later, there's something else I want first."
"What more do you want, harbinger?" Kazuha asked, with an unwavering sort of intensity even then. His eyes narrowed slightly, a gesture of his present distaste. A certain slight revulsion in the way the other sneered, even with the threat of a blade to his neck.
"Companionship."
A pause.
Kazuha failed to register the request, for a few brief moments. It was more a result of the general perplexity of it, rather than a fault of communication. A growing perplexity, that quickly then startled him in a distressing fashion. His confidence wavered, right then, at even the slightest temptation of indulging the request. He's well aware, companionship was far too foreign to him to be plausible.
"Quite the bold request to make of someone who's holding a sword to your throat." He responded, clearly then displaying this skepticism.
"I suppose that would be a refusal, then? A shame, really."
"Companionship seems much too asinine, for two people who are undeserving of such luxuries."
Childe suddenly took ahold of his wrist, and then the blade was that much closer to his own throat. A small shift in expression, until the harbinger's intensity aligned far too perfectly with Kazuha's own. A confrontation of sorts, then created. "Really, now? And what gave you the ability to guess what I am deserving of?"
"We're no longer saints, neither of us. Would we really be allies, considering all that deems us unholy?"
"You do still have the chance to kill me then, you know? Would that grant you sanctity, in the eyes of the archons?" Childe inquired, and that was truly just enough to further shake Kazuha's will.
He withdrew only then, a small break in his vigilance just so he could return his sword to its sheath. A slight softness in his expression already apparent, bordering on a sort of indistinct sorrow.
He finally managed to accurately observe Childe's features, most particularly the terrible absence of life in cerulean optics. An obvious sign of the loss of everything holy. He's already almost certain his eyes carried with them a similar sort of lifelessness. "The archons no longer dictate my path, I'm afraid. The Tsaritsa being an exception, as it seems. She wouldn't spare me any such sanctity for your death."
There still remained a sort of subtle bellicose nature to their conversation, like the earlier fight hadn't truly concluded. It brought hardly any ease, to either of them. Kazuha was unsure if the cold he felt in that moment originated from Snezhnaya's general frigidness, or rather the lack of regard for the harbinger.
"Allow me to be unholy, then. All I need is The Tsaritsa's blessing, truly."
"How far would you take this veneration? I suppose you'd be akin to a dog, in this sense." Kazuha whispered, with only an obvious contempt in his tone.
"There's worse things to be, don't you think? You're rather cruel for someone who hardly knows me."
His arms crossed, a further expression of this lingering contempt. A sort of discordance is then apparent when his eyes only now spoke of a growing curiosity, particularly towards the other's responses. "Enlighten me, then, harbinger. I've heard only of your notoriety."
"Slow down, now. I only divulge my secrets to those I consider comrades. There's one thing that perhaps you haven't realized, though."
A hint of curiosity, unfolded. "What might that be, then?"
"If I was as reprehensible as my notoriety implied, would I really have allowed you to leave this fight unscathed? I do have quite the penchant for violence, after all."
A pause, an astounding sort of silence. An unsaid armistice suddenly established, if only for a single moment, primarily because Kazuha couldn't weave together an appropriate response in those few passing moments. The hostility therefore ceased briefly, only because of these circumstances.
"I cannot determine if this speaks more of your cowardice or your compassion, in terms of holding back. Either way ... I suppose being ungrateful implies I would've preferred a more violent outcome." He finally whispered, a noticeable tremble already apparent in his tone. There's a quick attempt to conceal this shift, this break in his composure. This proved fruitless when Kazuha's clearly unraveled, even if only slightly.
"What's to come of your supposed gratitude, then?"
Kazuha softened, then, as if yielding to the harbinger's sense of persistence. A sadness still permeated his features, and yet it no longer felt crueler in nature. There were certainly worse things than companionship, he's already established. This compliance was rather a mixture of particular interest, and the obligation to fulfill the harbinger's wish as someone higher in rank. "Companionship, as you've already insisted upon."
He's certain, then, it felt slightly less cold in that moment.