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"State your name and rank."

The Fatui agent did not look up as he spoke, but he was also not really looking at the reports that had just been handed to him. Diluc could see it in his eyes. They were unfocused, frantic, disinterested, flipping through the pages too quickly and only taking in the bare minimum of what needed to be known.

It was already going better than Diluc could have imagined. But he didn't let his guard down.

"Lieutenant Yakov Borisov, reporting for duty," Diluc replied stiffly. A dead man's name, to match the dead man's clothes he was currently wearing. He tried not to let that bother him, but it still did. Not too much. Just a little. It was just a little itch; the sensation of a uniform that did not quite fit his form, as it was not meant to. The scratch of cheap cotton that reminded him of how long it had been since he had been dressed in good-quality fabric that carried with it the faint aroma of home.

That hurt. But just a little.

Diluc had long since convinced himself that there was no sense in yearning for something that no longer existed. The home he had known was nothing more than a hollow shell of what it once represented. The life he lived for his first eighteen years had been reduced to ashes right before his eyes.  And from those ashes had risen something new.

If Diluc thought about it, the dead man's things he now claimed ownership to - his name, his rank, his clothes, the history Diluc had poured over day in and day out just to remember that it was Yakov's younger sister that was married to a blacksmith in Fontaine, and that their older sister had been the one to stay at home with their ailing mother after she had gone blind from scarlet fever - these things were no more borrowed than his real identity. It was almost comforting to imagine that Diluc Ragnvindr had simply perished the day that all else had been lost. The man he was now was simply carrying on his memory; a phoenix born from vengeance itself, delivering swift retribution to those that should be judged, not because of any personal investment, but because it was just right. Because it simply needed to be done.

Diluc was just as much Yakov as he was anyone else. His name did not matter. How he got there did not matter.

All that mattered was what he would do next.

The other Fatui agent, still pretending to read over the documents that Diluc had handed him, eventually glanced up at him drearily. He simply handed the papers back to him, and Diluc replaced them in his coat.

"Welcome to your new assignment, Lieutenant Borisov," the agent - Lieutenant Petrova, Diluc knew, though the man had yet to introduce himself - said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "And congratulations. You're already on thin fucking ice. You mind telling me why you're an hour behind schedule?"

"The rebels set up an ambush in my path. I was able to catch wind of it before walking right into them, but it took time to find a clear route around them." Diluc delivered the story without hesitation, and without a trace of doubt. He knew his own cover backwards and forwards. After all, it was only partially a lie. There had been an ambush in the lone agent’s path. But Yakov had not caught wind of it before falling right into enemy hands. And Diluc was no rebel, at least not one associated with the group he knew of in Snezhnaya.

Petrova only scoffed in frustration, anxiously fidgeting with the Delusion pinned to his coat. "So long as you weren't followed, I guess there's nothing to be done about it now. You can write a full report later. Right now, just move your ass."

With that, Petrova swung around to the door behind him, the fixtures arched and exuding opulence, two chestnut panels hand-carved with intricate patterns fitting of an installment of Zapolyarny Palace. Fitting for the man of power they were concealing.

Diluc's heart leapt to his throat, and he stoically swallowed it back down. Even if he wasn't now donning the standard issue mask of a Fatuus agent, his apprehension would not have shown on his face. He had been planning this for too long to squander the opportunity in such a foolish way. But when Petrova suddenly paused just before swinging open the double doors, Diluc was nearly compelled to shove past him and barge in himself. Diluc swallowed this down as well, the compulsion to act without thinking, the urge to scream at the top of his lungs: Do it. Just do it. Do you know what I've had to do just to make it this far? Open that fucking door so I can finally see him.

Diluc needed to see him. If the matter was put off any longer-

Nothing. Nothing would happen. He had to stay calm. He was better than his temper. He could be patient. He couldn't let this all go to waste.

The seconds still felt like an eternity as Petrova turned his head to glare at him.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you to be on your best behavior," Petrova said dully. "But I'll give you a little word of advice, since you're already on his shit list."

"And that is?" Diluc's tone was even, even though impatience was gnawing at him like a pack hungry wolves. Just go. Let me see him. I have to see him.

Petrova set his jaw. "Whatever you do, don't meet his eyes."

That managed to throw Diluc off. His mind went blank for a moment in an attempt to process the statement, but before he could, Petrova swung the doors open. Diluc quickly straightened himself out and simply marched into the room after the agent.

The office they swept into was almost comically sparse, not much for furniture save for the large desk sitting towards the back of the room. Diluc and Petrova approached it, and as the agent took position in front of it, Diluc dutifully stopped at his side.

The blue-haired man sitting at the desk had his head down, looking at a stack of notes before him, almost aggressively jotting something down with the glass pen in his hand. He had not bothered looking up as Petrova and Diluc entered the room. Petrova only gave the barest of nods in Diluc's direction; he clearly had no interest in introducing Diluc himself. That was fine. Diluc was prepared for this.

"My lord," Diluc began robotically, the words rising in his throat like bile, "Lieutenant Yakov Borisov, reporting for assignment. It will be my honor to serve you from this moment forth."

"You're late." The man did not look up from his work as he spoke. The venom on his tongue was potent enough to send a chill through the empty room. Diluc could still not properly see his face - or rather, the black and white mask that was pointedly obscuring it. Diluc did not miss a beat.

"I am, my lord. I apologize for the oversight. I can assure you, such an infringement will not happen again-" Diluc ignored the blood rushing in his ears, and the way his Delusion ran hot against his chest "-Lord Dottore."

The Harbinger's pen finally stilled.

Diluc remembered Petrova's warning as Dottore finally looked up from his notes. Diluc still had not had the luxury of truly registering the absurdity of the agent's suggestion, so he had no choice but to simply take it in good faith.

But Diluc couldn't help himself. What a waste it would have been, to make it this far, to have done the things he did to get here, to have clawed his way all the way from humble Mondstadt to the opulent spires of Zapolyarny Palace - all to not even get a proper look at the man he had come here for. To not look in the eyes of that man, the insidious Third of Her Majesty's Eleven Fatui Harbingers.

Diluc had finally come face to face with the man he was going to kill.

He had to look. Even if only for a moment.

It was only a second. Perhaps not even that. But just for a second, Diluc met his eyes. It was a flash of crimson. A spark of unbound intensity. Wildfire licking at his heels.

He was-

-underwhelming.

For the first few months, that's all Diluc’s work was. Underwhelming.

Diluc thought it was probably unwise to dwell on such a thought. An attitude like that was bound to lead him straight into undue misfortune. But some days, he couldn't help himself.

He had honestly been expecting integration into the life of a Fatui soldier to be more difficult. But Diluc quickly found himself to be in a rather unique position, and one that played in his favor.

Each one of the Eleven Harbingers had their own retinue that they extended complete control over, and of the many soldiers under their command, they assigned a group of high-ranking officers as their immediate points of contact. They acted as liaisons between them and their other factions.

But Il Dottore was not responsible for militant tactics or special forces; the cabal directly under his control consisted mostly of scholars and researchers, most of which had not even been formally inducted into the Fatui. He had his senior researchers, who he reported to at their designated facilities, and his lead assistant - a position that was the envy of no one, due to its somberly high rate of turnover. But none of these men were soldiers, and their involvement in the Fatui was almost incidental. But though Dottore did not oversee much military strategy, there were still a handful of platoons under his thumb in need of command.

Dottore, however, was a man that Diluc would quickly come to know as incredibly finicky. He detested seemingly most things outside the realm of his own research, and the matter of his attending lieutenants was no exception. He did not prioritize the things that they oversaw and the reports they had to bring him, and their briefings often went entirely disregarded. As he so frequently and eloquently put it, whenever Diluc had the misfortune of having a matter that needed to be presented to him; he simply didn’t give a shit what they did. They were only there as a formality. And he disliked having too many faces around, too many names to remember, too many voices to hear. Because of this, he was wary of assigning too many lieutenants to this position, even though doing so would have made his job - and certainly Diluc’s - much easier in the long run. So although most of the other Harbingers had at least a dozen attending lieutenants to their names, Dottore only kept two. Lieutenant Petrova, and “Lieutenant Borisov.”

Diluc would eventually come to suspect that the only reason Dottore put up with them as much as he did was because of pressure coming from the Tsaritsa. Though he was occasionally in need of extra manpower at his research facilities, the company under his thumb felt more like an effort to keep him under someone else's thumb. The responsibility was merely an effort to keep him from straying too far from Her Majesty’s path. It was to keep him grounded.

Internal conflicts or no, what this meant for Diluc was that he was now responsible for a handful of rag-tag dullards that were not expected to do much aside from guarding ruins and escorting research teams, and the only man he answered to could barely even bring himself to raise his head during their mandatory weekly reports.

And because of this, nobody ever asked Diluc about much at all. Nobody ever asked about his previous station - or rather, Yakov Borisov's previous station. Borisov had been recruited nearly a decade ago and promptly shipped out to a classified assignment in the underground catacombs of Fontaine. He had remained there, rising through the ranks and never returning to his homeland, up until word of his new assignment with the Third had arrived. It was a matter of necessity; he was simply one of the few available lieutenants fit for the job. And the Harbingers' needs took precedence over most other matters on the Fatui. And nobody ever asked Diluc about Sosna, either, the small community deep in the Snezhnayan wilderness that Borisov had been plucked from in his youth. They never asked about Yakov’s family, or his training, or his prior experience with the excavation of ruins. Diluc would have had a response to any of these inquiries. He had planned for this. He had been tracking a handful of prospective lieutenants for months before making his move, having an adequate enough grasp on military structure to realize who the most likely candidates would be should there be a changing of hands. Diluc knew Borisov's work and history well. He was more than prepared for any formal investigations.

But nobody really seemed to care about him one way or another.

It felt too easy, and undeservingly so. It made Diluc terribly anxious on his worst days, thinking that there was no way infiltrating the Snezhnayan military could possibly be that easy. He couldn't relax; he was always on edge, always looking over his shoulder, always running himself ragged and suffering through fitful, sleepless nights.

But really, all of it was just dull. A little frustrating, even. All that work Diluc had put in just to get here, and what was he doing? The same exact things he had always done. Navigating a scruffy bunch of soldiers through their monotonous duties that would never properly prepare them to act should the need arise for it. Reporting to bleary-eyed superiors that were never really listening in the first place. Spinning his wheels in place. Getting nowhere. Never having the full story.

It was not what he was expecting. None of it was.

Petrova was the man he worked closest to, and Diluc had a fairly amicable relationship with him, but that was only relative to what the agent would have allowed for. He was an older man, much older than was typical of most Fatui soldiers. The Fatui were known for recruiting young and running men ragged long before they had an opportunity to make it to their golden years, and while Petrova hadn't quite reached that point either, he was fast approaching it. And Petrova had only made it as far as he had because he was careful not to bite off more than he could chew. Petrova's strengths were not his military prowess or loyalty to the cause; he was good at keeping his head low and minding his superiors. But even though he was wise enough to stick to his own business, he was a dour, wry curmudgeon first and foremost. He lived by gallows’ humor, and had no shortage of complaints in regards to their assignment, and his lips could be loosened by a cigarette or two shared outside of the Palace.

"His bark is worse than his bite," Petrova had told him one day, after a seemingly endless exhale of of fog, cigarette smoke indistinguishable from the heat of his breath vaporizing on contact with the everlasting winter air, "but he barks loud enough to make your ears bleed."

It was one of the first openly disparaging remarks Diluc had heard of their commander, of the man known as the Third Harbinger. He would come to hear many more, as his subordinates grew more accustomed to his presence, and none of what he heard ever deviated far from that sentiment.

Il Dottore, of course, was one of the men responsible for building the Tsaritsa's empire into what it was today. Formally, he was known as the commander for the military's research and development. What this meant differed depending on who was asked the question; to some, their understanding was that he simply outfitted their armies. To others, they considered him the father of Snezhnaya's industry as a whole. And while neither assessment was wholly incorrect, such public opinions never really got to the heart of the matter. 

Dottore, in reality, was the mastermind behind what made the Fatui such a deadly force to be reckoned with. It went beyond merely their artillery or their technology, though those were surely no small accomplishments, either. What the general public - and even most of their own army - was not meant to know was that the Fatui did not exist solely for the sake of industriousness. Nor did they seek to overthrow nations, which is what most people may have feared in the face of such a formidable military force.

The Fatui sought to overthrow the Gods themselves. And to do this, they had to tread where most other men dared not go.

And that, in essence, was what Dottore represented. He was heresy in its purest form. He sought to elevate mortal men to the level of the Gods, to meet them head-on and strip them of their divinity. This was no meager task, of course. Most men were not meant to tarry in the realm of Gods. Not that such a thing as man’s mortal limitations was ever enough to dissuade the Third. On his path to what he considered everlasting glory, he had left nothing but death and destruction in his wake, all for the sake of their end goal.

Diluc was more than familiar with the misery that had been wrought by this man's schemes.

The false Visions - Delusions, as he now knew them to be called - were Dottore's design. Their inner workings and design were a highly classified matter, but the fact that the Third had spearheaded their production was no secret. These were the tools with which he intended to reach divinity. With those insidious little trinkets, a Visionless man could be granted proverbial sight; they too, could harness the power of the Gods, even if they had not been granted their boon. But more often than not, such a prize came at great cost. Too great.

As far as Diluc was concerned, Dottore was the man who killed his father.

Whether or not he had even more to do with it than that remained to be seen. There was still much that Diluc didn't know, far too much, and the Fatui's roots ran so deep in the soil of Teyvat that he had begun to fear that he would never understand the full story. But he understood enough. He knew where he had to start. He knew what he eventually must do.

That was why he was here in the first place. He needed answers. He needed to know more about the Delusions that the Fatui were slowly taking over Teyvat’s pulse. The very same kind of device that brought Crepus Ragnvindr to his agonizing, cruel end, the very same device that Diluc now wore pinned to his chest as if it were a medal of honor. And the only way he could get the information he needed was by tracking it to its source. And once he had that, there was no doubt in his mind what he would do then. 

He was going to kill Dottore. The man whose hands brought about not only his own grief, but the grief of countless others, was going to die by Diluc's hands. There was no hope to find justice for the fallen. The only answer now was vengeance.

Diluc would be the one to serve Dottore his long-awaited retribution. He knew that better than he knew anything else, and it's what had kept him motivated thus. It's what kept him focused. Unswerving. Unyielding.

But as the months passed, he found himself growing unsteady.

And it had all started from the very moment they had locked eyes. Because Diluc had expected it, even for as fleeting as it was, to stoke the fire burning bright within him. He had spent countless days and nights thinking about that moment in time, when he would finally come face to face with him, when he would be able to look into that wicked man's cold, sinister eyes and know without doubt that everything he had sacrificed up until this point had all been worth it. The home he had left behind, the faith he had lost, the man he had let bleed out in the harsh Snezhnayan wilderness; none of it would be wasted. He would look into the eyes of evil, and he would know his way to be true.

But it wasn't what he expected. When he looked into those eyes, he had not seen paramount evil. It was not the icy, calculated glare of a villain he saw. It had been something else. In the moment, Diluc could not have even properly described what he saw that made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. But as time passed, it gradually began to dawn on him.

His bark was worse than his bite, Petrova had said. And as far as Diluc could see, there was not really a better way of putting it.

Dottore was a cruel, disingenuous man; that much was true, and there was no denying such a fact. He held no regard for the lives of his own men, or those of the people of Teyvat. He was as callous as Diluc had ever expected him to be, and held no remorse for the things he had done, the innocent lives he had snuffed out in the name of his own egomania.

But he was… unruly. His men feared him, as they feared their own Archon, and as such, both entities were free to rule over them. But they did not fear them to the same degree. They feared the Tsaritsa for her frigid, insurmountable wrath. They feared her for her unshakable virtues and her calculated leadership. They feared her because she knew what she wanted, and she would take it by any means necessary.

Dottore, however, didn't seem to know what it was he wanted.

He was an outrageously unreasonable man, prone to feverish outbursts that often came with no warning, and seemingly no reason. One man's alleged incompetence would earn nothing more than a scowl one day, and then the next, it would send him into a fit of rage cacophonous enough to make the entire Palace shudder. There sometimes seemed to be no rhyme or reason to his misgivings, and no way to accurately predict or dissuade them.

Diluc had already bore witness to too many of these outbursts to count, and sometimes, in the wake of gnashing teeth and broken furnishings and shrill howls, he could not see them as anything more than the petulant tantrums of a child.

Dottore's men did not fear him based on what he stood for, simply because the man didn't seem to stand for much. He was inscrutable, but not by design. He was imposing, but not for any conscious effort to be seen as such.

Dottore was a man with too much power, and too much control. And he himself did not possess the mettle to know what to do with it all. He was nothing more than a short fuse laying atop a pile of flint and steel. One fractional shift, one errant spark, was all it would take to set things off. And the consequences would be more than dire. It would be an event of cataclysmic proportions. That was why he was feared.

Diluc didn’t fully understand why that bothered him so much. He knew that regardless of Dottore’s competency, the fact of the matter was still the same: justice still had to be served. It didn’t change anything. He was still the man behind the Delusions that Diluc needed to understand. He was still the man that had brought so much untold suffering to the people of Teyvat. He was still the man that had killed his father.

Time and time again, Diluc reminded himself of this. He pushed his vague unease to the side, and tried to focus on his next steps. Because while making his way into the inner workings of the Fatui had been no small feat, he was nowhere near done. And he had to be incredibly careful about the things he did next.

He had to get closer to Dottore. That was the only way to know more about the Delusions. The means of their production was too closely guarded a secret. Diluc had to dig up the information he needed from its source.

But that was going to prove more difficult than Diluc had even initially thought.

How would one win the faith of a faithless man, after all?

Diluc wished he knew the answer.

Four months in, Diluc and Petrova were to escort Dottore and his lead assistant to Sumeru for a meeting with one of the Third's constituents. They were to discuss distribution of certain resources being funneled to the Fatui by the Academia. The resources in question were a highly classified matter; but judging by the types of resources the Third most frequently had a need for, and the flop sweat of the man they were meeting with as he stressed the importance of discretion - for the utilization of the Academia's resources were to go straight over the Dendro Archon's head - Diluc could only guess that they were things of a more sinister nature. Warm bodies, at best. But probably something worse.

The agents were merely there for added pressure. Even for as imposing as the Harbingers were, there was nothing like armed guards positioned at the shoulders of a man who was already backed into a corner to get them what they wanted.

Dottore hardly spoke a word throughout the entire meeting. He rarely ever did, in situations like this. He usually let his assistant dominate the conversation for him, while he simply sat there as a figurehead, and nothing more. More often than not, he could not even properly mask his disinterest. He looked bored to tears throughout the entire affair, so much so that he had actually stood up from his chair in the middle of the meeting and proceeded to rifle through the constituent's things that were laying around his office. Some people may have seen this as nervy; a pointed encroachment on another man's territory. Diluc thought he was probably just restless.

As the discussions reached their close, Diluc let himself wander off. He approached Dottore, who had drifted to one of the tall bookshelves hugging the wall of the constituent's office, and was running his finger over the thick spines of literature packed tightly into the shelf. His gaze was scrutinizing as he studied the titles. His hand stopped as Diluc got closer to him.

"Don't crowd me, boy," Dottore warned with a growl.

Diluc took a small step back, but didn't withdraw further. "Is there something you're in need of, my lord?"

Dottore let out a humorless scoff. "Something out of this drivel, you mean? Unless one's in need of something to wipe their ass with, I doubt anything in this office could be of any use to anyone."

Charming. Diluc said nothing, though, and just watched the Third’s hand continue sliding across the titles in front of him. Most of them were collections of academic journals. The constituent was a scholar; his field of study was practical theology. His collection reflected this, each title speaking to the power of the divine, of the Seven and Archons of old, and of the omnipotent Gods watching over mankind from Celestia.

Dottore's finger paused on a particularly thick volume, and he pulled it out of place, his features twisting up in distaste. He held it up in front of his face disdainfully, pinching the front cover between his thumb and forefinger as if it were something covered in filth. The pages splayed open, the knowledge they had to share disregarded.

"These people certainly have much to say about nothing at all, don't they?" Dottore muttered. It was something he spoke to himself, and not to Diluc. With that, he let the book slip from his fingers and fall to the floor with a loud thud. It landed face-down, the pages wrinkling and folding under their own weight. His blatant, infantile carelessness irritated Diluc, as it always did.

"Might I assume that you don't hold much value in these sorts of studies, my lord?" Diluc couldn't help the slight bite the words carried. As soon as he said it, he was worried it might be a bit too much. But he had been growing impatient with Dottore already, and watching him skulk around like an ill-tempered child was not helping matters.

Dottore turned his head slightly, glaring at him from the side. "And suppose I don't?" The Third sneered then, the visible corner of his mouth twitching upwards in a derisive grin. "Does it make you uneasy, to see the sightless praise of the Gods defaced like this? I suspect you're a god-fearing man, then?"

He thought he was going somewhere with that. Diluc could see it in his gleaming eyes and devilish smile. He wanted to get a rise out of him. It was no secret that he looked down upon those with faith, and most soldiers in the Fatui had at least faith in their Tsaritsa.

But Diluc did not share this faith. His faith in anything had perished alongside his father.

"If the God of Wisdom is the very same that allowed our party into their nation today, then no," Diluc droned sarcastically. "That sort of wisdom is not something to fear."

As soon as he said it, Diluc thought that that, surely, had definitely been too much. The bite was so flagrant this time that he could have hit himself for it. But the Third's grating, self-satisfied smirk had been too much for him to bear. He didn't want to let Dottore think he had gotten the better of him. His pride had taken over. That was a mistake.

For a moment that seemed to stretch out for eons, there was silence. Chest tightening, Diluc steeled himself for a flare of anger, knowing that it was more than likely to follow such an overweening statement.

Dottore laughed.

It was a sharp, sardonic bark, not much more than an abrupt exhale, a cough with just an inkling of humor to it.

But he just laughed.

"An interesting take, Lieutenant," Dottore commented, a pleased lilt to his voice. "Very interesting, indeed."

And with that, he turned heel and sauntered his way back to the desk. He said nothing else, just left Diluc standing there dumbstruck. It only took a few seconds for him to compose himself and follow him back, but in that time, he found himself pondering the question that he had stewed over for so many months.

How would one win the faith of a faithless man?

Perhaps it was as simple as asserting that there was nothing else better to hold faith in.

Five months in, Dottore stopped Diluc in the middle of one of his reports.

"Enough," Dottore snapped, drumming his fingers against his desk irritably. "If it's business as usual, spare me the formalities. I don't want to hear it today."

Diluc set his jaw in annoyance. "It's important you hear these reports, my lord." He reminded gently, but firmly.

Dottore glared up at him. The tapping of his fingers did not cease. "And to whom do they hold any value, boy? It certainly isn't me."

His severe glower was pure ice, but his eyes were fire, too hot and burning out of control. His words were put together and concise, but all Diluc could hear from them was the indignant whinging of a child. 

It made Diluc think back to simpler times, when he would discourage Kaeya from taking shots at the pigeons in the courtyard with his handmade slingshot, telling him it wasn't something they should be doing. The reply was always the same, no matter how many times the head maid would scold him once he was caught, no matter how many times Diluc was proven right: "Says who?"

Diluc couldn't help gritting his teeth, for more reasons than one. But he couldn't let himself be talked down to by a man who had no more convincing an argument than a troublesome young boy with a slingshot in hand and far too many secrets to tell.

"Her Majesty the Tsaritsa expects your companies to be attended to," Diluc answered calmly. "If she gives you men, do you not think she would want them properly commanded?"

"I do believe that sort of business is far above your station, Lieutenant." Dottore narrowed his eyes. His front two fingers continued to rap against his desk wildly. They were following no set rhythm, erratically twitching upwards and downwards in quick succession. "Besides, I thought you weren't a god-fearing man."

Diluc watched his fingers for a moment. 

Dottore was anxious.

Diluc had been hearing rumors of an incident that had occurred at the Haeresys site just a few days prior. And in his experience, smoke did not exist without fire. The particulars of the incident were sketchy; some went as far as to say a massive explosion had occurred, wiping out years worth of research in a single flash. Others said it was as simple as one of the researchers on site going missing. Diluc figured the real story most likely was to be found somewhere in the middle, as was usually the case with gossip. If he had to guess, treason was the culprit for Dottore’s unease. It would explain why the news had yet to reach his ears anywhere beyond whispers amongst the soldiers, and the Third’s rigid posture and restless hands.

He was under pressure. Good. Diluc could work with that. 

"I am not, Lord Dottore," Diluc answered steadily. "I only think it wise for you to stay in her good graces, as well as the soldiers'. Men who realize they are undervalued are liable to drift off from the path. Your attention is an important asset."

Dottore scowled at him. "A man's disloyalty has nothing to do with me. If you're suggesting that listening to these dull reports through to the end will keep them from rioting on the front lines, that's just plain idiocy."

Defensiveness. Diluc could see him start bouncing his leg hard enough to make the desk rattle. Diluc didn't think he would be able to change his mind on the subject, so he altered his approach.

"Perhaps most of the men are just too simple to truly understand your vision, Lord Dottore," Diluc replied. "Of course, I would never allow for a mutiny amongst them. That is what I'm here for. To show them the proper path. I am only thinking of you and your work, my lord. I wish to aid you in any way I can. I simply think these reports would be of more use to you than you realize."

Dottore scoffed, looking down at his own hand. The frantic pace of his movements had slowed. A man with as absurd an ego as he possessed was unsurprisingly taken in by lip service. But more than that, Diluc had been careful to reassure him that the weight he bore could be placed upon someone else's shoulders - on Diluc's.

"Well, next time, keep your opinions to yourself, boy," Dottore grumbled, giving a dismissive wave of his hand. "You know, Petrova doesn’t bother wasting my time with all this jawing."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant Petrova has also said that his retirement plan is a long walk off a short pier. I don't believe he's all that invested in anything we do here."

That made Dottore laugh. That same shallow, ragged crow that Diluc had not heard since the meeting with the Sumeran scholar. A laugh that contradicted itself, somehow genuine in its disingenuousness.

"So you mean to imply that you do have an investment, then?"

"I do." The words came out easily, but they were bitter on his tongue. As much as he despised offering this man praise, he knew it was necessary. At this point, he knew that flattery would get him everywhere. "I have much respect for the work you do, Lord Dottore."

"Hmph." A non-committal grunt, then another wave of his hand. "Well, that’s to be expected, if you have any bit of sense."

He said that, but his hand had finally stilled.

It really was too easy. Diluc could feel a familiar unease settle in the pit of his stomach, and he fought it off. There was no need to look a gift horse in the mouth. He simply needed to take what he was handed and run with it.

"At any rate, I'm still dismissing you," Dottore said dully, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm a very busy man, as you know, Lieutenant. Though perhaps next week I'll have more time to listen to your precious reports, if you insist on nagging me so."

Diluc let a smile play on his features. It made him feel sick. "Whatever pleases you, my lord."

Eight months in, Diluc remembered that it was Varka that had first taught him to read the languages that were not spoken, but that Kaeya had been the one to really impart the importance of such lessons. It was necessary training, as a knight, to understand the importance of facial cues and body language in matters of interrogation and diffusing potential situations of unrest. Diluc didn’t understand a lot of it, at first. He had always been too straight-forward; he saw more importance in things spoken aloud as opposed to things left unsaid, and he thought it more prudent to focus on verbal skills that would get him through negotiations and conflict. But Kaeya had taken to the subject quicker than he had, and throughout their training, he stressed to Diluc how valuable the skill was. He helped Diluc hone his abilities, better than any of their superiors possibly could have.

Knowing what he knew now, Diluc had to wonder why Kaeya was always so adamant about it. Why he was always constantly reminding Diluc to watch people’s hands, their shoulders, which way their eyes looked when they recalled something, whether they were touching their neck or their mouth as they spoke. Diluc had always written it off as Kaeya simply holding a better appreciation for tactics of espionage. He wasn’t as direct in his methods as Diluc had always been. That was why they worked so well together. Where one fell short, the other excelled. They were the perfect team.

Now, Diluc couldn’t help but wonder if Kaeya had secretly wanted to be caught.

Diluc knew there wasn’t any point in pondering a thing like that, or in dredging up old memories when he was meant to be immersing himself in his new identity, but at a certain point, the association became unavoidable. He had to pull the thoughts out from his depths, only because they were so deeply intertwined with the skill itself. And Diluc needed that skill now more than ever.

Unlike every other aspect of his behavior, the process of getting closer to Dottore was a very subtle affair. If Diluc had not been paying attention, he may not have noticed it happening at all. In fact, it was all so uncharacteristic of the Third’s grandiose air, Diluc had to consider the fact that he himself was not aware of the gradual changes in their relationship. This worked in Diluc’s favor, at times, but it also made things more delicate. He had to take care to notice what was working, and what didn’t.

It was in the smaller details. It was in the way that as the months passed, Diluc began catching his attention. When he was first assigned, Diluc would have been lucky to receive even the barest of glances from Dottore. More often than not, he couldn’t even hold his focus if he was standing directly in front of him and speaking straight to him. But things changed. Eventually, Dottore would glimpse at him whenever, and wherever he saw him. It was fleeting and insignificant, but it was a glance nonetheless. A simple acknowledgement of Diluc’s presence in the Palace. In his space. A quiet hint that told Diluc that Dottore knew he was there. He knew he was there, and he had some level of interest in him.

Dottore never interrupted Diluc during another one of his reports. He still could not be bothered to look interested in any of them, but he did not complain any more than the occasional heavy sigh. He would still fidget around restlessly through the entire thing, and his eyes never quite met Diluc’s. But there had been a slight change in his attitude here, as well. Dottore, who very evidently carried the brunt of his tension in his neck and shoulders, would have his shoulders almost imperceptibly slumped forward as Diluc spoke. His unfocused eyes, which erratically shifted to and fro in the midst of tedious or unpleasant situations, were still as he listened to Diluc speak. He futzed around with the things on his desk, but his attention did not linger too long on any of the things he implemented to keep his hands busy - though it also did not exactly linger on the content of the reports Diluc had to give him, either. Diluc thought that something in his perception must have changed to make him feel more at ease during these moments. Diluc’s presence had fallen into his routine, and rather than blatantly dread the arrival of his reports, Dottore now seemed to have developed an appreciation for the time. Diluc wondered if it was simply because it had become something familiar, a sound akin to white noise that helped him drown out the rest of the world, or if there was more to it than that. Once, watching the Harbingers quietly receiving Diluc’s reports had made him recall a day of his training with the Knights. It was when Jean had absently told him that she found the low timbre of his voice to be very soothing. She had said it so matter-of-factly, Diluc had promptly choked on his own spit, flustered and sputtering as Jean looked on in mild confusion, and while Kaeya watched from the side and snickered at them. He hadn’t really understood what was supposed to be so appealing about his own voice. He still didn’t.

Dottore was always a man with an eccentric flair to him; he made himself a large presence, someone difficult to ignore. He spoke with his hands, and frequently muttered to himself under his breath. But he started to grow even more animated whenever Diluc was around. He spoke louder, and gestured around wildly as he did so. He still only rarely regarded Diluc directly, so at first, he didn’t respond to the Third's off-hand commentary. But after he noticed that Dottore's mood would inevitably sour upon being ignored, he started replying to him. They began talking more and more, though Diluc wouldn't have considered any of the exchanges as substantial enough to qualify as conversations. But Dottore seemed to think something of them, though it was difficult to tell what. Once in a while, he was still able to draw a chuckle out of the man with his drier comments.

He was gaining Dottore's trust. Slowly but surely, he was getting where he needed to be. It was an agonizing crawl towards the end, interspersed with nothing but shallow, empty work relationships and memories of home that he could not fight back. But he could see it all unfolding right before his trained eyes. In the position of his hands and the curve of his shoulders and the direction of his gaze, Dottore told him more than words could have possibly allowed for - he told him his guard was faltering. And it was only a matter of time before Diluc could tear it down completely.

And throughout all of this, every tip-toe forward and every little victory, Diluc kept returning to the same thought, over and over again, no matter how many times he tried to shake it.

It really was too easy.

Maybe he was just getting anxious. Maybe he was just waiting for his good fortune to run dry. For something to go wrong.

Maybe it was something else.

Ten months in, their eyes met.

By definition alone, it was not the first time. Diluc had laid eyes on him the moment he met Dottore, and it had of course happened since that time. But these were only fleeting glances; Diluc had not forgotten Petrova's initial warning, and it was the one boundary he sought not to cross on his own. Dottore did prove to be particularly averse to prolonged eye contact. He preferred for his men to keep their heads down when they spoke. If they did not, he quickly lost his temper. It was a rule that went unspoken, but one that was understood by all of those under the Third's command. Keeping your eyes averted was more likely to keep you out of trouble. They knew that Dottore took it as a challenge.

A challenge that he knew he couldn’t match, perhaps. That was Diluc’s own speculation. A man who grew so quickly defensive at a sideways glance probably knew that he didn’t stand a chance if anyone really wanted to stare him down. Maybe Dottore carried something behind his eyes that he feared being seen. Too much of something, or just something too fresh. It made him restless. It made him angry.

It made him feel insecure.

So while occasional glances were unavoidable, Diluc was not eager to push his luck. At the very least, the agent’s mask constantly obscuring his face made it easier to avoid such an occurrence.

But Diluc had been out on the training grounds that day. There were a new bunch of recruits that had to be attended to. Diluc had retreated to the officer's marquee for a moment, just for an opportunity to take shelter from the bitter chill of the Snezhnayan winds.

He sighed heavily as he leaned against the strategy table in the center of the tent. Snow still clung to his visor, so he removed his mask to properly clear it away.

It was at that moment that Diluc heard the front flap of the tent rustling as it was swept to the side. Without thinking, Diluc just turned his head to see who had entered.

Dottore stood in the entrance, one hand still holding the fabric covering to the side, his coat billowing in Diluc's direction as it was caught by the encroaching wind rushing past him. Diluc saw the Third’s gaze flicker to his face immediately, as his lieutenant was the only other person in the structure. Then, he froze.

Diluc also found himself unable to move. It dawned on him, quite suddenly, that he should have replaced his mask before looking upon the intrusion. It also dawned on him that while he had technically locked eyes with Dottore before, it had never been without the cover of his visor.

For a terse moment, they simply stared at each other. Diluc knew it wasn't wise to do so. But something kept him still. Something about the way Dottore looked at him. The way he kept looking at him. The way that his eyes bore into Diluc's, focused in a way that he had never seen him focus before. Dottore had always drifted, in every sense of word; drifted from people, things, his own duties as a Harbinger. But now, he looked anchored in place.

Dottore was a man whose attention simply could not be held. But Diluc was somehow holding every last bit of it.

Diluc soon broke himself free of his trance; only his face was bare, but he suddenly felt naked. He quickly turned his head away, replacing his mask in the same motion.

"My apologies, Lord Dottore," Diluc muttered, a bit shaken. The soldiers were not meant to unmask themselves like this, much less in front of their superiors. It was an infringement of protocol, albeit a minor one. "I was not expecting you. Do you require my assistance?"

He turned back to Dottore, straightening his back out and crossing his arms behind him. He looked towards him, but was careful not to meet his eyes again. He gave a quick glance to his face.

Dottore was still looking at him blankly. His expression had not changed. For a moment, he just blinked at him.

"Where are they?" Dottore finally asked. His voice came out in a monotone. It was quieter than it usually was, maybe even a little hoarse. It took a second before Diluc was able to register what the question meant. 

That was right. The new recruits. All new recruits were to be sworn in by the Harbingers meant to command them. Diluc had been expecting Dottore. It had just slipped his mind at that moment. The second their eyes had met.

"I-" His words stuck in his throat. He silently cursed himself. He couldn't afford to be this careless. He needed to stay focused. He cleared his throat, and started again, voice steady. "Yes, of course, my lord. I'll show you to the new recruits immediately."

Dottore did not reply. He only regarded Diluc for a moment longer, then turned around and left the marquee, not even bothering to check if his lieutenant was following after him. 

He did not speak to or look at Diluc again. He swore in the recruits he was led to, and wordlessly retired back to the Palace.

Diluc didn't know what to think of any of it. For once, he found himself at a loss for the meaning behind Dottore's behavior. By the intensity of his stare, Diluc, for a few blood-curdling moments, feared that Dottore had somehow recognized him by his face. He eventually brushed the thought away, knowing that it wouldn't be possible. Before his father's death, Diluc had never even seen a Fatui soldier in real life, let alone one of the Harbingers. There was no way Dottore could have even had an inkling to his true identity.

So there was something else, then, to that unfaltering gaze that he had been met with. But try as he might, Diluc could not put his finger on what it might have been.

He was missing something.

Twelve months in, Diluc killed a man.

He had already prepared himself for the possibility that something like that may have to happen. It was crucial that Diluc not give Dottore or any of the other soldiers he worked with any reason to doubt him. If a need arose to act, Diluc had to act. He had no other choices left. He couldn't afford to have his cover blown.

It was in the midst of a meeting with one of their benefactors from Fontaine. He had fallen behind in his payments, and the debt had to be collected, one way or another. The benefactor in question had brought another man with him, seemingly for his own security. Dottore had allowed for it, only because he had Diluc and Petrova in tow.

Things had gotten a bit heated between Dottore's assistant and the benefactor. The man's guard grew uneasy. He panicked. Diluc could see the Electro Vision at his hip suddenly spark.

Petrova reacted, but it was a second too late. Diluc was faster. Chains swathed in Pyro energy were summoned from his father's Delusion, and Diluc lurched towards the allogene.

The guard's sights were on Dottore, and Dottore alone. He would not have faltered. He was determined to do what he must. 

Diluc felt more connected to that man than he did to any of the other men he had spent the past year with.

He had to make a split-second decision.

By the end of it, of course, the benefactor was begging for forgiveness. An agreement was reached soon thereafter, and there was nothing left to attend to.

Dottore had lightly kicked the body on his way out, his features twisted up in disdain.

Once they returned to the Palace, they escorted Dottore back to his office. The Third dismissed Petrova. He ordered Diluc to stay behind.

Diluc felt apprehensive as he approached the front of the desk, watching Dottore sit down in his ornate, mahogany chair. Diluc was tired; both his mind and body spent from the ordeal in Fontaine, he was not in proper form. He could not immediately read the expression Dottore had written across his features, and that made him nervous. But he tried to put his unease to rest, and focused on keeping voice even.

"Is there any way I can be of service, Lord Dottore?" Diluc asked dutifully. Dottore blinked at him slowly before a smirk found its way to his face, and he gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Don't act so stiff, Lieutenant," Dottore chuckled. "It's nothing all that serious. I merely thought you deserved a little recognition. I really must commend you on your performance today."

The praise caught Diluc off guard, and it also made him feel disgusted. Dottore's approval was the last thing he needed, when his head was already pounding as the weight of his actions doggedly closed in around it like a vice. Dottore was not usually so open with such matters, either. Diluc couldn't even recall the last time he had heard anything close to positive feedback leave his lips. The statement was odd, and Diluc was not in his right mind to take it in stride. He tried to maintain his level demeanor.

"It.... It's nothing to commend, my lord," Diluc said cautiously. Maybe if he was humble enough, Dottore would grow disinterested and let him be.

"I wouldn't say that," Dottore replied. He rested his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers and letting them rest against his chin. "It was very impressive, what you did back there."

More praise to make his guts coil. "I was only fulfilling my duty to you, Lord Dottore."

Dottore studied him carefully. His gaze was focused on his face, but Diluc kept his eyes trained carefully off to the side. He had been cautious not to let their eyes meet again, ever since that day on the training grounds. He was still unsure of what Dottore really thought of the entire exchange.

Diluc noticed his eyes finally drift downwards. They stopped at the center of his chest, where his Delusion was set.

"You handle your Delusion quite well, Lieutenant," Dottore remarked. "Might I assume you've been equipped with it for some time now?"

Diluc swallowed a little roughly. This was getting into dangerous territory. He was prepared to answer questions like these, but being interrogated in such a way was still enough to make him cagey. He had to tread cautiously. Best to keep things vague until he could get a feel for just what Dottore was looking for.

"Yes, I have, my lord."

"I see," Dottore replied. "Tell me, Lieutenant: what do you think of it?"

Diluc was thrown off. This was an unexpected line of questioning, and he was too ill-prepared for it. He allowed himself a few seconds to ponder the question, before deciding to go with what he knew worked; flattery went a long way with Dottore, after all.

"I think it's an extraordinary piece of equipment, Lord Dottore," Diluc answered. "It's been an honor to utilize this sort of technology in my service to you."

To Diluc's surprise, Dottore frowned. He waved his hand again. "Yes, yes, of course it has been. That is not the question I'm asking you."

Diluc frowned back at him. He wasn't used to not having control of the conversations he had with Dottore. It had gotten fairly easy to pin down what answers he was looking for.

But there was something Diluc was missing.

"My apologies, Lord Dottore," Diluc relented. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Dottore looked a bit disappointed, but his posture was still relaxed, exuding an uncharacteristic patience. He leaned back in his chair, letting his elbows come to rest on the arms at either side.

"I'm not asking if the technology is impressive or not," Dottore explained. "It is, objectively speaking. I know that already. I want to know what you think of its effects. What do you really think of it, in relation to what it's done to you ?"

The phrasing sent an imperceptible chill through Diluc. But with that, he finally began to understand.

Dottore, for once, was not looking to have his ego stroked. The impetus for this interrogation seemed to be coming from somewhere else, an aspect of him that was usually overshadowed by his own pride. As distasteful as it was to admit, Dottore was a scholar at heart; he had the inventive mind, the inquisitive nature, the technical intellect. All of these aspects of him had been twisted beyond recognition, but they were still there. The Tsaritsa and the resources of the Fatui had gotten him far, but it was unlikely that another man would have been able to yield the same results if given the same tools. Dottore was just the man needed for the job, for more reasons than one.

Diluc could see that now better than ever, bearing witness to his engagement, the curious hunger in his eyes as they flitted back and forth between Diluc's face and the scarlet Delusion pinned to his breast. Dottore was studying him. In the truest sense of the word, he was studying him. Because more than the devious inventions he had brought into this world, his field of study involved people; it was people that he worked with, first and foremost.

It was almost sickeningly ironic, when Diluc thought about it like that. Tragic, in a way. It was Dottore's own folly, to have passion for a subject that he so fundamentally misunderstood.

At least now, Diluc had some idea of what he wanted to hear. Though he wasn't sure how willing he was to feed into it.

"That has also been… very impressive, Lord Dottore."

Dottore still looked a bit disappointed. 

"A man of few words, as always, Lieutenant," Dottore sighed, his gaze finally drifting off to the side. "It makes me curious, though. You see, most of the soldiers that look to take on Delusions do it for some half-hearted, foolish reason. In the name of Her Majesty , and all that nonsense." The Third's derision was crystal clear by the mocking lilt to his voice at the mere mention of the Archon, rolling his eyes as he gave an extravagant roll of his wrist. "And I don't delude myself, of course. The acceptance of a Delusion is no small decision. There are significant risks involved. Too significant to justify taking on the responsibility based on the flimsy blessings of some frigid old woman. I should know. She commissioned me to design the damn things."

It was the first time Diluc had ever heard him acknowledge this directly, and it was enough to make his heart leap to his throat. All at once, he seemed to be so, excruciatingly close to the end of this long trial. Dottore was playing right into his hands. He was opening up. Diluc only needed to push the right buttons.

Dottore glanced back up at Diluc then. "You were aware of the risks involved before accepting it, weren't you?"

The question was nearly enough to knock the wind out of Diluc, but he kept it under wraps. He fought off the grisly memories of rainwater at his feet, and scarlet ichor sticking to his cuticles.

"I was." The answer was a bit terser than he would have wanted it to be, but Dottore didn't seem to notice.

"Yes. I'm sure you were," Dottore remarked, nodding slightly. "So I ask you this, Lieutenant: you’ve proven to me time and time again that you are not a god-fearing man. At this point, I'm inclined to believe you. But if that is truly the case, then what was your reason for picking up the Delusion? What keeps you holding onto it? If it's not blind faith, then what makes you take the risk?"

Diluc floundered for a moment. He had to be careful. He didn't want to spoil this chance.

"I don't consider it to be a risk, Lord Dottore," Diluc said finally. He offered the Third a small smile. "I have complete trust in your design."

Dottore looked dejected, and it made Diluc's pulse stutter. "Is that all?" Dottore asked, sounding put out. Lip service still wasn't enough. It wasn't what he was looking for. Diluc was still missing something.

He had to make a split-second decision.

"No." Diluc blurted out suddenly. Dottore, who seemed to be in the midst of losing interest in the conversation, quickly tuned back in, looking at Diluc expectantly.

That was good. He was still listening. Diluc still had his attention. Diluc swallowed, but realized his throat had gone dry.  He may have his ears, but still didn't know what Dottore wanted to hear. He didn't have an answer planned for him.

Running out of options, Diluc did something dangerous. He didn't plan his words. He simply spoke the truth.

"No, my lord," Diluc repeated. "That's... that's not it at all, actually. It's not trust. I... if I'm being honest, I don't trust it one bit."

Diluc's chest tightened, and he hesitated before continuing. He watched Dottore. He almost expected the egregious statement to get a rise out of him. But it did not. His expression did not change. If anything, he only grew more intrigued.

"Is that so?" Dottore mused. "Then why take the risk, Lieutenant?"

Diluc thought about this for a while. "It's... it's for the power," Diluc said distantly. His eyes went a little out of focus. "It's for the power it gives you."

Diluc thought about the Delusion pinned to his cloak. He thought about all the misery it had ever brought him. Even now, it made him miserable. It was a weight over his heart. It represented knowledge that could not be unlearned, and the life he had left behind him that he had spent in blissful ignorance. It was nothing but a burden to bear. It was the impetus for all his woes. The wicked tool of an evil empire that sought to bring the world to its knees. 

It was a cowardly object. He detested it and everything it stood for with every fiber of his being. It was an object that represented fear. Control. Cowardice.

But then, he thought of his father. He thought of the day he had first seen it upon Crepus's hand, a beacon in the mist. The last hope either of them had. Diluc had been given the blessing of the Gods, and still he had managed to fail in his duty. But his father had stepped forward in his stead. It had cost him everything, but he had done it nevertheless.

Diluc wished he could know if Crepus, too, had known the risks. It was a question that still haunted him, after all this time. Did he know what he might sacrifice? What would it mean? Is that why he had the thing in the first place?

Was it so he could make the ultimate sacrifice, with or without the blessing of the Gods?

"It's not enough just to wield the power of the elements,” Diluc continued quietly. “Delusions give you more than that. More than a Vision ever could. It’s more than elemental ability or physical strength. They give you the power to write your own fate. They give you autonomy over what has already been decided for you. And that’s why. That is why I take the risk. Because this thing... it gives me the power to do what must be done. Everyone else be damned. Gods be damned."

Diluc stopped. He let his head clear, and he focused back on Dottore.

The Third was still studying him carefully. His expression had not changed.

Then, he smiled. It was not gentle in nature, but it was the most genuine one Diluc had ever seen on his face.

"Fascinating." Dottore muttered. He sounded slightly awestruck. He chuckled, after a moment. "That's quite an intriguing point of view, Lieutenant. I thank you for indulging me."

Diluc wanted to grimace. As if he would have had a choice in the matter. "I hope my words did not offend, Lord Dottore."

"Not at all, my boy," Dottore said amicably. "In fact, you and I share many of the same sentiments."

Diluc wanted to be sick. But he couldn't let it get to him. Now that Dottore had gotten what he wanted, he tried pushing a bit further.

"All that being said, I do genuinely find your designs to be remarkable," Diluc commented. "I do not wish for you to misunderstand me. I take great pride in my assignment, and in the work I’m meant to safeguard. It is an honor serving you, my lord."

Dottore almost seemed a bit taken aback by the statement. That was uncharacteristic of him. He took praise in stride, with the air of a man who knew no better than to assume all of it was well-deserved. But he faltered for a moment, apparently at a loss for words.

"Yes, well…. Likewise, you've proven to be a rather... valuable subject, Lieutenant," Dottore said. He started tapping his fingers anxiously against his desk. He looked like he wanted to say more. But when he opened his mouth again, all that came out was, "You may be dismissed, Lieutenant."

He had grown uncomfortable suddenly. He didn't look fully satisfied. But he didn't look displeased, either. So Diluc just nodded his head to him. "Of course, Lord Dottore."

Diluc left his office, his insides wound tightly together as he made his way back to his quarters. He felt even worse than he had going into the meeting. His mind was still reeling from what had happened that day, and from memories that had sprung forth unbidden. As it often did, the surreal nature of his situation weighed heavy on him. His incredulousness could not be fought off.

Diluc had stood before the man he was going to kill, and had revealed to him the means with which he meant to do it. He would kill him with or without the divine’s blessing. He would do it based on his own burning ambition alone. He would do it with the very device that the Harbinger had brought into this world himself.

He had told this man these things, and he had simply smiled at him for it.

Diluc knew all of those words had been the truth. Every last one of them.

He knew the Delusion was a risk. He knew all of this was.

But his father’s Delusion meant more to him than his Vision ever had. It stood for something greater than the will of the Gods. It stood for what was right.

Without a god to witness him, Diluc would continue onward, and he would do what he must. He would rewrite fate itself with his burning retribution. He would seek vengeance for a crime that the Gods had turned their cheeks to.

Whatever it would take, Diluc would do it.

Just like his father had.

Thirteen months in, security was breached.

By the time Diluc realized this, six soldiers and one rebel intruder had already been killed on their path to Dottore's office. He had been in the process of letting Dottore back into his office after a meeting they had in Natlan. Diluc's eyes had absently fallen on Petrova as they swung open the double doors to the Third's study. He blinked, and suddenly there was an arrow sticking out of the side of his neck. Diluc had summoned the chains from his Delusion before Petrova even had time to hit the ground.

His eyes scanned the room in front of them. Six intruders that he could see. Two of them were behind the desk, rooting through locked drawers that had been broken into, and four were up front. They were dressed in resistance garb, but tactics like these were too reckless, out of character based on what he knew of the group. Most of them looked young. Perhaps they were headstrong defectors, too impatient to sit idly by as the Fatui's schemes progressed? That would work in Diluc's favor. They were green. Even if the archer up front was a deadeye, for all she was worth.

Dottore was a little ahead of him. That wasn't good. But he wasn't far. Diluc could get him behind him. He just had to-

Diluc saw a flash of green suddenly fly in front of his eyes. His eyes were fast enough to process what it was, but his body worked a little slower. He raised his hands up instinctively, just in time to keep himself from being garroted with a thick, sinewy vine pulsating with Dendro energy. But now, his hands were trapped against his collar. And he was being yanked backwards.

One of the people inside had made a run for the door, and he shut it, closing the six intruders and Dottore inside the room.

Diluc could see the Third's scarlet eyes flashing with rage. He had just enough time to watch the Harbinger getting swarmed before the double doors slammed shut.

Diluc's heart sank like a stone. He was pulled further back from the door, until his back was flush with someone's chest. They had a decent hold on him, and they were a little bit bigger. Diluc could feel their breath coming out heavy against his hood, right up against the bottom of the crown of his head. Thinking quickly, Diluc took a second to steady his breath, then clenched his jaw. He let his head fall forward as much as he could before swinging it back towards his captor. There was an audible, resounding thwack that made Diluc’s ears ring, and for a second, he was disoriented. But the potent, throbbing pain and the sensation of cool air against his cheeks - he had hit the rebel so hard that he had knocked his own mask off - quickly brought him out of it.

The rebel cried out in pain, and released Diluc immediately. Diluc slipped out from under the Dendro vine’s hold and spun around to face his attacker, Pyro-laced chains already at the ready.

Blood was pouring out of the rebel's nose. Diluc had probably broken it. He looked up as Diluc had turned on him, and upon seeing he had already been surrounded by the power with the Delusion, his face drained of color. He still had his emerald Vision at his hip, but he did not make a move to try using it again. Perhaps he knew it would only make matters worse. Maybe he was not as confident in his abilities as Diluc obviously appeared to be. He may not have had much experience. He was only a young man.

No. He was not much more than just a boy. Practically a child. His shoulders had barely even filled out.

Diluc gritted his teeth. Without lowering his stance, he hissed, "Go."

The boy was still frozen solid, but his brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

" Go. Now. " Diluc repeated with a growl. After a brief hesitation, he sternly added, "If I ever see you near the palace again, I'll kill you on sight. Understand?"

That got him moving. The Dendro allogene nodded frantically, still too stunned to speak, and still clutching his broken nose, ran out into the hallway and out of sight. Diluc did not fall back until the sound of urgent footsteps could no longer be heard. But then Diluc realized that he couldn't hear anything else, either.

He spun back around to the double doors. His organs had all lurched up to his throat during his altercation with the allogene, and now they felt like they were sinking down through the soles of his shoes and onto the artisan rug beneath him. He couldn't hear anything coming from Dottore's office. Why couldn't he hear anything? There were no audible signs of struggle. That could have been a good thing. Or, it could have been very bad.

Petrova's body was shoved up against the door, and Diluc could only spare a slight wince in its direction. He was dead. There was no need to stop and check.

He tried the door, and found it had been locked. He shook it a few times, heart skipping a beat with each jerk, before he rapidly lost patience. He felt sick to his stomach as he tapped into the power of his Delusion.

Why wasn't there any sound? Chains wrapped themselves around the door handles and forced them downward, trying to pull them beyond their breaking point to damage the lock. It wasn't working fast enough, so Diluc started ramming his own body against the door. With every jarring jolt of pain he sent through himself as his shoulder made contact with sturdy wood, his chest was being compressed.

Dottore couldn't be dead, could he? He couldn't be dead. Not like this. Not to a bunch of stupid, reckless kids that had simply gotten lucky enough to make it this far. But regardless of their level of competency, six against one were not good odds. And they had successfully caught them all off guard.

He couldn't be dead. Not after everything Diluc had been through. Not after all the work he put it. That wretched son of a bitch couldn't be fucking dead. Diluc couldn't have let that happen. Not ag-

As Diluc barreled into the door one last time, the lock finally was pushed too far, and the doorframe promptly splintered apart. Diluc gasped as it did, stumbled into the room, bile rising to his throat as he stopped at the entrance and let his eyes go back into focus.

The lamps were all still dark in the office, save for the one at the desk the rebels had been using to root around with. It was difficult to see everything. It was difficult to see if the other rebels had been as young as the Dendro allogene was.

Diluc decided that was a blessing.

Out of the six rebels he had spotted in the office, all six of them were lying dead on the floor. The stench of iron hung thick in the air. It was a massacre.

In the center of it, kneeling over one of the bodies, was Dottore. At his sides, floating in mid-air, were two blood-spattered defense mechanisms, the same model that Diluc knew the Third commanded with his own Delusion, but scarcely had a need to utilize. Diluc hadn’t ever seen it happen. But it was clear that they had been the means of his defense. He was hunched over, and Diluc couldn't see his face well, but one thing was certain: he was alive.

Diluc realized his heart was racing. He now wasn’t sure why it was.

He didn't know why he had worried. Dottore was a Harbinger. He was no warrior, no soldier, no military strategist, but he was a Harbinger. He was ruthless. He was capable of many terrible things, bloodshed included. Diluc had not even necessarily been charged with his security; it was an implication that such things should come with the assignment, but Diluc was certainly not his bodyguard. Dottore could take care of himself.

So why would his heart not be still?

Was it just because he had almost lost his footing? Because he still hadn't gained the traction he needed to finish his own mission? Because Dottore's death would have spoiled all of that? Dottore couldn't die yet. He would, eventually, but not now; the knowledge he possessed was still far too valuable to Diluc.

Was it just because he wanted to kill Dottore for himself? Because the idea of his catharsis being stolen from him was too much to bear? Because he needed to take his anguish out on this man so badly? Anguish by the Third’s own hands through the things he had created, the events that lead to the day that-

-the day that Diluc had failed in his duties. The day he had failed his father, and failed the people of Mondstadt.

And he had almost failed again.

These duties were not truly his. It was foolish to claim ownership to them. But for that brief moment in time, he had claimed them wholeheartedly. And if Dottore had died, he would have claimed them for the rest of his days.

He had almost let it happen again.

Diluc felt himself growing cold as he realized all this, and he swallowed down the bile that rose to his throat. He couldn't think about all that now. He had to make sure everything was under control.

He realized Dottore was kneeling at the body in front of him because he was frantically rooting through the corpse's coat pockets. He had not looked up when Diluc broke in, despite the ruckus he had caused. Diluc could not properly see his face in the darkness, but his stature was that of a man possessed. He had been severely caught off guard, his space violated and his work tampered with. They had clearly been trying to take something.

"Lord Dottore," Diluc finally croaked. Still, Dottore did not look up. Diluc started walking forward. "Dottore-"

Diluc stopped dead in his tracks as he felt something crunch beneath his boot, and he instinctively withdrew. Under his foot, in too many pieces to assume that Diluc alone had done the damage, were the remnants of a two-toned, plaster theater mask, one with the mark of the Fatui stamped over the left brow.

Oh. Diluc looked back up, and by the time he had, Dottore had taken notice of him. His one visible eye flashed wildly. The left side of his face he now had covered with his hand.

"Get out," Dottore spat hoarsely.

Diluc's mouth floundered open in disbelief at the command. "Wh- Lord Dottore, are you-"

"I said get out," the Third hissed again. He stood up then, too fast, stumbling back slightly until his back hit the edge of his desk. As he lost footing, the sentries at his side stuttered in the air before dropping to the ground like stones. Dottore grabbed the desk with his free hand to maintain his balance, but the other remained splayed out against his face. "Go. Make sure there are no survivors. Make sure they didn't get away with anything. Go now."

Diluc's mind flashed to the rebel he had set loose. He grimaced, and started approaching the Harbinger again. "Lord Dottore, there are no survivors. Were you injur-"

"No!" Dottore barked. "I told you to get out! Now!"

His urgency was evident, and Diluc's frustration was rising. He was acting like a child. Diluc didn't have time for it now. Not after the fear the Third had stricken into his heart. Diluc just continued advancing on him, stepping over the bodies left in the Harbinger’s wake.

"Dottore, stop," Diluc urged desperately. Dottore simply went rigid as he got closer. Diluc grabbed the sleeve of his coat, and pulled. The Third's hand did not budge from his face. Diluc could not help the scowl that made its way to his lips.

This was his duty, now, whether he liked it or not. It was Lieutenant Borisov's duty to assure his commander went unharmed. It was Diluc's duty to assure that justice would be served by his hands alone.

But even more than that, the claws of morbid curiosity were at his throat.

The soldiers were careful not to whisper too loudly about such matters, but there were whispers nonetheless. They spoke of the Third and what lay beyond his mask as if he were an old wives' tale. No one had ever seen it before, but there were rumors of whatever ghastly visage he kept hidden. Some went so far as to say half his face had been burned away down to the bone. Some thought that he must have turned himself into an abomination, and that the left side of his face was a grisly patchwork of flesh and robotics.

Suddenly, Diluc had to see it for himself. He had to. He couldn't stop himself.

He pulled again, harder this time. Dottore had not been expecting him to so blatantly disregard him; he could not fight against him fast enough, and his hand was wrenched away from his face. Diluc was waiting. He looked at the sight in front of him.

There was nothing there.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a scar, not a scratch, not even an errant drop of blood. Dottore’s face was completely bare. Unmarred. Nothing but the face of a human man, pristine in all its parts, looking upon Diluc with an aghast expression on his face.

It was an expression Diluc was sure he was mirroring.

Silence fell over the room as both of them were rendered speechless.

Finally, Diluc spoke, though the words left him unbidden.

"I don't understand," Diluc croaked, voice strained with frustration. "If there was never anything behind the mask, then what are you hiding?"

Dottore just blinked at him dumbly. Diluc wanted to slap the look from his face, but managed to stop just short of raising his hand.

Diluc’s frustration came from the fact that he had been expecting something else. It was as simple as that. And it was not just in regards to the Third's face. It was everything. It was the uneasiness that had plagued him since the moment he had first met those eyes. It was every time that dread crept up on him, every time Diluc thought to himself that it had all been far too easy to get here.

He had been expecting something else. Something more.

It wasn't fair.

He had spent so many sleepless nights imagining what it would be like to know this man. To know him, not just what he had done, but for what he really was; a villain. Diluc had imagined what it would be like to meet the Third, the man who had brought the world so much suffering, the man who made a mockery of divinity and humanity alike. Diluc had thought that when they first locked eyes, he would be staring straight into the depths of the ultimate source of evil.

But instead, he had looked into the unruly eyes of a man that was not worthy of his title. He was not worthy of his position, of the name he had been given, or the things he had built.

Even now, as he stood in the epicenter of the lives he had taken far before their time, he was not even worthy to bear their blood on his hands. For as cruel a man as he was, he somehow did not wear bloodshed well. He did not revel in it. He did not regard it with frigid dignity. He did not sport the appearance of a cold-blooded killer.

He looked like a fucking dog.

He looked like a stray dog, backed into a corner, only lashing out for lack of any other options. He did it without grace, and without any real conviction. The blood on his tongue would not be drunk down, as wild animals were meant to drink it. It would only be wasted.

It would all be wasted.

Diluc had so desperately needed to see something more. He needed to hate this man, more than he needed air in his lungs. And he did hate him. He hated him more than words could describe. He hated him with every last bone in his body.

But not in the way he needed to.

Diluc thought of killing him now, and realized it would not have felt like the retribution he sought to deliver. It would not feel like he was ending a wicked empire.

It would feel like he was putting him out of his misery.

And now, he had the audacity to stand before Diluc, with not even a scratch on the face he had kept so fiercely protected. He was as fresh and unmarked as the day he had been born. There really was nothing more to him. And that wasn't fair.

Dottore still hadn't responded to Diluc's words. He was shell-shocked. All he could do was stare back into Diluc's anguished, scrutinizing gaze.

Then, his eyes flickered downwards.

His lips. He had looked at Diluc's lips. Then back to his eyes. The Third opened his mouth to speak. But his breath only hitched.

Recognition hit Diluc hard, and his body went ice cold with revulsion.

But he wasn't thinking straight. All he knew is that he needed Dottore to be more than what he was. He needed there to be something below the surface.

And at long last, Dottore had finally shown him something else. It was fleeting. If Diluc had blinked, he would have missed it. But it was there, and Diluc had seen it.

It was not what he had wanted to see. But it was something .

Diluc felt a growl rumble out of his throat, and his mind went blank as he grabbed Dottore by the lapels and yanked him forward.

Their lips crashed together in a graceless collision that sent Diluc's mind reeling. Dottore faltered, for a moment, but only a moment. His hands flew up in the air, and simply stuck there, as if he didn't know what to do with them. Then, as Diluc urged his mouth open with another growl and a bite to his lower lip, they landed on his arms. He fisted his hands into the fabric of Diluc's uniform with a groan, clinging to him with palpable desperation, and he let himself be taken. It was a chaotic exchange of teeth and tongues that made the rest of the world blur. A release of steam that had been building up for far too long, and it was unbearably scalding, so hot that Diluc had to fight off the compulsion to faint from it.

A small part of him had still been expecting Dottore's ire. He thought that, surely, this kind of behavior must be unforgivable. It was stupid. It could have gotten him killed. It should have. 

But Diluc could read the Third far too well.

Diluc gripped the back of his neck, and Dottore nearly whimpered. His other hands raked itself though his pale blue hair, and Diluc could feel him shudder. He had control of the events that unfolded. Not Dottore. Not anyone else. It was all in Diluc’s hands now. And he reveled in every last second of it.

It was something new. It was something more.

But it was still too easy.

Fifteen months in, Diluc almost left.

He stood in Dottore's quarters, half in, half out, one leg propped up on the open window.

He had gotten dressed for it. He had everything he needed. He only needed to take the next step forward. He would go through the window, climb down the walls of the palace, and abscond into the night. He would leave all this behind. His mission. The dead man's name. Dottore.

But Diluc just stood there, unmoving. He could only stare out the open window into the dark, yawning void of darkness as he pondered what to do.

Eventually he turned his head, just enough to let his eyes drift to the bed that sat in the center of the room. Diluc could see the figure within it, back turned to him, swathed in a fine silk blanket. A mess of rumpled blue hair caught the moonlight coming in over Diluc's shoulder and glowed with an icy, silvery sheen. 

Dottore was still asleep. He had trouble falling asleep, but once he was out, he did not rest lightly.

Diluc just turned his head back to the open window.

He could leave now. He could leave now, and never look back. And what a waste that would have been.

But maybe everything had already been wasted.

Diluc didn't know why he was here anymore. The realization had jerked him out of sleep in a cold sweat, and as soon as he gained consciousness, it was all he could think about.

What exactly did he think he was doing?

He had come here for two things: to uncover the secrets of the Delusions' production, and to kill Il Dottore, Third of the Eleven Harbingers.

But after a year of reaching towards those goals, he had lost sight of them at the last second.

What would he do, if he got what he wanted? If he knew the Delusions inside and out? If Dottore woke up tomorrow and handed over the blueprints, the keys to the factory, the means to dismantle each and every last one of them? What would he do then?

He would follow through with his plan, surely. But after that, what? What was left after that?

The people who had been corrupted by the Delusions would still die a slow, agonizing death. 

The people who had already passed would still be gone.

His father would still be dead.

The Knights of Favonius would still be a complete sham.

He would still be short a brother that he never really had in the first place.

It was selfish to think of those things first and foremost. Diluc knew it was. But in the course of his long isolation from everything he once knew, he could think of nothing else but himself. And the fact was, he couldn't think of a single damn thing that would make all his struggles worthwhile. He could say he was doing it for the good of humanity, grit his teeth through the statement and pretend that he had never thought of anything but that, but what was the point? If the Delusions were stopped, injustice would still prevail. And the Gods would still avert their gaze from such horrors, time and time again. Diluc sought to keep vigil over a world that did not want to be watched. He would spend the rest of his life delivering justice that divinity had not defined for themselves. His justice would have no meaning.

Even if everything went as planned, Diluc was only one man. There was only so much he could change. And if he couldn't change any of the misfortunes in his own life, how could he ever hope to change the misfortunes of Teyvat?

As for the latter goal.... Diluc had a compulsion to look back over at Dottore. But he did not. He kept his eyes trained outside.

Diluc had made a grave mistake. And as time passed, he only dug himself deeper and deeper.

Dottore's actions were still subtle. Even like this, he seemed incapable of being forthright in his intentions. But Diluc had grown accustomed to reading the smaller details. He was too familiar with them now. He could not miss the signs, even when he tried to look the other way.

It was in the way Dottore looked at him, the few times their eyes did meet. He still was not particularly fond of prolonged eye contact. It still bothered him. Dottore doubted it would ever stop bothering him. But when he did look at him, his eyes were different than they were before. The unruly crimson flames behind them had been tempered to nothing more than a flickering ember. He was softer now; only fractionally so, but a fraction that Diluc took notice of.

It was in the way Dottore touched him. No - the Third never merely touched. He clung. He coveted. Every single exchange, from the barest brush against Diluc's shoulder to the way Dottore fisted his hands into his red mane of hair in the midst of passionate embrace, exuded unmatched desperation. He had always kept the world at arm’s length, but now that Diluc had pushed beyond that, he held on for everything he was worth. Diluc wondered if he even noticed how helplessly he hung off of him, in the moments they shared alone. Did he even know that he was a man dying of thirst, and that Diluc was his oasis in the desert? For how much he coveted Diluc, was Dottore even aware of how fiercely he needed him? Or did he simply take it for granted, like everything else of worth he possessed?

It was in the way he called him by a name that was not his own. This did not happen often; most of the time, even when they were alone, he simply addressed him as "Lieutenant." But in quieter moments, in spaces where words did not have far to travel from his lips to Diluc's ears, he called him by his name. The name that was not his name, the one that Diluc had offered him that was nothing but a lie. But he muttered it with all the reverence of prayer, the only prayer that Dottore had likely ever breathed in his life. And what a colossal waste that was, Diluc thought. What a waste for a faithless man to finally find faith in a false god. A false name. A false person.

But Diluc didn't feel bad for him. His distaste for Dottore had not lessened; it had only grown dim. The flames of vengeance that roared in his belly did not burn so brightly, anymore. His sharp edges had all been worn down. They were dull. Diluc was dull. Dottore had made him dull. 

Diluc did still think about killing him. It was difficult not to, with how often Diluc awoke with him laying in his arms. Asleep. Prone. Exposed. Diluc couldn't even count how many times he could have wrapped his hands around his throat and squeezed. All the times he could have done it, all the times he could have been free from this. All the times he could have gotten what he had always wanted, and just left.

But it wouldn't have really been what he wanted.

Killing Dottore now would not have been retribution. It would have been an act of mercy.

And that wasn't fair.

So why was Diluc here, then? If it was not for justice, and it was not for vengeance, then what was he doing?

It would be better to leave. If he was going to act selfishly anyway, he might as well do it in a way that might actually benefit him.

He needed to leave. He couldn't be here anymore. He had no more ambition to hold onto. He was lost without a cause.

He needed to leave.

But would things be that much better outside of the palace?

Diluc thought about what he had left behind, and the only other life he had ever known.

He thought about the Knights, who had convinced him that they were just. They had convinced him that they would always do what was right. They convinced him he was a hero.

He thought about Kaeya, who had convinced him that he was loved. He had been there for him through thick and thin; he had let Diluc call him a brother with nothing more than a gentle smile and a promise of unswerving devotion. He had convinced him to put all his trust in him.

He thought about his father, who had convinced him that everything happened for a reason. He taught Diluc that people were good, and that humanity alone would be the thing to usher man into the age of enlightenment. He convinced him that all would be right in due time.

For all of his life, Diluc had been lied to. These people had looked him straight in the eye and told him things they knew were false. Things that they knew would mislead him. Promises that couldn't possibly be kept.

They had all lied to him.

And it felt so good to be the one lying now.

The silent admission sent a chill through Diluc, far more bitter than the winter winds licking his pale cheeks.

He liked it. He liked lying to Dottore. He liked all of it. He liked being coveted. He liked being needed. He liked watching this sad, pathetic man slowly entrusting him with every part of him, inside and out.

Diluc liked knowing that it was all a lie.

The lies had become the only thing capable of stoking the fire within him. It excited him. It made him feel in control. It made him feel powerful. Dottore had unwittingly given him more power than those stupid little Delusions of his ever could have. And Diluc liked that.

Diluc liked being with him. He liked what they had. He liked what they had created together.

And he liked imagining the look on Dottore's face the day he would decide to take it all away.

A sudden, rough gust blew through the open window. The resultant howl of wind whipping past Diluc's shoulder was enough to make Dottore stir slightly. He shifted around, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders, then drifted off again.

Diluc stepped down from the windowpane. He shut the windows, then the shutters. He drew the curtains closed and got undressed.

He crawled back into bed next to Dottore. After a time spent under the covers, making sure his body had regained some warmth, he shimmied closer to the Third and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

If only for one more lie. If only for them to wake up like this tomorrow morning, and for Dottore to think that he was a man that could have whatever he wanted with no consequence. 

If only for him to be wrong.

Diluc pressed his forehead in between Dottore's shoulder blades and breathed in.

His scent was familiar now. It was pleasant. It helped Diluc drift back into sleep.

He dreamed of tearing him down brick by brick.

Sixteen months in, Lieutenant Petrova was replaced. It had taken a while, not only due to a shortage of warm bodies with the experience necessary to take on such an assignment, but because for a while, neither Diluc nor Dottore took much notice of the late Petrova's absence. Their minds were far too occupied with each other, though for very differing reasons. Dottore said he enjoyed their time alone together, and it was all the more enjoyable when they did not have to worry about someone who would work so closely with them sniffing around their business. Diluc was simply mortified at the idea of getting caught. It was easier to have space to themselves for a while, but eventually Diluc's workload became too unmanageable on his own, and the assignment could not be put off any longer.

The new agent's name was Lieutenant Nikitin. He quickly proved to be nothing short of an utter nuisance.

His main problem, as far as Diluc was concerned, was that he was an insufferable, tactless kiss-up. A brown-noser, through and through. Dottore grew pliant with some well-placed flattery, but even he had his limits. It was almost funny, watching the Third at odds with himself as his new lieutenant showered him with disingenuine, ceaseless reverence, torn between sitting back and letting his ego be stroked raw and reeling back and slapping him mid-sentence, just for a moment of peace. Though Diluc wasn't sure that would be enough to stop Nikitin’s chatter once he got going.

Nikitin was an exceedingly pious, extravagantly patriotic man; he lived and breathed his service to the Fatui, and to the Tsaritsa. He was not the kind of man that would have ever been able to earn Dottore's respect, and Diluc didn't much care for his performative, rabid faith either.

But more than that, Nikitin just talked too much. Far too much.

A few weeks into Nikitin's assignment, he walked in on Diluc in the training ground’s marquee. He proceeded to talk Diluc's ear off for several minutes, about things that didn't really need to be said; about the gumption of their recruits, strengthening security around the palace for no reason, yearning for resources that they did not have. Diluc offered no more than a few grunts in response, hoping he would catch the hint and move on with his day. But to Diluc's dismay, he only persisted.

"-and equipment doesn't last as long in this kind of weather." Nikitin complained. He scrunched up his face in distaste. "These blizzards get awful this time of year, when you get this far inland. That's not to say it's not an honor to be stationed in the palace, but... it's much more temperate out on the coast."

Diluc gave another noncommittal grunt, rolling his eyes. Nikitin paused for a moment.

"You seem like you're more accustomed to it than I am," he commented. "You grow up inland?"

Diluc bristled slightly. It had been so long since someone had even come close to making him dig up his cover story, the question was a little jarring. The soldiers were generally good at keeping their noses out of another man's personal matters. If such things came up amongst them, it was usually with lips that had been thoroughly wetted with vodka, and certainly in good enough company to warrant reminiscing. Diluc, of course, did not really consider Nikitin to be good company.

Dottore had never seemed too eager to know much about Yakov's history, either. The only thing he had ever said on the subject is that he saw little point in dwelling on the past; he only looked to the future.

But Diluc hadn't let himself slip yet. He remembered every last bit of his cover, and he knew the answer to Nikitin's question.

Still wishing to let the conversation drop off, Diluc was curt in his reply. "Sosna."

Nikitin tilted his head to the side slightly. "You don't say? My sister's husband was raised in Sosna. What a coincidence."

Diluc's blood ran a little cold.

Shit.

He just grunted. Nikitin didn't catch the hint.

"Yeah, he'd be right around our age, actually. Maybe you knew him. The name Sorokina ring any bells?"

Shit.

Diluc's shoulders tensed. Of course. Of fucking course.

Diluc, of course, did not know the name. He knew of the Borisov family, and much of their modern history. He knew Sosna was a rural, landlocked little community deep in the woods that not many people could find unless they had a reason to go looking for it.

And Diluc had managed to find someone with a reason.

"No." Diluc replied dully. He said nothing more. Lying, of course, would have been far worse, so he simply had to tell the truth and hope that the agent would let it lie.

He did not.

"Huh. Really?" Nikitin queried. "That's odd. He told me once it was a pretty small village, I would have figured you'd-"

"I kept to myself." Diluc interrupted, finally turning his head to shoot a glare at the man. With the agent in his sights, he narrowed his eyes and added, "I still do."

Nikitin just looked back at him blankly. The silence that had suddenly fallen between them was smothering.

At last, Nikitin just pursed his lips. "Is that so?"

Diluc kept his eyes on him. "It is."

Nikitin paused again. Then, he just made his way to the entrance of the tent.

"Forgive my intrusion, then," Nikitin said. He looked back at Diluc one last time before making his way outside. Beyond his mask, Diluc could only guess as to the expression he wore. His tone of voice was dubious. "I'll be sure to remember that next time."

Diluc just watched him go. As soon as the opening of the tent stilled, he took a deep breath inward, letting it back out through his nostrils slowly. His heart began to race.

That wasn't good.

Seventeen months in, Dottore took him by the hand.

Dottore had meandered over to the front of his desk and sat down on it as Diluc dutifully delivered his weekly report. It felt a little silly to still be doing such a thing, but Diluc considered it a matter of principle for him to hear it all the way through. Imagining Dottore getting his way in such a childish manner was still enough to irk him. But Dottore had yet to interrupt him again, not since that time so many months ago.

Dottore waited until he was finished, looking distracted the entire way through, then wordlessly reached out to him and took his hand, urging him closer. Diluc was slightly taken aback by the gesture. Dottore rarely initiated that kind of contact. He obliged him, stepping forward with a questioning look on his face.

Dottore kept his hand on Diluc's while his other promptly drifted up to his chest. His fingers brushed against the Delusion pinned to his cloak. Then, without warning, he plucked it off.

It made Diluc go rigid, and he had to catch himself to relax his posture again. Seeing Dottore begin studying the scarlet orb made him uneasy. He was just looking at it pensively, turning it around in his hand to observe it from every angle.

"Is something the matter?" Diluc finally asked.

Dottore didn't respond right away. He was still holding Diluc’s hand. With how deep in thought he looked, Diluc wondered if he even knew they were still clasped together. Then, still not taking his eyes off the Delusion, he answered. "I've been thinking about these things lately."

Diluc raised an eyebrow at him. "How do you mean?"

Dottore still seemed to be too distracted to regard him properly, so Diluc used his free hand to remove his mask. He set it down on the desk beside the Third, and only then did Dottore raise his eyes to him. Diluc just looked at him expectantly.

"The design is something I haven't tinkered with much, since they were developed," Dottore explained. "They serve their purpose, after all. Any side effects that may come with them are to be expected, for the time being. There's no need to fix something that isn't broken."

Diluc felt a flare of anger, but one that was easily masked. The Delusions were nothing but a broken concept. Diluc's presence here was a testament to that. But he held his tongue, letting Dottore continue.

"But I've been having some second thoughts in regards to that," Dottore mused, looking back to the Delusion thoughtfully. "Perhaps there's more that could be done."

Diluc could feel anticipation rising in his breast, drowning out all the other conflicting feelings he held onto. Dottore did not often speak of his work like this to him, and when he did, it was merely fleeting comments that left no room for subtle investigation. But he looked invested in the topic now. At long last, it felt like Diluc could get somewhere with this.

"What else would you do to them, then?" Diluc asked.

Dottore hesitated. Then, to Diluc's surprise, he set the Delusion off to the side. Once it had been set upon the desk, the hand that had been so carefully studying it drifted back to Diluc's chest. Dottore tentatively pressed his palm to where the scarlet stone had once been. He let it linger there.

"By themselves, the Delusions are nothing more than bawdy little trinkets," Dottore muttered. "They need to be wielded to have any use. Their purpose is to enhance its user."

Diluc looked at him curiously, but impatience provoked him to prod a little further. "And how would you improve them, if that is the case?"

Dottore pursed his lips. "I don't know yet," Dottore admitted. After a brief pause, he added, "You said you like the power it gives you, didn't you?"

The line of questioning was a little frustrating. Diluc suspected he was about to drift away from the point. But he had no choice but to answer him.

"I did."

"Yes. Good." Dottore's gaze flickered back up to Diluc, and as it did, a wild smile broke out across his face. "I like that, as well. That's the very reason I'm doing all this. And how would you like to feel more of it, then?"

Diluc faltered at his sudden enthusiasm. "More?"

"Yes, of course," Dottore chuckled. "This is why I've been rethinking their design. It's power that's the end goal; the ultimate power. I've begun to think that maybe they're simply not doing enough. I can make them into something more. I can make you into something more."

So you do not consider me enough as I am? Indignance came with the thought, but to Diluc's chagrin, hurt was its bedfellow. He didn't know why the implication stung as much as it did. Logically, he should have known better than to think a man as avaricious as Dottore would be satisfied with anything, let alone one of his own soldiers. Let alone a lover. 

Diluc knew it was unwise to think of the two of them as that, but it was as apt a description as any other would be.

Diluc swallowed the worst of his qualms, but couldn't stop his response for how it came out. "Is that really something that would come from the Delusion, if they're merely an enhancement? Wouldn't it come from the man it enhances?"

Dottore frowned. His eyes fell to their clasped hands. "That is… you're not understanding me."

He was disappointed. Diluc immediately sought to cover his tracks. "I'm… I'm sorry. That wasn't my place."

"No. You don't understand." Dottore shook his head slightly. His fingers twitched against Diluc's chest. "You… your potential is wasted here."

Diluc blinked at him, nonplussed by the sudden statement. "What?"

Dottore scowled suddenly. "It's disgusting. A man like you, shackled to the upbringing of mindless artillery. The Delusions are fitting enough for the hapless dregs that serve the Tsaritsa. They're cannon fodder. That's all they'll ever be. But you're not like the rest of them.

"A man like you…." Dottore trailed off, before a mad grin made its way back to his face. "You have something more than all of these dogs put together. You're not a sheep of the divine. A man like you is meant to exist uninhibited. You have a potential that begs to be tapped into. My research is not for the blind masses. It's for a man like you."

Diluc didn't know what to say as he went on. Something close to dread settled in the pit of his stomach as Dottore's excitement gradually rose. But there was something else there, something that Diluc feared to name. He could only watch as Dottore looked back up at him, eyes gone wild. He squeezed Diluc's hand, but he did it too tightly.

"I can give you what you need to excel, Yakov," Dottore said. His voice was strained, and he almost sounded desperate. "I can be the one that gives you the power you deserve. I want to be the one that coaxes it out. Men like us; we'll be the ones ushering in a new era, Yakov. I want that. Don't you?"

Diluc swallowed audibly. He spoke without thinking, and it came out softly.

"I do."

His heart stuttered upon hearing his own reply.

At the forefront of his mind, Diluc knew this was dangerous. He knew that Dottore was not a man that could properly hold any regard for a human life other than his own, despite his high praise and the reverence laced into his words. He knew that he was little more than a guinea pig in Dottore's eyes, and he would never be anything more. He didn't want to be.

But somewhere, hidden behind his cautious logic, something was beginning to bloom.

It was affection. Affection misplaced, for this man who earnestly professed his devotion to stoking the flame within him, all while being ignorant to what would come if he were to accomplish such a goal. He did not know what he would reap from the seeds he sowed, and Diluc knew he did not. But as Diluc became further entangled in his own ruse, this fact was losing weight.

The much heavier implication was that, for the first time since everything fell to pieces, Diluc felt nurtured. Dottore wanted him to reach his full potential. He wanted to facilitate his growth. He was not like the Knights, or Kaeya, who had never intended for him to move beyond himself. He had been kept in the dark, his flame consistently extinguished without his knowledge. If he had let them, they would have dampened him until he burned out completely.

Dottore only sought to feed the flame. He wanted to see him flourish. He wanted to see him burn the rest of the world away.

And Diluc wanted to. He suddenly realized that that was all he ever wanted to do.

Diluc was in too deep. He knew that now. The quest for justice he had started out on was nothing but a distant memory. What he was doing now was not justice. He was not acting in the best interest of the people, or his father. He was only doing this for himself.

He wanted his power back. He wanted everything that had been taken from him, and he wanted even more beyond that. It had been too great a tragedy, having the world pulled out from under his feet in the span of only a day, and it made him blind. This entire time, he had been stumbling around in the darkness, reaching for anything he could hold onto. Something that would pull him up off the ground.

He thought it would be Dottore. He had thought that killing Dottore would be his lifeline. He needed it to be. That was why he had set his expectations so high, picturing him to be the greatest evil mankind had ever known, reveling in the idea of smiting such a demon from the face of the earth. And Dottore had fallen dreadfully short of that image. He had fallen flat on his face. Diluc had put himself in an unwinnable situation. He could not chase after the image of righteousness he pictured in his head, when the components were only based on a mirage. He had lost his way, because the destination he had set never existed in the first place.

Diluc couldn’t accept that at the time. So he witnessed another opportunity, and he ran with it. And now, he was here. Staring into the eyes of a man who would have promised him the world, not knowing that if he had it, his own would be demolished in the process. And Diluc pitied him for that. He adored him for it. He hated him for it. He would feel all of these things in perpetuity until they bled him dry, until he let the world he was gifted turn to spoilage.

Yet again, Diluc found him in a position he could not possibly hope to win.

He was just selfish. And that was why, selfishly, Diluc raised his hand, and he let it drift to the edge of Dottore's mask. Dottore's grin fell as he seemed taken aback by the movement, but he didn't move as Diluc removed the mask from his face and set it on the desk alongside his own.

Diluc took his face in his hands, and he kissed him. Their lips slotted together too effortlessly, and Dottore was too pliant underneath his touch.

Diluc suddenly yearned to pray for forgiveness, but didn't know who it was he meant to beg to. Maybe the Gods. Maybe his father. Maybe Dottore.

But prayer could not fall from lips in the throes of sin, so Diluc did not stop. It was too late to stop now. They had already passed the point of no return.

If Diluc closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, he could nearly pretend that nothing was wrong. He could imagine that he hadn’t sullied all of what this could have been. If he stayed like that for a little longer, he could even imagine that they had gotten what they both wanted - that they had burned the rest of the world away. That he and Dottore were the only things that remained.

If it were possible, Diluc would have stayed like that for the rest of his days.

Eighteen months in, Diluc knew he had to get out.

Nikitin suspected something. Perhaps it didn't help that Diluc was now blatantly avoiding crossing paths with him as much as he possibly could, but he didn't have another option. To open himself up to the agent's prying tendencies would have been akin to marching himself out in front of a firing squad.

And oh, did the agent want to pry. The few times that encounters could not be avoided, Diluc could always see him out of the corner of his eye, watching him like a hawk. He did not know why he was so fixated on Diluc's momentary slip-up. Perhaps he simply wanted to seize the opportunity to further prove his loyalty to the Fatui and Her Majesty. And sniffing out a falsifier amongst their ranks certainly would have proven that.

Diluc was in a dangerous position now. Nikitin on his own would not have been a problem, but his persistence was. If he could get enough dirt on Diluc, or anyone to corroborate his doubts, he would stir something up. He would get the higher ups involved. He would get Dottore involved.

Diluc couldn't let that happen. Not like this. If Nikitin voiced any of his suspicions, it was as good as over for him. At best, he would  be able to escape their clutches, and be back to square one. At worst, he would be killed for what he had done.

It was a fire under his ass, to say the least.

Diluc still felt lost without a cause. The quest for justice that had led him here was nothing but an illusion. He was not a righteous vindicator; from the very beginning, he was nothing but a frantic, selfish boy who mourned too fiercely.

But that didn’t mean it had to be his last chance.

He had grown apathetic about his situation, but the threat of his possible denouncement had quickly put things into perspective.

The way he saw it now, Diluc had two choices: he could either leave with as much as he could take and hope for the best, and try to make something out of it, or he could leave things as they were and await his own demise. He could try refocusing himself. He could find his own values again, and once he had, he could pursue justice anew. And if he could not... he didn't know what he would do then. But the alternative would be to stay here. And if he was not eventually discovered and killed, he would simply continue to grow stagnant. The palace would utterly consume him, with all its ornate fixtures and oppressive atmosphere. It would leave nothing left but an empty husk, with nothing below the surface.

Wouldn't he and Dottore be just perfect together, then? Two faithless, shallow vessels that were meant to house a human soul, but only gathered dust within their cavities. Living memorials for untapped potential.

Potential… that was the issue. That was what Diluc kept coming back to. His own potential. He was squandering it here. If he continued to chase after what could not be caught, he would waste himself away. Diluc didn’t want that. He knew his father wouldn’t have wanted that.

Diluc thought that maybe Dottore wouldn’t have wanted that either.

That was a stupid thing to consider, given the circumstances. It was twisted to think that the things the Third confided to him would still have a place in the Harbinger’s heart if he knew it had all been based around a lie. What difference would it make to Dottore, if Diluc’s true potential was never reached, so long as he could secure him at his side for the rest of their days? But it made Diluc feel a little better to imagine it like that.

How unfortunate that Dottore’s pledge to him was what had inspired Diluc to take his next step forward. That Dottore’s own words would be the thing that led the Third to his ruin.

Diluc had made a mistake. The only way to clean up after it now was to start from the beginning.

Diluc lay in Dottore's bed that night, until the Third's breathing grew slow and steady and he could be certain that sleep had overtaken him. After a while, Diluc turned to face him.

He studied the lines in Dottore’s face - the sharp angles of his jawline, the curve of his cheekbones, his dark circles, the faint crows' feet at the corners of his eyes. Diluc saw the decades he had lived within them; a history he would never know. One he didn't really want to know.

The last comfort Diluc could hold onto was the thought that Dottore had simply been like this from the very beginning. That he had always been broken, and always been cruel. Just like his unscarred face and everything else about him, there was nothing more to him than what one saw on the surface. He could only be taken at face value, because he was nothing but his face - that tired, drawn face of a hapless, sick man. There was no method to the madness. There was no reason for it. It just was.

Diluc did not need to entertain the idea that something could have been done differently. He didn't want to consider how close he had come to emptying himself out, down to the very last drop, until he was as hollow and twisted as this man that he looked upon now, and how easy it had been to reach that point.

Diluc reached his hand out, and he gently smoothed back the edges of Dottore's hair.

Then, he got up and left.

He snuck into Dottore's office, and started rifling through his notes.

Diluc grabbed whatever was worth grabbing. Several of the documents he grabbed were newer. Diluc couldn't make sense of half of it, but upon quick inspection, he realized that some of them were observational notes regarding the Delusions. He was reassessing their usefulness. He was beginning to plan the changes he could make. Some of the notes mentioned Diluc’s Delusion specifically.

Diluc swallowed around a lump in throat, and just continued rooting through everything.

None of it was anything that would set the Fatui crumbling at their very foundation. It was not the grandiose fall of an empire Diluc had imagined it would be. But it would be enough. It had to be.

Diluc couldn't let this go to waste.

He gathered up the notes and blueprints he had collected.

Then, there was a blade at his throat. 

Diluc's first reaction was to lurch back from the weapon, but he quickly found himself pinned between the knife and the broad chest that had suddenly appeared behind him.

Diluc had been distracted. A stupid mistake. A fatal mistake. He hadn't noticed Nikitin slip into the office behind him. He had even left open the window he had come in through in his haste, hoping to make as quick a retreat as possible once he was done. But that had been a bad idea. He had been too wrapped up in his own troubled thoughts to realize it in time.

Nikitin roughly grabbed him by the hood with his free hand, tilting Diluc's head back and pressing the blade against his throat.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," Nikitin drawled with a low, smug tone. Holding tight to him, he took a moment to wedge the knife between Diluc’s mask and his chin, and he haphazardly flicked it away before bringing it back to his neck. "Although it's safe to say you've done nothing to deserve the title, isn't it?"

Diluc's heart had leapt to his throat, and he gulped, the movement of his trachea forcing sharp metal to bite into the first layers of skin on his neck. "What are y-"

"I don't really think you should waste your breath," Nikitin sneered. "This situation is compromising enough as it is. But I've been looking into you, Lieutenant. Or rather, I've been looking into Yakov Borisov. It only seemed like a reasonable thing to do, with how close we ought to have been working together."

Diluc let in a sharp gasp as his head was pulled back further, one that he dared not let out for fear that it would send the blade slicing into his skin. His pulse felt frozen in place. The world was being ripped out from beneath his feet.

"I wrote my sister's husband, after our little conversation that day," Nikitin continued. "He said he remembered the Borisovs. He found it odd that Yakov would not recall him. His family raised livestock, you see, and they were the only ones that did for miles . Everyone in the village had come to see them, at one point or another. After hearing that, well- One thing led to another, and he finally managed to get me in contact with one of the Borisov girls. She said that her brother had stopped writing to her about a year and half ago. She said it was rather uncharacteristic of him, and she had gotten worried."

Nikitin paused with a sigh. "Poor girl. Of course, all these matters are kept classified from the public. She wouldn't have even known about the assignment in the first place. This whole time, she's just been left in the dark, worrying for her brother's safety. You really are a monster, aren't you?"

Diluc gritted his teeth. "Fuck you," he hissed. There was no sense in dancing around it, not with a knife to his jugular. Nikitin just laughed dryly in response.

"I had most of the evidence I needed. I've just been waiting for you to slip just a little bit more. And this... well, this is certainly more than a little. Rifling through Lord Dottore's blueprints like this? You have a lot of fucking nerve."

Nikitin chuckled maliciously. "Infiltrating the ranks of Fatui is no small crime. It will not be taken lightly by Her Majesty. Oh, I can only hope she doesn't kill you. You deserve much worse than death. I hope she would make a proper example out of you. I hope you rot for the rest of your days."

Diluc clenched his jaw. He was in a bad spot. One errant move, the slightest twitch in the wrong direction, and he would be dead.

But he couldn't let this all go to waste.

He wouldn't.

Quick as lightning, Diluc summoned a chain from his Delusion, and it coiled itself around Nikitin's wrist. Diluc was able to force his hand away like this, and quickly grabbed what he could from the desk and turned heel on the agent, ready to attack.

The mere laugh the man let out in response made Diluc’s blood run cold.

"Don't be too hasty, Lieutenan t," Nikitin mocked. "I'm not a fool, you know. It would be unwise to kill me. I've given one of my sergeants all the information I've gathered on you. They weren't convinced by any of it; you've got everyone here fooled well enough, it seems. But he was willing to take on a job for me, at least: if I do not report back to him by dawn, he's to submit all my findings to the lead inspector. It doesn't matter if you kill me or not. Either way, the Fatui will soon know everything about your schemes. One way or another, we will hunt you down. You will pay for your crimes."

Diluc maintained his defensive stance, but he grimaced at the news.

He could always just kill him anyway. He could be long gone by the time dawn ever came. But the Fatui were not the strongest empire in Teyvat for no reason. They had the manpower to track him down, with that much evidence stacked against him. Some of the men knew his face. Dottore knew his face. Diluc squeezed his hands possessively around the blueprints he had bunched up in his hands.

Was it really too late for his own redemption? Had he already let everything go to waste?

The doors to the office suddenly swung open. Diluc whipped around to face the intrusion, and his stomach dropped.

Dottore stood frozen in the doorway, a dumbstruck look in his eyes as he took in the sight before him.

"Wh-" The Third clearly hadn't been expecting them there. Why would he have, after all? Why would he even be there in the first place? Did he awaken and notice Diluc had left him, and sought to go looking for him? Did he have a flash of late-night inspiration, and had come here to take down some more notes to peruse in the morning? 

It didn’t matter the reason. Perhaps this was just Diluc's karmic punishment, for always lamenting over how easy it had been to get a foot inside the palace, a foot inside Dottore's circle of trust, a foot inside his bedroom. Because now, everything was going wrong at once, and in the worst possible ways. The Third's unfinished exclamation was at first uttered in anger, resultant of the shock he received at their presence, but his ire and his words quickly died in his throat.

Dottore's eyes did fall on Nikitin, for a moment. But then, he looked at Diluc as if he was the only thing in the room. His eyes fell on the rumpled blueprints he clutched in his hand. They darted back up to his bare face.

He just looked confused. As if he wasn't perfectly capable of connecting the dots on his own. As if something was keeping him from doing so.

Diluc swallowed thickly. It hurt. Suddenly, everything hurt. "I-"

Before Diluc could say anything, he was being jerked backwards.

He had lost focus again. Fatal mistakes piled one on top of the other, seemingly never ending. He felt like he had fallen so far from where he started.

Nikitin had swung his arm around his neck, quickly pulling him into a headlock. Diluc's arms flew up to the man’s arm far too late, and he could only helplessly claw at the sleeve of his jacket as the agent secured his hold on him.

"Lord Dottore!" Nikitin cried, sounding too happy to see him. Diluc wished he could have spat in his face. He was an insufferable kiss-up, through and through. "This man is not who he says he is! He was trying to pilfer information from the Fatui, rebel scum! But not to fear; I have him apprehended, and your work is safe, my lord!"

Dottore still had not looked at Nikitin even once. His eyes bore into Diluc with laser-like intensity, unlike anything he had ever seen before. His gaze was utterly unyielding. Diluc wished he could have turned away from it.

But it wasn't possible. So Diluc just met it with a grimace. He didn't defend himself. There was no use in trying.

Dottore wasn't stupid. He could figure it out, whether he liked it or not.

Silence fell over the room, and Diluc could feel Nikitin grow tense. The Third's blank stare was not what he had been expecting.

"I-I can certainly provide you with the evidence necessary to support my claim!" Nikitin added, despereation pulling at his words. "I have everything, my lord! But for now, we need to make sure this man is secured! As well as your work, my lord!"

Nikitin tightened his hold around Diluc's neck. It may not have even been intentional. He continued to grow even more rigid under the inscrutable gaze of the Third, one that was not even being directed at him. But he squeezed nonetheless, enough for Diluc to feel the sensation of his airways being properly cut off. He opened his mouth to protest, but all that eked out was a strangled, deflating squeak. Very quickly, his vision began to tunnel. He could barely even see Dottore anymore. But he knew he was still looking.

"Not to worry, Lord Dottore!" Nikitin continued, scrambling for any sort of response. "I know this must come as a shock, but I have everything under control now! This wretch's treachery will not persist! He will pay for what he has done here. By Her Majesty the Tsaritsa's name, I swear this man w-"

Diluc heard a sickening thud next to his ear. It was akin to the sound of a knife plunging into the rind of a melon. Then, the pressure around his neck abated.

Diluc instinctively took in a wheezing gasp as soon as he could breathe again, and as he did, Nikitin fell dead to the ground behind him. Diluc didn't need to check; as soon as his vision came back into focus, he could see two mechanical defense mechanisms on either side of him. They hummed with energy, glowing blue at the tips, as if they were mere seconds away from being fired again.

They very well could have been.

Diluc immediately recalled that rainy evening when the last person he had left had taken all of his trust and laid waste to it. He remembered the flash of rage that had swept through him, white hot, hotter than everything else. Hotter than the anguish, hotter than the disbelief, hotter than the regret. He remembered looking into Kaeya's eye a split second before their blades met, and he remembered seeing fear there. He had never seen anything like that in Kaeya’s gaze before. Diluc had always wondered what he must have looked like, for Kaeya to look at him in such a way.

He wondered if he had looked like this.

Dottore's eyes sparked like a powder keg in the process of being ignited. Between the time Diluc had lost focus and now, his shoulders had hunched forwards to a ludicrous degree, as if something had struck him square between the shoulder blades and forced him into the position. He looked like he was in pain. And he was undeniably, unspeakably enraged.

Dottore took a step forward, jaw clenched tightly, tense enough for the cords in his neck to stick out like stakes driven under the surface of his skin. The machines pointed at Diluc were still whirring wildly at the sides of his head, and the overabundance of Cryo energy made the air around him go ice cold. Diluc let out a sharp exhale, and his breath turned to fog before his eyes.

"What the fuck did he just say?" Dottore rasped slowly, continuing his slow approach. "What are you two doing here? What is going on, Yakov?"

Diluc pursed his lips. By killing Nikitin, Dottore had unwittingly sealed his fate already. Dragging the ruse out any further would be pointless. There was no reason to lead him on any longer. It was over. It was done.

"That's not my name," Diluc replied hoarsely.

He saw Dottore's eyes go wide, and the Harbinger froze where he stood. He teetered forward slightly, and Diluc did not know if he meant to fall to his knees or sweep across the room and grab Diluc by the throat. He did neither, only faltering in place.

Then, he started laughing. The first few chuckles burst forth like sobs, unbidden and choked with feeling. Then, an awful, delirious cackle began to spill from his lips. He was doubling over from the force of it, and as he did, the defense mechanisms staggered in mid-air, drooping forward as if being orchestrated by the Third's own posture.

"Oh, you son of a-" Dottore choked through pained laughter. "You- Oh, you impudent fucking son of a whore, you've-"

He was near hysterics now, and the words did not come out easy. His chest heaved with the punched-out, guttural noises clawing their way out of him; they could barely be distinguished as laughter now. He may have been sobbing. It was too dark for Diluc to tell if tears had started to roll down his cheeks. He decided that was a blessing.

"Oh, oh, look what you've fucking done!" Dottore wheezed. His hands were at his own chest, fisting themselves into his shirt as if to hold his ribs together, like they would split open and send everything spilling out onto the floor if left unattended. It all came out anyway. Just one more thing he couldn't hold onto. "You've ruined me! You've fucking ruined me!"

Diluc almost wished he could take sole credit for that. If he could, he thought he would feel better. If this was truly the product of all his meticulous planning and careful execution, and not just the result of a raging bull being set loose on a cart full of ornate porcelain figures.

Diluc stood before one of the cruelest men he had ever known, and he knew that he was far crueler than Dottore could ever hope to be. The Harbinger’s greatest cruelty was his own existence; the one that forced Diluc in the role of the aggressor - the villain - when it was not a color he ought to be wearing. But to deny that he wore it now would mean reserving himself to the same blind, apathetic vengeance that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

He knew exactly what he had done. Regardless of what Dottore had done in the first place, Diluc knew what he had done. He knew that none of this was justice, and that he could have done better.

Diluc could feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. "You were already ruined when I found you. We both were."

In an instant, Dottore snapped back upright, and with him the sentries at Diluc's side straightened out with him, glowing blue at the tips.

"Shut up. Shut up ," Dottore growled. Suddenly, he wasn't laughing anymore. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't put you down right now ."

Diluc could have begged for his life, as it was the only chance he had left to make it out of this. But that wasn't really much of a chance. And it would not have led to the retribution that Diluc had yearned for from the beginning. He had made his mistakes, but he would set it right, one way or another.

"There isn't one." Diluc replied. "I’m doing what I have to do now. I wouldn't expect anything less of you." 

“So you’d just sit there and take it? What kind of moronic fucking scheme-”

“No. That’s not what I meant,” Diluc cut in, narrowing his eyes. “I’m leaving here. I'm leaving here tonight, one way or another. If you want to stop me, you’ll have to kill me first. I’m not letting you stop me that easily. I’m not letting it go to waste.” 

“What-” Dottore seemed to stagger in place, suddenly raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “What are you- What are you even saying? Wh-who are-”

“Dottore, you were right,” Diluc blurted out suddenly. This made Dottore stop, and he knit his brows together in confusion. “I’m wasting away here. You’re the one that made me realize it. That’s why I have to leave like this. There’s no more room for me to grow like this. I needed to get out. Even if that meant….” Diluc trailed off for a moment. Then, in spite of everything, a chuckle escaped him. It made his heart ache. "I have to do whatever must be done, right Dottore? Everyone else be damned. Gods be damned."

Dottore just stared at him, mouth floundering open. Diluc readied himself for whatever would come next.

He could not be sure how much time passed before Dottore tried to speak, lips forming words that carried no sound. When the Third tried again, Diluc had to strain his ears to hear it. It was a rasp that came from a cotton throat and tight chest.

Diluc had been ready for a fight to the bitter end. He had not been ready for the single word hidden behind that whisper.

" Run. "

Two months out, Diluc finally let himself wonder why Dottore did it.

Why he let him go.

After a few weeks of quietly gathering intel, Diluc had found reports on the progress of the assigning two new lieutenants to serve under Il Dottore. They had not been able to find anyone, as of that point. They were scrambling to do so, since the ones previously assigned to him had been formally deemed as "unfit to continue service." Only in hushed whispers amongst the soldiers could the actual story be pieced together.

It was said that Lieutenant Nikitin had committed treason. He had broken into the Third's office in the dead of night, and intended to make off with classified documents. In his path, he had met with Lieutenant Borisov. Borisov had evidently tried to stop him, but to no avail - Nikitin had burnt him to a crisp with his Pyro Delusion, leaving nothing behind but an indistinguishable, charred corpse. The only reason the body could be identified at all was because Dottore himself had bore witness to the entire event, but was unable to apprehend the traitor before he had absconded with the documents.

Nikitin had had an unfavorable reputation amongst the soldiers, so not many cared to argue with the series of events laid before them. When the inspectors had gone through for their corroborations, no one had any grievances to air. Diluc wondered if the sergeant Nikitin had employed truly believed the story that had been told to him by his superiors - the one that spoke of his former lieutenant being a treacherous madman - or if he simply knew that admitting to having such a close association with the so-called traitor would only land him in deep trouble. Either way, no one came forward with any evidence that this story was anything but the unadulterated truth. After all, the key witness had been one of the Harbingers; his word was to be trusted above all others. That was simply how it had to be.

Diluc had taken in this information, but had not allowed himself to dwell on it for as long as he remained in Snezhnaya. It was still an open wound he ought not prod, the freshness of his selfish apathy still something that would have been far too easy to slip back into. He needed to refocus himself.

So it wasn't until he had crossed the Snezhnayan border, finally leaving the bitter chill behind him, that he let himself recall that night. And he wondered why.

Diluc had just stood there dumbly, at Dottore’s command. He thought he had misunderstood, but he was also too uneasy to ask for clarification. They just stared at each other for a few moments, before Dottore finally repeated himself.

"Run," Dottore said again. His voice was clearer, and more desperate. He was almost begging him. "Go. Get out of here. Now. "

Diluc was confused. It didn't make any sense to him, in the moment. But he also knew better than to give Dottore a reason to second guess himself. Diluc had looked at the defense mechanisms at his sides, which were still poised to strike, and he cautiously took a step backwards. They did not follow him, but they also did not drop their guards. Diluc backed up all the way to the open window he had entered through, until he could feel the wind whipping at his back. Only then did he let himself look back at Dottore. It was still too dark, and Diluc couldn't read the expression he had on his face.

Diluc had a sudden compulsion to say something. He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was a foolish thing to do. But all at once, he knew he couldn't leave things like that. Maybe it was some of that misplaced affection that drove him to do it. Maybe he just wanted to get the last word in.

But he hadn't known what to say. Should he have thanked him? For what? For not killing him in cold blood? Diluc didn't want to do that. It would have been an insult to both of them. Should he have apologized? Was he really sorry for what he did, anyway? He didn't know. He still didn't. But that, too, would have been more akin to an insult than anything else.

He could have said something that would have bared his soul to Dottore, but he didn't want to do that. The contents of his own soul had been too mixed up for even Diluc himself to decipher. He didn't want to say anything that would have just been another lie. Diluc had finally grown tired of lying.

So he said the one thing he could think of that he knew was the truth.

"I'll come back for you."

He had lingered just long enough to see Dottore's features twist into an emotion that Diluc could not define. Whatever it was, it was raw. It hurt him. It was far too much to bear.

Diluc left.

Now, he wondered why Dottore had let him leave.

Maybe the Third just wanted to have the upper hand on the situation. He had been knocked off his perch, and wanted back on by any means necessary. To know that Diluc owed him his life would have made him feel in control again. Like he was still holding onto him, even if Diluc inevitably slipped through his fingers like sand.

Maybe he was simply appealing to his own best interests. He said himself that he considered Diluc to be a “valuable subject.” Perhaps he wasn't willing to let go of that, yet. It was pure scientific intrigue - if a lab rat bites in the midst of testing, one would not simply snuff out its mortal flame based purely on its behavior. The specimen is worth much more than its actions. Dottore would have realized this. If he thought he could still get something out of Diluc, something he could put towards his research, his survival certainly would have behooved him.

Maybe he truly cared for him. Maybe he just couldn't do it, couldn't even stand the thought of him being taken as prisoner. Maybe he knew that letting him go was the only option left. The one that would hurt the least.

Diluc didn't know, in the end. Maybe he would never know.

But the one thing he did know was that he had been telling Dottore the truth.

He would come back for him. Diluc knew this more surely than anything else. He had let himself lose his way, and he had not yet found his way back. His purpose there had gone unfulfilled, because Diluc had never given himself one in the first place. But he knew there was one to be had. And once he figured out what he was meant to do - what he could do to set everything right - he would find Dottore again. And whatever he needed to do when he found him, Diluc would do it without hesitation.

Diluc was at the mercy of his own self. He did not know where his journey would take him, or what things it would make him do. But he knew that their fates had been tightly wound together, and Diluc would not be able to straighten it out until his hands were skilled enough to do so. He could not let his potential go to waste again; he had to be his best self. And his best self would know what to do when the time came. He had his faith in that.

If retribution was what must be served, then so be it. But perhaps something else would be the solution to untangling the web Diluc had woven. Redemption? Reconciliation?

Sometimes, Diluc still imagined what it would be like to kill Dottore.

Other times, he wondered what it would be like to love him.

On some bizarre level, there was really no difference between the two things. Because regardless of the end result, Diluc knew when the time came, the only thing that mattered was that he would do what he must.

Gods and everyone else be damned.