Chapter Text

“Are you proud, mother?”

“Charles, Charles! Did’ya hear?”

Charles looked up from a half-polished glass to a drunken Draff, in spite of his promise to his daughter he made in public a while back. “About? In need of some recent gossip, perhaps?”

Draff, though hazy from wine, managed an offended squawk. “Archons, no! Nothing as trivial and meaningless as gossip.” He swung his mug around haphazardly, sloshing good wine around the counter in puddles, acting like he hadn’t been buzzing around the marketplace spreading whatever outlandish rumor he heard from another hunter just the other night. “It’s about the news happenin’ in Inazuma. Apparently some no-good harbinger showed up, challenged the Archon and won!”

Charles set the glass down and swiveled towards the sink to wet a washcloth. Distinct tavern chatter buzzed across the room, the faint trickle of water masked by whispers and laughter. If his patrons were going to waste perfectly fine product they paid mora for, he might as well humor them with the bare minimum. “Did you hear that rumor from your neighbors, by any chance?”

There’s been a steady uprising of absurd tabloids being passed around the city of Mond as of late, especially from Springvale. The village was a classic choice for travelers who had a taste for the wilderness, if they did not enjoy Mond’s upbeat and boundless atmosphere. They were the same travelers who had not seen another human in weeks and would claim they had ventured through a mystical jungle to retrieve a talking frog.

One day someone would claim the Geo Archon had returned from the dead and danced on his grave, while some would bicker over the Dendro Archon’s sacrifice in a battle for his nation with the aid of a crowd of bards. Classic allegations that were blown way out of proportion, and scarcely did they have any credibility in their tales.

It didn’t help that nearly all of those stories were shared by travelers from different nations, all bearing different versions of history that confused busybody housewives or househusbands (house-spouses?) to no end. Just earlier today, Charles overheard a debate in the marketplace between Donna and Sara about the accountability of Sumeru’s patron god hiding from a child – a very strict child at that.

Then again, it was Mondstadt. Anything and everything could be exaggerated if they put their minds to it. They were creative, if nothing else.

“By the gods, no!” Draff slurred. “I heard it from the Actin’ Grandmaster herself. There’s a wax letter and everythin’.”

Charles paused from wiping the counter. If what Draff said was true, then all the other rumors would suddenly hold more weight. But a drunk man’s words could only be taken with a grain of salt—if not an entire wagon. It was a lesson he learned after years of fiercely loyal bartending and caring for delirious customers, all of which are sloppy drunks who don’t bother to clean up after themselves.

“You’re drunk, Draff,” Charles decided, cleaning the spillage in one fell swoop. There would be no reason for the hunter to interact with the knights; much less pay any attention to their paperwork. “I’ll be cutting you off for the night. Should I hand you the bill or should I send a tab to the Cat’s Tail?”

At the mention of his daughter’s workplace, Draff’s reddened cheeks were drained of all color, fear pulling every corner of his face. “I—I’ll pay ’ere,” he fumbled over his words, patting himself down for his pouch. “Don’t tell Diona that daddy’s out drinkin’ tonight. I promised her I’d stop.”

Charles suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, but he counted the mora from Draff’s coins anyways. Once he had taken the sum of the bill, the pouch was significantly lighter than before.

Poor Diona. Should he send a basket of fruit over?

“Hello, Charles.” Another regular leaned over, surprisingly sober and unbothered by the buzz of alcohol. He leaned onto the wet counter, supporting himself with a steady elbow on the surface. “Say, do you know when Master Diluc will be returning? I found myself missing his Death After Noons quite a bit.”

“He should be returning from his business trip soon enough,” Charles replied without sparing him another glance, organizing the stock and dumping Draff’s unfinished glass into the drain. “No clear date, though. Never writes back, either. For all I know he’s off to another four-year trip around Teyvat.”

Kaeya grinned, raising a glass of dandelion wine in the air. “Sounds a lot like him, alright.” He brought the drink to his lips, gulping down the sweet concoction in one go, nevermind the burn that came with the alcohol.

Everyone else in the tavern uses wooden mugs, for their robustness and low cost to maintain. Glasses, on the other hand, were expensive and difficult to manufacture in large quantities. No one else was entrusted with them but Kaeya, and he refused to drink out of anything else since.

“Like a stray dog spoilt by the finest meats and milk and refuses to return to its garbage,” Rosaria had said.

Kaeya opted to order another, sliding the glass across the counter with a forlorn look, but he was swiftly interrupted by a knight by the tavern’s door, bearing a message from his superior herself. Before he turned, his brows furrowed into a mild frown, but he greeted the knight with a smile and a pat on the back.

Charles plucked the glass from the counter and dropped it in a basin of soapy water. One less drunken customer to deal with, another dozen more to go.

For the first time, Kaeya was surprised to see not Jean, but Lisa herself slaving away in the face of hills of paperwork. He almost brought himself to ask if a snowstorm were afoot, despite their warm climate never experiencing so much as a cold breeze.

He looked around for the familiar face behind the desk, and found said Acting Grandmaster was passed out cold on the couch, a very familiar cloak draped on her body.

“My, my,” Kaeya commented, careful to keep his tone light. “What a rare sight to behold.” Lisa looked up from her work, a venomous grin similar to a million venomous snakes etched on her lips. A thin thread away from losing her temper and turning the organization inside out.

Getting on her bad side was among the top few on his personal checklist he did everything in his power to avoid. An angry Lisa meant an angry Jean, and an angry Jean meant an angry Ordo, and an angry Ordo meant more office time and paperwork for him and his poor dignity. Her last “punishment” was still reminiscent in his arm in the form of electrical burns and trauma comparable to facing three Abyss Heralds to boot.

“I’m glad to see you’re still sober.” Lisa set her quill down, shoulders bare. Kaeya elected to ignore it, if Jean’s peaceful snores meant anything to go by.

Kaeya chuckled. “My dear librarian, you put too little faith in me.” He put a hand on his hip. “Now, what’s so urgent that requires my presence at this hour?”

To that, Lisa straightened. Her pink lips pressed into a firm line, all humor bleeding from her face entirely. “Just earlier,” she started, reaching for the pile, “Outrider Amber intercepted this from the Fatui.” From the mound of parchment and scrolls, she dug through and slipped a white envelope out from its midst. It was smaller than their standard reports, easily hidden in the mass, but its stark color stood out like a sore thumb.

Without a word, Lisa set the letter onto the polished desk, and slid it towards the Quartermaster. Mirroring her seriousness, Kaeya’s fingers hovered above the stationery, wary.

“I’ve had our Alchemy team give it a onceover,” Lisa assured him. “They confirmed it that there’s nothing sinister – other than the cryptic writing.”

Kaeya allowed his hand to rest on the surface. “You mean Jean did.”

Lisa huffed. “I’ll have you know that I am too, a capable member of the knights.” She crossed her arms. “The poor girl hasn’t had a wink of sleep since the Abyss Order decided to upscale their attacks. She needs all the rest she can get—which is why this will remain a secret between you and me; won’t it, cutie?”

She wasn’t wrong. Kaeya had received significantly more medical leave application forms since Diluc took off on his month-long business trip. He’d encountered more Abyss Mages, too, roaming freely without their mortal enemy to grind them beneath his heel.

He wasn’t about to argue with Lisa of all people either, especially when it concerned Jean’s health. Rather than hesitate further, he picked up the letter and noticed the seal has already been removed. With narrowing eyes, he removed the folded message, the paper smooth on his fingertips.

He opened the letter and read through the contents. It was written in code, but he was able to decipher it with relative ease.

To my brothers and sisters,

She calls for us to return home.

Her children are already by her side, waiting.

They await you.

No recipient information, no senders’ name, no nothing. It was most likely a standardized message mass produced and sent off to any existing Fatui stations. He never knew the Fatui were also infamous for their literature.

From the looks of it, the Tsaritsa was calling a mass withdrawal of Fatui from all across Teyvat, including the measly picks from Mondstadt. And there’s something about her “children”; individuals close to her, ones she deem important enough to call them her children. The harbingers, perhaps. As far as he knows, no Archon has ever had a publicized heir, much less multiple.

“When was this sent?”

Lisa tapped her lips, her head tilting. “Hmm, it’s hard to say,” she admitted. “There’s a chance that by the time Amber got her hands on a copy, they could already be packing their bags and booked a ticket back to Snezhnaya.”

“What about the Grand Goth Hotel?” Kaeya quizzed. “Surely, someone must’ve noticed the sudden lack of Fatui.”

“I’ve already had knights question the hotel owner.” Lisa drummed her fingers along the table. She could be scarily proficient and resourceful when she wanted to be. “The Fatui there are still making themselves right at home. It’s either they’re still in the dark, or they choose to remain here.”

Kaeya wouldn’t blame them. He’d never been to Snezhnaya, but he heard enough stories from drunken agents to know that it was not an ideal nation for relaxation. Even Natlan fared better when it came to tourism reviews – the biting cold was hardly a welcoming reception for most.

At any rate, he would prefer Lisa as the laidback, unbothered librarian she parades herself to be. An overworked Jean was already a hassle to handle and pry off her table; an overworked Lisa on the other hand would be an absolute menace to the people around her. The quicker the situation was resolved, the better.

The witch picked up a complaint from Albert, who described the sensation of Rosaria shoving her spear up his posterior in grotesque detail after he tried to follow Barbara into her morning prayers, quote ‘assigning himself the task of protecting Barbara-sama from any potential intruders’.

“Then again, we could be looking into this too deep.” She crumpled up the parchment and electrified it to ash without sparing it a second glance. “It could be a dramatized reading of standardized vacation days. I wouldn’t put it past the Fatui to be as bored as they are imposing.”

“I doubt that would be the case. Chances are they’re rallying themselves for a large-scale attack; if not, I’d eat my boot.”

A creaking door whisked their attention from the matter at hand to the door. Suddenly stared down by two notorious vision users, the poor young recruit yelped and shirked away from their stares, shaking like a weed in a hurricane. The older knights might have shirked from their duties and pawned it off to their juniors after they heard Lisa Minci was on paperwork duty.

A wise choice, really.

Kaeya clicked his tongue, frustrating licking at his gut at the interruption. “Do you have business here?”

“Sir Kaeya, don’t scare the poor cutie!” Lisa chided him. “We knights have enough troubles recruiting people as it is.”

Kaeya ignored her and studied a foreign object: the caramel, cardboard box in the knight’s arms. It was size of the knight’s torso, and he saw how the boy’s biceps shook with effort as he struggled to keep himself from buckling over from the sheer weight alone. Whether it be caused by his anxiety or the box, Kaeya had no business in prying, but concerning the origins of the package…

“Is it from the Fatui?” Lisa spoke his mind, amusement sparkling in her emerald eyes. The telltale Fatui insignia was located just below the box, right below the address written in Snezhnayan. The knight yelped, fumbling to stand straight. “Whom is it for, I wonder?”

Seeing that the poor boy was on the verge of collapse, Kaeya bit down on a blooming sigh, reaching over and taking the weight off the knight’s arms. His muscles strained from the load; it was heavy, but it was within scope of reason. He’d held Klee in his arms before, and this was only slightly heavier than her, only with a more appropriate form of carry and it wasn’t trying to squirm out of his arms to detonate the nearest body of water.

Abruptly relieved of the burden, the boy squeaked and stumbled backwards, bouncing on the balls of his feet until his back collided with the open door, shutting it violently with a loud crash, his armor rattling and sword sheath jutting at an odd angle.

In response to the commotion, Jean shot to her senses almost instantaneously, her rude awakening accompanied by a rush of anemo energy, the calming scent of dandelions filling the room as her vision flared to life. Piles of paperwork rocketed off the desk, sent flying into the upward hurricane formed in the closed space by a disturbed anemo user.

Kaeya grunted as his cape slapped him in the face, and Lisa held onto her hat for dear life. By the time the wind died down, the room was akin to a Natlan sandstorm, the only difference in which the sand were substituted with parchment and scrolls  depicting missing cats, and the minor scrapes on Kaeya’s elbow that’d been bothering for some time now had been completely healed.

You win some, you lose some, he supposes. If only the loss wasn’t a complete shitstorm that quite ended with his superior’s office flooded in paperwork in a literal sense. All those remarks of her overtime and excessive need to fulfill the citizen’s expectations had finally came to bite them in the ass. Karma was a bitch.

Despite the mess, Lisa had the poor recruit (who was cowering by the door, looking very much scared out of his mind) explain the package and its source, and he blurted that the knights had confiscated it from a Fatui carriage. After Stormterror, they’ve held the Fatui on a tight leash, and anything they did was closely monitored and double-checked.

It took some convincing from Eula and Amber however, that they did not need to pry into their lunches for potential dangers. The notion ended up being shot down by the majority of the Captains, most of which weren’t keen on staring at another living soul during their mealtimes.

They dismissed the knight and sent for the nearest Fatui diplomat they could find in the short notice. The diplomat happened to be Lyudmila, much to their relief, since she’s the only sane human being the organization has to offer. She and Donna sometimes had lunch together, where she ended up suffering the brunt of Donna’s lovesick tattles.

If she could handle Donna’s fantasies, then she could handle Lisa Minci and Kaeya Alberich.

Kaeya patted the top of the box, hand on hip. Albedo, Sucrose and Klee were in the background, having offered to clean the mess after they noticed the sorry state it was in. “Would you be so kind to illuminate us on its contents?”

Lyudmila, who was unfortunately, called over during her break time, squinted at the writing on the package. She adjusted her glasses and brushed her bangs from her face, mouthing the Snezhnayan terms by the Fatui insignia.

When she’s done, she leaned away from the box and turned to the knights. “It’s a holiday that happens once every eleven years,” she explained, brushing the creases from her dress. Without her uniform, she looked just like a regular citizen, freckles dusting her nose and shoulders like snow. “She opens the palace to the public and hosts a ball. Though, only higher-ranking agents and their families are allowed inside.”

She gestured to the box. “And for us commonfolk, we have a three-day holiday where we watch the celebration from our homes. You may open the box – it’s nothing dangerous, I swear by her Majesty’s name.”

Kaeya and Klee raised an eyebrow each. The Fatui didn’t make oaths on the Tsaritsa’s name lightly; so there should be some credibility. Klee on the other hand, most likely didn’t understand the implication, and was just doing what her big brother Kaeya would do at the moment.

Using Sucrose’s carry-on scalpel (Archons, why were the small ones always so dangerous?), they cut apart the tape sealing the cardboard box and removed its contents, revealing a metal box with a dark glass screen. At first glance, it was unassuming, but even Kaeya could tell it was something far more advanced than what the people of Mond were accustomed to.

“What is it?” Jean quizzed, poking the cool exterior. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s a television,” answered Lyudmila. “It’s a device used for entertainment. When it’s turned on, it can broadcast live feed and sound from a different place.”

Jean nodded. “I’ve heard of it from some merchants, but I never saw one in person.” She studied the television. “Does it require elemental energy to activate? Like certain monuments, but artificial?”

“No, they don’t.” Lisa clicked her tongue. “The technology behind it is standard, honestly, but here’s the problem: we don’t have electrical sockets or signal towers in Mond, dear.” She sighed. “So even if they were so gracious to send you a television all this way undamaged… there’s no way for it to start. It’s practically scrap metal; expensive trash, at best.”

Lyudmila paled. Clearly, she hadn’t paid much mind to the issue before, spoilt by the technological advancements of her hometown. “Oh no.” She covered her mouth, dread seeping into her bones. “The Ball is tomorrow night, and I promised my mother I’d watch it at the same time with her…”

Her voice shook at the end of her ramble, and she made an attempt to fight it from her tone. Kaeya hated to admit it, but in the end, some Fatui are just regular people trying to make a living. It was just a pity that the organization they turned to didn’t have the best reputation for morality.

The atmosphere descended into a somber one, with Klee holding the hem of Lyudmila’s dress in comfort and Jean putting a hand on her shoulder.

Then Albedo raised his hand.

“If I may,” he started, causing everyone to turn to him. “During my studies, I discovered an abandoned Fatui camp somewhere in Springvale. They still possess equipment that resembled what you described as ‘sockets’ and a signal tower.”

Lyudmila brightened. Kaeya felt a migraine rising from the back of his head. His belief aside, the Fatui were still horrible people who would stop at nothing to reach their goal. They were helping Fatui, really?

He opted to refuse, but between Klee’s puppy dog eyes, Jean’s determination and the electro sparking between Lisa’s fingertips behind him, he stood no chance against their combined will. Kaeya forced the sigh to recede back into his throat. If this goes sour, he could at least comfort himself with the “I told you so” that’s bound to follow.

Thank the stars a certain someone wasn’t here. If he were, he’d have a stroke knowing that they even lifted a finger to help the Fatui, and he’d never let Kaeya hear the end of it and/or allow him step foot into his tavern for the rest of their miserable lives.

“Now that’s settled, would you be so kind on enlightening us about this?” he asked, raising a familiar letter to Lyudmila’s face.

“That?” She frowned at him. “That’s our official notice for three days of paid leave. Why?”

From the corner of Kaeya’s vision, he saw Lisa’s lips curl into her own ‘I-told-you-so’ smirk. With a groan, he debates the cons of consuming leather with a glass of wine on the side.

For all the atrocious crimes the Fatui committed against Archons—ranging from petty thievery, convoluted schemes, and sometimes plain deicide—they were strangely insistent when it came to their homeland’s Archon-mandated traditions. The handful of Fatui sat on covered, abandoned machinery, tittering amongst each other like hyperactive chipmunks, or preschoolers waiting for their teacher for the green flag to run off into the Whispering Woods without any care for their personal safeties.

And that was how Kaeya found himself in run-down Fatui hideout, guarding the entrance with Jean whilst Lisa had a wire stuck up a very suggestive area of hers. She argued that it was convenient, and that she’d be able to free her hands if something ever went awry, but the actual reason behind her actions was standing right beside Kaeya, who claimed her reddened face was from the heat of the cave, though Kaeya, as heat sensitive as he is, barely broke a sweat.

Disgustinggggg.

Kaeya feigned his yawn with a cough, clasping a hand over his nose and mouth. Some tradition, he thought. How festive can it be when all one does is sit in front of a blabbering metal box?

“Everything looks to be in order,” a Fatui agentconfirmed, raising a hand to catch the crowd’s attention. A small wave of hurrahs and applause phased through the crowd, as Lisa gets the signal to channel her vision.

The group shuffles in their seats anxiously, watching the screen light up from gray to white. Even then, it’s not entirely perfect. Static and electronic dust lingers at the corners of the images, but they didn’t seem to mind. It’s an old model, Lyudmila had said. They don’t spare much resources in Mondstadt. (Which to the knights, it’s a pretty darn solid compliment.)

The TV emitted sounds Kaeya had come to associate with agitated wolves and Timmie in the depth of his despair; nothing short of crackling distorted hums and wails. It remained this way for seconds, until the white screen gives way to a black-and-white picture, the pixelated quality depicting a crowd surrounding outside the front of a palace.

Jean nodded, having recovered from whatever witchly spell that Lisa had casted on her. “So this is Snezhnaya,” she whispered, just loud enough for Kaeya to hear.

A Fatui recruit who sat at the very front sprung from their chair. “I see my mum!” they cried aloud, bouncing on their heels. “Ow!” they continued, rubbing their head where their colleague had tossed a pebble at. It didn’t dull their excitement, however, though their love for their mother overshadowed his excitement for the event itself.

Kaeya managed to wrangle his scoff into a disgruntled breath, ignoring the look Jean casted towards his direction.

The TV, though moving barely five frames a second, managed to skirt around the crowd’s front to make a grand display of its citizens and their love for their Archon. Many of which paraded Snezhnayan flags, painting their colors onto bare cheeks and coats. Kaeya had never seen so many people gathered in a singular area. Even if they rallied the people of Mond into one place, it couldn’t begin to compare with the sheer number of Snezhnayans.

With the field of vision restricted, they weren’t able to catch a glimpse of the palace’s full form, only the front of the architecture. But the size of the door rivalled the very first floor of Favonius’ HQ, decorated with far more grandeur than anything Kaeya’s paid witness to. There was a narrator somewhere off the screen, but they were talking in Snezhnayan, which he couldn’t make heads or tails of.

This was the first time he saw the home of the Goddess of Ice, and her rotten children who laid waste to the rest of Teyvat. What a world they live in – for such horrible souls to have a grand castle to rest their guilty, weary consciousnesses. The walls were a harsh blue, the same shade as the glass orb hanging by his hip.

His fingers traced the vision’s rim, the dreadful realization that his Eye of God was carved off these same walls forming ice in his stomach. If the Harbingers were the pawns and their Goddess was their Queen, that would make him no better than the palace fool. A beautiful grave not for the dead but for the damned sinners on their merry ways to hell.

With a glance to Jean, it appeared that she would be sharing similar thoughts. Her fist was tightened on her sheath, but her face remained impassively professional before the outsiders. To any other, she would look calm and unfazed, but Kaeya saw through all the kinks in her perfect composure. Her jaws were the slightest bit tightened, and the crease in her eyelids wrinkled just a little.

A loud shuffle snapped them from their attention, and which Kaeya turned back to the group. They had all left their seats, heads hung low with a knee on the ground and a hand on their cold, warmthless chests. It was then he finally noticed the screen had turned indoors, overlooking a domain of frost and ice, and a large corridor leading down to a seemingly boundless end of light.

The camera took a step closer. The screen moved with the operator’s footsteps.

And closer.

The crackling sound of show sounded like a broken record in his ears.

Another step. The hum of murmurs grew louder.

The light began to subside, revealing two doors the height of a building in Mondstadt. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, but muffled, dampened sound of chatter played distinctly behind them.

The Fatui recruits were all sneaking glances at the screen, scooting in their uncomfortable positions to wait for one single moment. Every second was unbearable, waiting for something uncertain to come.

With a single flourish, the frozen doors were thrown wide open by an invisible force, flooding the screen with fluorescent lights, blinding the screen in a powerful motion. Even continents away and witnessing the display through a glass screen, Kaeya’s palms turned clammy and his spine froze to ice, as if he were at the palace of ice himself and not in a dark cave with air circulation issues. One look to Jean and he was vaguely aware of her composed, barely put-together façade to mask her shock.

The light died down, as features of the palace within trickled back into view, revealing a masquerade ball in full swing.

There was no doubt, despite the black and white colors they were limited to, that the ball within would be an extravagant scenario that they would only find in folk tales. Every guest, every wall, every table was slathered in fur and silk and color, all retaining an air of nobility while catering to Snezhnaya’s unforgiving weather.

While the camera had a limited field of vision, they saw no bounds to the ballroom. As the screen moved through the crowd, highlighting the activity of the passionate band playing Snezhnaya classical music, and famed guests Kaeya didn’t recognize—but the Fatui certainly did, if their stiffening postures were anything to go by—but quickly resuming to return to the front, towards the end of the ballroom where their host supposedly resided.

To their surprise, however, the camera was abruptly tilted, pushed under a table as the screen cut off to blackness. Everyone turned to Lisa, who was responsible for the power, but even she looked surprised at the loss of feedback, as shown by the glowing of her vision.

The agents all rose to their feet, exchanging confused murmurs as they speculated what could have happened. A technical error, perhaps. Maybe the tech here was abandoned for too long that they broke down at the first sign of prolonged use.

“The reporter had a bit of an accent, didn’t they?” one of the recruits asked as they tidied the area up.

Their companion shrugged, putting away the sheets they had sat on. “Who knows. These days, anyone can stand front of a camera and look pretty.”

And there she was; sitting cross-legged on a silver-framed throne, nursing a delicate glass of fine liquor in her slender fingers dressed in black lace. She rested atop an indoor balcony, overseeing the celebration with a dignified indifference.

Then, she raised a hand, not even wasting a breath as she brought the music down to nothing, the crowd’s chitter into silence as all bodies bowed to their Queen, bringing their knees to the floor. The tiles became overridden by satin and fabric as countless priceless ballgowns fanned out into a painting of color and wealth.

The Tsaritsa did not stand from her throne, but she uncrossed her legs, straightening her posture. A nearby servant emerged behind her, placing a microphone on the railing before she spoke.

“My dear children.” Her voice raked nails across Kaeya’s skin, leaving marks of frostbite and corrosion in its wake. “Life is precious, in Snezhnaya.”

A momentary silence, before she continued to speak.

“There are rumors around the palace. Ones that are far too painful, for a grieving mother to share,” she said. “And to my greatest regret—they are true.” A pause. No one dared raise their heads. “My precious daughter: La Signora, has perished in her most recent expedition. Killed by the Raiden Shogun herself.”

Several gasps echoed throughout the ballroom. Some surprised, some furious, some who already suspected and the final nail was hammered into the coffin at last. But they quickly hushed themselves, awaiting their Majesty’s next words.

“But today is not a day of mourning.” Her nails rested on the microphone’s handle. “Today is a celebration. La Signora had not died in vain.”

From the entrance, two Fatui recruits had opened the door, bowing down to a figure dressed in a gown of red and black; their black, laced gloved hands crossed on their abdomen. She carried an air of gloom and finality, their appearance was masked by a veil, trailing down to their collarbone on bare shoulders.

The only indication of their true identity was the Tsaritsa’s gift hanging by her waist.

“Come to me, my granddaughter.”

A flight of stairs materialized from the ground up, reaching just by the hem of the newcomer’s dress. The shocked whispers and titters grew louder than ever before, as the crowd dared to look up to look upon the woman’s form. (“Her Majesty’s Granddaughter?” “The Fair Lady’s descendant?”)

From the dim lights of the jeweled chandeliers, the woman was enveloped in a heavenly silhouette, letting her form to appear ethereal—a dark angel ascending towards her rightful place, her crimson hair appearing as a halo of flame. Those who did not bow their heads certainly did now; earrings and monocles hanging from their places by a thread.

Through her veil, she looked towards the Tsaritsa, the daunting flight of frozen stairs, to the crowd surrounding her—then to a pair of blue eyes amidst the crowd, twinkling with pride.

With eased grace and tact, she clutched the hem of her dress, and began her ascension towards heaven.

Step, step, step.

The sound of her footsteps were nothing like footwear they were familiar with. It was raw, uncovered skin stepping on bare ice. Some might argue she was barefoot – braving the Tsaritsa’s eternal frostbite by sheer power alone.

Up close, she bowed to her goddess, her dress spilling around her like a pool of blood and ash. Her head was hung, her eyes closed as she submitted herself to the Archon, pliant and loyal to whatever her Majesty demands of her.

She felt a cold, gentle hand by her head, tucking a strand of scarlet hair behind her ear.

“It’s within the duty of a grandmother to spoil her grandchildren, is it not?” Her finger reached to her chin, pushing her face up. “And so, here are my gifts to you.” She brushed her cheek. “Rise, my child.”

The woman gathered herself to stand, but she was still lowered in a curtsy, red hair running down her neck and onto her chest.

“From now on, you are Circe; the Eighth Harbinger, the Fair Sorceress,” she said, “May you lead our people well. Turn, and face them. Greet them as if they are your own.”

Circe bowed one last time, and swiveled to the onlooking crowd. The stairs have completely disappeared, vanished into thin air by the Tsaritsa’s doing.

Just as Circe’s lips parted and a breath flowed from her throat, screams erupted from the back of the room, followed by the splatter of blood on their palace’s walls. Gore and fluid painted the pristine surface, sending the population into a frenzy.

“It’s a terrorist group from Fontaine!” A Fatui guard cried out, notifying them from below. “They disguised themselves as the cameramen and snuck in!”

Circe spun to the Tsaritsa. “Your Majesty—” The Archon raised a finger, quieting her instantly.

“I am your grandmother, child. No need for formalities in family – your mother would be appalled if she heard you.” She leaned back into her throne, eyeing the chaos beneath them. “Be a good dear, Circe, and dispose of them swiftly.” She folded her hands on her lap. “Do not disappoint me.”

The harbinger nodded firmly. “Understood.” She turned to grip the railing, looking for the nearest Fatui agents who were fighting off the bloody group. The Agents had already gotten into their standard formation, their forces split between fending off the attackers and evacuating the attendees.

Circe glanced back to the Tsaritsa, who had already taken her leave, her form disappearing down the dark corridor leading deeper into the castle, not bothering to spare another second for those rioters.

Within minutes, the ballroom was almost clear, leaving a dozen or so rioters who fought valiantly against the stationed guards. The flash of elements burst from the ugly fight, confirming the presence of Visions, or at the very least a lesser Delusion.

From the looks of it, the guards were losing in spite of their more advanced weaponry. Pyro slingers and Geochanters were a poor match, especially since the terrorist group appeared to be skilled and seasoned fighters of their own.

From the corner of Circe’s eye, she caught sight of a dendro vine sneaking its way through the tile’s cracks, snaking towards the nearest Pyro slinger’s spine. It was an impressive show of control, as the environment itself was ill suited towards any sort of flora or life.

Just as the vine lunged forward, a ring of fire erupted from the ground of ice, circling the terrorist group and separating the Skirmishers from them. The vine withered and died, burning to ash by the Pyro slinger’s shoes. The Pyro slinger jumped at the cinders, mildly taken aback at his near demise.

In a fluid motion, she leapt from the balcony, a cloud of fire cushioning her fall. It exploded into thousands of scattering birds, the ground hissing as ice evaporated into air in her wake.

The Agents all bowed to her as she stepped towards the ring of fire. Even now, they are resisting. The Hydro user within is doing all within their power to douse the flame, but nothing was able to quell the fires of a Crimson Witch.

Her eyes flicked towards the nearest agent. “You and everyone else here. Retrieve the guest list from reception and pick out any stragglers in the evacuation.”

The Geochanter saluted and took his leave, relaying the information to the rest of his guard. It took mere seconds for them to go, leaving Circe alone with the perpetrators.

A scream boomed from within the fiery cage, and soon a charred figure came barreling straight at Circe, their clothes and hair singed and burning, bearing a hydro-infused blade straight at her heart. To his credit, he had bravery, if nothing else.

Circe grabbed the man by his face and slammed him into the floor. The tiles shattered upon impact, the gaps soon filled by the fluids from the man’s smashed skull, popping like a ripe fruit and splattering blood onto her clothes and skin.

The squelch of flesh and blood was nothing new to her, but it was something so trivial she’d rather avoid it altogether. The Tsaritsa’s orders were absolute, and this attack entirely was completely pointless in the grand scheme of things. Groups like these often fought to raise their reputation through foolish stunts, but this was a new brand of stupidity.

She lowered the wall the moment she dusted her dress. The group, while suffering from heatstroke, still managed a vengeful glare towards her, as if killing her would rid the world of evil and suffering. And maybe that held a little truth to it.

One of the men noticed the mangled corpse by her and wailed mournfully, falling to their knees in despair. The others, though struggling with their own grief, carried on and wielded weapons and visions in perfect synchronization. They’ve worked together for some time, and experience spoke through their actions as they got into position, surrounding her like predator after prey.

But really—is she truly the prey in the end?

From the floor, walls and ceiling, golden chains burst forth into existence, running them all through from several different directions. Blood sprayed across the room like a violent waterfall, drenching her in blood she did not bother to hide from.

Two vision users, hydro and cryo, who had been aiming to freeze her, were impaled in midair, their weapons clattering to the ground as their bodies twitched and spasmed. The rest of them suffered similar fates, the chains sizzling and burning flesh through their hanging bodies, their blood dripping, boiling and coagulating onto the floor.

It was over before it even started.

However, there was always one who dared dance with the devil.

The dendro user’s jaw clenched tight, tears streaming down her face as she watched her family suffer from the hands of this… this monster. One by one, they stopped struggling, stopped moving—stopped breathing. But she held on. She pressed on despite the odds.

She clenched onto a dagger, blood trickling down her fingers, but her grip never relaxed once.

Her chest screamed in agony. Her calf was nearly severed in half, bone and muscle jutting out wildly. Some part of her told her she’d never dance again; her sisters and brothers will never sing for her or play the piano for her again. They did horrible things, but at least they did it together.

And they’ll see her in hell.

With a guttural cry, she swung back her arm, her vision aiding her in her final moments as it surrounded her in a faint green light, a last cry of hope to claw the monster incarnate down to hell by its ankles—

A stream of water emerged from thin air, and a blade carved from hydro deflected the dagger before it hit its mark, skittering across the ground and landing harmlessly under a bloodied tablecloth.

What!? Who?! 

Her vision began to blacken, but her rage alone kept her from leaving still, despite the voices of her family whispering to her from cold embrace of death. Come home; it’s over. You have no need to fight anymore.

The ginger knelt to Circe, soaking his suit in the pools of blood without regard. Even with her diminishing senses, she could see the mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“May I?” he asked, holding out an open palm.

They were sick. Bile built up at her throat, but she couldn’t bring herself to empty her stomach of its contents. Instead, she watched in absolute fury.

Why? Why why why why WHY?

How could they? How could they sleep at night knowing what they’ve done?

Why us? Why us why us why us why us why us WHY US?

WHY—

A chain spewed from the center of her face and she went limp, sentenced to hell by the devil herself.

Circe rolled her eyes behind her veil, but she extended a bloodied hand nonetheless, placing it onto his palm. He held it like it was the most exquisite jewel of all of Teyvat, curling his fingers around hers.

To him, Circe was faceless, but even Tartaglia could feel the exasperation leaking from her. He barked a laugh, successfully eliciting a response from the other, the redhead turning and threatening to leave.

He gripped onto her wrist, nearly doubling over in laughter while he held himself back from any further quips. She didn’t leave nor retract her hand, which was considered a submission as far as he’s concerned.

The lace gloves were soaked in blood, the fluid still warm as he brushed his fingers across her knuckles. He was bewildered how such delicate hands could cause so much bloodshed, yet remain seemingly innocent, all tucked away by lace and lie.

With a smile and his whole heart, he brought her hand to his lips tenderly, becoming the centerpiece of hanging, desecrated corpses who still bled warmth from their dying bodies, dyeing the palace floor with red and death.