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The Tsaritsa once asked her fellow archons about love. The bold, bright life and love of mortals.
“It’s flattering to know someone loves you,” Barbatos mused. “But the lives of mortals are simply too short to be worth the inevitable loss!”
As soon as he finished speaking, Barbatos continued chattering about how the wine industry in Mondstadt really was developing astonishingly fast, and that stealing a few barrels really wouldn’t harm the business at all.
The Tsaritsa had never liked Barbatos much.
She turned to the oldest of the Seven. Morax, at least, seemed to be thinking over the question more carefully. After a long moment, Morax turned, golden eyes slightly narrowed in confusion.
“A god cannot love a mortal,” Morax said at last. He spoke with the finality of knowing that yes, this was the truth. This was how the world spun. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and gods cannot love mortals.
The Tsaritsa couldn’t believe she had even bothered asking this load of idiots.
They had proven themselves unable to provide an in-depth conversation on this topic, so the Tsaritsa resigned herself once again to solitary pondering. This, she often found, was the most efficient method. Through the decades that passed, she continued puzzling upon this topic. As she sat upon her throne of ice, she suddenly realized that the solution to the problem was quite simple.
“A gnosis defines godhood,” the Tsaritsa spoke out loud. Simply remove it from the equation, and —
Such an act would definitely be an act of concern to Celestia, perhaps it would even be considered blasphemy.
The Tsaritsa stopped. Blinked once. Twice. How amusing. When had she ever cared about what Celestia wanted? Reaching into her own chest, she pulled. Cold condensed in her fingers as she tugged a pulsing, crystalline chess piece from its confines. She raises it up, observing the wintry blue of the gnosis. She remembers receiving it.
“With the bestowal of this gnosis, you are the Cryo Archon. Power is what you seek, whether for your people or your goals, we will not stop you. However, never forget that Order is established in this world. Do not seek to tip the scales.”
If this was blasphemy against Celestia, then so be it. She has never backed down from a game.
Mondstadt. The City of Freedom.
The city lies along the route to Liyue, and the Tsaritsa decides it will suffice as a start. She is a highly efficient woman. After all, how silly it was to have a god restrained in the throes of love in a city of the free? She of all people was most familiar with the chaotic and unpredictable emotions of love. The Tsaritsa wonders if, after all these years, Barbatos still held the same mindset.
The Tsaritsa sends La Signora. She was one of the more competent of the Harbingers, when she wasn’t consumed by her burning desire for revenge. Of course, the Tsaritsa acquiesces, she wishes to see Barbatos bullied just a little.
A meek breeze brings with it a hastily written letter.
Tsaritsa,
Was sending the mean lady really necessary :(
Barbatos
Barbatos,
Not at all.
Tsaritsa
The Tsaritsa looked down at the young man grinning before her. Her eyes caught on the red string stretching far behind him, a compass to his destined one, invisible to all but her.
“Tartaglia. Your next assignment shall be in Liyue. Find and retrieve the gnosis of the Geo Archon.”
At her words, the strings of fate glow gold.
“At your command, your majesty,” Tartaglia responds from a kneel.
The Tsaritsa allows herself a rare moment of satisfaction. Yes, two birds with one stone. Finally, that blockhead would have to eat his own words.
Dear Morax,
I trust that negotiations have gone smoothly?
Tsaritsa
Dear Tsaritsa,
Indeed they have. It was a pleasure to get to know Childe. Before I was even aware, I found myself seeking him out to spend time with him. My apologies, I appear to have gone off topic. Negotiations have been completed.
Sincerely,
Morax
A scrawled message in messy handwriting occupies the corner of the page, a stark contrast to Morax’s neat script.
Tsar-Tsar! It looks like ol’ Morax has a cruuuuush!
Barbatos
The Tsaritsa sighs. If the original reply was not enough to have her wishing for seclusion for the next decade, the added note definitely did. She composes two responses.
Barbatos,
Do not call me that. Refrain from intercepting mail that is not meant for you.
Tsaritsa
Morax,
I hate to agree with Barbatos, but for once — It seems you are quite enamored with Tartaglia?
Tsaritsa
When news of the Osial incident reaches Snezhnaya, the Tsaritsa does nothing. La Signora returns alone with glittering triumph, proudly presenting the glowing gnosis to her. The Tsaritsa does not send an order for her Eleventh to return. She knows better than anyone else that a certain pair would need time to muddle through the ‘misunderstandings’ stage.
The strings of fate hum with warmth. Yes, the Tsaritsa is certain of a positive outcome.
Weeks drag into months. Each month she receives a concise report of Northland Bank’s successful debt collection, yet no word comes of the situation between her Harbinger and his consultant. She contemplates sending a recall order just to hurry up the development with a sense of urgency, but no. That could hinder the progress already made. No doubt both parties would withdraw from each other in their own self-sacrificing, dense nature.
The Tsaritsa finally reaches the last strand of her patience. She pens a letter with thinly veiled force, the ink seeping through the parchment.
Dear Morax,
I will skip the useless pleasantries. Do you wish to wed my harbinger?
Tsaritsa
She receives a reply shortly after.
Dear Tsaritsa,
I am glad to see you are doing well. Thank you for the letter. We are thinking of a spring wedding. Ajax would be delighted if you could attend.
Sincerely,
Zhongli
The Tsaritsa reads the letter over twice. Even she is unable to hold back an unbidden laugh.