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Ajax clutched the small sword in his little hands, sticky blood making his grip slip slightly. His entire body shook with exertion and fear. How long had he been here? He just wanted to go home to his family and sit by the fireplace and listen to his mother read him a story and cuddle by his older brother and hug his stuffed whale and–
“Focus!” Ajax squeezed his eyes shut instinctively at the woman’s order. He tried to calm his breathing, but he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He wanted to go home. He should have never run away from home looking for an adventure.
“I…I can’t,” Ajax whispered. He could feel his grip on the sword loosening. His body was battered from standing upright and fighting wave upon wave of enemies. He was barely able to stand, legs shaking in their effort to keep him up.
He could ignore the cuts all over his arms and legs, the nicks from both his unskilled bladework and successful hits from his enemies. He could ignore the aching bruises of where he had been pelted with rocks or slammed against the ground. He could ignore the blood dripping from his limbs. He could ignore his surroundings beginning to sway.
He could ignore all of it. He needed to. The less pain he consciously thought about, the better.
But he couldn’t ignore Skirk’s orders.
“You will,” Skirk demanded. “Stand up and fight like I taught you or you’ll never survive! You want to go home, don’t you?”
Ajax forced himself to nod. He could feel something wet bubble up in the back of his throat, most likely blood if the rest of his experience here taught him anything.
“I want…” Ajax coughed violently, cringing as warm red blood dripped from his mouth. “To go home.”
“Then you better act like it. Right now, all I see is a miserable little boy that’s going to die before he can get home.” There was no warmth in Skirk’s voice, so different from his mother’s gentle tone. Ajax spat out the blood filling his mouth, choking on a sob.
He had to get home. Then he would be welcomed by his family and they would keep him warm and safe and he would never have to pick up a blade again. Ajax dug his nails into his palms, breaking the skin so they bled. The adrenaline and pain made him open his eyes and he used his sword to balance himself so he was standing upright.
“Don’t think of them as living things. They are your enemies and you need to tear them down to leave and be safe,” Skirk reminded him. “Can you feel your blood racing in your veins? You are powerful. Kill these beasts and show me what you are capable of.”
“I can do it.” Ajax gritted his teeth. “I am strong.”
He was strong. He was strong. He was strong.
He needed to be strong.
His blood thrummed under his skin. A new beast entered, roaring as it stomped its heavy legs. He scanned the beast, seeing a soft underbelly. He had to somehow tear into that part of the body to kill this creature. Ajax bit down on his bottom lip harshly, tasting the iron taste of blood. The pain filled his core with energy and he raised his blade.
If only one of them could survive this battle, Ajax just had to make sure it was him that left victorious. He rushed towards the beast, landing hits on its scaly and protected back. It growled, swinging a spiked tail in his direction. He launched himself onto its back, dodging the attack. The creature shook its body, trying to make Ajax fall. But he kept his balance, standing on his head. He dug his foot into the side of the creature’s head, making it veer to the side and fall over.
Ajax easily hopped off its back before it could crush him and stabbed through the soft flesh of its stomach. It made a loud noise of pain, but he didn’t care. He continued stabbing through, pulling his blade through the skin and tearing it open. Blood poured out from the numerous wounds as it continued to wail out in pain.
Then it stopped making noises and moving altogether.
Ajax’s arms and legs were covered in its thick blood as he stepped away from its corpse. He looked back at Skirk, who regarded him cooly. She looked at him briefly and then at the beast. Then she looked at him again and gave him a sharp nod.
Ajax was faintly aware of the wide crazed smile on his face.
He was strong.
“Not enough, clearly.” A familiar woman’s voice came from behind him.
Ajax turned around and found himself face to face with La Signora. He looked down at himself, recognizing his regular Fatui uniform. There was a distinct lack of blood on him, but his limbs felt like lead, weighing him down. His body sagged as he saw the Geo Archon’s Gnosis in her hand.
“That should have been my Gnosis to take.” Ajax stepped forward and immediately regretted it, hissing when a jolt of pain ran up his leg. He hated the aftereffects of Foul Legacy. The transformation and use of that Abyss tactic took all of his energy and exhausted him.
“Don’t be foolish. It was never meant to be your mission in the first place. You were always the distraction.” La Signora looked at the Gnosis in her palm. “I’ll be leaving on the first ship back to Snezhnaya to give this to the Tsaritsa. Make sure you return quickly as well, Tartaglia.”
She walked away from him, disappearing in the dark. That’s right. He was Tartaglia. Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers. He wasn’t weak little Ajax anymore.
He heard whispering and looked over at the noise. There was the traveler and Zhongli, speaking quietly. Neither of them seemed to notice his presence as they continued whispering secrets.
Tartaglia couldn’t stop the disbelieving laugh from escaping his lips. Everyone got what they wanted at the end except him. The Tsaritsa got the Geo Archon’s Gnosis, La Signora got the Gnosis, Rex Lapis got to retire, and the traveler was getting some of the answers they had been looking for about their sibling.
But where did that leave him? Did it even matter?
He played his part perfectly, and now no one cared what became of him.
“What about me?” Tartaglia asked out loud. The traveler turned their head and looked at him, thinly veiled annoyance evident in their eyes.
Then Zhongli turned to look at him, amusement twinkling in his eyes and a mocking smile twisting his lips. Tartaglia froze up at his expression.
“Your work is done here, is it not? After summoning Osial, you are no longer welcome in Liyue. I’ve entertained you long enough.” Zhongli waved a hand carelessly, dismissing him,
“That was all part of your plan anyway!” Tartaglia felt anger coursing through his body and his fingers dug into his gloves palms by his sides. “How dare you lie to me for months?!”
“Did you not use me as well for information?”
“You knew exactly why I was here to begin with! I spent so many nights feeling guilty to betray your trust, but now you show me that you were the one I’ve been looking for all this time?”
Tartaglia then noticed that the traveler was missing. He and Zhongli were alone in the dark. The ex-archon stood there, not a hair out of place. Then there was Tartaglia, fighting to stay standing as his legs screamed for him to rest. He ignored their plea, glaring at Zhongli.
“I see no need to explain myself to you. You were merely a pawn in the contract I had with your goddess.” Zhongli let out a chuckle, but it brought him no comfort like it used to. “Worry not, you played your part perfectly.”
“Then all those dinners together? All that time we spent together? If you never cared, why do that?” Tartaglia needed answers. He needed to know why Zhongli had decided to spend so much time with him when he didn’t need to.
“Demanding answers from a god? You are very lucky that I am in a forgiving mood. I will answer your question,” Zhongli said. “It is because I sensed your interest.”
“What are you talking about?” Tartaglia narrowed his eyes.
“You were interested in me past the threshold of business partners. So I took the initiative to continue cultivating those feelings in order to make sure the plan went accordingly,” Zhongli spoke calmly, like he was telling him about the weather.
“So you fucked with my feelings just to make sure your plan went right?” Tartaglia’s vision began to blur.
“I would not put it like that, but yes.”
“How fucking dare you string me along like that?!” Tartaglia moved quickly, Vision lighting up and molding hydro energy into twin blades.
But before he could blink, Tartaglia found himself shoved to the ground. His head slammed against the floor and his vision swam as Zhongli’s spear was thrusted down into the floor right beside his head.
“As amusing as your bloodlust is, you should know better than to challenge the Warrior God. If you think that I have lost any substantial power along with my Gnosis, you are severely mistaken.” Zhongli looked unperturbed, standing above Tartaglia with golden eyes glowing lightly. “You are lucky that I take pity on you.”
Tartaglia bit his tongue, holding back the spite that threatened to slip. His eyes trailed upwards, tracing Zhongli’s cold expression. He looked further up and he frowned at something thin above Zhongli’s head sparkle.
Was that some kind of thread?
Shaking his head to clear his still blurry vision, he noticed that there were many threads attached to Zhongli’s limbs that traveled above. Tartaglia raised his gaze up as well, following the threads to see what they were connected to.
He sucked in a sharp gasp when he saw what they were attached to.
Above them both was Zhongli, but he didn’t look the same. He had a white hood and dragonic golden eyes. He wore a cruel smile, fangs glimmering in the light. Outstretched were black arms, striking golden geometric patterns glowing as light strings were tied to his fingers. Those strings were attached to Zhongli’s body above him.
That was Morax, the god that Liyue believed to have died. Tartaglia gaped up at him, frozen from his place on the ground. He stole a glance at the Zhongli that stood above him and gasped. The man that had looked so real and human now looked like nothing more than a hastily made puppet.
Tartaglia looked up again in horror when a deep sinister chuckle rumbled in his ears.
“Do you see now? This Zhongli you loved so dearly was nothing more than a character in a puppet show. He was never even real.” Morax’s voice shook the room. “And now I’ve had my fun.”
Tartaglia hardly had time to blink before the strings were severed. The Zhongli in front of him immediately crumpled to the ground. Tartaglia sat up and kicked himself back, away from the body on the floor. He scrambled to think of something to say, but the words failed him. They clogged his throat, leaving him to stare up at the god in silence.
“Now where did all that bravado go, Tartaglia? Or do you prefer Childe? Or maybe even…” Morax’s menacing grin widened. “Ajax?”
He shattered.
He covered his ears with his palms, squeezing his eyes shut. He shook his head violently. He didn’t want to hear that name come from the man that played him for a fool. A man that encouraged him to be vulnerable and open, just to throw it back in his face and laugh.
Then he felt something tug at his wrists. He hesitantly opened his eyes and looked up. Above him was his goddess, the Tsaritsa, looking down at him with her usual icy expression. He tried to take comfort in her presence but he couldn’t relax his muscles.
Her fingers dangled right above him. When he looked closer, vision focusing in, he saw the same sparkle of thread. A weight of dread dropped in his stomach as he traced the string down to his own body. That was when he noticed the thin threads around his wrists and knees. He tried to pull them off, but they wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t even feel the strings but he could very clearly see them now.
In a segment of crystal clear glass, he looked at his reflection. His weary eyes stared back at him as he saw the sheer amount of strings connecting him to the Tsaritsa’s dainty fingers. They were wrapped around limbs and torso, climbing up to his chest. Then he noticed a single thread tied around his neck. He looked up at the Tsaritsa, eyes wide. She lifted a finger and he felt pressure on his throat. His hands flew to his neck, trying to pull the threat away from his windpipe. He could hear Morax’s short laugh as he scrambled to pull the thread off to no avail.
He looked around and saw the spear that Zhongli had nearly lodged into his head. He grabbed the weapon and slashed above him at where the threads were connecting him to his archon’s hands. The strings fluttered from her fingers and fell lamely around him.
“So simpleminded.” Morax’s voice came again. “To think that you are not controlled just because you have cut those puppet strings of yours just once.”
He ran.
He ran as fast as he could away from the two gods. His legs burned but he didn’t stop. He just kept running as far as he could. His lungs begged for him to stop and take breath, but he didn’t comply.
Childe-Tartaglia-Ajax kept running like his life depended on it. He didn’t even know where he was headed or what direction he was facing. Where was he? Was he anywhere at all? He slowed his running pace, stopping and looking around.
It was pitch black, so dark that he couldn’t see a thing. Even when he activated his Vision for a minimal amount of light, his eyes couldn’t register anything.
Then a pair of doors opened, the white light from inside blinding him. Childe covered his eyes instinctively, shutting his eyes against the brightness. When he moved his arms aside and squinted towards the light, he suddenly felt compelled to enter.
He slowly walked towards the doors, peering inside with narrowed eyes. He couldn’t see anything once again, but for a completely different reason. It was far too bright to see anything recognizable. Then he felt a pair of hands on his back and he was shoved inside.
Childe tumbled forward into the blinding light and he fell.
He twisted his body so that he was face-up and he would inevitably land on his back. It was best to let the fall impact his back the most so he wouldn’t be as seriously injured. Childe stared up at the doors that he fell from. He cradled his head with his hands to protect it from slamming against the ground when he made impact.
Suddenly the scenery around him changed from plain white to the inside of a traditional Inazuma dojo. His back landed first, and Childe let out a grunt of pain when the rest of his body thudded against the ground. Sitting up slowly, he looked around the room, finding it strangely familiar.
This was the strange domain he had investigated while tracking down Scaramouche. Childe stood carefully, wincing when his back ached with the effort. He looked around the small room that he had landed in. Nothing noteworthy in here, he concluded.
Childe continued to look around the room until he heard a group of voices outside. He gently opened the door slightly to peek out and saw the traveler with their pixie friend, Xinyan, and Shiki Taishou. They were speaking quietly to themselves in front of a door that looked exactly like what he entered from.
He didn’t want to be hasty, so he watched as the small group continued to speak in low tones. Then the traveler and Xinyan went through the door, disappearing. Childe dashed out of the room he was in, desperate to reach the exit and escape from this place. His fingertips grazed the door before it slammed shut in his face. Childe grabbed the knobs, tugging and shaking to open it again but it stayed sealed shut.
Then, almost to mock him, the door slowly began to fade away. Childe kept trying the doorknob, slamming his body against the door in attempt to break it down, but it did not falter. Childe could only watch in dying hope as the door kept fading until his hands that were gripped around the knobs were curled up around thin air.
He whirled around, but Shiki Taishou was nowhere to be seen. Childe could hear the loud chatter of hilichurls nearby. He held his bow close to him, cocking an arrow in preparation.
“Again.” A woman’s voice came from behind him. Childe snapped his head to look at the source of the voice.
There Skirk stood once again, looking exactly the same as she had all those years ago.
“Skirk? How are you here?” Childe breathed out. He hadn’t seen her since he escaped the Abyss.
“Just like how you did when you trained with me.” Skirk kept speaking like he never even said anything. “It’s just some basic enemies. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten weak.”
“Of course not! I bet I could make you use both hands when we spar now.” Childe rose to her bait.
“Show me then.” Skirk jerked her chin in the direction of the hilichurls. “Show me that you are strong.”
And he did.
Wave after wave of enemies charged at him, but Childe easily defeated them all. He wiped a splotch of blood off of his cheek when it sprayed on him from a mistimed swipe of his blade against an abyss mage. His body ached all over from the exertion, but a manic smile made its way onto his face. He threw his head back and laughed as he tore down the last remaining hilichurl.
“Now how was that?” Childe had long discarded his bow, opting to use his dual hydro blades to cut down his enemies to save time. But when he looked around, he was alone.
“You have not thrown away your potential,” he heard Skirk’s voice in his mind, though she was nowhere to be seen. “Well done, my champion.”
With another laugh, he stepped forward. The wood flooring snapped under his foot and the ground gave out under him. Childe fell into the depths below.
As he fell, he stared up, fear momentarily paralyzing him.
“Unfortunately, you’ve worn out your usefulness.” The Tsaritsa’s voice echoed in his head.
Then Morax, who said “thankfully, you proved to be quite entertaining.”
Finally, Skirk saying “you are not strong enough.”
Childe plunged into the water. His limbs wouldn’t move as he fought for air. He stared up at his constellation, Monoceros Caeli. The usually bright stars were blood red as they twinkled in the sky. Then the first star slowly began to blink. Then it disappeared.
The next star followed suit. Then the next and the next and the next.
The last star shone so brightly that Childe had no choice but to squint, but he couldn’t look away. He was so captivated by its light. His lungs cried out for oxygen, but the water continued to pull him down.
He let out a soft breath and the last star flickered out of sight.
Childe sat up violently, taking heavy breaths as sweat trickled down his forehead. His fingers clutched the sheets so tightly that his knuckles paled. His breath stuttered as he shut his eyes, feeling his heart beating rapidly throughout his entire body. His head pulsed, blood rushing up and making him feel faint. Letting out soft swears in the otherwise silent room, he shuddered. Willing himself not to cry, Childe opened his eyes slowly, blinking when they filled with tears. Uncurling his fingers from his sheets, Childe crossed his arms and grabbed onto his biceps tightly, feeling his nails dig into the skin. The dull pain helped him focus, clearing some of the horrible panic that gripped his heart.
“It’s just a nightmare,” Childe muttered wetly, swallowing a whimper that nearly escaped his throat. He lay back down, yanking the sheets closer to his body as he shivered. Closing his eyes once again, he prayed for quick and easy sleep.
The minutes ticked by as Childe tried to fall back asleep. But every time tried to calm his breathing and close his eyes to finally sleep, the image of a bloodied sky flickered behind his eyelids. And every time, he would open his eyes with a sharp intake of breath.
Seven unsuccessful attempts later, Childe groaned, sitting up again. He dug his palms onto his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. There was no way he was sleeping tonight. It wasn’t the first night that he had gotten no sleep because of a particularly disturbing nightmare.
He was prepared for times like these, as sad as it sounded. Childe shoved the sheets off of him and swung his legs out, placing his feet on the ground. He pushed himself up from the bed and stood. Childe dragged himself to his small kitchen in the small apartment he had rented in Inazuma. It stayed completely undecorated and almost unlived in. He had touched just about nothing, only using the bed to sleep in and the desk in the bedroom to keep the Tsaritsa updated on his search for Scaramouche.
The only thing other than the small bedroom that saw any use was the kitchen’s cabinets. Childe loved to cook, but he hardly used the kitchen at all. He preferred to eat out at local restaurants to save time. He opened the only cupboard that had anything in it and pulled out his bottle of Fire-Water and a shot glass.
With a self-deprecating sigh, he walked back to his bedroom. Placing the bottle and glass on his desk, Childe sat down at the chair in front of it. With an overly familiar motion, he popped the cap of the bottle off and poured himself half of the shot glass. He held the glass careful, staring at his reflection in the amber liquid. He saw his own sunken eyes looking back at him, bags as dark as the shadows he had forced himself to live in under his eyes. He looked even more dead than he usually did.
Childe picked the glass up and immediately threw his head back, gulping it down like he was a dying man. It burned deliciously as it slid down his throat. He slammed the glass back down onto the desk, eyeing the bottle once more. Not nearly enough, he thought with an irritated groan.
Glass after glass was poured and drank and Childe was only just beginning to feel a little buzzed. His tolerance was getting far too high. He had plenty of funds, but it was a pain trying to find any authentic Fire-Water outside of Snezhnaya.
With every passing drink knocked back. Childe’s thoughts swirled around his head.
Where did he even go wrong? Was it when he left home at fourteen, excitement thrumming through his at the prospect of adventure? Or maybe it was when he crawled out of Abyss, traumatized beyond belief, and walked home. Should he have died there instead? Should he have let himself rot down there in the heavy air and collapsed, never to stand again?
Maybe…
Maybe he should have never escaped the Abyss.
But he did.
And where did that land him?
A Fatui barracks at the age of fourteen-almost-fifteen because of a new bloodthirsty craving that his father didn’t know how nor cared to deal with. And he remembers so vividly during a training spar when he challenged someone almost double his size. The fight had been over almost as quickly as it started, and he remembers standing there in front of their audience with the other man’s blood on his hands. And he wished he could forget the big smile that stretched across his face and the excited beating of his heart.
Childe looked into his empty glass at his dull and lightless eyes. Disgusting, he couldn’t help but think. He was an awful person.
A laugh bubbled in his chest. Childe shook his head and sighed out a pathetic excuse for a chuckle. He couldn’t even call himself a person anymore. The right to call himself human was something he lost years ago. Maybe it was in the Abyss. Maybe it was when he got older and trained in the Fatui.
A promotion to Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers and an electro delusion later, he had been sent to Liyue with the mission to steal the Geo Archon’s Gnosis. Childe remembered just how warm it was there. The streets were busy with people wandering the marketplace and going about their daily life. The port had been crowded the day he arrived there.
And Childe remembered first meeting with the man who he would try to get information out of. The man that would become his first friend since he was fourteen (or maybe even at all). The man that he would eventually fall in love with. And the man that would betray his trust without a single glance at him, leaving him to sweep up the shattered shards of his heart alone.
Zhongli had been so kind and accommodating back then, before things got messy. They had spent numerous meals together and many of their after works hours roaming around Liyue. Childe had hung onto every word that Zhongli uttered, regardless of whether it was a history lesson or lecture about plants or even lengthy praise about food.
And in turn, Zhongli listened attentively to Childe’s awkward descriptions of Snezhnaya and Morepesok. He listened to Childe ramble about his family and how much he loved them. And Childe felt like he was being heard for the first time in so long. He had gone to bed every night wondering if Zhongli would hate him for trying to steal his archon’s Gnosis and using him for information. It even kept him up some nights, the idea of Zhongli hating him for breaking the trust they had. And in his moments alone, he wondered if he would be able to go through with his mission.
In the end, it was Childe that would played for a fool and betrayed in the end.
He remembered the way Zhongli didn’t even spare him a glance as he passed his Gnosis to La Signora. The Eighth Harbinger had mocked him, a sneer on her face as she took the Gnosis from Zhongli-Morax-Rex Lapis.
And Childe-Tartaglia-Ajax had shattered.
He had shown that man every side of him, and Zhongli cared for each and every one. Zhongli had patched him up after a fight gone wrong, chastising him for being so reckless. He had complimented his cooking and offered words of comfort when his mind weighed on him too heavily to bear alone. He had followed Childe when he insisted on going out for a fight when he became restless after mindless paperwork at the bank.
Zhongli had made him feel seen and loved and worth more than what his fighting prowess could offer. When Childe was with Zhongli, he felt human. Like he could maybe hope to dream that he could mean something more than a weapon to someone.
And that hesitant future that Childe had so carefully built in his mind was torn down in front of him, stomped on and trashed by the very man who gave him that hope in the first place. The Gnosis exchange was over fairly quickly, leaving Childe to reel in his thoughts. And when he saw Zhongli turn to face the traveler, he knew that he was no longer needed there.
He had made his muted retreat to his office in the bank, shutting and locking the door behind him and he slumped to the floor. Chidlde had done a lot of thinking that night and he wanted to leave Liyue as quickly as he could, but the Tsartisa had not sent him a letter for a new mission to a command to return to Snezhnaya.
So he had been forced to stay in Liyue for n indeterminate amount of time. But when Teucer had snuck onto a ship to visit him, he had been glad that he stayed so that his little brother wouldn’t be lost and alone in a new country. He had enlisted the help of the traveler, and he was eternally grateful that they didn’t blow his cover and went along with his ruse of being a toyseller.
Seeing his little brother had completely outweighed the toll on his body from reusing Foul Legacy so soon after his fight with the traveler. But even then, he knew that his brother only loved him because he didn’t know that he was part of the Fatui. Once he found out, Teucer would almost certainly hate him.
He reocgnized the irony of it now, as he sat alone nursing another glassful of Fire-Water. How many had he drank already? He couldn’t remember. His head was beginning to spin. Regardless, he realized how much of a hypocrite he was. He had been, and still was, heartbroken when he found out Zhongli had lied to him about his identity. But was he not doing the exact same thing to Teucer?
If he was this angry and upset over finding out he was being lied to for a about a year, how angry would Teucer be when he eventually found out? But the circumstances were different, weren’t they? Zhongil had lied to keep him in the dark for his overarching plan to succeed. Childe was lying to protect Teucer. No, that wasn’t right. Childe was lying because he was afraid Teucer, the last person in his family to not know of his real job, would hate him. He was terrified that the last person who saw him as just Ajax would despise him. Every other person in all of Teyvat that knew him was aware of his status in the Fatui.
He knew he was being selfish, but was it so wrong of him to want to keep Teucer’s innocence intact for just a little longer? To have him look up to him as someone that was deserving of respect and awe and envy? He had believed so before, but now he wasn’t as certain.
Maybe he was no better than Zhongli. Even though it was a plan that he had played to perfection unknowingly, he still summoned Osial and put Liyue in danger. No one had been seriously injured because of the traveler and the adepti’s interference, but he was still at fault, wasn’t he? Someone like him… didn’t deserve to feel so hurt.
The hurt that he felt didn’t matter in the end. Childe had sworn to the Tsaritsa his unwavering loyalty. He already knew that he was hers to use whenever she saw fit. It never bothered him before, so why did it now?
But he knew why.
He let his hopes get ahead of him. Childe had let his dreams of being irreplaceable to someone cloud his judgement. He should have known better. Ever since he crawled out of the Abyss, he had been meant to be used as a weapon. It was a mistake to think that he would ever mean more than that. He should be content with being useful. It was an honor to be used by two archons.
Childe let out a warbled sigh, collapsing onto his desk facefirst. He should be thankful that he could be useful, but he wasn’t. He wasn’t grateful at all. Why did it have to be him? Couldn’t any other harbinger have taken his place? But even if it had to be him, why wasn’t he allowed to know about the contract? If he had known from the beginning, he would have played along anyway.
Was it because he wasn’t strong enough? He had a hydro vision, an electro delusion, and heretical teachings from the Abyss. What else did he need in order to be seen as strong to the Tsaritsa? Was it his age? It would explain his codename that she had granted him.
Breathing out a broken sigh, the memory of him finally leaving Liyue unhelpfully cropped up. He remembered getting a new assignment from the Tsaritsa to hunt down Scaramouche, who had gotten ahold of the Electro Archon’s Gnosis and escaped. He had been thankful to make his own escape from Liyue. He also remembered how he had waited for Zhongli to approach him and apologize for using him for so long. But it never happened.
Zhongli had never came looking for him to explain anything.
And he knew then and there that Zhongli never cared. All that time together was just a god’s way to pass the time with suitable entertainment. Childe wondered if Zhongli ever went home after one of their outings and laughed at how gullible he was. Did he formulate ways to make him fall even further? Or did he never bother to think about it because he wasn’t nearly important enough to waste time thinking about?
It didn’t matter. Just like how Childe didn’t matter.
He would get over it with time. He had to.
Childe didn’t want to think about what would happen if he couldn’t.
His trip to Inazuma wasn’t awful, but it wasn’t the greatest either. He had found himself in a strange domain that changed its layout with plenty of things to fight inside. Childe remembered how his blood sang at the possibility of being able to fight for so long. But in the back of his mind, it terrified him. It reminded him so much of the Abyss that he wanted to run out and look for Scaramouche’s traces elsewhere. But he couldn’t leave just yet since it was the most likely place to check.
Then the traveler and a young musician from Liyue showed up. The musician girl, Xinyan, he later learned had taken to calling him “big brother” and Childe had felt a rush of protectiveness for her. It irked him that the traveler had introduced him as a traveler from Mondstadt, but he understood why. Somehow, Xinyan had not recognized him as the man that released Osial. Making his identity known would only make tensions rise.
So he had traveled through the domain alongside the traveler and Xinyan, looking for any signs of Scaramouche. They had reached the exit and he hadn’t found anything, to his disappointment. He allowed the traveler and Xinyan to exit first. Once they had successfully left, he tried to leave. But when he went through the door, he found himself in another room of the domain.
Shiki Taishou was still with him as well and had explained that the others had been able to leave, but he was still stuck inside for some reason. A lump had formed in Childe’s throat as he nodded to the paper doll. He had tried not to think about how similar it was to the Abyss. He would be alright. He was not fourteen anymore. He was strong enough to handle a few enemies for a while until the traveler and Xinyan had returned.
It had been multiple days and visits until he could actually escape from the strange domain. He hadn’t found a single clue to where Scaramouche had gone. After explaining his true intentions in the domain to the traveler, he bid them goodbye and left.
And now, a few days later, he was here. Facefirst on his desk with a bottle of Fire-Water next to him because a nightmare spooked him so bad that he couldn’t fall back asleep. Childe lifted his head to look at the bottle.
Since when was it almost empty? He could have sworn it was nearly full when he grabbed it from the kitchen.
His thoughts strayed to his main objective: finding Scaramouche. Now that he had a Gnosis in his possession, he would definitely be very dangerous. Childe idly wondered if the Sixth Harbinger would kill him to protect and keep the Gnosis.
Would anyone grieve for him? Would his family have a funeral for him and cry for him? Would they mourn for him past the loss of the money he sent to them every month? He wondered if his parents or siblings would tell Teucer the truth about him after he died. Would Tecuer’s grief turn into hatred?
Would the traveler miss him if he died? Even if they were suspicious of him even now, they had helped him out when Teucer was in Liyue. He wanted to believe that they had some kind of tentative friendship between them.
Would the Tsaritsa mourn him? Would she mutter a word of prayer for him to Celestia and remember him? He hoped so. Even if he wasn’t a harbinger for as long as the others, he hoped she would treasure his memory. By extension, he hoped that the other harbingers would at least feel something for his death. He had heard that Zapolyarny Palace had been in a bit of a panic when La Signora died. He hoped that his death would stir a bit of a reaction in the otherwise cold environment.
Against his better judgement, he wondered if Zhongli would miss him. He knew he meant nothing to the ex-archon, but he hoped that his death would make the usually stoic man tremble. Of course, it was all wishful thinking. Childe knew that Zhongli wouldn’t care if he died.
As he thought about it, Childe found himself hoping that someone would cry for him. Not because he wanted his loved ones to cry, but because he wanted to mean enough to someone for them to shed tears at his death.
Childe was well aware that if he found Scaramouche, it would end up in a battle of life or death. He wasn’t stupid, contrary to what most people thought. He knew that if he went up against someone with a Gnosis, he would lose. A vision and delusion was no match for a Gnosis. Did the Tsaritsa send him for this mission knowing this as well? So did she believe that he was worth sacrificing for the Gnosis?
The realization stung. It ached throughout his body as he groaned.
If he was meant to die here, then the least he could do was be prepared for it. He fumbled at his desk, taking a piece of paper out. He would need to draft a will so he was prepared for his inevitable death. This way, his family would not feel any financial loss from his death. Childe grabbed a pen but it fell from his fingers.
He blinked, trying to stop the room from spinning. His vision was getting fuzzy as he leaned back in his chair. The alcohol and long-term sleep deprivation was finally getting to him. Childe looked at his bed, just a few paces away. He was in no state to write his will now, intoxicated and emotional.
He grumbled, standing up slowly, wobbling on his feet as the room span. Childe took carefully small steps. When his knees hit the side of the mattress, he collapsed onto the bed. Moving slightly to make himself comfortable, he sighed.
He had drank almost an entire bottle of alcohol by himself while running on about five hours of sleep over the past week. Childe knew the dangers of alcohol poisoning. He waited for the panic to set in, but it never came. All that he felt was an unnerving amount of nothing.
Maybe he would finally be able to fall asleep again.
And when Childe closed his eyes, he made two realizations.
Realization One: He wasn’t fully sure if he would wake up again after this.
Realization Two: He found that he really didn’t mind either way.