Chapter Text
Viktor stared at his transfer form, uncomprehending. It didn’t feel real, to get the slip of paper after he had pestered the senior officers for so long. Form after form, submitted to the Mondstadt sector’s office, and after two months of not hearing a pip, they had transferred him. To Watatsumi, of all places.
He had to cross an ocean, and he wasn’t even a vision user! At least vision users can use the few waypoints that haven’t been locked by the cities. Traveling by boat would take weeks, and the waters were treacherous around Inazuma. In all likelihood, he would never return.
Viktor shook his head like a dog shedding water. It’s not as if he didn’t prepare himself for travel. As customary for a diplomat, most of his clothes and files were always pre-packed. He had not made many great attachments to Mondstadt, despite trying. He had even asked the traveler for some souvenirs and received a flower, food, and a glass of wine in return.
Lumine had run into the cathedral, lugging that pack that she carried everywhere and almost taking off the doors in the process. To his surprise, she had bolted straight at him, face blank as she asked if he needed anything. Viktor really did not need anything, but he wanted something to remember Mondstadt by. So he asked her for some specialties. And specialties he got, with not one, not two, but three separate gifts, preserved to withstand the frigid climate of Snezhnaya. She then hurried out, climbing from one of the cathedral’s windows with that massive pack thrice her size comfortably on her back.
He sweat dropped. Was Lumine even human?
When she exited the church, all the nuns and Viktor sighed in relief.
Sometimes he felt incredibly grateful that his fighting skills were trash. He could just imagine wielding a pyro gun with mediocre skill, only to come face to face with death itself. Lumine, the Unstoppable Projectile of Determination, would have definitely bowled him over without a second thought.
Don’t get him wrong, he cherished the gifts, truly. People were too suspicious of fatui activity to regard him with much respect. They only displayed the bare minimum so as to not get slapped by the Snezhnayan foreign policy department. The bar was deep, deep underground. Kindness, no, ambivalence like Lumine’s are hard to come by. May Celestia make her life significantly less hard than someone of his occupation should probably hope.
He had saved up the gifts, preparing to celebrate the moment he boarded away from this city. Knocking back a glass of Death After Noon and flipping off the city from a moving wagon had been a pleasant daydream for a long time now. The carriage to the ocean was due to arrive in an hour and the ship to Sangonomiya three hours after that. He should not be dawdling. And yet-
He brushed past the stone Barbatos in front of the church, trying his very best not to glance at it. Past the plaza, past the many sets of stairs and the broad brown doors. Three hours past midnight, the cathedral would be empty. He did not understand why he was going back, running up the stairs with a rolling suitcase in his arms so it wouldn’t create a racket, panting from the effort it took to reach the church, and something else.
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-Half a year earlier-
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“Greetings. My name is Viktor, and I am the Snezhnayan diplomat assigned to negotiate with the church of Barbatos.”
Across from him, three women stood. The deaconess of the church was flanked by two sisters, both sporting a rather severe countenance. Although Barbara’s posture was infinitely more welcoming, he could not help but discern a hint of steel in her voice.
“While I’m flattered that the fatui consider us worthy of personal attention, The church of Barbatos is a purely religious institution. We will not involve ourselves with foreign policy.”
A firm refusal. The idol of Monstadt had backbone, but Viktor wouldn’t give up so easily.
“But a significant portion of Mondstadt’s funds are stored within the church. With the amount of sway that your institution has, laws and policies can easily be changed with your support or opposition. How could church and state be truly separate when the church possesses so much power?
“It cannot”, one gray-skinned sister acquiesced, “But simply because the church of Barbatos has the power to influence law, does not mean we levy that power. Mondstadt is a democracy. The Bureaucracy only has influence when the people give them such power, and the same applies to the church. If you want the fatui to gain power in the city of freedom”, the sister pointed to the cathedral’s doors with a smirk, “then take it up with the people.”
It's impossible to reason with a large crowd and expect unanimous agreement in any situation, and considering the general hostility directed at the fatui, Viktor would be lucky to escape any “negotiation” unharmed.
“Wouldn’t you, as religious officials approved by the people, serve as good enough envoys for them?”
Barbara swayed sweetly, hand behind her back. “Not at all. I think we’re a very niche group, not representative of Mondstadt as a whole.”
“Better luck with the Knights of Favonius and the Acting Grandmaster. They're the ones who are supposed to deal with politics” The gray sister snarked.
Viktor scowled. He came in expecting whimsical officials with their heads in the clouds, an easy power grab. Though the nuns may pose a greater challenge than originally anticipated, by the name of the Tsaritsa, Viktor would not give up so easily.
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He made no progress.
While the other two diplomats managed to secure their position in Mondstadt for the long term, the church of Barbatos did not budge against corruption. Come on, Viktor thought desperately, at least one of you take a bribe or something!
The gray sister had seemed the most practical, and he may be able to entice her if he were to slip some classified information. That, however, would take a lot of tact, and information Viktor did not possess as a mere low-level diplomat. She was more likely to skewer him.
The church’s cooperation was his only assignment. With nothing else to do, he just hung around the pillar of the cathedral, nothing to do but watch the throes of people come and leave and come and leave-
Wow, the church was certainly popular, wasn’t it?
He really didn’t understand Mondstadt. Their archon hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years, and yet they would arrive in church every week? Literally what was the point? Their god won’t even listen or show himself to them.
The Tsaritsa and the Raiden Shogun reigned supreme over their nations. Jezevell and Rex Lapis rarely interacted with their people, but made a large impact nevertheless, with the former determining the laws of her nation and the latter swaying the economy. Kusanali and Murata mingled among the common man (a concept which Victor felt was too casual) but are widely revered nonetheless.
Barbatos was truly the weakest of all the gods. He felt smug at the thought.
The smugness did not last very long. The music kept playing, reminding him that he was stuck here. The orchestra may be decent, but the people simply glared at or ignored him, and the sermons were so, so boring.
“Stupid people and their stupid god, why do I have to be here…”
A random man gave him a glare of annoyed resignation.
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Three weeks. He had been loitering at the church for three weeks, and still, nothing happened. The people who came had gotten acclimated to barely tolerating his presence, and he would take offense to that if he was slightly more prideful.
Viktor noticed that people often brought their children into the building. Sneznaya was similar in this regard: children would be taught from birth about her greatness. In comparison, Mondstadt’s children were very disrespectful to the name of their god.
The children often found themselves bored, as they have heard the stories of the ameno archon repeatedly throughout their life and saw no need to examine the teachings in a deeper, over-analytic fashion that adults often do. Instead, they kicked their feet, picked at the seats, and generally failed to pay attention despite the griping of their parents. Viktor, equally bored of the preaching, would watch the mayhem that the little disease-ridden brats caused that drove their parents insane. One hyper little boy nearly made his mother cry through one glowing ball and a whole slew of co-conspirator kids. That day was particularly enjoyable.
Unfortunately, as entertaining as people-watching can be, it did not make for an interesting pastime when you were forced to do it for hours on end. He had long since stopped paying attention to the sisters, relegating their speeches to a background drone. They definitely will end up as some kind of subliminal messaging with how much the words bounce around inside his brain.
He resisted the urge to beat his head against the church’s grand pillars. For one, it would hurt (not important). The nuns would give him dirty looks again (annoying), and he would potentially scare the poor little girl away from her seat (utterly horrible, self-inflicted brain damage was not worth that). At least her father wasn’t there this time. The consistent side-eyeing did not benefit his mental state, but at least the children only called him names. Their lack of filter showed that they meant no true harm, only repetitions of what their parents whispered behind closed doors. Despite their innocence, it hurt anyway.
He tried to calm down with the relaxing, zen images of a desecrated church. Particularly of the nuns’ modest dark clothes dyes a bright garish color. Maybe orange?
One of the sisters seemed to recognize his impending emotional break and in serene fashion, proceeded to ignore him entirely.
Damnit, she would actually look very good in orange.
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Eventually, the children of parents who decide to stay at the church for hours on end (why, why would they do that?? Viktor would kill to leave) started to approach him. They seemed to recognize a fellow in their monotonous suffering, but in their curious minds, there was one very important distinction between them. This guy wasn’t a bored kid, he was an adult.
The mischievous group would have to see what he was like. The quickest way to determine the personality of an adult is, of course, emotional harassment. Plus, their parents said that the masked adult was a bad man. Therefore, what they chose to do couldn’t be deemed “rude” or “immoral”.
(Viktor would later claim that children are sadists. When asked, he refused to elaborate.)
Several hours later, Viktor stormed out of the cathedral. The frazzled man had been pelted with multiple objects, including but not limited to:
A religious book.
Two cans of Liyue chili peppers (EXTRA SPICY!)
Bunny plushie.
A small ruin guard toy, which beeped at an increasing frequency and sounded just a little too similar to a bomb for comfort.
The fatuus felt a twinge of regret at enjoying that one mother’s frustration. He had come to understand the true horror of balls.
A few kids with less-than-concerned parents followed him out of the cathedral, cheering and laughing at their success. Viktor keeled over with an oof as a small form hit him straight in the back of his legs, sending them both sprawling.
“We got him!”
Small hands caught his legs and two of the kids grabbed one arm each. He spent a moment mournfully asking Celestia what he had done to deserve this.
Sure, Viktor was perfectly capable of extracting himself from the children, but he would have to use quite a bit of force. He had no idea how much it would take to hurt a kid and really didn’t want to get arrested by the Knights of Favonius for whatever bogus reasons they could manufacture from this situation. Plus, he honestly did not wish to hurt the children. No matter how much of a menace they were.
“Alright,” he sighed. “You win.” It was the surefire way to finish a game, even one he wasn’t aware of playing.
They cheered, raising his hand in the air and shaking it like a hunter displaying a rabbit they caught.
His mask was quickly removed. The curious brats wanted to see exactly who they had bested, and no one was around for Viktor to care about breaking procedure. Well, even if someone did, it mostly just be incredibly embarrassing for him.
Yeah, he was grateful that Lyudmila and Mikhail weren’t around. They would never let him live this down.
“Hey bad man, you’re actually really pretty!” the girl said.
Viktor blinked.
“But we can make you so much prettier!” The children held markers out of nowhere. They uncapped them menacingly.
“Oh, ублюдок.”
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Those were permanent markers.
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No, no, this is fixable! He wore a mask after all, most of the terrible marker makeup would be covered up. The children went all out around his eyes, decorating the rim of each eye with flowers and snowflakes. The sight nearly made him coo, if not for the fact that the drawings were…really ugly.
After a few minutes of tweaking, he adjusted the mask to cover the under-eye shadow. His lips also sported some marker smears. I swear, that girl tried to color my tongue. The bright red marks could be interpreted multiple ways, none of them good. Walking into public looking like he had bitten someone was the last thing he wanted. He applied a thick coat of lipstick, which tasted like rotten sunsiettas. Euch.
Viktor gave himself a once-over in the bathroom mirror. Sure, perhaps the mask appeared a little crooked, but surely it wasn’t that bad. And plenty of people wore bright red lipstick. Nobody would dare to ask him about the visual faux-pass anyway.
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“Is that lipstick?”
Mikhail!
“You must be mistaken.”
The infuriating man gave him a grin. “My eyes aren’t deceiving me, so it must be you. I’ve never seen you wear it in my life.”
“Plenty of people enjoy the look. I could be one of them.”
“Y’know, I would believe that from literally anyone else. Where’s the guy who complained day in and out about how makeup is a waste of time?”
“Well, maybe I just wished to taste it!” Viktor cried desperately. He planned exactly zero excuses, unbecoming behavior for a political ambassador
He felt a growing sense of dread emerge when Mikhail’s face fell.
His fellow diplomat gently patted him on the shoulder. Viktor started to feel nervous. What, exactly, did he say?
“Look, my friend, it may be difficult in our current situation, but…” He cleared his throat. “You’re a decent person, you’ll find a nice girl or-” he coughed again. “I mean, someone will date you. Eventually. So there’s no need to resort to this.”
The man then quickly speed-walked away from the awkward situation, obviously not wanting to discuss this at six in the morning.
“Wait wait, this is a misunderstanding-”
Unfortunately for him, Mikhail was long gone.
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Once twilight came, Viktor was technically off-duty. He took any chance he could to leave the mind-numbing boredom that came with squatting in a religious building where no one liked him.
Mondstadt’s most redeeming feature was its alcohol, or so he heard. He first tried the Cat’s Tail, since Lyudmila told him the bartender had cat ears and he just knew she was messing with him. Right?
He quickly learned that Lyudmila did not lie and that he apparently had cat allergies.
Viktor admitted that shoving his face into a cat’s fuzzy belly may not have been the best thing to do, but in his defense, he had no clue about his allergy. Cats were not a common creature in the cold north. Plus, the small creatures wandering in the bar all flocked to him, which was very cute.
He sniffled.
Or maybe not. Those cats could have sensed his allergy somehow and chose to quietly assassinate him. Maybe they worked as undercover agents for the Knights of Favonius.
He sneezed, making his inflamed throat flare up in pain. He still needed to go to the church, as per regulation.
The next few days are going to suck.
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The morning after was even worse, a feeling that Viktor had only before associated with getting utterly plastered. A hangover usually caused a massive headache, but not only did he have that, but also a very stuffy throat and horrid cough via his allergies.
He stumbled into the church, taking his usual place next to the pillar. A few attendees gave him vaguely concerned glances, which he barely noticed in his misery. The fatuus slumped against the beam and tried his best not to cough throughout service, an effort that failed terribly.
He tried his best to pay attention to his surroundings, but inevitably, everything started to blur. He did not get much sleep due to his poor breathing, and the resulting headache made staying alert a hundred times harder.
Surely it wouldn’t be so bad to just…sit down, for a few minutes?
Before he even realized it, he was lying slumped on the floor. It radiated coolness on his face, a welcome relief from his feverish state. Wait, why could he feel the temperature of the floor?
Oh, he thought, I forgot my mask. Well if that wasn’t just a cherry on top. He had ended up losing it multiple times now. Hopefully, no one reports him.
He phased out for a moment, and the next thing he saw was the figure of the deaconess and a few regulars hovering over him. How utterly humiliating. He wished they would all just leave him alone. Was it not enough to suffer away from prying eyes?
Someone tossed his arm over their shoulder and through the rooms. Viktor was too out of it to struggle much but he vaguely wondered if they would put him into a coffin. It would be one less problem for Mondstadt, and he would have done the same in their position. Instead of the rough texture of dirt, a cool sensation flowed over him, like the smooth ripples of water. He opened his eyes to see Barabara herself kneeling over him, healing magic encircling him. The blurred backdrop of the cathedral’s basement came into view as the nausea and pain faded away.
“Why..?” His voice cracked.
“It would be quite cruel if we ignored a man collapsing in front of us” The gray sister responded. Viktor swore that she wasn’t present in the church beforehand, and the last they had spoken had been his first appearance. She had been a little more hostile then. Why the change of heart?
Then again, he wasn’t really upset with them either, even though they saw him in a vulnerable state. Without the mask, there was no darkness surrounding his vision. The artificial sense of distance created by the covering, what marked him as indistinguishable from any other fatui, no longer existed. Everyone seemed a little more there. He felt a bit exposed without it, but strangely, more relaxed.
Perhaps it was the same for the sisters. Or maybe they just pitied him because he looked like shit. Who knows?
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The little girl from before tugged on his coat. “Hey Mr. Bad Man, come play with us today.”
He would take any chance to get out of the room. This can technically be called “gathering intel on the residents of the city”, right?
“Only if there are no markers.”
“We won’t draw on you again, I promise!”
Well, it’s not like he had anything better to do.
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“Don’t worry Timmie, we’ll save you!”
The pigeon-loving boy hid behind Viktor, the prince waiting to be rescued. He made dramatic-sounding noises to accompany Michael’s heroic speech, making the little act into something truly dramatic.
“We’ll kill the evil dragon and bring…uh…great things to our kingdom!”
“Rawr.” The fatuus deadpanned. Though he wouldn’t admit it, he was quite invested too.
“Lily!”
“Got it!” The girl from the church responded. “Potions of Weakness!” Viktor deftly dogged multiple water balloons flying his way.
He caught the boy hurtling at him, stumbling back but successfully righting himself. “I’ve caught you.” The boy screeched and struggled but he wasn’t able to escape.
“Don’t worry Knight, I’ll avenge you!” Viktor loosened his hold in surprise as the girl ran at him with the balloons’ container, set on vengeance. Michael squirmed out of his hold just in time for Victor to get doused by a blue plastic bucket full of water.
“Yes!” the pretend mage hollered. “The dragon is defeated cause he can’t breathe fire anymore!”
Defeated? He wouldn’t go down so easily!
“Oh no, I’m soaked.” He smirked. “But too bad, I’m an earth dragon. Water does nothing!” He swiped the bucket and dropped it over her head. “Rock attack!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Dragons don’t play fair, little mage.”
The bucket smacked him in the nose.
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He ended up becoming an Angel’s Share regular.
The fatuus was sober for a while after the cat incident. Eventually, he chose to find another bar. No way was he going to squat in a city without at least enjoying the best part of it.
He slipped into the bar and ordered some Death After Noon. Within minutes, Viktor had his drink in hand and a curtly delivered bill.
He sipped his drink slowly, intent on savoring its taste.
For some reason, the bartender (profile: Diluc Ragnavir, wine tycoon) kept glaring at him. He could feel the staring burning into his back but resolved not to let that bother him. People stared at him often. He most likely just hated fatui, but not enough to turn away business. If that was the case, Viktor would spitefully come back for more.
He ignored the killing intent with grace.
The wine lived up to its popularity. Coffees and teas complemented the alcoholic beverages, which pleasantly burned as they went down and left a warm sensation in his chest. The drinks were mild compared to Sneznayan firewater, but also easier to consume. Firewater served its purpose of keeping one going in the snow. The Angel’s Share varieties existed for indulgence.
After plenty of shots, a pretty man with eyes like stars came to flirt with him. (profile: can’t tell, everything is spinning, hehehe) They struck up a friendly conversation, and with the aid of drinks, Viktor felt on top of the world.
He woke up to an empty table and a rather substantial check. The pretty man had left somewhere down the line.
He failed to recall what he said to his table partner. It shouldn’t matter.
…Did the bartender call him pathetic?
The fautuus may have misremembered.
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“Hey, Mr. Dragon!”
He didn’t resist being dragged out of the cathedral.
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During nighttime, the city settles down. Few people wandered around the streets. Viktor was on his way back to his rented room when he saw something on the Barbatos figure in the overseeing the city.
A child?
The figure atop the statue fluttered out of view. Viktor had seen people hang around the statue, even climb it, but no one ever went above the statue’s leg height.
Does Mondstadt allow just anyone to stupidly risk their life? Falling from the top of the statue would be fatal for most people. Then again, wasn't their spark knight mascot like five years old?
This place is out of control, He groused. No one was around to see the kid, no one to help if they fall.
“Hey kid!” he called “What are you doing up there? It’s dangerous!”
“I’d rather not” the kid yelled back. “Why are you here?”
Viktor didn’t understand why the kid sounded so suspicious. He wasn’t wearing his mask nor his normal outfit, and his features were mostly hidden by the night. Perhaps the child was wary of strangers trying to follow him, in which case, fair enough. Viktor didn’t have any bad intentions though, so he persisted.
“Get off the statue, you’re going to fall,” he said.
“I won’t fall, there’s no need to freak out.”
No need to freak out, his ass. He wasn’t leaving a kid on a sixty-something-foot statue if he had to haul the boy off himself. Viktor shimmied up Barbatos’ stone robes, crawling up the stone and cursing the statue for being so worn and smooth.
Having seen enough of his struggling, the boy pulled him up the final bit.
Viktor could see him in closer detail, noting the lyre and bard’s dress. Although his cheeks were still round and childish, he was older than he had previously thought. A green cloak hung from his shoulders and an anemo vision glowed at his hip.
Oh.
“Thanks, but I’m actually perfectly fine. “Did you come all the way up here because you were worried?”
“You could have just shown me the vision. I would have left you alone.” Viktor grumbled. He looked over the hands of Barbatos, stifling a groan. He woud have to climb back to the ground, a task more difficult than getting up.
The bard watched him, unreadable.
The fatuus was attempting to look around the statue for an easy path, but the boy interrupted his thoughts.
“Have you ever used a glider?”
A glider? His home had no such things. “I haven’t, why?”
“Would you like to?”
“Absolutely not!” He had exactly zero experience with a glider. They were just thin sheets of fabric, the icy wind would tear them to shreds. Viktor did not trust them to stop his fall.
“Hmmm…” The bard put one hand on his chin “I know what to do!” He gripped Viktor’s wrists, and the man instinctually did the same.
“Are you holding on tight?”
What? “What?”
“Brace yourself!”
Anemo energy gathered around their feet, and the bard leaped up, propelled by the wind. Viktor was worried that the boy would drop him, but he held on tight, green cloak flaring around him like a pair of wings. The fatuus gasped at the sight.
They were now farther above the ground than before, higher up that the tips of the church. The buildings of the city sprawled before him, the houses like toys from the distance. Over the walls, sprawling lakes and hills lay, bathed in the soft moonlight.
Viktor knew that anemo created gusts of wind. He also knew it let anemo users gently drift off cliffs and high places.
He wasn’t aware that anemo users could fly.
Viktor laughed.
That’s what the bard was doing. Flying. His cloak lengthened around them, cloth pulled tight by the air pressure like the folds on a dragon’s wings. Soaring so high in the sky, they must have been closer to Celestia than anyone in the world.
The boy tilted downwards. Circling the city as he descended. Both of them touched the ground, Victor doubling over, hands on his needs as he caught his breath. Once he was composed enough, he turned to address the strange bard.
The boy had disappeared before Viktor could thank him. He peered around the buildings, finding no sign of where he could have gone.
He looked up to the sky, wondering.
“No, surely not…”
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The bartender Diluc suddenly acted nicer towards him. He had no idea what prompted this, which freaked him out.
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No one glared at him in the church anymore. Sometimes the sisters would share their lunch with him if he helped around with cleaning.
The other bar regulars pulled them into their drinking games. It felt vaguely like hazing, but the hazing was directed at everyone. He joined the teasing enthusiastically. One of them even paid him for babysitting, which was not originally his intention but he'll gladly take the money.
The little kids were so precious. If anything happened to them, Viktor would kill everyone in Mondstadt and then himself.
Slowly, the rhythm of days passing became natural. The fatuus even started to find contentment in his routine.
(A letter sat innocuously at his doorstep.)
And the pretty illusion shattered.
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Viktor was a diplomat of Snezhnaya, an empire of ice.
When he was younger, he saw the beautiful technology that their nation held. The power of humanity, which had carved civilization from endless glaciers, larger and stronger than all the lands around them. He beheld his nation, and felt pride.
Praise be to Snezhnaya, the land of our Tsaritsa.
We reign supreme over the Seven,
Bearers of Tevyat, in celestial heavens,
Though the sky breaks and the stars fall,
We alone remain,
The last glory of the Golden Age.
Soldiers traveled to meet a teal-haired harbinger, the mad Dottore, enticed with promises of power.
Those who came out of his lab came back different, wrong. They spoke in short sentences and grunts, endlessly repeating the glory of Snezhnaya and their loyalty to the Tsaritsa.
For our precious Tsaritsa-
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“Are you leaving?”
Viktor didn’t anticipate actually saying goodbye. His mouth was weirdly dry as he stuttered out a yes.
“Ah.”
For a second, the girl hesitated, before giving him a quick hug. Unsure of what to do, he gently hugged her back.
“You aren’t such a bad guy, even if people think so. They’re all stupid, okay? We are a quadret. No story is complete without its dragon, so don’t go.”
“It’s quartet, little mage. And don’t worry about me.”
She scrunched up her face, near tears. He tried to give her a consoling smile, but it was covered by his mask.
“Goodbye.”
He didn’t need to look back to know that she was crying.
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The statue filled the whole plaza, towering above it in its magnificence. To be honest, the large and imposing visage seemed contrary to the flighty values that the Anemo archon preached. But perhaps, that is freedom. To let your people do fuck-all that they want. In Snezhnaya, the Tsaritsa also had a statue, carved from white marble. The statue was visited often, if not out of love and worship, then fear and desperate, aching hope to survive. When they reached out to touch the cold marble, the guards would push them away, scowling at the fallen citizens as the stone eyes of the clean, untouched statue looked down upon them.
In Mondstadt, the children would play on the statue, climbing the weathered rock in foolhardy attempts to reach the sky. The stark difference between the two gouged a hole in Viktor’s chest. It was important in a way that he could not articulate, but felt deeply, painfully.
He breathed heavily, all alone before the front of the church.
Blasphemy, to yearn for the love of a foreign god.
He grabbed his suitcase and fled.