Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He exhales, and his breath condenses in the air around him. It floats around his head, for a singular moment, the mist swirling around his lips and brushing over his face like dragon breath, before he inhales again and takes another step forward.

The incline of the mountain is harsh. Relentless. It’s near vertical in places, and he’s left staggering up the gentlest slope he can find, fingers digging into the stone until he can't feel them at all. His gloves are long gone, tossed aside when they became too soaked with snow to properly grip at anything. He finds himself pausing more and more, the snow slowly piling up thicker and thicker around his legs, until he’s hardly moving at all.

The glorified bauble on his belt feels heavier than it truly is, bumping against his hip with each slow step he takes forward, shoving his way through the snow. It’s a foreign weight, and not one that he enjoys. Not for the first time, he contemplates ripping it from where it hangs and hurling it as far away from him as possible, just so he doesn't have to look at it any longer.

His hands shake, trembling with something that isn't cold. It’s something closer to fear, but he’s not far enough out of his own head to admit that to himself. He’s not sure why his hands are shaking, but they are, and the fists he’s balled them into in an attempt to stop it only succeed in leaving crescent indents on his palms.

His face burns, and this, at least, is something he can explain. Something he can ignore, even as the heat flares across his cheek, burning brighter for a moment before settling down again. The heat flashes again, across his cheek, across his eye, and he almost convinces himself that he can smell his own flesh cooking in the air around him. He can't. Not anymore, at least.

He sighs, and gives up on his uphill battle, slumping down in the snow and allowing the chill to settle into his bones. It shifts around him, and he wiggles further in until he’s created a small, only slightly comfortable, divot in the snow for himself.

The cold is very rarely a comfort he allows himself to indulge in, and his excuses for climbing Dragonspine have grown sparser and sparser, until he couldn't justify any reason for his excursions to the top of the mountain anymore. He can't even remember the last time he ventured up these slopes, rather than just contenting himself with the icy winds that blow around the base of the mountain.

His eye continues to burn, and he closes it against the swirling flurries of snow that whip past his face and sting at his cheeks. It blurs his vision, worse than it normally does, so he squints his eyes against it and hopes that the cold will at least soothe the burning in his face.

His hands continue to shake, and when he chooses to look the bluish colour is already crawling over his knuckles. If he were anyone else, he would likely jump in shock at this, or perhaps even horror, but he had half-expected it when the snow stopped feeling like an enemy, and instead like a blanket swaddled around his shoulders.

So, he doesn't jump in shock, or horror, content to sit and watch the slow progress of blackening skin crawl further up his hand. He watches as the usual colour of his skin fades into the blue-black, clambering just past his wrist before he laces his fingers together and braces his head against them. It almost looks like his head is bowed in prayer, and he curls his lip at that, unlacing his hands to bury them in his hair, to find something to do with his hands that isn't just stare at them.

His hair has long come loose from where he tied it back, and it flutters around his face with the wind. It’s slightly wet, and sticks to his cheeks. He doesn't bother to brush it off, knowing it’ll just reattach itself to his face in some way or another.

He drops his head lower and glares at the vision hanging off his hip. It shimmers, even half-buried in the snow as it is, and glows bright. It feels mocking, twinkling happily at his side like some cosmic joke everyone but him is privy to.

He runs his hands down his face, dragging at his eyes slightly, when he feels the ice crystals embedded in his cheeks. He swears, quietly and under his breath despite no one being around to hear him, and presses harder on them, willing them to melt back into his skin and disappear back to where everything hidden goes.

His hands shake as he lowers them from his face, the crystals of ice remaining merrily buried in his cheeks, despite his best efforts. He knew it wouldn't work, he’s far too exhausted for anything to work how he wants it to right now, but he tried anyway. He attempts, one last time, to will the ice crystals to melt back into his skin, but they remain, still; he’s certain, if he could see himself, that they would be glowing faintly, shimmering despite the darkness of the blizzard howling around him.

He’s not entirely sure of his goal at the end of this. The only thought in his mind had been to leave , to escape and find somewhere cold to retreat to and lick his wounds. His only thought had been to seek the cold comfort of the snow here, in the hopes that it would drown out the burning of his skin, of his face, of his eye.

He blinks, and the afterimage of flames spreads across the back of his eyelids once more, searingly bright, until he snaps his eyes open again. He almost convinces himself that he sees flames in the distance, before shaking the thought away.

He runs a hand through his hair once more, relieved to find the shaking has stopped, even as his hands catch on something that certainly wasn't there moments before. He brushes over it, already well-aware of what his hands had caught on, and pushing it aside in favour of breathing and absorbing the cold.

He should move. He could move.

He doesn't. He remains in place, allowing more and more snow to bury him as he tips his head back and sinks into it, rather like one would sink into a hot bath after a long day. The only thing that would make this moment better right now would be a drink. Or maybe not being in pain.

Something shifts, a short distance above him, and he pauses, eyes still half-closed. He listens as the shifting sound cascades closer, the sound of snow being waded through by the untrained. He remains still, hoping that his snow cover is enough to camouflage him, and for this new presence to bypass him completely.

Today is really not his lucky day, apparently.

Something grabs him by his collar, heaving him from where he’s lying comfortably in a burst of snow. He swears, swinging for the person's arm, scrabbling at the fabric covering it uselessly. He grabs again, and manages to secure a hold, digging in without truly thinking about it.

The person yells, and drops him, leaving his claws - when had they had time to develop into claws? - dripping with blood and staining the previously pristine snow. He looks at the slowly darkening patch on the ground, then back to the person in front of him. He looks to the snow, then back to the person again.

They let out a snarl, and lunge for him. He shifts to the side, gliding through, over, the snow easily, watching as they stumble and grind to a halt. “You're going to regret that, brat .” They snarl, and their voice sounds odd, distorted, but still distinctly human.

He laughs in response, and he would later blame it on blood loss, but in the moment he finds it the most hilarious thing anyone’s ever said to him. His laughter seems to only enrage the idiot even further, as they lunge for him again.

He’s not sure whether they’re meant to be some kind of fighter, but judging on the way they're dressed they are , with a weapon slung over their back that they're forgoing using in favour of lunging at him like a wild animal.

He laughs, and blinks out of existence, reappearing behind the idiot as he summons his sword. He drives it into their chest, shoving harder at the resistance, before it slides through easily. He drives it in deeper with some kind of sick satisfaction, before pulling it back.

He yanks it free, twirling the blade away from his opponent, watching as he stumbles, fumbling for a foothold, before going down. Hard . His landing disturbs some of the snow, and it floods towards him.

He blinks further up the mountain, watching as the idiot rolls with the momentum, but otherwise doesn't move. He assumes he’s dead; no one alive would lie in such an uncomfortable position, of that he’s certain.

He startles as someone claps behind him, and curses himself for not noticing their arrival sooner, spinning on his heel. Or, spinning on his heel as much as you can when hovering an inch or so off the ground.

The man doesn't clap a second time, seemingly observing the fallen man further down the slope. It gives him a moment to catalogue the other’s appearance. The mask that covers most of his face, the sharp point hanging over his nose giving him the appearance of some kind of bird, one that’s not at all helped by the feather ruff bristling around his neck.

He can pinpoint the exact moment the man turns to look at him, though the only physical indicator he gives is a slight tilt of his head to the side. The more obvious sign that he’s being watched is instead the feeling of being pinned down, beneath that unseen gaze, and observed .

The man then tilts his head until it’s almost at a full right-angle, and the intimidating effect from before disappears. Instead, he looks like one of the pigeons that he’ll occasionally toss a few crumbs to when he walks over the bridge, scattering the flock.

“You're certainly an interesting one,” the man says, and his head remains tilted at that unnatural angle. “And not at all what I was expecting to find when I ventured up this mountain.”

His boots sink back into the snow, and he feels solid ground underneath him once more as he adjusts his balance. “And what, exactly, were you expecting to find?” He asks in return. He doesn't look like anyone he’s ever met before, but he feels almost familiar, as though he should know him. The man’s blue hair, much lighter than his own, makes him all the more distinct, though he can't seem to place his finger on where he’s heard of this person before.

“A few frostarm lawachurls, some previously undiscovered artefacts, a gateway to Celestia, you know, the usual.” The man shrugs, and it’s too practised, too perfect, for it to be at all believable.

“The usual?” He asks, before dismissing his own question with a wave, “Why, it sounds like there are several far more interesting things crawling over this mountain than me, wouldn't you say…” He trails off, leaving it open for the other to offer a name. He doesn't.

“I do believe you're wrong there,” the man tilts his head completely in the other direction, which is not at all helping the bird impression he’s getting from him, but the smile he sends his way is distinctly more threatening. “But perhaps teleporting around the battlefield is simply something every Mondstadtian can do, if that truly is the case, I might have to invite you back to my camp for a few…questions.”

“I’m good, really.” He takes a step back, hands raised in surrender.

“Well, I'm not.”

Before he can even consider blinking away, the man is upon him, gripping at his forearms with ease. The grip prevents him from lifting his sword, and the man grins, and up close he can see how sharp his teeth truly are, curling up from beneath his mask.

He leans back and kicks the man square in the stomach, dropping him to the ground. He blinks, and he’s behind the man, sword raised above his head as he prepares to plunge it through this man’s spine.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” The man sounds far too cheerful for being a couple of steps away from death’s door, and it’s enough to make him falter, his grip loosening slightly. Apparently, this moment of hesitation is all the man needs, as he rolls out from beneath his sword and stands, brushing the snow from his coat. “Now,” he says, and he can't help but get the feeling that he's being spoken to like some unruly child, “Was that entirely necessary?”

“Yes.” He grits out, tightening his grip on his sword again.

“I do not wish to harm you.” The man says, hands raised in a placating gesture that seems entirely false.

“Maybe you should've started with that one.”

“Perhaps.” The man nods, smiling. He seems to find him amusing, if nothing else, which means it’s growing more and more unlikely that he’s going to attempt to kill him. “Now, I just have one question for you and then we can each be on our merry way.” He smiles again, far too excited about whatever question it is he wants to ask.

He has to resist the urge to lean backwards, despite the man not having leaned forwards during their encounter.

“Ask away.” He forces himself to relax, “I'm an open book.”

The man hums, “Then, if I may ask, what is an abyss mage doing so far from home? Disguised as a human, no less?”

“That was two questions.”

“Ah, indeed it was.” The man laughs, “Indulge me a little?”

He crosses his arms, studying the man carefully. He doesn't seem to have any idea of who he truly is, nor his relation to Mondstadt, just that he hails from there, even if not originally. What’s even more interesting is that he appears to have made the connection between his abilities, from merely teleporting, to where he’s truly from.

He expects to feel his walls slamming up, anxiety rearing its ugly head and demanding he make himself scarce incredibly quickly. Instead, all he feels is a faint curiosity, something begging him to find out more.

“Perhaps I will.” He grins, “But only if you answer a question of my own first.”

“Who would I be to deny curiosity?” The man seems genuinely excited at the prospect that some of his questions may be answered, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Your name.”

“Il Dottore,” the man sticks his hand out, as though they are only just meeting for the first time. “But The Doctor works too.” His familiarity makes sense then, his name awakening a memory he didn't even realise he had, of the meetings held in response to the slowly growing threat that was Snezhnaya.

“Doctor,” he responds, rolling the name around his mouth as a test. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And you?” The Doctor says, “Seeing as I've introduced myself.”

“Kaeya,” he says. “You can call me Kaeya.”

Chapter Text

“Doctor.” He ignores the other. 

“Doctor.” It’s slightly louder this time, slightly closer.

“ Dottore .” His name is accompanied by a hand clasping his shoulder, spinning him to face the other.

“Pantalone!” He says, “Why, I didn't even see you there!”

“I'm going to spare your pride for the fact that we have more important things to be talking about.”

“Such as?” He rocks back on his heels, annoyed when Pantalone’s hand simply digs in deeper, thumb pressing into the juncture of skin between his shoulder and neck. He shrugs the hand off.

“Such as the fact that you can't bring the first weird child you find back here.” Pantalone's voice pitches, likely with stress. He really needs to start taking more time off, it’d be good for him.

“Why not?” He asks, “And he’s not a child, he actually assured me of that fact several times on the way over.”

“And not once did you stop to consider the fact that maybe, just maybe, bringing a weird person to the Palace without Her Majesty’s permission would be, for lack of a better word, idiotic?”

“Of course I did,” he laughs, if only to watch Pantalone grimace. “He’s been blessed by Her Majesty himself, the vision’s hanging off his hip, clear as day. If that’s not blanket permission then I don't know what is.”

“Dottore,” Pantalone cuts himself off with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and pushing his glasses slightly further up his head. It is at this moment that he knows he’s won. “Fine, whatever, just don't kill him and everything will be fine.”

“Why would I kill him?” Pantalone, who had previously been very interested in escaping this conversation, pauses. “He’s plenty interesting, and shows a real knack for charming his way through things. He’s a promising fighter too, perhaps even on the same level as our newest lieutenant.” He draws the last word out, if only to watch Pantalone’s eyes widen.

He blinks, and his eyes return to their normal size, cold and calculating behind his glasses. “I hope you know what you're doing.” Is all he says, sweeping away rather dramatically, his dramatic cloak flapping on an invisible breeze.

“I always do!” He calls after him. Pantalone ignores him, and he turns away, muttering under his breath. “Dramatic.”

The Doctor’s office is less of an office and more of a lab. A very large, very messy lab, with several Fatui scrambling around the place and giving him a wide berth. He catches a few of them giving him worried side-glances, and, when he catches their eyes, he makes sure to grin at them with all his teeth.

It sends them scrambling even more every time, and he can't help but feel amused at their incredibly obvious fear.

Still, it’s odd to be so far from the place he had considered home for so long. He had almost been able to sense when they passed into Snezhnayan waters with the chill that ran down his spine, and the burst of energy that followed it.

As such, a completely normal, completely human version of himself is currently lounging in what is probably The Doctor’s chair. He decided that kicking his feet up onto the desk was probably a little too far. And the fact that he can't actually identify half of the substances scattered over The Doctor’s desk makes him more than a little wary to actually go through with it. So, sprawling in the chair will have to be enough.

The Doctor had been oddly helpful, throwing him the odd fragment of information on their journey over, occasionally indulging him in more than two questions in a row, when his mood suited it. Still, he found himself waved away more than once, the man buried behind stacks of paperwork that he certainly doesn't envy.

He’d learned few things on his trip over, and even fewer were actually items of value rather than small tidbits of information The Doctor thought were interesting. He’d learned far more about Sumerian cuisine than he had ever wished to know. He’s not exactly sure what he’s going to do with the information currently knocking about his brain, the few useful pieces of information scattered among them.

Still, he knows he’s of enough interest to bring back to the Palace. He knows he’s of enough interest that The Doctor didn't decide to just kill him, peel his skin back, and find everything out for himself. He knows that Khaenri’ah and Snezhnaya have several common points of interest, the most significant of these being their plots against Celestia.

It’s no secret among the people of Teyvat that the Tsaritsa does not look upon those within Celestia with kindness. Talks have been stirring on borders, and the Knights of Favonius had been on high-alert, keeping several tabs on the current Fatui diplomats in Mondstadt. It had been tiring and always accompanied by reports and paperwork, both of which were something he would rather avoid.

Still, there had been nothing concrete apart from rumours and gossip on patrols. Now, however, he is privy to far more information. Likely far more information than he should truly be allowed access to. But The Doctor is loose with his words when he chooses to be, and he truly is a good listener when he puts his mind to it.

He looks up as someone clears their throat, finding The Doctor standing in front of his desk, arms folded across his chest, and staring at him.

“Doctor.” He greets, “I assume your meeting has gone well?”

“As well as it can with the Regrator.” He can hear someone tapping their foot, and it can't be any of the Fatui scattered around the room. They had all frozen in place as soon as The Doctor walked in, as though standing still would make them invisible. Still, he can see them watching from the corners of their eyes as they wait for The Doctor’s reaction to the new person in their midst.

“Ah.” He nods sagely, despite never meeting the Regrator, and therefore not knowing what the other is truly like. Still, he’s heard a few muttered complaints in relation to funding while The Doctor works through paperwork, so he assumes he’s a difficult person to work with, at the very least.

The Doctor sighs, turning sharply on his heel and watching as everyone startles into action, attempting to pretend they were actually working, really, and definitely not eavesdropping on their conversation to see if this weird guy is about to get murdered.

He leans to the side, arm braced against one arm of the chair, just to grin at one of the lab workers. The woman glares back at him.

“Out!” The Doctor commands, apparently tiring of the scurrying assistants. They all freeze, once again, turning to stare at The Doctor as though he’s just grown several more heads. He leans a little further out of his seat to see more of them, cursing The Doctor internally for choosing to stand right in his line of sight and ruin any potential fun he might have.

He grins at the woman again, just to watch her glare turn poisonous.

“But, Sir,” one of the assistants attempts, raising a hand, as though he’s waiting to be called upon in school. He gets the idea that you don't talk back to The Doctor from the several wide-eyed stares thrown his way.

He leans a little further out of the seat, arm slipping and sending him fumbling for another handhold as he attempts to regain some of his composure and pretend he didn't just do that in front of several watching people.

The woman is the one that grins at him this time.

“Whatever you have to say, I don't care.” The Doctor gestures towards the door. “I don't want to ask a second time.”

The assistants apparently take this as permission to bolt, some of them literally dropping whatever they were holding onto the nearest surface before making a bee-line for the door. He watches them go, settling himself more comfortably in The Doctor’s chair.

“You sounded like an exasperated parent just then.” He says, if only to watch The Doctor sigh dramatically, shoulders slumping far more than they logically should.

“I feel like it sometimes.” He complains, “They constantly want my input on their projects as though they aren't some of the brightest minds of their generation. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them asked me to hold their hand as they mixed two substances together next.”

“I’d pay good money to see that.” He laughs, and The Doctor turns to face him. Despite his mask, he can tell he’s glaring, just from the anger radiating off the other.

“You're a real pest,” he says, beginning to walk away, “I hope you know that.”

“I try my best!” He calls after him, watching as he disappears into the depths of his lab, coat sweeping behind him. The dangling adornments of his outfit are definitely a safety hazard, and he thinks Albedo would have a stroke if he saw them. He laughs at the mental image.

“Killing you is still on the table.” The Doctor replies when he emerges from the shadows, arms full of blueprints, and various pieces of equipment. He sweeps the desk clean with very little care for whatever project was being undertaken there before.

“It was going to fail anyway,” The Doctor says, at his confused look, cleaning it up would have been a waste of resources.

“Why not stop the experiment if it was going to fail?” He asks, deciding to blink, appearing beside The Doctor.

“Sometimes people need their eyebrows singed off if they're ever going to learn.” The Doctor rolls his blueprints out, and he immediately zeroes in on the largest one, with all the components neatly fitted together into one item.

“These are oddly put-together, Doctor.” He says, when the silence lingers for a little too long. He doesn't look away, though, continuing to study the core blueprint. He frowns, reading over the last few lines again, then again to make sure he’s reading it right.

“Doctor,” he says, and The Doctor hums, “Why, exactly, have you included powdered ley line branches in the core?”

“It’s what mages pull their power from, correct?”

“Have you ever actually seen an intact mage staff?” He asks, already knowing the answer before The Doctor gives it.

“No,” he sounds faintly annoyed about it, “No one has. They dissipate alongside the mage’s body.”

“And yet you get ley line branches from fighting with abyss mages, any idea where those come from? Because I’ll tell you now, you're not going to get a fully formed ley line branch from powdered ley line branches .”

“Alright, brat,” The Doctor shoves at his face, “Stop boasting and show me how you make one.”

“Why should I?” He crosses his arms and leans a hip against the table. “That’d be giving away the trade secrets, and I'm not sure if my buddies back home would agree with that.” He immediately regrets referring to Khaenri’ah as home, a sick feeling rising in his throat at the thought of having to return there.

“Oh,” The Doctor leans back from the table, “Silly me, thinking I was doing you a favour by making you a weapon, but I’ll leave you with your shoddy sword, if that’s what you want.”

“This is a catalyst.” He says, pointing at the incredibly obvious title of the main blueprint. “This very clearly states that it is a ‘Staff Catalyst’ and I am a sword wielder.”

The Doctor snorts at that and gives him an incredibly judgemental up and down. “You expect me to believe that, not only, is there an abyss mage willing to use a sword, but that someone with sticks for arms is a sword user? I’d sooner believe that the Tsaritsa wielded pyro.”

“Ouch.” He rubs a hand over his shoulder self-consciously. “I wouldn't say you're doing much better in the arm department, Doctor.”

“At least I'm self aware.” The man turns away from him, scratching out a few items on his blueprints with precise lines. “Now, tell me, what’s in the core?”

“Crystalfly cores.” He responds easily, “And some of the powder from the crystalfly’s wings, in accordance with the element.”

“You don't do things by halves.” The Doctor mutters, but manages to procure both items within five minutes of digging through his cupboards, setting them down a little more harshly than necessary.

“Do I also need to tell you that the actual staff is made from ley line sprouts?” He asks, “Or do you want me to hold your hand while you mix the substances together?”

The Doctor flicks him in the forehead.

He’s delegated to holding materials, standing to the side and watching as The Doctor works his magic, fitting the items together neatly, and creating one of the brightest cores he’s ever seen. Maybe the crystalflies are more potent when retrieved directly from the source, rather than using those that manage to meander their way down into the Abyss. Logically, it makes sense.

“Core.” The Doctor holds his hand out, and he has to suppress a sigh, handing the required material, pressing it into The Doctor’s gloved hand. He had long grown bored of just standing here, handing things to him like some lowly lab assistant. He might actually kill The Doctor if all he brought him to Snezhnaya for was to act as some over-glorified lab assistant. He’d throttle him in his sleep, or something.

The Doctor doesn't say thank you, but he does work with surprising efficiency. It had been interesting at first, to watch how the staff came into being beneath his hands, but it’s hardly a split-second transformation. Instead, he’s stood staring down at a complete staff with aching feet and tired eyes.

The Doctor hardly seems affected, taking another sip of his mystery juice, from a flask he had produced from the depths of his coat. Maybe he needs to look into getting some mystery juice of his own, if it would stop him from yawning every other second.

“It looks finished,” he murmurs to himself, tilting his head one way, then the other. It looks far more amusing than it should, and he has to stifle a laugh, turning it into another yawn as The Doctor turns in his direction. “Are you tired?”

“Only slightly,” he waves the other off. “How’s the staff looking?” He yawns again, halfway through his words. His spine cracks when he straightens up.

“The staff is looking far more awake than you do right now.” The Doctor’s voice is dry with…is that humour? Amusement?

“Did you just make a joke?” He asks, tiredness forgotten.

“Yes.” The Doctor’s voice remains dry with what he’s pretty sure is amusement. “I'm not incapable of humour. You, however, look as though you're going to keel over where you stand, which would be a very disappointing end to our project.”

“We haven't even started your project yet.” He points out.

“Exactly!” The Doctor flicks his shoulder, and he flinches away, rubbing his hand over the spot he had flicked. His skin stings, hardly protected by the shirt he wears. “I’ll knock you out with chloroform if you don't go to sleep yourself.”

“You sound far too cheery talking about that.”

“Well, who knows how much chloroform it would take to knock you out, you're not exactly human. Tell me, how much alcohol do you have to drink before you start feeling tipsy?” He stops to think about the question, and before he knows it he’s being manhandled out the door of the lab, but in the opposite direction to where the assistants had escaped earlier.

“Uh, a lot?” The hallway is nicely decorated, dim lamps lining the hallway at regular intervals. He gets pushed past several doors, before The Doctor decides he’s found the right one, releasing his arm from the bruising grip he had it in and smiling encouragingly.

At least, he assumes the smile is supposed to be encouraging, because it looks far too menacing with all his sharp teeth and bird-like mask, accompanied with the flickering and dim lights of the hallway they're currently standing in.

“Sleep.” The Doctor kicks his ankle. “It’s good for you.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No,” he kicks his ankle again, and he hops out of range before he can do it again, closer to the door. Which was probably The Doctor’s goal in the first place.

“Then quit nagging, I'm fine. I don't need to sleep yet.”

“I don't care, I've already spoken to Pulcinella about you, and he’s very excited to match you up with our little lieutenant, and I'm going to be very upset if you embarrass me.” He still manages to kick him in the ankle, meaning he’s severely underestimated The Doctor’s range.

“Archons, fine,” he shoves the door open. “Leave me alone or I’ll throttle you in your sleep.”

“Good luck with that, brat.” The Doctor seems satisfied to have shown him to his room and begins to retreat further down the corridor.

“I’ll do it.” He responds, but The Doctor must not hear it, as he doesn't respond. Either that or he’s choosing not to respond to the very obviously empty threat. It feels empty, even to him, and he knows he could have killed The Doctor at any point while they were alone in the lab, with him hunched over a desk and his back turned. And yet he didn't.

Still, The Doctor is an interesting man, and his co-workers seem to be even more intriguing than him, shrouded in mystery as they are.

The prospect of a fight is enough to send him to bed, anyway, curiosity nagging at the edges of his mind as he wonders who their ‘little lieutenant’ might be.

Chapter Text

The Doctor shuffles beside him, stamping his feet and huffing into his hands. He seems to be cold, despite the numerous layers he’s currently wearing and the scarf he had haphazardly wrapped around his neck and really wouldn't do much if he was actually cold.

In comparison, he’s wearing far less than The Doctor, even with the new clothes that had been thrust upon him that morning. The clothes themselves are still a little stiff, obviously brand new and not at all worn in. Still, they have enough give to allow for movement, but the clinging of his shirt is more than a little unfamiliar. He does, however, find comfort in the ruff of fur on his coat, far thicker than the feather ruff on The Doctor’s. He’s simply left wondering at the efficiency of the tailor that made these clothes for him. And how much money they cost.

He’s left feeling slightly warm, wearing more clothes than he would ever even consider wearing in Mondstadt, and watching as a Fatui Lieutenant completely wrecks all of his recruits.

It’s almost pitiful how easily he disarms each of them, working his way across the icy battlefield in a whirl of swords and water. He moves with a practised grace, like some dance only he knows the steps to, and a dance which his recruits are desperately trying to learn.

He has to stifle a laugh as one of the recruits loses his sword on the ground, scrambling to pick it up again, only to be immediately met with a fistful of water. He settles for a grin, feeling more than hearing The Doctor laugh beside him.

The man on his other side, stood further away from him than The Doctor is, sighs and shakes his head. He looks exasperated, but also faintly amused, as the Lieutenant yells at his recruits to “stop pussying about!” and to “finally learn their fucking stances!”

His recruits refuse to step back on the battlefield.

He laughs then, a soft chuckle beneath his breath as he leans a little more weight on his new staff. The Lieutenant spins towards the sound, eyes narrowing as he focuses on him. “You!” He yells, pointing at him, as though it’s not obvious who he’s addressing.

“Me.” He responds, rocking back on his heels a little. He watches, faint amusement growing as the Lieutenant scowls, and marches over. He crosses the field in a few moments, and his recruits watch him go with wide eyes. He can't tell if they're thankful that his ire has been redirected, or if they feel pity for him , being the one that the Lieutenant’s ire is now focused on.

Probably more thankful. He hasn't seen much of the Fatui, but what he has seen has told him that each person, from a lowly recruit to an esteemed Harbinger, only has their own interests at heart.

“Were you laughing?” The Lieutenant asks, stopping a few paces from where he stands. He feels The Doctor watching him, the man on his other side watching with an equal amount of interest.

“Perhaps,” he tilts his head with a smile, “Why?”

The Lieutenant obviously didn't expect his response, as he stares at him for a few long seconds. There’s something off about his eyes. The way he stares seems a little darker, a little emptier, than some of the stares he’s received in the past.

“Don't you know it’s disrespectful to speak like that?” The Lieutenant settles on, apparently deciding to pull rank on him. “You might land yourself in some hot water if you continue chattering away like that.”

He smiles at the other, again, watching as his jaw clenches, hands balling into fists at his side. “My deepest and most sincere apologies, Lieutenant,” he responds, making sure to inject every last ounce of sarcasm he owns into those few words. “I wouldn't want to land in some…hot water with you.” It has the desired effect, though, he is a little shocked at the growl in the other’s throat.

Apparently this is not something to blink at, because The Doctor ignores it entirely, and the other man, whose name he really should know, probably, just rolls his eyes and mutters something he can't quite catch beneath his breath.

“Childe,” the other man decides to finally speak up (does his name begin with a P? He seems like a P kinda guy), and the Lieutenant’s gaze snaps to him. “This is the newest recruit I wanted you to meet, and, as much as I love watching your little back-and-forth,” the man gestures between the two of them, “It is cold and I have an important meeting later today. If I show up with frostbite you’ll be the one taking the fall for that.”

“You're being dramatic, Pulcinella.” He knew it began with a P. “The temperatures are barely below freezing at the moment, it’s practically tropical.” The Lieutenant, Childe, apparently, certainly dresses like it’s warmer than it actually is. His shirt is far too unbuttoned for any normal person to actually cope with the freezing temperatures.

“And yet we’re all still stood here, ankle-deep in snow, watching you argue with someone that laughed at you.” Pulcinella raises an eyebrow, looking up at the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant looks back at him, unimpressed, before waving a hand back at the recruits gathered and watching. This seems to be some sort of signal, because they all scatter. A few of them even start sprinting back towards the dorms, shoving at each other.

He watches one person slip and fall into a snowbank, the recruits that had shoved him hardly pausing before continuing to run forward.

In the end, it takes all of thirty seconds for the field to be entirely deserted, with the exception of him, The Doctor, Pulcinella, and the Lieutenant.

“So,” the Lieutenant’s looking at him again, far more appraisingly than before. He doesn't miss the way his eyes catch on his staff, eyes crinkling with amusement. “What’s so special about you then, for the Good Doctor to grace us with his presence?”

“He is a person of interest,” The Doctor says, clapping him on the shoulder. It would be a friendly gesture, on anyone else, but the Lieutenant takes a step back anyway, “And a person we believed would be, ah, beneficial to you.”

He is severely out of the loop with whatever The Doctor is talking about, but when he turns to look at Pulcinella, the other man is nodding too. His only comfort is that the Lieutenant looks just as confused as he does when he looks back. In that he’s not alone at least, but he hopes his confusion isn't stamped across his face in the same way as it is with the Lieutenant’s. If you took red ink and wrote ‘confused’ on his face it would be less obvious. Interesting.

“Beneficial?” He also sounds incredibly offended. Subtlety is apparently not this guy’s strong suit. “He looks like he couldn't lift a heavier tome without his arms shaking with the strain.” He almost gapes at the other with the offence. He doesn't think he’s been so offended in his life .

“And you can?” He looks the other up and down, similar to the way the Lieutenant had done to him.

“Come now,” The Doctor nudges at him, “Play nice. Childe, we’re letting you fight him.” The Doctor shoves him forward, and it feels like a betrayal. Like he’s some kind of chew toy being thrown at a rabid dog. He resists throwing The Doctor a glare over his shoulder, but it’s a near thing.

The Lieutenant’s eyes light up at the word fight, hopping back a few paces, allowing him onto the battlefield properly. He breathes in, shifting the staff from hand to hand, only slightly wishing he had his sword instead. It’s lighter than his sword was, and longer too.

He’s still able to block the Lieutenant’s first swing, though. He holds his staff in place, glaring at the Lieutenant. The man only laughs, bouncing back, away from him, before lunging again. Each attack is calculated, but loose in his defence.

He doesn't seem to care, even when he gets a second hit on his ribs, sending him to the ground with a sweep of his legs. The Lieutenant is standing again a moment later, his previously dual blades now a polearm aimed for his back.

He blinks, teleporting behind the Lieutenant and kicking him in the knees, watching as he crumples to the ground. The man laughs again, rolling away as he brings his staff down with a crack. Ice ripples out from the point of contact, frosting over the edges of his clothes.

“I can see why Dottore liked you,” the Lieutenant says, far too cheerful for someone that is steadily losing this fight. “You're an interesting one.”

He doesn't respond, pulling moisture from the air and solidifying it into ice crystals. They waltz around him slowly, and it’s the oldest trick in the book. The Lieutenant stares at them for a moment too long.

It’s all the time he needs to cascade ice over his head, teleport behind him, and swing his staff into his side like a club.

He’s certain he hears something crack, and the Lieutenant stumbles, swearing in Snezhnayan. He kicks him in the back of the knees again, and when he crumples to the floor he stays down. A face-down opponent is no fun though, so he rolls him over, grinning down at him.

He leans a little further over the Lieutenant, watching as he gasps for breath, chest heaving. Even though he’s struggling to breath, a grin remains plastered on his face. He’s actually, genuinely insane. What the hell.

“Can't even lift a heavier tome, hm?” He leans some of his weight on his staff, crossing an ankle behind the other as he watches the Lieutenant struggle to regain his breath. It’s a good thing he sent his recruits away, because he’s rather certain such a shocking blow to his pride would have never recovered, if several recruits witnessed it and then survived to tell the tale.

“Yeah, yeah,” it’s spoken on an exhale, and he watches as the Lieutenant inhales, obviously pained if the way his face scrunches up is any indication. “Promise me we’ll fight again?” He asks.

He stares. “I'm pretty sure I've broken at least one of your ribs.” Is all he can think to say.

“Nothing they haven't experienced before.” Again. This man is clearly insane, and he’s beginning to understand why Jean made them have so many meetings on the dangers of the Fatui if there are people like this leading their troops.

“You're insane.” He says, “You're actually, genuinely insane.”

“Aw, you flatter me.” He genuinely looks far too pleased about that for it to be normal.

“That was not a compliment.”

“I'm going to take it as one anyway,” the Lieutenant begins to sit up with a groan. “Gimme a hand, will you?”

He considers saying no and walking away, but this man is far too interesting for that. Instead, he offers his hand, pulling the Lieutenant from the snow, and watching as he brings half of it with him. There are several clumps of it stuck in his hair, and several more melting into his clothes.

He doesn't point it out.

Instead, he hands his staff over when The Doctor makes grabby hands for it, allowing him to look over it, cataloguing the already healing scratches on its surface. “And they do this every time?” He asks, looking back up at him.

Kaeya nods, “It’s something to do with the ley lines they draw their power from. It replenishes it. Wouldn't exactly be a good weapon if it split in two halfway through a battle.”

“No, I suppose not.” The Doctor hums, and looks it over a few more times, before relinquishing it back into his hold with an “all seems good!”

The Doctor spins on his heel, and is halfway across the field, back towards the main building, with Kaeya following behind him, before Pulcinella calls out for him.

“Dottore!” The man in question spins, and he has to pull to an abrupt halt to avoid toppling into him.

“Pulcinella!” He yells back. Kaeya steps to the side, so he’s not stood directly in front of The Doctor anymore.

“Did you forget what we discussed?”

The Doctor smiles. “Remind me again?”

Pulcinella sighs. “Don't feign ignorance, Dottore. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Fine, fine,” The Doctor pushes at his shoulder, “You can have him, just promise me you won't kill him and everything will be fine.”

“Excuse me?” He can feel a headache building, even as he turns to face The Doctor, and he has to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He knows, already, that it doesn't work.

The Doctor sighs. “I know, I know.” He pats him on his shoulder, which does nothing but feel patronising. “Pulcinella’s twisted my arm with this one, and, well, Childe seemed to like your company, so I doubt he’ll actually kill you.”

“You know,” Kaeya grits out, “That isn't actually all that comforting.”

“Really?” The Doctor hums, “I’ll have to work on that, then.” He attempts to walk away again, but he makes a grab for his coat, dragging him backwards.

“What are you sending me off to do?” He asks, curling his fingers further in The Doctor’s coat, in case he tries to run away. He seems like the type of person to run when he doesn't want to explain something.

The Doctor sighs. “Pulcinella’s been looking for someone to aid Childe in his ventures as a Lieutenant. He believes, for some reason, that he has Harbinger potential. Personally, I don't see it, you, on the other hand…” He trails off, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But that’s besides the point. He’s never going to reach that goal if his subordinates kill him before he can do it. And, already, he’s well on his way to have them kill him.”

“Why?”

“You saw how he fought them,” The Doctor says, “I'm sure I don't have to explain to you why training them like that is having a detrimental effect. We’ve had more recruits jump ship since he became Lieutenant than we have in the past decade.”

“And how am I supposed to help with that?” He doesn't feel any sympathy for the man, and if he had any intention of returning to Mondstadt ever again, this information would be highly valuable. Right now, all it’s doing is keeping them standing here, ankle-deep in snow.

“Pulcinella wants you to help him with his troop. Make sure he injures them less, maybe lay on whatever natural charm you've got, y’know?” The man pats him on the head, even as he has to stretch slightly to do so. He feels faintly insulted. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Before he knows it, his grip has loosened too much, and The Doctor is speed-walking his way back to the main building. He doesn't glance back, not even once, to see the fate he’s abandoned him to. He makes a rude gesture at his back, just for good measure.

“Wow.” The Lieutenant magically appears at his side. “What’d he do to piss you off?”

Pulcinella beats him to the response. “The Doctor likely just told Kaeya what I'm about to tell you.” He sighs. “Kaeya is being promoted to Lieutenant, and the two of you are going to look over your division. Together.”

“What?” The Lieutenant’s voice raises, “He’s-” the Lieutenant glances at him, before devolving into rapid Snezhnayan that’s too quick for him to even hope to understand.

“My decision is final.” Pulcinella crosses his arms. “If you wish to challenge it, you can take it up with Her Majesty directly.” Childe pales at that, apparently willing to argue with a Harbinger, but taking it a singular step up in the chain of command is too far.

“Archons above, when I said I wanted a sparring partner, this isn't what I wanted.” Pulcinella ignores him and begins walking away, which Kaeya fervently wishes he could do too.

“He was our best option,” Pulcinella glances back. “Who knows, you might even find some common ground.” He highly doubts that, and Childe apparently does too, as he snorts a laugh.

They both watch Pulcinella walk away, until he’s no more than a speck against the landscape. Only then, does Childe turn towards him, hand extended. “Well, comrade, seems like we got off on the wrong foot, so let's try to rectify that, hm?”

“I suppose we can.” He should at least be friendly with the man. He’s not looking to get murdered in his sleep any time soon. He shakes his hand.

“Great!” Childe doesn't let go of his hand, instead using it to drag him forward. He continues yanking his shoulder out of its socket, even when he digs his heels in. He considers teleporting out of the hold, but that feels like a new low, even for him. “I’ll show you to my- our! Office.” He grins again, something which seems to be a bit of a habit for the Lieutenant.

He gives up and allows himself to be dragged along.

Every surface is covered in paper. Some sheets of it have drifted to the floor, obviously part of a larger document. Simply looking at it makes him want to cry.

“Apologies about the mess.” Childe says, throwing himself into his chair and sounding entirely unapologetic. “I've been a little lacking in the paperwork department for the last few months.” His gaze turns serious. “You would not believe how much paperwork is involved with being a Lieutenant.”

Kaeya surveys the room once more, before turning back to Childe. “I'm going to kill you.”

Chapter Text

He doesn't end up killing Childe.

Instead, he makes Childe agree to help him sort through the paperwork currently here before any more can be dumped on the teetering piles currently balancing on his desk. This plan falls apart seconds later as he picks the first sheet from the floor and finds it in Snezhnayan.

Which leads him to his current predicament, face-down on his desk and cursing Snezhnaya for deciding to use a different alphabet to the one in Mondstadt. He can hear Childe laughing at him, even though he’s the absolutely shit teacher between the two of them.

“Why couldn't this just be written in the common dialect?” He asks, not for the first time. The headache from earlier is now fully formed, and all he wants to do is bury himself in snow until the pain fades away.

“No can do, can't have state secrets that can easily be stolen and translated.”

He lifts his head at that, squinting at the sheet of paper in front of him. “This has state secrets on it?”

“No.” Childe laughs. “That’s the monthly rations order from…” he twists the page towards himself, “March.”

“Childe.” The other hums, not looking up. “Childe, it is August .”

“I am aware.” He twists the sheet back around, pushing it closer to him, as though he’s suddenly going to start understanding Snezhnayan. “Besides, you need to learn to speak it, at the very least, or I wouldn't be able to take you anywhere.”

“I don't get taken anywhere.” He drops the pretence of not having a headache and rubs at his eye, hoping to dispel the ache that lingers there. When he looks up again, Childe looks at least a little sympathetic, choosing, only now, to push a dictionary across the desk to him. Like a peace offering.

He glares at him.

“Is learning Snezhnayan truly this necessary?” He asks, “Aren't you worried I’ll turn traitor and leak all your secrets back to Mond?” He might not have been in the Palace for very long, but the agents here are terrible gossips, and also really, really bad at keeping their voices down when patrolling outside rooms he’s in. As a result, he’s heard all the complimentary things that have been said about him, in the common dialect, thus far.

He flicks the dictionary open, pulling a mostly empty sheet of paper towards him and translating the first word. He sighs, resisting the urge to slam his head into the desk, flicking through a few pages until he finds the next word. As much as he would love to knock himself out cold, he’d rather not do that in front of Childe. He’s still not certain the other won't kill him given the opportunity.

“You wouldn't be here in the first place if you were going to turn traitor.” Childe snorts, and he sounds so certain of himself that he can't help but look up, halfway through flicking the page over.

“Oh?” He smirks. “Why, you sound so certain, don't you think I have it in me?”

Childe looks him over, dragging his eyes slightly. And the way he does it feels incredibly deliberate. It takes him several long moments to actually meet his eyes. “Oh, I'm sure you do. I just doubt even the most committed of spies would willingly throw themselves to Dottore’s mercy.”

“Does he know you say things like that about him?” He’s onto his second line of text, working his way through what might possibly be the most boring document he’s ever had the misfortune of reading. And he’s read several reports detailing the amount of dandelions currently growing outside of the gate, and the way they bounce in the breeze. Sometimes he thinks the guards on the front gate need something better to do with their time.

“He likes it,” Childe shrugs, looking far too comfortable in a chair that looks as though it’s been designed with the express intent of making you as uncomfortable as possible in it. “I'm pretty sure he’s behind several of the rumours about himself. I think he likes to watch his underlings squirm.”

He considers that for a moment. “No, yeah, I see what you mean.”

He’s irritated when he realises that he can recognise several words in the next line without having to find them in the dictionary again, pressing the pen nib into the page slightly harder than necessary. His next few words come out a little splotchier as he writes.

“Is there any particular reason you've neglected your paperwork for so long?” He asks, flipping the document over and not looking up. He manages to write a whole line before he stumbles across an unknown word again.

“I've got better things to do with my time.” When he looks up, Childe’s still watching him. If he were a lesser man, he would say it comes off as intimidating. In this case, it’s just irritating.

“What, like beating the new recruits up?”

“That is literally my job.”

“Your job is to train recruits and boost their morale. Not make desertion rates hit the highest they've been in the past decade.”

“Ouch.” He’s sure if he looked up right now, Childe would have his hand pressed to his chest. “Who snitched?”

“Dottore.” He writes the last few sentences out, reading over the translation one final time, before signing the actual document with a flourish. “There, I did your cute little exercise, I reckon you can do the rest now, hm?”

“You took less time than I expected you to.” Childe takes the document anyway, eyes scanning it quickly, far quicker than he managed to read it which is why he should just do his paperwork himself . “Fancy signature.” He comments.

“Thanks. I'm not doing that ever again.”

“Afraid that’s not possible, comrade, it’s part of your shiny new job.”

He groans, and his headache seems to only become worse as he ducks his head. “Childe, I swear, if this paperwork isn't finished by the next time in here, I will actually kill you.”

“I welcome you to try!” When he looks up, between his fingers, he can see that Childe has already worked his way through a significant stack of paperwork. He has a feeling the man is only skimming it and then signing at the bottom, but if he signs his soul away by accident, it technically isn't his fault.

“So…” he looks up, reluctantly. “Mondstadt?”

“Yep.” He leans back in his chair, immediately understanding why Childe was doing it a moment ago.

“What’s it like there?” Childe flips a page. “Heard it’s warmer than Snezhnaya, at least.”

“I think everywhere is warmer than Snezhnaya.”

Childe rests his chin on his hand, paperwork apparently forgotten. “Indulge me.”

“No.” He kicks him under the desk. “Do your goddamn paperwork.”

Childe…is annoying. He’s loud, and brash, and everything Kaeya’s not. He seems to thrive in the spotlight of attention, commanding it from everyone around them, whether that be through the sheer volume he usually speaks at, or due to his notoriety.

Many of the recruits, and more than a handful of the higher-ranking officers, seem to exercise some caution around the Lieutenant. Most prefer to steer clear of him completely. He’s watched more than one recruit bolt in the other direction when they see Childe approaching. Luckily, for them, Childe is usually caught up with talking about something (he’s not sure how he manages to keep talking for as long as he does, honestly) and remains oblivious to the fact that people quite literally run at the sight of him.

It would be amusing to watch, if it didn't also attract so much attention towards him. He prefers to work in the background, quietly and efficiently, before people can even notice he’s there. It’s far more effective than a head-on confrontation, and far easier to escape from the consequences if he got too involved.

Unfortunately, everyone and their mother appears to have heard about the new Lieutenant that accompanies Childe wherever he goes.

People begin to steer clear of him too, either because they still have reason to mistrust him, or because they're worried Childe might appear out of thin air and challenge them to a fight if they linger near him too long. And, honestly? They're not too far off on that.

Childe seems to be joined to him at the hip, and the moments where they're apart are few and far between. The only saving grace is the current lack of paperwork stacking up in their now shared office. The only other thing keeping him from murdering Childe is that he’s interesting .

He’s nothing like anyone he’s met before. His need for violence is practically insatiable, and when he’s not begging Kaeya for a fight, he’s off bothering recruits, cajoling and irritating them into raising their weapons against him. Most oddly of all, he seems to favour the weapon with which he has the least proficiency. He’s rather certain that simply throwing arrows and hoping they meet their target is not the most efficient use of energy.

He supervises Childe’s training sessions now, ensuring that what occurs is an actual training session and not just a mild bloodbath. The recruits seem mildly grateful for that, even if all he does is stand on the sidelines and glare at Childe. He’s more than content to do that, even if the way the cryo cicin mages command their cicins makes him want to take over and give a few pointers to them. The way they direct the cicins seems counterproductive and confusing for the creatures.

The only thing staying his hand is the technicality that he’s not yet their Lieutenant. They're just as likely to ignore him as they are to listen to him, and he’d rather not embarrass himself like that before he’s even managed to start the job.

“So,” Childe strikes at him again, and he parries. It’s just the two of them out, the sun only just setting and the recruits dismissed less than ten minutes ago. It had taken less than five before Childe challenged him to a fight; and, surprising both himself and Childe, he had agreed to it. “What d’you reckon’s got Pulcinella all tied up so that he can't come around to drop off your mask and badge?”

“I don't know.” He knocks Childe’s legs out from beneath him, which should really be something he’s wise to at this point, if you count how many times he’s done it to him. Still, he goes down like a rock, and he’s on him a moment later. “I'm sure he has much more important things to be worrying about than assigning Lieutenants.”

Childe groans, and he pushes his heel in deeper. He holds him there for a few moments, watching him struggle to try and free himself, before dancing back a few steps, allowing the other to stand up again. “It’s not just that.” Childe sounds slightly out of breath, but he hardly has time to feel sorry for him as he ducks beneath the tip of a polearm aimed for his head. “He hasn't even given you a codename yet, and all I'm hearing are recruits bugging me about your name.”

“They're that interested in me?” He freezes the polearm, snapping it in half a moment later. He sends a burst of icicles Childe’s way before he can recover, watching them bury themselves in the snow around his feet as he leaps back. “Any good gossip yet?”

Childe snorts. “You overestimate how much people know about you, comrade. You're interesting because you're an enigma. It’s not often someone from another region gets brought in by a Harbinger and immediately promoted to Lieutenant.”

“So,” Childe launches himself towards him, wrapping his fist in a gauntlet of water, “That’s a no then?” He blocks it easily, cryo bursting forth as he summons a shield. Childe’s eyes light up a little at the reveal of a new skill, and he bounces back, steps light over the snow.

He allows Childe to have his moment, watching as the water begins to melt off his hands before he re-solidifies its form. “I did hear a few things.” Childe responds. “People are convinced you're some illegitimate offspring of one of the Harbingers.”

He chokes, and Childe uses that to his advantage, surging forward again, landing a solid punch against his shield. It ripples with the force, but doesn't crack. Childe pulls his fist back before the frost can creep too far up his arm, shaking the icicles free from where they cling to him. “Popular contenders seem to be Dottore, seeing as he went and got you, and Signora.”

“Signora?” He asks, “Who’s that?”

“She’s the Eighth,” Childe strikes his shield again. “Never really met her, heard she can be a real bitch to her underlings. Apparently she just straight up kills the really annoying ones.”

“Good thing you never met her then.” He smirks before sending another barrage of icicles in Childe’s direction. A few more of them hit Childe this time, and he stumbles with the impact. He recovers a moment later, slipping to the side as he attempts to catch Childe with his icicles a second time.

“Everyone thinks our Fair Lady had a little dalliance last time she was in Mond, and simply left the kid there.” Kaeya drops the shield, growing bored of their forced distance. He would almost say he caught Childe by surprise when he teleports directly in front of him, driving the base of his staff into his chest. It winds him, and he wheezes.

He doesn't fall for the act, blinking away and watching as Childe thrusts his sword into the space he had been just a moment before.

“How would that even work?” He asks, meeting Childe’s sword with his staff, spreading frost into the water construct until it’s too brittle to use. Childe tosses it aside, where it shatters into several chunks.

“She’s gone a lot, some of those expeditions exceed nine months, if not an entire year. It’s certainly within the realm of possibility.” Childe shrugs. “Personally, I don't buy it. You being five hundred years old and from when she still lived in Mond would make more sense.” He pushes through his hesitation at those words with a solid strike, accompanied by a large chunk of ice that he simply drops over Childe’s head.

Unfortunately, Childe seems to have grown used to this trick in the few weeks they've been sparring together, as he manages to duck out from beneath it almost immediately, darting around the sudden obstacle in the field to attack him again.

“You've also got the whole,” Childe pauses in his offence to gesture to his face, “y’know, eyepatch thing going on.”

“It’s not a thing .” He slams his staff into the ground, and the whole field shakes. He supposes there are some advantages to fighting in an area where his element is commonplace. “It’s for practical reasons.”

“I'm sure Signora would say the same, but I reckon it’s just because she thinks it looks nice.” Childe parries his strike, shoving him away with enough force to make him stumble. He blinks away when Childe attempts to drive his sword through his stomach, reappearing a short distance away. “Which,” Childe snorts, “some recruits have been saying you match up to her standards of beauty, very carefully out of her earshot. Or the earshot of any of her underlings.”

“Oh?” He blinks again, closer to Childe. He slams his staff towards his chest, again, and Childe side steps it, as expected. He sweeps a leg out, catching him in the ankle and knocking him to the ground.

He drops with him, kneeling on his chest, pressing him further into the snow. “Would you say my beauty compares to that of the Fair Lady’s, Lieutenant?” He leans some of his weight on his staff, but not enough to allow Childe to escape. Not that he’s even attempting to, staring at him with wide eyes, cheeks flushed from their fight.

Their breaths puff in the space between them, and Childe opens his mouth to speak-

“Ah!” Both of them startle, and Kaeya swings his head around, coming face to face with the person that had interrupted their fight. “Just the people I wanted to see!”

“Pulcinella?” Childe raises his head from the ground, craning his neck to see past Kaeya. He’s still trapped, and he stands hastily, offering him a hand up. Childe takes it gratefully, and he hauls him to his feet, politely ignoring the way Childe shakes his head like a dog to dislodge the clumps of snow stuck in his hair. Pulcinella also politely ignores it, his gaze instead settling on him.

“Kaeya.” He reaches out to clasp his hand, and he allows the older man. He gets the feeling that refusing the whims of a Harbinger is a one-way ticket to a funeral. “Apologies, my boy, I had been meaning to get around to this sooner, but work picked up, and I really needed to focus on where to deploy my units to and how many, you know how it is, right?” He doesn't, but Pulcinella doesn't seem concerned with that, instead using his other hand, his free hand, to press something into his hand.

He raises it slightly, watching as the sunlight glints off his new, incredibly shiny, Lieutenant’s badge. “Ah,” he manages. “Thank you.”

“You're very welcome.” Pulcinella smiles. He can begin to see why Childe seems so fond of him, even though he looks as though his fighting days are long over. He’s like someone’s grandfather. Someone’s incredibly questionable and powerful grandfather. Okay, maybe the comparison falls apart if you look past surface level. “Your mask took a little longer to come through, which was part of the delay. But most of it was still mine and the work I got caught up in.” He hands him something else, a mask, designed to cover the upper half of his face entirely. He’s seen Childe with a similar one, but he’s yet to actually see him wear it.

It’s a deep blue, with small designs etched on its surface that, when he looks closer, somewhat resemble snowflakes. It feels a little excessive for a mask that he’s never seen anyone other than the brand new recruits wear. Still, he takes it with a small thanks.

“I look forward to working with you.” Pulcinella nods at him, but doesn't walk away. Instead, he looks to Childe next. “Childe, be sure to introduce your recruits to their newest Lieutenant. I'm sure they're dying to know his name.” Pulcinella looks back at him again, a little closer than before. “Pavone is quite a respectable name, wouldn't you say?”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger.” The respect in Childe’s voice is almost enough to get him to snap his head towards him in shock, but he gets the feeling that cracking his neck isn't the right response for the current situation.

Childe salutes at Pulcinella, far more respectful than he ever is, and Pulcinella seems to deem this satisfactory, as he takes his leave a moment later, apologising for his interruption.

They both watch him go in silence, and it remains that way until Pulcinella is just a tiny dot on the horizon. Childe wrestles his mask from his hands a moment later, raising it to the light and inspecting it. He considers snatching it back, but it really isn't worth the effort and Childe will see it eventually anyway.

“Wow,” he sounds faintly impressed. “They even made it so you don't have to wear your eyepatch with it.”

“What d’you mean?” He gestures for Childe to give it back, and he does. He inspects the mask finding that, yes, the eyehole for his right eye isn't actually an eyehole, only designed to look as though one exists. “I suppose they did.” 

He doesn't move to try it on, and Childe doesn't seem to expect him to, as he stamps his feet, huffs into his hands and declares quite promptly that he’s “freezing his balls off out here.”

“Must you be so crass?” He allows himself to be pulled by Childe, as seems to be becoming the norm now, towards the building with their office in it.

“Yes.” Childe flashes him a grin, “It’s one of my redeeming qualities.”

“We need to work on your redeeming qualities.”

“As though you have a leg to stand on, Pavone .”

Pavone. Definitely an interesting choice for a codename. “That’s weird,” he shoves Childe off of him. “Don't call me that.”

“You don't have a problem with calling me Childe, and it’d be real awkward if I called you a completely different name in front of the recruits. You're just gonna have to get used to it, I'm afraid.” Childe laughs, “As long as you didn't think my parents actually called me Childe .”

“No.” He scoffs. (He did. He definitely did, but not even torture would be able to drag that information out of him.)

“Pavone.” Childe says again. He hums, then shrugs, shoving the door open with a dramatic clatter. Childe turns to face him as he enters, meaning he doesn't get to watch everyone within the entry hallway promptly scatter, disappearing back into offices. He watches as someone awkwardly shuts themselves in a cupboard, knocking the snow off his boots before he walks inside. “I think it suits you.”

“Thanks, I suppose.”

“It’s done with your best interests in mind, you know.” Childe falls into step beside him, only falling behind to allow him up the stairs first. Their office is on the second floor, at the end of an overly long corridor. It’s the largest in the building, which he supposes is one of the perks that comes with being a Lieutenant. “It’s so nothing can be traced back to your family. Without it, far fewer people would actually join up with the Fatui; family is everything here.”

Kaeya laughs. “It’d take a lot of searching to find my family, that’s for sure.”

“Oh,” Childe’s step falters. “My condolences.”

“They're not dead. Well, one of them isn't, but I don't think that counts anymore.”

Childe doesn't say anything in response, and honestly, he doesn't blame him. He’s not sure what he would respond with if someone said that to him either. “Don't worry about it,” he claps Childe on the shoulder. “It’s nothing worth thinking that hard about.”

Childe gives him an unsure look at that, but nods anyway. He bounces back a few moments later, chattering about how he is now required to do his share of paperwork, even if it’s in Snezhnayan, because, again:

“You've gotta learn! Otherwise we won't be able to go on any fun missions together. Am I meant to shout orders in Snezhnayan, and then translate them for you so you know what to do?”

“Learning commands is different to learning the whole language.”

“It’s easy enough,” Childe waves his concerns off. “Besides, you're pretty good at written Snezhnayan already, I reckon we can get you to start picking it up in a few weeks. Maybe Dottore should have sent you off to the languages and communications department…” Childe trails off, thoughtful, as he sits down behind his desk. Kaeya shuts the door behind them. “Well, no matter! If they'd sent you off there I never would've gotten to meet you.”

“Aw, you flatter me.”

Childe flatters him even further by dumping far more than his half of paperwork on his desk, tapping at the Snezhnayan dictionary meaningfully. Suddenly, he’s filled with the urge to slam his head into the desk again. Either that or kill Childe.

He pulls the dictionary towards himself with a sigh that sounds more like a groan and does his best to ignore Childe laughing at him.

Chapter Text

He finds that it's far easier to settle into the role of a Lieutenant than he had first expected it to be. Nothing much actually changes from the way it had been before, where he remained on the sidelines, mostly watching, silently, as Childe instructed their recruits. He is there to assist Childe, not to take over from him completely, as much as Childe insists that surely he can do the paperwork for the two of them seeing as he’s already doing paperwork for himself, and Childe’s paperwork is simply going to sit there until it’s long overdue and cluttering their shared office once more.

(Childe hasn't managed to sway him yet, and the man continues to do his own paperwork himself, in the corner, while glaring at him. He doesn't seem to understand that if he spent less time glaring and sulking, then his paperwork would be completed far quicker than it actually ever is. It would also be more effective if he didn't let it pile up until it’s at an overwhelming level, but he gets the feeling that Childe already realises that and likely wouldn't appreciate the reminder.)

Still, he finds it easier to settle into the role of a Lieutenant, and the only thing that truly changes is becoming far more active in a unit Childe had previously neglected. The cicin mages are so relieved when he first introduces himself as their new trainer and shows off the fact that he is actually using a catalyst, the same as them. He almost feels a little sorry for them, watching as one of them has to hold back literal tears because they finally have someone competent training them.

He tries not to feel too annoyed with Childe for not training these mages properly, which is very clearly evidenced by some of them not even understanding how their own weapons work properly. It’s almost enough to drive him to tears, but he manages to restrain himself, just barely. Instead, he entertains himself with different ways to beat Childe up, for whenever the other next challenges him to a fight. He does, however, briefly entertain the thought of interrupting Childe’s current training to shake him and demand what the hell he was thinking.

All Childe had truly needed was a basic understanding of the weapon, which is something he seems to possess for every other weapon under the sun, or ask for a more senior cicin mage, that had already been trained by someone competent, to come in and do the job for him.

And his mages are sweet to him, incredibly kind and definitely sucking up to him for whatever reason they've likely cooked up in their brains. They're sweet, all very nice, but they are also his recruits and some of the more forward ones have already been gently, but firmly, rejected. A few of them show some obvious talent with their weapons, two cryo cicin mages and one electro, all three of which were seemingly the leaders of their little band of mages before he arrived, as some of the less-experienced mages continue to turn to them when they need advice.

They keep to their small corner of the field, hardly needing much space for the training of control, compared to the training Childe is undertaking whilst commandeering the main area of the training field. His cryo mages became rather adept rather quickly at throwing up a quick cryo shield when one of the melee soldiers gets flung in their general direction, and some of the electro mages are beginning to experiment with it too by the time he starts to notice that something is…off.

He’s recently gained a habit of not announcing his presence, far preferring to sit back and observe the recruits in their natural environment, without any of their superiors looming over them and scrutinising their every move. It’s something that he’s come to enjoy, and he indulges in it most mornings, even if it reminds him of how painfully unaware some of the recruits are.

It means that he’s had plenty of time to observe the obvious rift within their group, between the catalyst-users, and those with more physical weapons. He’s heard some comments himself, but brushed them off as nothing more than jealousy allowing their tongues to be a little looser when discussing him.

Yet, he watches as one of the hydrogunners murmurs something to his friend, the two of them laughing, before calling out across the field towards where a group of three cicin mages have gathered. He listens as the hydrogunner yells something that he doesn't quite know in Snezhnayan, though the words are familiar, and then listens as one of the mages snaps back at him, the colourful words decorating her vocabulary intimately familiar to him from moments spent with Childe in their shared office.

He doesn't intervene, watching as the cicin mage bristles, her and her friends closing in a little tighter, huddling close in the frigid morning air. He almost feels a little sorry for them, with their mandated uniforms obviously not helping stave off the cold very much. He’s not sure what he would do if he couldn't lounge around in whatever he wants without fear of freezing to death. It certainly doesn't sound like a pleasant experience, that’s for sure.

The hydrogunner, who apparently hadn’t learned his lesson from the firm rebuke the mage had given him and is seemingly bolstered by his friends encouragement, yells something again across the field. He understands a few of the words said now, some of them translated for him by Childe, when he had asked what they meant.

He’s not one to show many expressions on his face, but he’s certain that if he was, he would be gaping openly at the hydrogunner by now. A few of the mages, some of them only just arriving, do that exact thing, freezing in place, ankle-deep in the snow and apparently uncaring, as they stare at the small crowd the hydrogunner has amassed.

This is apparently enough for the electro cicin mage, who he recognises upon her turning around properly and storming over to meet the hydrogunner head on. She pokes him in the chest, rapid Snezhnayan spilling from her lips that he has to focus to understand properly due to the sheer speed of it. She pokes him in the chest with each word she speaks, punctuating her point with a jab of her nail into the far thicker, far warmer clothes of the hydrogunner standing in front of her.

She finishes, jabbing him in the chest extra hard before stepping back, hands on her hips as she glares up at him. Kaeya watches too, interested in how this is going to play out, and also mildly wondering whether he’s going to send this hydrogunner to the infirmary for some of the things he’s said.

The man laughs in her face, and he feels his blood boil.

The cicin mage reels her hand back, and punches him square in the face. But her stance is off, and the reach is just slightly too high for her to put that much power behind her punch and not overbalance herself. The hydrogunner catches her.

“Watch it,” the hydrogunner smirks down at her, “wouldn't want you falling in the snow now, would we?” The electro mage shoves his hands off, taking a firm step backwards and putting distance between them. The way he says it implies something far worse than what he’s truly saying is lurking under the surface, and he decides he’s seen enough, pushing off from the weapons rack he’s leaning against and teleporting to stand beside the mage.

“Good morning.” He says, as though everyone hadn’t hopped about a foot in the air as soon as he appeared. He smiles pleasantly at all of them, surveying the faces gathered and picking out who looks guilty and who looks ashamed. Several of them look furious, though he can't tell if that anger is directed at him, the hydrogunner, or the cicin mage stood beside him. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn't it?” He directs the last part at the hydrogunner standing in front of him, and tilts his head, just slightly, to the side.

“It’s the same weather as always, sir.” The hydrogunner replies, as calm as ever, as though he hadn't just been harassing one of his mages. His gaze is impassive, looking down at him slightly as he speaks. He tries not to let that bother him.

He hums, tipping his head back to look at the sky. “I suppose so. Would be a shame if anything ruined a day like today though, wouldn't you say?” The sky today is grey, as it always is, and brimming with the potential for a heavy snowfall later. In all likelihood, the day would ruin itself, given a few hours.

“I, uh, don't understand, sir.” The hydrogunner sounds remorseful, but when he looks back at him, he finds the man exchanging a grin with one of his buddies. This hydrogunner is practised in lying, he supposes, but he’s certainly not a good one.

He hums again, taking a small step forward. “On nice mornings, which are most mornings if you think about it, I enjoy arriving here a little bit earlier. Just to test how aware everyone is of their surroundings that day. Sometimes I get spotted almost immediately, sometimes, however, you take far longer to notice I'm even there, and in many of those cases I have to announce myself before anyone truly takes any notice of me watching. Now, tell me, what was it that you think I saw this morning when I showed up?”

The hydrogunner’s face drops, anger beginning to curl at the edges of his face as he stares at him. He hums again, low and in the back of his throat, as he smiles at the man. Expectant. He’s waiting for an answer, and the hydrogunner obviously seems to realise this, as his face further contorts.

“One of your mages ,” he snarls the word like a curse, “threw a punch at me.” He tilts his head to the side, where a rather pretty welt is already beginning to rise, red around the edges and no doubt stinging in the cold morning air.

“Did she now?” He turns to look at the mage standing beside him, who has a faintly resigned expression on her face. He reminds himself to find out who her superior was before this. “Ekaterina,” he begins, and she looks up at him, tensing, as though prepared for the worst. “Did no one ever teach you how to punch properly?”

“I- what?” She looks confused, as does the hydrogunner, which was what he was going for.

“You've truly never been taught how to punch?” He asks, “What, did they just give you a catalyst on the first day and tell you to get on with it?”

“I mean, essentially, yes.” Ekaterina confirms, which only makes him all the more desperate to hunt down who exactly put that procedure in place. Handing a catalyst to someone who doesn't know how to use it is simply asking to be blown up.

“Well, we can't have that, can we? Look, you need to have a stance like this,” he widens his own stance slightly, dropping a little as he shows the correct way for Ekaterina to hold herself if she wants to attempt to punch anything. Though confused, she follows his guidance anyway, dropping slightly in her stance so she has a better balance, even in the snow.

“And then you want to close your fist like this-”

“Excuse my interruption, sir,” this hydrogunner is really going to drive him up the wall if he continues talking to him like this, “But is this truly necessary? They're cicin mages , they use catalysts, so, truly, when are they actually going to use this? The closest to a fight they'll ever get is standing on the backlines, waiting to be called in as support.”

“I beg your pardon?” He stands up straight again, facing the hydrogunner head on. The man has about a head of height on him, not enough to loom, but he’s certainly attempting it right now. “Who are you to tell me what I should and should not do? Perhaps we’ve gotten a…little mixed up here, but I'm fairly certain I'm your superior.”

“ Childe is my superior.” The hydrogunner corrects, speaking to him as though he is an idiot. And…speak of the devil and he shall appear. Childe steps into the training grounds, though he only makes it a singular step in before he freezes, a chunk of ice wrapping around his ankle. He sends him a silent apology, hoping that Childe doesn't make too much of a ruckus before he manages to sort this out, before turning back to the idiot in front of him. “You're just some backup they brought in to make sure the mages weren't entirely useless.”

He’s going to kill him. He’s actually going to kill this idiot, and it won't even be worth the effort it takes.

“Do you think I'm just going to stand on the backlines of the fight and watch you do everything? Do you think they would appoint a Lieutenant, only to sideline them as a support?” He asks, bored with beating around the bush and cutting directly to the heart of the matter. The hydrogunner blinks, as though he hadn't expected him to be so forward with his accusation. “Do you think yourself better than me?

“Well, sir, with all due respect, your main weapon of choice is a catalyst. Which has been proven to be statistically weaker than any other weapon of choice, so yes, I do believe I'm stronger than you.”

He hears a collective intake of breath around them, which reassures him that not all of their recruits are idiots. Maybe even less than half of them are idiots, which fills him with a hope. That hope is very quickly extinguished when he remembers that none of them had noticed him stood watching them earlier.

“Prove it.” He challenges.

“Huh?” Is this guy deaf and stupid?

“I said prove it ,” he repeats, gesturing for the other recruits to kindly fuck off to the sidelines, and watching, with some glee, as they hurry to comply. Childe has managed to get himself free of the ice he sent his way, but he doesn't make a move to intervene. Good. “If you truly think you're stronger than me, surely it’ll be easy to beat me in a fight?”

“Now, I didn't say that…”

“No matter!” He bounces back a step, summoning his staff into his hand and watching as the hydrogunner’s face goes from confused to panicked in under a second. He’s likely just realised several things.

One: that he’s most definitely at an elemental disadvantage, and anything that he sends Kaeya’s way can be easily frozen and neutralised before it can become a true threat to him.

Two: that he is now fighting one of his superiors, and, the hydrogunner glances over his shoulder, that the other one is watching, content to see how this plays out.

And, hopefully, three: that’s a major idiot, and he’s fucked up big time .

He doesn't give the hydrogunner a chance to resolve all three, blinking behind him and stabbing his staff into the back of the man’s kneecaps. There’s a collective gasp from the sidelines, and he vaguely remembers that they haven't actually seen him in action yet. He grins, flashing it over his shoulder as the hydrogunner stumbles, he might as well put on a show while he’s at it.

Still, he blinks away before the hydrogunner can swing on him, feet ghosting over the top layer of snow as he retreats, summoning several icy daggers that he sends in the hydrogunner’s direction. Unfortunately, he manages to dodge most of them, meaning he only gets to watch one measly little ice dagger embed itself in his shoulder.

Still, this hydrogunner is apparently pathetic, as he gasps and groans as though he’s just suffered a mortal injury. He doesn't pause, grasping the opportunity with both hands and teleporting in front of him to knee him in the stomach and sweep at his legs.

He hits the ground with a thud and a groan, and Kaeya leans over him, pressing his staff, and most of his weight, into the hydrogunner’s shoulder. He makes sure the hydrogunner remains pinned to the ground, even as he wriggles. Even the wriggling is pathetic though, nothing like the escapes Childe occasionally makes during their fights.

“So,” he leans closer, but makes sure his voice can be heard. Not that it’s particularly difficult right now, with the field so quiet you could hear a snowflake land. “How’d I do? Or were you going easy on me?” His smile is mocking as he leans forward, but he’s very disappointed to find that the hydrogunner doesn't respond.

He nudges at him again, a sharp jab of his boot between the recruit’s ribs, and he barely even stirs.

He sighs, leaning back and waving his staff away. “Archons above, we've got a fainter.” He nudges at him again, just to be sure. The man rolls about without a single complaint in the snow, and he has to suppress a laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it.

Snow crunches beside him and Childe is there, leaning over his recruit and flicking at his forehead. When that produces no results either, Childe leans back on his heels and yells for two of his recruits to assist the hydrogunner to the infirmary. Childe’s face is red from the cold, and his ears seem to burn even brighter when he looks up at Kaeya. Kaeya smirks down at him in response, and the red of Childe’s wind-bitten cheeks only seems to grow deeper.

He’s about to suggest they head inside, if Childe is so cold already, when Childe, rather swiftly, dismisses all of the other recruits, leaving just the two of them in an empty field. The snow around them is slightly churned up, as one would expect from a fight. But it’s not churned up enough to signify a good fight. None of the mud has even begun to mix with the snow.

“I must admit, that was slightly disappointing.”

“Well,” Childe shrugs, before using his arm to drag himself upright, “that one was never one of my best. Always far too cocky, and far too rude to make it very far. I've tried to pass him off to another unit several times, but I reckon that’s the most effective attempt yet.”

“He was harassing the cicin mages,” he says. “Did you realise?” He stares after where their recruits had disappeared, despite only the blank expanse of snow and the sheer magnitude of the Palace filling his vision. If he squints, he can almost imagine the hydrogunner, slung between the two unwilling recruits, being dragged towards the infirmary.

“No,” Childe says on an exhale, and it sounds like the truth. “I reckon I’d have killed him if I realised.”

“I considered it.” He says, entirely serious. It makes Childe laugh anyway, and the man grabs him by the arm, pulling him back towards the castle. “I definitely, definitely considered it.” He can almost imagine doing it, but he’s already on thin ice as it is, and he’d rather not push his luck right now.

“I don't know how you don't get cold,” Childe says, when they're halfway back towards the warmth of their office. “You're standing outside in sub-zero temperatures with hardly anything on, and you're not even hurrying to make it back inside. It’s almost inhuman.” Childe shudders then, for dramatic effect, wrapping his arms around himself, and really playing it up.

He laughs, but he feels far more exposed than he ever does. He hadn't truly thought about the image he might give off, as someone that walks around with half his chest exposed in freezing temperatures, and hardly even bothered about the cold. “Well,” he fishes around for some kind of explanation that isn't his heritage, “it’s cold in Mondstadt too, you know, and I've been up Dragonspine plenty of times in far less than this.” And it’s true, he’s worn far less than this when he ventured up Dragonspine, but it also wouldn't matter how much he wore, because it wouldn't affect his temperature anyway.

Childe shudders at the mere thought, not exactly fulfilling the image of a pure-bred Snezhnayan that can withstand a thousand winters, and drags him inside the building. He knocks the snow from his boots, half-hearted at best, and walks inside. They track snow behind them, small clumps decorating the carpeted floors, and he knows they're going to receive a complaint for tracking snow through the halls later. Childe doesn't seem to care about this, and neither does he; most of the recruits are too scared to speak to him, addressing most of their requests and complaints, meaning he gets to kick back and watch as they complain at Childe.

Their door shuts behind them with a click, and Childe releases his hand suddenly, as though he forgot he was holding it. His face has gone red from the sudden warmth of being inside, and he turns towards his desk hastily, sitting down, before realising that he can barely see over the stacks of paperwork that have somehow managed to build up over the past few days.

Kaeya sits at his own, very clean and organised, desk, folding his hands in front of him. He watches as the small chunk of Childe’s hair that he can see disappears, followed almost immediately by a thunking sound and a long, drawn-out groan.

There’s a singular sheet of paper for him to read over, and he busies himself with it, as Childe continues with his dramatics.

“I have a meeting with Dottore later,” he informs Childe, signing off on the form that’s requesting leave, tucking it neatly into his outbox and raising his head to look in Childe’s direction again. He still hasn't resurfaced from his paperwork, and another groan rises from behind the stacks before his words seem to process.

“What?” He can see Childe’s face now, the other no doubt halfway risen from his seat, “No. Nuh-uh, you're not ditching me here to do all this paperwork.”

“It’s your paperwork.” He reminds. “I get the exact same amount, but I manage to quell my bloodthirst for long enough to sign a few papers and file them properly.”

“That’s not fair.” Childe disappears again as he slumps forward, and his next few words are muffled, implying that he has his face pressed into the desk. “I don't get why Dottore’s so obsessed with you, anyway. You're not exactly interesting.”

“Ouch.” He rises from his seat. “Should I be offended?” He asks, “Perhaps you should start looking for a new sparring partner if I'm so boring.”

“No!” Childe launches himself forward, latching onto his hand, and successfully knocking over all but one of the stacks of paper. They both watch the sheets flutter to the floor silently. When he turns back to Childe, he looks like he’s going to cry.

He carefully begins to pull his hand loose from where Childe is gripping to it like a lifeline. He doesn't seem to notice his slow retreat. He softens the steps that take him towards the door, watching Childe carefully as he continues to stare at their now paper-strewn floor.

Childe looks up, locks eyes with him. He doesn't even think about it, he just bolts.

“-and he just refuses to do his paperwork!” He laments, batting Dottore’s hand away when he tries to cut a chunk of his hair loose. “Don't do that,” he snaps, “you're not getting my hair for whatever freaky experiment you wanna do with it.”

Dottore frowns, but pulls his hand back anyway. “What am I supposed to do with the samples you've given me?” He gripes. “Your blood is hardly interesting, other than the darker colour and the increased amount of haemoglobin that is present within it- oh, do tell me, is there less oxygen in the Abyss? Or is the increased haemoglobin content simply due to more strenuous activities being more common?”

“A mix of both, most likely. The air is toxic in the Abyss, only the Abyss holds the power to control it, and to survive in the Abyss the Abyss must first survive you.”

“Cryptic.” Dottore comments as he prepares another needle, the silver flashing in the light. He leans slightly to the side as Dottore takes a small sample of his blood. “I assume it’s still a no on the chunk of skin sample?”

“It’s still a no.” Dottore hums at his response, sounding more than a little disappointed. “I know what you can do with that kind of sample, and I'm not about to give it to you.”

“Hm.” The Doctor tilts his head at him, before grinning. “Good to know you're not a complete idiot then. Though, not a lot of my test subjects exactly get the choice in what they give me.”

“Ah,” he bats Dottore’s hands away, “I'm too valuable for you to do something like that to me, your youngest Lieutenant has taken quite the shine to me.”

“I suppose he has.” Dottore takes a seat, readjusting his mask slightly. “Tell me, what do you think of him?”

“He’s…interesting.” He tries, unsure on how to communicate what he’s observed about Childe. “There’s something off about him, though, so I don't know exactly what to expect of him. He’s far too bloodthirsty for it to be normal for a…normal human.”

“And that’s where you're wrong.” Dottore smiles like a cat that got the canary, all sharp teeth and upturned lips. He smiles like he knows something Kaeya doesn't, and leans forward as though he’s about to share it. “Sure, a normal, usual human. Your stereotypical Lieutenant from Snezhnaya wouldn't have the same drive for combat that he has. That addiction to adrenaline. Only something, some one touched by the Abyss would thirst after battle so longingly, don't you think?”

Dottore looks at him then, and he feels as though the man is looking straight through him. He’s not sure how to respond to that, resisting the urge to shift nervously in his seat. To give beneath a predator’s gaze is to offer oneself up as a willing meal.

“I suppose.” Is what he settles on, giving a vague enough answer so that The Doctor cannot continue prodding but also too little to truly give him the answer he’s looking for.

Dottore hums, tips his head to the side, then leans back in his seat again. “So,” he says, “you like him?”

“He’s alright.” He acquiesces. “Certainly too bloodthirsty, and far too eager for a fight, but his recruits seem to respect him, even if most of them are older than him, and he commands them easily.”

“They're scared of him.” Dottore says. “Most of them remember when he was the recruit, when he was the one at a rank below them, or the same as them. He climbed the ladder of this organisation through stepping over the bodies of his adversaries. Sometimes far more literally than you might think.” Dottore doesn't smile, and he’s sure the man is trying to unnerve him. He ignores the attempt. “There are horror stories about him, you know. He’s never named, but I've seen the way the new recruits suddenly treat him with that wariness, as soon as the older recruits get their hands on them.”

“So he’s killed a few people,” he shrugs. “Who hasn't?”

Dottore stares at him. “A lot of people haven't.” He replies. Dottore leans back in his chair, watching him carefully. “I would like another sample of the ice you produce.” He says, switching the topic at hand as he nudges the empty jar towards the edge of his desk. He does as he asks, a chunk of ice settling against the glass with a small clink.

“Was that all you needed?” He asks, and Dottore continues to study him.

“Yes.”

He turns for the door, and he has his hand on the doorknob before Dottore begins to speak again.

“Childe will be a valuable ally,” the man says. He does not turn back to face him, keeping his eyes trained on the door. “Do not ignore what he has to say, for you might miss something if you don't listen.”

“What aren't you saying, Doctor?”

“I feel like that would be a better question to ask yourself.”

He lets the door swing shut behind him as he leaves. 

Chapter Text

The mission is boring.

He understands it’s not supposed to be massively interesting or some great mission that they're going to come out of as the valiant heroes. It’s just a standard, run-of-the-mill mission that he’s had the misfortune of being sent on.

Childe, at least, seems to be just as bored as he is, ducking behind another incredibly convenient stack of crates as they assess what’s ahead.

“Is this really worth all the fuss?” He readjusts his mask, the way it sits on the bridge of his nose is uncomfortable, but not painful. Still, it bothers him, and limits his field of vision slightly more than usual as he turns his head to face Childe. “I didn't think the Tsaritsa cared very much about what the nobles did in their free time?” His eyepatch rubs uncomfortably close to his eye, brushing over skin that has only just stopped being tender to every touch. Theoretically, he could have taken it off, but that would also mean having to take it off before he can put his mask on, and that’s more than he can stomach.

“She doesn't.” Childe ducks his head down, his own mask unfamiliar on his face. They both know that they're meant to wear their masks at all times when on the Palace Grounds, but Childe never did, and they’ve never been reprimanded for not wearing them, so that protocol fell through, slightly. “She does, however, care when those nobles are feeding bits of information to nations outside of Snezhnaya. She cares a lot , actually.”

He hums, low and in the back of his throat, and considers that he maybe should have read the brief of the mission a little more thoroughly than he did. Still, it’s a small operation, but one that has many different ways to go wrong, especially if the small team of recruits they brought with them continue to lag behind so far. He knows the information he needs to know, and apparently Childe, for once, is more on top of their work than he is. Though, it doesn't exactly surprise him that the other Lieutenant is rearing for a fight.

Ekaterina is the first of their small team to join them, crouching low, her lamp flickering faintly in the rapidly darkening evening light. She’s barely out of breath, which can't be said for some of the other recruits that come to a halt beside them.

It is very quickly becoming crowded behind this small stack of crates, so he gestures for them to move onwards, away from the wall with its numerous guards and towards the mansion that lies at its centre. They're quick to obey his command, and allows himself a small moment to preen over the efficiency of their team, far better than any he’s ever had the pleasure of commanding before. Many things can be said about the Fatui, but at least they're efficient.

He’s seen mansions before, he’s seen large houses too, each of them fulfilling the criteria for grandness and decadence that the rich seem so overly fond of. This, however, takes the cake in how large it is. The sheer size of it is enough to make him feel no more significant than an ant, and he’s left craning his head back, and staring, as the fading light of the day catches on the gold embellishments of the house.

He has to hold back an incredulous laugh at the sight of them.

He had expected there to be a little more resistance when they attempted to actually enter the mansion, but the guards on either side of the door took one look at them, processed the very obviously Fatui masks they were wearing, and simply stepped aside, allowing them entry.

He would be surprised, but from the small tidbits of information Childe has slowly been feeding him about this particular noble family as they progressed, it doesn't actually surprise him that the guards want their employers dead as much as the Tsaritsa does.

He spares them a nod of thanks as he walks past, making an effort to keep his footsteps silent and walking on the balls of his feet as much as he can. He could very easily just hover over the squeaky floorboards, but he’d rather not raise a ruckus because one of the recruits noticed him floating. Just because the front door guards let them in doesn't mean that the other guards patrolling this place will be as lenient.

He gives the signal to disperse and watches as they obey immediately, moving away into the darkness of the house with an ease that speaks of their practice. He listens, watching as the occasional shadow flickers over the wall (the only thing that betrays the movements of their recruits) as he and Childe stand in the rapidly darkening entryway.

“Did you say the master bedroom was to the left or the right of the staircase?” He murmurs, leaning close to Childe’s face. He summons his staff to his hand, fingers curling around the wood as the faint glow illuminates some of the furniture around them. The weight of it in his hand makes his heart beat a little faster in anticipation, fingers curling around the wood, nails digging into it as he waits for Childe’s response.

The inside is equally as decorated as outside, though it is done in a garish fashion that serves its sole purpose of showing off just how rich these people are. It makes his lip curl in disgust as he looks around. None of the decorations match, and it’s not even done in a way that works. It just makes his eyes hurt as he looks around.

“The left.” Childe responds, equally as close to his face, close enough that he can feel his breath on his cheek, warming the skin there. He nods, moving away and towards the direction Childe had provided him with. After a moment, the near-silent sound of Childe’s footsteps begin to follow him.

He hears the sound of Childe’s bow being strung, of the string pulling taut, but he’s not filled with that same anxiety of having his back turned to the other, where he could very easily stick an arrow straight through his heart and be done with it. They're far past the point of mistrust with each other. He allows Childe to cover his back, staff held at an angle to cover both of them from the front.

He hears a floorboard creak above him as they move, and the sound of a muffled shout, before it’s followed by a heavy thump. No doubt some poor soul that had come across one of their recruits and attempted to raise the alarm before being forcefully silenced. He feels a grin work its way onto his face as the sounds of a struggle are quickly muffled.

It’s obvious which door belongs to the nobles they're hunting, the elegant lock and the numerous guards outside the door making it even more obvious. It’s like a massive arrow pointing them to exactly where they need to be. Or an ‘X’ marking the spot.

He doesn't even need to look at Childe to feel the anticipation building around them. He can feel it himself, in the adrenaline crackling through his veins and the way his staff pulses a little brighter, for just a few seconds. It’s a warning and a threat, and the guards stationed outside the door read it clearly.

These ones obviously favour their employers slightly more than the ones outside, as they do not hesitate to throw themselves into a fight with him and Childe.

He ducks back, spinning on his heel and slamming his staff into the side of the first attacker’s head. He goes down like a stone, and he uses the opportunity to strike down with his staff. The man’s ribs crack, splintering beneath the force he uses to plunge his staff into the hardwood floors below the man’s back.

Ice shoots out from the point of impact, and many of the guards slip over, landing hard on the ground. Childe laughs, and he finds himself echoing it, before sliding over the icy covering on the floor and using it to gain momentum for his strikes. The guards don't respond to their laughter, but he does watch one of them hesitate, for just a moment, before drawing his weapon.

The man currently impaled by his staff isn't even twitching anymore, and he yanks it back out, bemoaning the spurt of blood that springs forth and hits the bottom of his cloak. It’s no doubt going to stain, and also be incredibly inconvenient to wash out. He looks up, watching as his next opponents approach, slightly slower than the first.

He twirls his staff around again, hitting the approaching guards, though neither of them drop as satisfyingly as the first. It’s slightly disappointing, but he uses their momentary distraction, the room no doubt spinning from the solid hits he landed on either of their heads, to fling shards of ice in their direction.

They hit their marks, and the guards go down again, more blood spraying from the points of impact. He feels some of it hit his face, the metallic smell filling his nostrils and only making the adrenaline pulse a little harder.

The door is flung open, banding against the opposite wall with a resounding crash. He turns slowly, watching as the woman standing in the doorway slips and struggles to regain her footing on the ice. He sends it out a little further with a pulse of energy, watching as he knuckles grow white from her grip on the doorframe.

She’s clearly just woken up, hair mussed and tangled, still blinking sleep from her bleary eyes. He also recognises her face from the brief they were given. She has very distinctive eyes, ones that promise hatred and retribution as they land on him, even as they remain slightly glazed over with sleep. The colouration of them is indeed unusual, and he can see why so many people sought after her hand in marriage, and not just for her inheritance.

She steps forward, sliding past Childe when he lunges for her, hydro blades missing her neck by a fraction, only managing to tear into her nightclothes as she skids past him, still scrabbling for a foothold on the icy ground. She hardly manages to regain it quickly enough to dodge the hydro construct flung her way.

Her eyes are set on him, and he watches as she approaches, flicks something from inside her sleeve and raises it above her head, preparing to plunge it downwards-

It meets resistance, and her arms jerk with the force she put into her swing, dagger still raised above her head and pointed directly at his heart. He tilts his head, just slightly, to the side, and watches as she struggles to wrench her dagger free from his shield.

It had been practically invisible in the low light, so he doesn't blame her for trying. He does, however, blame her for not considering her approach enough, as ice begins to creep up the blade, twisting over the metal in spiralling fractals.

She begins to panic, when she finds her hands have become stuck to her dagger’s hilt, ice encasing first just the tips of her fingers, before springing up and over her knuckles. Her eyes are wide, the last vestiges of sleep gone from them as she yanks with a wild panic.

He notes, briefly, that Childe has disappeared into the bedroom, no doubt to dispatch her husband, who hasn't even made an appearance yet. He doesn't pay it much mind, watching the slowly growing panic in front of him with delight.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, voice low, and she looks at him, all previous fury drained from her eyes, leaving only a plea for her life and the residue of panic that has quickly begun to subside into acceptance. “Can't handle the cold?”

He drives an icicle into her stomach, and his shield shatters, dissipating into nothingness before the shards can hit the ground. Not that she’s attempting to stab him anymore, far more preoccupied with the shard of ice lodged into her abdomen, and the way it is quickly turning very, very red.

It stains the floor below them, makes the ice even more slippery than before, and she slips, crashing down. Hard . He watches her go, watches as her chest heaves for breath, eyes flickering around the hallway wildly, as though some saviour is going to appear from the darkness.

He leans over her instead, watching as her eyes cloud over with tears, beading in the corners of her eyes as she begins to beg for her life. “Please,” her voice is garbled, distorted by the tears running down her cheeks. Her hands, slick with blood, attempt to grab at him. He lets her, knowing this cloak is too far gone to be saved now, and that a little more blood won't harm it further.

She grabs onto the end of his plait, yanking him forward until he has to brace a hand on the ground to avoid being pulled over completely. He raises a hand, and peels her fingers from where they have become entangled within his hair, already cursing her under his breath for the inconvenience that washing the blood out is going to be.

Her tears continue to run, but he finds not a shred of remorse in him as he stares down at her, watching as her breaths become shorter and shorter, more and more laboured. She grabs weakly at him again, but he shoves her hands away this time. It hardly takes any effort to brush her off, on account of the blood making her hands slip and the weakness that comes with blood loss and impending death making her hardly a more competent foe than a slime.

In theory, he could have ended her sooner, could have slit her throat while she lay there begging for her life. But, there was some sick and twisted part of himself that wants to watch her suffer, even as the blood slowly seeps into his cloak, dyeing the previously blue fabric a deep crimson.

The blood on his face has dried, and he’s sure the blood in his hair is drying. The blood around them continues to soak into everything, staining his previously beautiful ice with a disgusting shade of red.

Her breath continues to stutter, but he grows bored of her and her unintelligible garbling that he assumes is intended to be words.

He rises, and steps over her, heading towards the bedroom. Inside, he finds a similar scene to the one outside, though the hydro blades Childe used have long-since dissolved into puddles again.

The man is dead, too, his eyes glazed over with death and nothingness as Childe stands over him. He holds his bow in his hand, grip loose, as he stares down at the man with an unreadable gaze.

A floorboard beneath his heel creaks, and he has to take a step back as he finds a bow pointed in his face, an arrow already notched and ready to fly. It’s pointed perfectly, right between his eyes, allowing Childe the opportunity to kill him here and now. He likely wouldn't even have the chance to scream.

He pushes it aside with his staff, and Childe lets him. His eyes still shimmer with excitement from the fight, and he has to avoid several broken pieces of pottery as he steps towards the other. The bedroom has been thoroughly destroyed, the sheets dragged from the bed and torn, strewn about the room, among the broken vases and picture frames. It seems that this man didn't go down without a fight either, long gouges cut into the boards of the floor that look more like claw marks than something done with a weapon.

The floorboards are also stained darker in places, but he ignores that in favour of looking at Childe. His mask is pushed to the side, pushed back into his hair, leaving the spatters of blood across his face even more visible against his pale skin. Childe doesn't seem to be completely aware of everything, still breathing heavily as he stares down at the body at their feet.

He reaches a hand out, and Childe leans towards him, allowing him to wipe the blood free from his face with a practised hand. Some of it smears. Some of it doesn't. He’s sure he doesn't look much better himself: cloak stained a deep red at the edges and blood spattered across his chin and parts of his mask.

Some of the blood on Childe’s face flakes away when he brushes at it, and other parts are still wet with fresh blood. Most of it is not his, but some of it is. A small cut has managed to find itself on the bridge of his nose, short, but deep. It looks like it’ll scar. He says as much to Childe.

Childe laughs. “It won't be the first.” He says, and Kaeya knows. He’s seen the scars that line Childe’s shoulders and back. The few that have managed to mark the skin below his elbow look far more severe than the others. The shiny skin there tells of deep lacerations, ones that would have taken weeks, if not months, to heal.

Despite that, his face has so far remained unmarred, with its freckles and the pale skin, a scar will stand out like a jewel among the dirt. “It’ll be the first on your face.” It would make him look older, strip away that youthful facade he slips into easily when whatever he’s doing isn't quite going his way. He knows he looks younger than he is; he also knows how to twist that to his advantage, even if it’s something he despises doing.

“Well,” Childe sighs, and the last light of adrenaline leaves his eyes, leaving them dim and dark once more. “Perhaps it will serve as a reminder for this mission, then.” His lips quirk up at the edges, and he finds himself mirroring the movement, watching Childe with a smile that he could almost call fond.

He’s not sure when Childe’s fingers found a place around his wrist, not holding, simply touching, fingers skimming across the exposed skin between the end of his glove and the bone of his wrist. His fingers are warm, and he’s not sure how he didn't notice it before now with the way that it burns. The burn is pleasant, and he can imagine sinking into the feeling.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he yanks his hand back, any thoughts about burning evaporating from his mind as Childe’s fingers slip away from where they had been curled against his skin.

Ekaterina is stood in the doorway, a cicin resting on her shoulder and her lantern still glowing slightly. The house is dark around them, presumably because whatever servants usually light the candles along the wall didn't get the opportunity with the Fatui invasion.

There are two other recruits behind Ekaterina. One of them is a cryo cicin mage, and the other a vanguard. They're both peering in through the doorway, over Ekaterina’s shoulders, equally curious. Ekaterina gives him a pointed glare that he can feel, even from behind her mask.

“Upper floors clear?” He asks, and his tone begs no questions.

“Affirmative.” Ekaterina responds. “Many were simply servants, and they were easily sent on their way, out the front door. Those that put up more resistance were dispatched in a far more…permanent way.” She grins, and the cicin on her shoulder flutters, electro energy sparking between its wings.

“The targets have equally been dispatched.” His heart is still thudding in his chest, as though he was caught doing something he shouldn't be doing. Or he had just finished a particularly strenuous fight, neither of which are true. “Send out a request for someone to clear this estate of the remnants. We don't want to upset any of the day workers when they turn up for their shifts.” He pauses. “And station a vanguard here to ensure they get the message that they have been honourably discharged from their posts.”

Ekaterina nods, then salutes him. The other two behind her fumble to copy the motion.

She turns and, pushing past the other two, disappears into the darkness of the hall. The other two scramble to follow her, leaving him and Childe alone in the master bedroom once more. When he turns back, Childe is watching him, eyes slightly wider than normal and cheeks flushed, even beneath the blood.

“Take a picture,” he teases, “it’ll last longer.” His words seem to break Childe from whatever reverie he was in, and he scowls, shoving his mask back into place.

“As though I’d want a picture of your face,” he responds. “What would I even do with something that ugly?”

“Likely the same thing all the recruits do with the photos they have of me.” He winks at Childe, watching as his ears burn a bright red. He’s not dumb, he’s seen the recruits taking photos of him fighting before and he hasn't spoken to them about it yet, and about how it is incredibly inappropriate behaviour.

“Do they seriously do that?” Childe asks him, voice lowered to a whisper as they make their way through the house once more.

“Yes,” he’s not sure why they're whispering, especially as he’s rather certain they're the only live people in the house right now. “I found several shoved into someone’s pillowcase when I was doing the dorm checks the other week.”

Childe laughs, loud and uncaring, breaking the silence that had settled around them. “Oh Archons,” he gasps in a breath, “I wish I could have seen your face.”

“You should've seen the recruit's face,” even the thought of it continues to bring a smile, despite the lingering embarrassment from the situation. “They turned so red I was worried they were going to faint.”

“I wish I could've been there.” Childe sighs and leans against him, a small laugh making his shoulders shake again for a moment. Childe is warm where he’s pressed against him, and he finds himself adjusting his posture slightly to allow the man to lean more of his weight against him.

“You could've been,” he says, “seeing as it’s a shared duty. But you decided to put off your paperwork again, meaning you had to stay behind and finish that. Which, that wouldn't happen if-”

“If I just did it when I got it, like any sensible person would.” Childe parrots back, “Yes, yes, I am very aware, as you keep reminding me.”

He hums in response, revelling in the chill that greets them as they finally step outside, away from the darkened hallways of the far-too large house behind them. It had been rather claustrophobic, and his unease had been rising steadily since he spoke to Ekaterina.

The only thing currently on his mind is the warm bed waiting for him back in their office building. He holds a hand out to Childe, smirking to himself as the other takes it without question. “Shouldn't you be asking why I did that?” He says, and Childe frowns, cheeks already turning red from the cold. Honestly, for a Snezhnayan, he seems to be incredibly susceptible to the elements.

“Why do you want to hold my hand, Pavone.” His voice is flat, and he sounds incredibly unimpressed.

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to get back quicker, but seeing as that’s your response, I suppose I won't bother.” He begins to pull his hand from Childe’s grip, but the other holds on tighter, almost crushing his fingers with the force.

“No, no,” Childe hurries to correct himself, “I would be very pleased to get back sooner, please and thank you.”

He hums, before stopping his attempts to pry his hand loose. He doubts he would have actually managed it in the end, Childe is as clingy as an octopus when he wants to be. “I've been told it can make some people feel a little nauseous, but I've never had the opportunity to ask someone myself, so, let me know, yeah?” He tightens his grip on Childe’s hand, “Oh, and don't let go, I’d hate to lose you among the ley lines.”

He thinks Childe begins to ask him a question, but he doesn't pay it much mind, grasping for the thread of power that leads back towards their office. It’s brighter than some of the others clustered around it, from the familiarity of its use, no doubt. He latches onto it and yanks.

The familiar swirling feeling takes over his body, and he has to focus to maintain his grip on Childe’s hand as he pulls them through the veins of the ley lines. He’s met with a little more resistance than he usually is, but he pushes past it.

He stumbles slightly when they reemerge in their office, which isn't something he’s done since he was first learning to teleport. He has to pry his fingers off of Childe’s hand from how tight his grip was, flexing his fingers to try and get the blood flowing again.

Childe groans, before folding forward, and he likely would've hit the floor with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, had he not reached out to grab him and pull him back upright. Though, calling what Childe is currently doing ‘standing’ would be far too generous, as he’s leaning more than half his weight against Kaeya right now.

“A little nauseous .” He hears Childe mutter, and has to bite back a laugh as he helps Childe through the door and into their small, attached apartment that was designed with only one person in mind.

The kitchen is tiny, and is part of the main room. The only thing that has a door between it and the rest of the living space is the bathroom, and even that’s barely large enough to house the bath, toilet, and sink within it.

He dumps Childe in the bathtub, clothes and all, flicks the tap on and leans back to watch as the man struggles to hang onto his consciousness. Maybe dragging him so unceremoniously through the ley lines wasn't his best idea. However, in his defence, it got them back here two hours before when they would have if they'd waited for a sled.

When the water is high enough, he flicks the tap off again, before knocking on Childe’s head. Childe groans, but peels his eyes open, squinting up at him. “I hate you.” Are the first words out of his mouth, though the effect is destroyed slightly by the fact that he slips into the steaming water with a pleased hum.

Childe fumbles for his mask, attempting to pull it loose from his hair, but getting it stuck halfway and leaving Kaeya as the one that detangles it in the end. He feels a little guilty right now, because it is mostly his fault that Childe’s in the state that he’s currently in right now. However, he did also do him a favour by getting them here quicker, so he’s a little conflicted on how to feel right now.

He lets Childe duck beneath the surface of the water, scrubbing at his hair and turning the water cloudy with blood. When he resurfaces, his hair is completely flattened, giving him a drowned look as the water continues to drip from the ends of his hair. He’s only managed to scrub about half the blood from his hair so far.

He sighs, and leans over Childe, reaching for the shampoo he knows is Childe’s solely because he’d scrawled a large ‘C’ on the bottle when he first moved into the apartment, as though he’s going to try and steal some shampoo that he knows will wreck his hair.

“What are you doing?” Childe asks, watching him as he leans back, holding the bottle of shampoo.

“I had hoped it would be obvious what I'm doing,” he says, “I’m helping you wash your hair so you don't drown yourself.”

Childe scoffs. “I can manage not drowning by myself, thanks.” He leans forward to grab the shampoo bottle from Kaeya’s hands, but he leans back, holding it far out of the other’s reach. Childe stares after it for a moment, before seeming to realise that it’s a hopeless cause and giving up, ducking his head and allowing Kaeya to wash his hair.

He smirks to himself, busying his hands with washing Childe’s hair. He may take a few more liberties than necessary when teasing his fingers through the knots, but if he wants to marvel at how soft Childe’s hair remains, even while using this shitty shampoo, then there’s no one here to stop him.

He lets Childe rinse his hair himself, and watches as the water clouds a little further with blood. Some of it is from him, small clumps of dried blood he hadn't noticed on his hands washing off as he helped Childe. His hair is also less wrecked from that noble tangling her bloodied hands in it than he thought it would be, and most of the blood comes out when he runs his hands through it.

Childe smacks at the arm resting against the side of the tub. “Can you get me a towel?”

“They're over there.” He nods towards where they're hung, barely a few feet from the bath. “You can get it yourself.”

Childe frowns up at him. “My strength has left me,” Kaeya has to suppress a sigh at the pitch Childe’s voice takes on, “and I'm merely helpless, all because of my cruel friend, that decided to try and kill me.”

“I didn't try to kill you.” He gets the towel anyway.

Childe almost slips when he gets out of the bath, clothes sodden and heavy, and Kaeya has to steady him. Note to self: do not take Childe on long trips through the ley lines. Maybe his strength leaving him was more of an apt description than he first thought, especially as Childe continues to sway slightly.

He hadn't considered how…hostile the ley lines might be to someone that doesn't belong among them. Childe had likely never teleported before, and it wasn't even as simple as going a couple of feet, like the kind of teleportations you're meant to do at first to allow your body to acclimate.

He suppresses a wince as Childe trips again, giving him a silent apology through his eyes alone. “I take it you're not fond of my little trick, then?”

“Calling it blinking it stupid.” He lets Childe collapse onto his bed, tucked into the furthest corner from the door. “Blinking makes it sound like it’s easy, and like it doesn't suck your soul out and make you want to die .”

“I'm sure it’s not that bad.” Childe’s dramatic streak is always amusing to watch, mainly because he pretends it doesn't exist. “You're overexaggerating.”

“I am not .” Childe rolls over to glare at him, his hair spiked and messy from where he had dried it with the towel, displaying absolutely no care for his hair. “I am being entirely reasonable because whoever told you ‘blinking’ would make you feel a little nauseous is a dirty fucking liar.”

“Your dramatics never fail to amuse me.”

Childe gasps, being even more dramatic than before. “I am not -” A knock at the door interrupts whatever he’s about to say, and Kaeya turns around curiously to stare at it. It doesn't give them any answers, but the fact that someone knocked on this door and not the door to their office speaks volumes.

He looks back at Childe, who simply gestures towards the door with an impatient motion.

He cracks the door open an inch, just enough to peer out, but not enough to let whoever is on the other side see in. A trembling recruit, distinctly not from their unit, stands a foot or so from the door, giving the two of them plenty of space.

He stares at them, and they stare back. Their mask makes their expression unreadable, but the shaking of their limbs gives them away. They hold out a letter with shaking hands, and as soon as he’s holding it himself, they disappear. He blinks after them, watching the door drift shut, processing just how fast that recruit had moved to escape like that.

He cuts through the wax seal with an icicle, noting that it’s Pulcinella’s emblem. The letter is short, but written in cursive Snezhnayan , which has him cursing the Harbinger under his breath as he struggles through it, squinting and trying to figure out what the hell this letter says.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to read it, which is only made worse by the fact that Childe is just staring at him silently from his bed.

“Start looking lively, Childe,” he looks up, “seems like you and I have got a private audience with Pulcinella.” He’s just about as excited at this as Childe is, which is not at all.

“I fucking hate you.”

“Good to know.” He hums, resettling his mask on his face and hoping that the bloodstains on his cloak don't look too horrendous. “We still have to go.”

Childe groans.

Chapter Text

He had been with the Fatui for a few years at this point, and not once in that time has he had the joy of watching all of the Harbingers interact with each other whilst confined to a singular room.

He's watched Dottore and Pantalone snipe at each other over budgets and cuts and expenses, in a way that is practised and teasing.

He's seen Pulcinella and Dottore stood side-by-side, at the edge of the training grounds, speaking together in presumably low tones and their heads ducked close together.

He's seen the other Harbingers, always at a distance and never for longer than a few seconds. They have a tendency to sweep around corners and disappear dramatically, meaning he's never caught more than a momentary glimpse of any of them. Perhaps the most elusive of them all is the First Harbinger, who he is yet to catch a glimpse of, and the only thing he knows about the man comes from rumours circulated among the recruits, who are more than happy to indulge him with a few tales when there are drinks on the table.

Still, watching them all turn towards him as one when he enters is more than a little unnerving, and he doesn't think he can be blamed for pausing in the doorway for a few moments, and considering whether he’s just been sent to his execution.

His pause is long enough for Childe to bump into his back, flail, grab a hold of his coat and attempt to yank him backwards, and swear very loudly at him.

He watches as Pulcinella closes his eyes and appears to do breathing exercises. Either that, or he’s praying for the Tsaritsa to strike him down where he stands. Dottore simply looks vaguely amused, even as he struggles to right himself with Childe still clinging to the back of his coat as though it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Maybe it is. Childe had been about to fall asleep before the order came, and maybe he’s perfected the art of sleeping upright. It wouldn't surprise him.

He gives up and elbows Childe in the ribs, feeling his elbow connect solidly and Childe jerk back and away from him with a small sound. Fortunately, this allows him to slip inside the room, away from the embarrassment that is Childe right now. Unfortunately, it also means Childe gets to see exactly who he had been making himself an idiot in front of, turning to glare at him.

He shrugs in response, trying not to grin too much as Childe’s ears progressively get more and more red. He’s sure if he touched them right now they would be burning beneath his hands. It doesn't go unnoticed, either, several of the Harbingers have decided to simultaneously start coughing, some more severely than others.

La Signora is one of the few to not even crack a smile, simply looking him up and down in a way that makes him feel incredibly self-conscious of the blood staining the edge of his cloak and likely matted in his hair. When stood in front of her, he understands immediately why she’s referred to as the beauty of the Fatui. He also understands why no one has attempted to pursue her. Her eyes promise a very interesting, drawn-out, and painful death.

“Apologies for our lateness.” He ducks his head in what could probably be counted as a bow, but is far too quick and done flippantly. He’s sure it would get him dishonourably discharged were he anyone else, but all it gets him now is a few sneers at his blatant disrespect.

“I second that.” Childe’s bow is a little more respectful than his own, but it’s done with the same degree of mockery he injects into every conversation he has with Pulcinella. Childe holds it for a moment, glancing up through his fringe, before straightening.

He can feel Childe wavering, the faint pulses of elemental energy coming from his body weaker than they usually are. He’s not sure what it is that Childe does to reduce himself to such a state, but he’s heard stories of the Lieutenant becoming a monster on the battlefield and simply assumed he overexerted himself each time he found himself in a fight.

He pushes a little of his own energy towards Childe anyway, allowing it to mingle with Childe’s, condense into something that his body won't immediately try to reject, before releasing it. It’s not a long-term fix, but it’s enough for Childe to pull himself fully upright. It also means he leans some of his weight off Kaeya’s side, which he’s more than grateful for.

“I do believe you're actually several hours earlier than you should be.” Pulcinella looks over the rim of his glasses at them, slightly disapproving in his tone. “I do hope you didn't rush your mission. I would hate to have to clean up after you two.”

“I would hope that you have some faith in us, Rooster,” he says. “Have we not continued to complete your missions to an incredible standard?”

“Besides,” Childe interjects, “you can't exactly rush a murder. You kill them, they're dead, and you're done. Easy.” Kaeya nods in agreement, looking back at the gathered Harbingers in front of them. He’s still not entirely sure why their mission debrief required an almost full turnout from the Tsaritsa’s highest ranking, but they seem content to stand in silence right now so he’s not going to bring attention to their existence.

Dottore catches his eye, placing a finger over his lips and grinning.

He tries not to stare back at the other man, mind running through several scenarios of what might be about to unfold. Unfortunately, his mind comes up with nothing incredibly interesting, only that they fucked up big time and killed the wrong nobles, so they're about to be executed for their crimes.

“Signora,” Dottore turns to La Signora, tilting his head back to look up at her, “weren't you just telling us all about your unfortunate trip to Mondstadt?” Whatever Dottore was planning, Pulcinella was definitely also in on it, because he’s watching The Doctor with a faint smile. He’s incredibly unsubtle in it as well, as his eyes keep flicking back to him and Childe, as though waiting for their reactions.

“Oh, yes,” Pulcinella decides to add to the conversation. The other Harbingers are also watching their fellows a little closer now, likely guessing that there was a scheme forming right in front of them. Even the Balladeer deigns to start paying attention to the conversation, turning away from the paperwork he had been steadfastly working through. Archons knows why he decided to bring it with him to this meeting, but Kaeya’s impressed with his work ethic, seeing as he’s managed to clear through half of the sizeable stack in the time they've been speaking. Either that or he’s just signing on the line and tossing it aside, like someone else he knows. “Weren't you saying about how something more important had come up?”

La Signora’s visible eye narrows. “You could phrase it like that.”

“Surely, then,” Dottore snatches the conversation back from Pulcinella, and he gets the impression that this is less teamwork and more of a tug-of-war on who can contribute the most to this, “it would be far more convenient if you could pass your work off onto someone else?”

“And who might you suggest for such a role?” La Signora asks. “It’s quite a sensitive mission, and I'm not sure there are many others that would fit the requirements.”

“We have two incredibly worthy candidates lined up right here for you.” Dottore shows his hand, and he slots the final pieces together as he realises where this is going. He keeps his lips sealed, Dottore’s request for silence pushing to the forefront of his mind once more. “Surely, if this other mission is so important, you will have no qualms in handing it over to these two?”

La Signora doesn't even look at them. “And how can we be sure they have the capabilities for this specific mission? One of them looks as though he’s walked out of Mond himself, and the other has never left Snezhnaya. How can we place the responsibility for such an important mission on their shoulders?”

He grits his teeth at La Signora’s words, reminding himself that she likely doesn't mean anything by her throwaway comment. And even if she did, he’s proven his loyalty to the Fatui several times over at this point, even if people continue to doubt him at every turn.

Childe pokes an elbow into his ribs, not hard enough to hurt but certainly enough to get his attention, as he turns his head, just slightly, to look at the other. Childe simply looks confused, but also slightly concerned, and he realises that the other hasn't quite put it together. He shakes his head, even as it causes Childe’s frown to deepen.

“They are more than capable.” Dottore assures. “We have our youngest Lieutenant in history and our first…” he looks back at Kaeya, as though considering what to call him. “Our first exception .” Which is a nice way of calling him a person of interest.

The other Harbingers turn to stare at him then, and seriously , subtlety is not at all their strong suit, why do people keep calling them a mysterious organisation when these are the people in charge of it? The pairs of eyes weigh on him anyway, and he reinforces his magic, returning the curious stares with a glare of his own.

“I hate to interrupt,” he really doesn't, and it’s more for formalities than anything. And also to ensure one of them doesn't take offence and decide to cut his head off for some unspoken slight. “But I do believe we’re overlooking a rather vital flaw in your plan?”

“Oh, really?” La Signora turns towards him, and he decides that, while he may not hate the woman, he certainly has no kind feelings blossoming for her right now. “And what might that flaw be, exception ?”

“Only a Harbinger can oversee an operation overseas.” He glances at Dottore from the corner of his eye. “And, not sure if you've missed this, but we’re not exactly Harbingers.” Childe stiffens beside him, but all La Signora does is stare at him for a moment longer, before laughing. It’s short, and she cuts it off almost immediately, but it cuts through the tension like a knife through butter, and he watches several of the Harbingers physically slump with relief. Which, that’s embarrassing for them.

“Well,” Pulcinella is still grinning, not even bothering to cover it up now. “I have a rather easy solution for that.”

“Oh really?” Dottore turns to face Pulcinella. “Please, do enlighten us.”

“There’s no other option,” Pulcinella shakes his head, and Kaeya’s seriously starting to consider whether the dramatic flair is simply a feature of all Snezhnayans at this point. “I suppose all we can do is make them Harbingers, seeing as it’s vital to the completion of that mission.”

Signora snorts, then, and it’s not at all a sound he would have expected her to make. “You make a good argument, Pulcinella.” She taps a finger against her chin, “Unfortunately, I cannot seem to devise a counter-argument to that, so I suppose you must be right.” They're all so horrendously dramatic. They should have started a theatre club rather than an army. They’d have just as much success, he’s sure.

“My, my,” there’s a voice from the back of the room, echoing from the incredibly convenient pool of shadows there. He’s beginning to wonder if, actually, being dramatic is simply a trait picked up from spending enough time around the Harbingers, and what he can do to save himself from the same fate. “Aren't you confident in your deductions?”

The woman that sweeps out from the shadows is, simply put, stunning. He’s not sure how to put it into words as he stares openly at her. She looks as though she’s been carved from ice, elegant in her figure, but deadly as she moves. Her heels click along the floor, and it’s the only sound he can hear, other than the faint crackling of ice.

A wave of her power washes over him, and it’s all he can do to not shudder beneath the feeling of it. It seems to infuse his veins with power, whilst simultaneously setting them alight, until he’s not sure whether the power is something he wishes to welcome or escape as quickly as he can.

He’s left hanging in that delicate balance of confusion as the Tsaritsa, because it is the Tsaritsa, it couldn't be anyone else, sweeps towards them. The train of her dress shimmers behind her, and he’s not sure if the trail of frost she leaves is intentional or not.

She pauses in front of Childe first, a hand, tipped in long nails, as dangerous as the rest of her, tilts his chin upwards so he looks her in the eye. She tilts his head one way, then the other, before leaning in and murmuring something in his ear, too quiet for even Kaeya to hear.

Childe glances at him, wide-eyed, as the Tsaritsa pulls back, a faint smile curving her lips upwards, before she turns towards him.

He’s pinned beneath the intensity of her gaze immediately, but there is no malice in it. She simply observes him, and he observes her back. He doesn't bow his head to her out of respect, and she doesn't seem to expect it, simply content with watching him.

He had expected hatred in her eyes, for that recognition in her iris to bloom into a fiery fury and for her to strike him down where he stands. Or expose him for what he is. He shivers as she leans closer, the power circling around them enough to make his own magic shiver, moments away from collapsing in on itself.

She takes his chin in her hand, and it’s simultaneously not as cold as he expected it to be, yet also the coldest thing that he’s ever had the fortune of touching. She tilts his head one way, then the other, observing him in the same way she had observed Childe.

A finger trails along the edge of his eyepatch, and he stiffens beneath her touch. He waits for her to yank it free, squinting his eye shut in preparation as he braces himself.

Her hand moves away, and it takes all of his willpower not to heave a sigh of relief. Instead, she brushes his hair away from his ear and leans forward.

“You are a long way from home.” She murmurs. “Though, I am impressed with how far you have come.” He swallows. “You're strong too,” one of the fingers clutching his chin taps at his skin, and he shivers. “You’d make a good Harbinger, don't you think? But, I am hesitant to send you to Mondstadt.” He stiffens, and she notices this, of course she does. “Do not fret, I do not believe you to be a traitor, I merely remember the night I granted your vision.” It hangs heavy at his hip, and he swallows, a little thicker this time, at the reminder. “Are you prepared to face the past, Kaeya? Are you willing to face those trials head-on and overcome them?”

“I am.” His voice almost cracks on the simple syllables, but he swallows past it. The nervousness swirling in his gut has slowly twisted into anticipation as he stands there, the Tsaritsa’s hand softening its grip on his chin.

She pulls back, and when he looks at her face, he finds that she’s smiling. “That was all I needed.” She says, and it’s more of a reassurance than anything he’s been told before, despite the simplicity of it.

“Have you made a decision, Your Majesty?” The man stood behind her, the first, Kaeya realises as he stares at him.

“I have.” She hums. In an instant, she has a blade in her hands, drawing the flat edge down her palm, careful not to cut her skin. He feels dread pool in his stomach, ice shivering down his spine despite his immunity to the cold.

She places the point of the blade against his neck. If he moved, it would cut far deeper than he’s comfortable with. If he breathes too deeply, it would cut far deeper than he’s comfortable with. He breathes in, steels his resolve, and promises himself that he’s going to remain still.

“Do you swear your undying loyalty to me, Pavone?” She asks.

“I do.” The room has gone silent, each of the Harbingers watching on carefully. They seem to be waiting for him to make a misstep, looming like a flock of vultures watching a slowly dying animal. He refuses to give them that satisfaction.

“Will you act as my hand, my will, and bring my goals into the world, into being?”

“I will.” The blade doesn't waver from where it hovers. It doesn't move at all.

“If I asked, would you bring the world to its knees? Would you be willing to stand beside me and watch Celestia burn?”

When the Tsaritsa is described, it is the icy coldness of her that is mentioned. The aura of frost that follows her around, and the way her gaze seems to root you to the spot, as though she’s frozen you in place with a singular thought.

Which is why the fury and passion burning in the depths of her eyes brings him to a momentary halt. He hears a Harbinger make a tutting sound in the back of their throat, before being quickly hushed.

“With pleasure.” He grins, finding his words again. Her eyes, if at all possible, seem to burn a little fiercer, a little brighter.

“Then I welcome you, my Twelfth, my… Herald .” The word carries weight with it, and he accepts his new title graciously. He doesn't bow his head, far too aware of the sharp edge still pointed at his throat. “May you bring ferocious change with you, wherever you may drift.”

She pulls the sword away from his throat, and the relief that comes with it makes him so dizzy he can hardly concentrate on Childe’s oath. He stands there, and simply reminds himself how to breathe, not quite looking at Childe as he makes the same promises he had.

When the Tsaritsa steps back, carefully observing her Eleventh and Twelfth, he expects that to be it. He expects her dismissal, and the others seem to as well, as each of them begin to murmur to their neighbour, making a slow exit towards the door.

“You seem to work well as a pair.” She muses, “Inseparable, in soul and in body.” She looks at him then, and he gets the distinct feeling that she knows more than he does. It makes him uncomfortable, despite her earlier kindness. “La Cigni,” she says, “the swans. It seems quite fitting.” 

It’s far more fitting than his own title. The Herald . It’s so incorrect that it’s painful. It’s not just incorrect, it’s untrue. Heralds are something entirely separate to mages, and to be compared to one makes his skin itch.

He remembers speaking with Dottore, but if he were asked what they had discussed, he would be unable to tell you. He thinks it may have been some kind of congratulations, but the anticipation of their new task, and the residual fear from the blade that had pointed at his neck still pumping in his veins, he wouldn't be able to tell you the details of the conversation, even if you pointed a bow at his head at threatened to shoot.

Still, he finds himself in their shared room, wrapped tightly in the thick sleepwear Childe insists he wears, lest the other wake up to a corpse that had died of hypothermia in the night. He wants to protest, but he’s also not sure how he’s meant to do that without just outright telling Childe he wasn't human.

So, thick sleepwear it was. He’s here, dressed in this, and feeling incredibly confused as he stares at Childe. The other stares back at him, already tucked into bed and leaning on his elbow as he stares at him.

He pushes the duvet back, a silent invitation if he wishes to take it. He does.

Kaeya isn't sure when climbing into Childe's bed upon invitation became normal to him. He's not sure at what point the request stopped being quiet and slurred whilst half-asleep or half-drunk, and he would leave the bed to return to his own before Childe could begin to stir. He's not sure when lying beside him felt less like a dirty secret and more of a closeness between friends.

He's not sure when Childe shuffling back, towards the wall, became something familiar for him to watch before climbing in beside him and not quite lying on his side but also not quite on his back, to allow Childe to rest his head on his shoulder. He's not sure when the feeling of Childe's breaths against his neck became something familiar.

He does remember the first time it happened. Both of them had been far less sober than they are now, and Childe had simply pulled him close, held onto him and refused to let go until he allowed himself to be settled in beside Childe. He remembers how Childe told him about the cramped bedroom he had shared with his siblings and the countless times they had curled close together, just like this, when they didn't have enough firewood to keep a fire burning at night. (Both of them had pointedly ignored the log burner happily chewing away at the wood in the corner. Childe had even curled a little closer to him at that moment, a hand curling around his arm, as though afraid he would make a move to leave.) He also remembers, just barely, how Childe had murmured that it felt different when Kaeya was the one beside him, rather than his brother.

(He also knows that Childe doesn't remember their evening. He had been careful to slip out of Childe’s bed before the horizon could even begin to lighten, and when asked, Childe had simply shrugged and asked how much firewater they'd drunk the night before. He hadn't pressed the matter.)

And it’s a comfort he allows himself to hold close, listening as Childe’s breaths slow until they're deeper and far more steady than they ever are when he’s awake. He allows them to lull him to sleep as well, the push and pull of breath beside his ear calming.

It soothes, and he allows himself to slip into the world of dreams.

Chapter Text

The rocking motions of the boat are gentle, a slight back and forth that he only notices when he attempts to stand completely still. If he tries, he finds himself swaying with the motion, rocking alongside the boat so he doesn't stumble from the tiny movements of the boat. The boat continues to rock back and forth, Kaeya continues to sway with the motion, and Childe continues to lean his head against the railing at the edge of the boat.

He watches, hands resting against the same railing that Childe is leaning against, listening as Childe groans. He watches, as Childe opens his eyes for a second only to slam them shut a second later as he attempts not to vomit. 

He continues to watch, even though it just continues to be more of the same - Childe opens his eyes, looks even more sick, shuts them and tries to breathe through it, before peeking his eyes open again, as though something would have changed - half out of amusement, and half out of the concern that he might actually vomit, and then he’d have far more than a few worried agents staring at him.

As it is, they're quietly watching him from a distance, pretending to do their jobs. It seems as though they're putting more effort into pretending to complete their tasks than the tasks would actually take if they just finished them rather than gawking at the Harbinger currently slumped over the railing.

He leans his forearms on the railing, leaning most of his weight on one leg and settling in for the long wait they have between now and Liyue Harbour. The Fatui agents continue to stare, and he turns to glare at them over his shoulder, watching as some of them appear to literally jump with fear, scurrying away to actually start completing their tasks.

He turns back, watching the waves lap at the side of the boat gently. It’s not even that bad of a day. It’s quite nice really, especially when compared to the treacherous waters of Snezhnaya, with their chunks of ice and ferocious waves, that they’d only left behind a few hours ago. Childe had been nigh unbearable throughout that leg of their journey. These calm waters are a blessing.

He pats Childe on the back, and it’s a little more awkward than he intended it to be, but he continues to rub a hand between Childe’s shoulders anyway. He’s not sure what it does, but he remembers watching others do it when someone felt sick before. Childe mutters something under his breath, and though it’s lost amongst the sound of the waves against the hull of the ship it doesn't sound half as appreciative as he would have liked.

“Don't you think it’s kind of ironic,” he says, “that I'm stood here, rubbing the back of a hydro allogene because he gets seasick .” His hand moves to Childe’s neck, feeling the way Childe tenses beneath his hand for a moment, before relaxing again as he digs a thumb into the knot of tension.

“Shut the fuck up, Pavone.” Childe groans, but there’s far less venom behind the insult than usual. An odd feeling runs through him at the sound of that name, making his skin tingle with it. He doesn't understand the feeling, doesn't understand why it’s continued through the few years he’s possessed that name. He doesn't understand the response, and he’s carefully avoided looking further into it when he’s lying awake late at night, unable to sleep for whatever reason.

“We can go below deck, if you wish to stop staring into the waves that are making you feel sick.” The skin on Childe’s neck is hot beneath his hand, and Kaeya’s sure his own skin must be freezing to the touch, though Childe doesn't voice his complaints. “You know, staring into them is probably only making you feel worse.”

Childe hums in response, continuing to stare down at the waves, apparently ignoring what he’d just said. Childe seems to be considering his options, eyes drifting back and forth, from one invisible point to another. He doesn't speak, remaining silent, his hand simply resting on the back of Childe’s neck, absorbing the warmth. He’s almost certain Childe would refuse, doubling down and staring into the waves until he vomited, just to prove a point.

Which means he’s faintly surprised when Childe pushes away from the railing, standing up as straight as he can while leaning against Kaeya. “Please.” Is all he says, and Kaeya is more than content to shoulder some of Childe’s weight and stop him from staggering too much as they make their way below deck.

He can feel the agents watching them, though when he turns around, he can find none of them visible on the deck. He’s at least a little grateful to know that his stealth training has been paying off, even if their laziness when it comes to basic tasks continues. He has a feeling he knows where that refusal to do ‘boring’ tasks comes from.

The steps are difficult to manage, and he’s certain that Childe would have ended up at the bottom of the steps without him there, several broken bones added to his collection of ailments. He holds Childe a little tighter as he walks them down the stairs, practically carrying him. The angle is awkward, and it’s difficult to carry someone when you're not actually carrying them, just holding up their weight.

Only two things keep him from swinging Childe into a bridal carry. One of them is that the corridor below the deck is too narrow and he'd likely just end up giving Childe a concussion on top of his seasickness. The second reason is that he doesn't actually know where all their agents currently are, they're all around the ship, and he gets the feeling that Childe wouldn't appreciate one of them seeing him being bridal carried. As such, he continues along the corridor and towards his and Childe’s room.

His and Childe’s room had been a source of much stress for the captain of the ship, who had been practically pulling her hair out when she discovered that her ship would be housing not one but two Harbingers (as new as they are) and the fancy room reserved for them only had one bed. She had given them both numerous apologies, even as he reassured her that everything was fine, really, and pretended he didn't see the money passing between hands. He did, however, glare at Ekaterina when he noticed she was the one organising which hands the money passed into.

The room is still far more extravagant than any room on a ship should be, especially when he compares it to the cramped bunks their agents have to sleep in. He understands that Harbingers are a big deal, and all that, but they can very easily sleep on a featherless mattress for a few nights. It might even do some of them some good. He’s seen how they act when the Regrator cuts a small chunk from their still multi-million mora budget.

He struggles to lock the door behind them, fumbling for the latch that would lower the lock as Childe resorts to simply clinging to him. Childe’s hooked a leg around the back of his knee, meaning it’s even harder to cross the room than it should be, with the swaying of the boat making the floor almost roll beneath their feet.

Kaeya has to haul him across the room, dumping Childe on the bed when he gets close enough to do so. He pulls Childe’s boots off for him, when the other gives no indication that he’s going to do it himself. The day he lets someone wear shoes on a bed is the day Celestia themselves come down and reinstate Khaenri’ah.

He sits on the edge of the bed, unlacing his own boots, working his way down the long line of ties from the middle of his thigh to the middle of his shin. It’s almost a relief to kick the boots away and lean back on the bed, even as Childe makes a gagging sound beside him.

“Do you want a bucket?” He asks, and Childe nods, pressing his face further into the pillow that definitely isn't his. Kaeya sighs, and just hopes that his favourite pillow doesn't end up needing a wash and fetches the bucket they've taken to keeping in the small, attached bathroom. Thankfully, they've only had to use it once, during the worst leg of the trip where even he was beginning to feel a little queasy with the rolling of the waves.

“Thank you,” Childe rasps when he gets back, slumped against the headboard of their bed. He sits beside him, making sure the bucket is secure in his grip before releasing it entirely and leaning back beside him.

Childe slips to the side, entirely too purposeful for it to be an accident. He doesn't point it out, Childe looks ill enough for Kaeya to feel a little bit of sympathy, and he simply brushes a hand through Childe’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead and his entirely too pale skin.

Childe sinks into his touch, leaning further and further into him until he’s practically laying in his lap as Kaeya brushes his hands through his hair. It’s getting longer than Childe would usually let it get. He twists some around his finger, twisting the strands together into something that vaguely resembles a plait. It’s clumsy, messy, but it’s been a long time since he last had the opportunity to braid someone’s hair, so he’ll allow himself this concession.

“What are you doing?” Childe’s words are slow, and he sounds half-asleep already. Kaeya continues to brush his hands through the other’s hair. He can feel the fatigue clinging to him, can feel it intertwine with that lingering feeling of otherness that has begun to permeate Childe’s being.

The feeling of it makes him feel sick, and he almost reaches out for the bucket himself. Childe had only felt of that otherness after a battle, before. It would linger and stick against his skin when they reunited at the end, and Kaeya would brush the blood from his face and ask if any of it was his own. He would tug at the feeling of otherness, the feeling of the Abyss , and try to tease it free from where it had stuck to him. It worked, most of the time, but that feeling of otherness would linger until his own adrenaline from the fight had faded.

He twists the third plait together in Childe’s hair, at the nape of his neck, and is pleased to find that it is neater than the previous two.

Now, he can feel the otherness permeating Childe’s being at all times, seeping out into their surroundings in a miasma only he can feel. It chokes him at the same time that it summons a sense of home. He hates it. He hates the otherness that seems to have wrapped Childe in its blanket and welcomed it into its hold. He hates that he’s the cause of that, with his abyssal power pulling upon the ice in the air, if only to avoid using the Vision that hangs heavy at his hip.

“Braiding your hair.” He responds, but he knows he won't get a response. Childe’s breathing has slowed, and his body has gone lax and leaned against him fully. Childe leans against Kaeya far more heavily than he would ever allow himself to normally.

He tugs at the abyss that has lodged itself within Childe’s soul, but it remains steadfastly stuck in place. Childe twitches in his sleep, and Kaeya lets it drop completely.

Childe practically bounces in place beside him with excitement, rocking the carriage they're riding in, and his sickness from the previous day entirely forgotten. He looks at the gates Childe points at, despite having looked at them several times in the past few minutes, whenever Childe had pointed them out to him.

Childe is lucky they don't have any of their agents riding with them and that most of the curtains are drawn shut, otherwise he would be embarrassing himself and completely ruining the reputation he’s built for himself.

As such, when they approach the city properly, just beginning to pass through the gates, he presses a hand down on Childe’s shoulder and holds him in place. He pulls the curtains back, peering out as the carriage grinds to a halt.

Mondstadt hasn't changed.

The people that greet them at the gate have. The two Knights that stand guard aren't ones that he recognises. They're from after he left, then. It makes something ache within him, despite it being stupid to believe that nothing in Mondstadt would have changed during his absence.

He ducks out of the carriage, extending a hand for Childe to take. A brisk wind swirls over them, teasing at the edge of his cloak and making it flap in the breeze. The fur ruff around his neck ruffles in the breeze. It feels too biting to be a welcome back, and so he glares at the statue of Barbatos he can see over the rooftops of the city.

“Good afternoon,” he turns to one of the Knights from the gate, finding that he’s approached them. “Would I be correct in assuming you're the Fatui delegation we’re expecting?” He looks back and forth between them, a faint crease forming between his eyebrows. He’s not sure what the source of the confusion is, but he hasn't begun to scream bloody murder and attempt to kill him yet, so he’s taking this as a win.

“You would be correct.” He says, when Childe does not seem to be in a conversational mood. He hadn't missed the way Childe had stared out the window at the half-built or half-destroyed hilichurl camps they had passed. “I was told we were being greeted by the Acting Grand Master, and unless that’s you and the city has truly fallen into disrepair, then I would appreciate being escorted.”

He watches the Knight swallow thickly, throat bobbing with the motion, before giving a jerky nod. His voice had perhaps been a little colder than he intended, but the pace the Knight set was brisk, meaning the delegation was swiftly shepherded through the streets.

The eyes on them made him panic more than he thought it would, with each pair of eyes that scans over him being another pair of eyes that might potentially recognise him and drag him forth in front of the crowd.

The lack of an eyepatch and the addition of a half-mask seems to have helped, though his hair isn't the most normal colour to see in the streets. Maybe it’s not the lack of recognition and more of a lack of willingness to believe that a child of Mondstadt would turn traitor.

They leave most of the delegation at the Goth Grand Hotel. Only Ekaterina and a Vanguard accompany them the rest of the way to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. The Knight escorting them seems to breathe a little easier with fewer of them at his back.

He seems more than happy to dump them on the Knights standing outside the Ordo Headquarters, leaving the two Knights staring at him and Childe shamelessly.

“Shall we see ourselves inside?” He asks, staring at these Knights, that he also doesn't recognise, and wondering when they became so incompetent. He’d be embarrassed if he was still one of them.

The Knights let them pass without complaint, and he pushes the doors open, hand lingering for a moment to allow Childe to follow him inside as well. Ekaterina and the Vanguard station themselves outside without even needing to be asked.

The door they're looking for is well-indicated, a detailed plaque embellishing the door. The Knights lingering in the entryway stare at them, just as shamelessly as all the ones before them. He has to resist the temptation to snap at them to get back to work, knocking on the Grand Master’s door instead.

The sound seems to break them from their stupor, and most of them hurry away. Only one person, stood in the doorway to the library, lingers for a moment longer. She watches him, green eyes alight with curiosity that burns into him. He glares at her until the door opens.

It is Jean on the other side. But it is not a Jean that he recognises, not the one that he remembers. He stares at her, and she stares back, irritation warping her expression. There is no recognition in her eyes, and he’s thankful for that. Though, he has to ignore the faint taste of disappointment lingering in the back of his throat.

“Good afternoon.” Her voice is curt, unfriendly. “Would you like to come in?”

“That would be wonderful.” The common dialect of Mondstadt is still unfamiliar to speak, after so long. He has an accent when he speaks it, now. It makes the words slightly clumsy. It’s an oddly pleasing thought, to have become so unfamiliar so quickly with a language he had spoken for so long. “Thank you for hosting us in your wonderful city, Acting Grand Master.”

He steps inside, and Childe follows behind him. He’s so close that he’s practically plastered against his back. He should tell him to back off a little, especially when Childe leans an arm against his shoulder, the heat of his skin burning through the thin material of his shirt.

There is someone else in the office, leaned against the desk and perching on its edge with a familiarity that suggested he did it often.

Diluc looks at him, and for the first time that day he sees a flash of recognition in his eyes. It’s followed quickly by shock, then betrayal, then anger, and then nothing at all. Diluc seems to smooth over his expression completely, until there’s nothing else remaining.

“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you.” Her voice did not assure that. Her voice communicated that it was actually the complete opposite of that, and that she would rather be anywhere else right now. “Though,” her voice wavers, “without being rude, which one of you is La Cigni? We only expected a Harbinger.” Her eyes land on Childe, as do Diluc’s, and he realises then that the Tsaritsa had simply sent a request to allow La Cigni and a party of delegates to enter the city, neglecting to mention that La Cigni is not one but two Harbingers. He has a feeling that oversight was purposeful on her part.

“Neither of us,” he says, “but also both of us.” He smiles, watching as irritation makes one of Diluc’s eyes twitch. “Did the Tsaritsa not mention that La Cigni was a unit?”

“No.” Jean’s voice is a little colder, and some of the pages on her desk ruffle with a faint wind. “She did not.”

“Ah, well. I suppose introductions are in order.” He holds a hand out, lets the Acting Grand Master grasp it. “I am the Herald of the Harbingers, though many just call me Pavone, and this is my partner Tartaglia.” He shakes her hand once, appreciating her firm grip. Some things never change, it appears.

“Pleasure, to both of you.” Jean nods. “I am Jean, the Acting Grand Master of Mondstadt.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Jean.” He lays the smile on thick, even as he hears Childe sigh beside him, almost imperceptible. “And,” he continues, turning towards where Diluc is still perched. Where he had sat throughout that whole exchange silently. “Who might you be?”

Diluc stares at him, as though trying to parse a deeper meaning in his words. He smiles at Diluc, tilting his head slightly to the side as he holds his hand out. He knows Diluc already. Childe knows Diluc too, though he remains silent at his side.

Diluc knows him, but he reaches his hand out anyway, grasping his hand in a handshake that feels more as though he’s trying to shatter every bone in his hand rather than exchange pleasantries.

“Diluc.” Diluc says, his eyes dark. “Captain Diluc.”

Chapter Text

The Angel's Share is loud. No louder than it usually is when the Knights descend on it for an evening, but the loudness has begun to grate on his nerves as he nurses the non-alcoholic drink that his fellow Knights have long since stopped mocking him for.

There are a few Fatui agents scattered around the bar, positioned in ways that seem almost casual, before you realise their vantage point allows them to completely survey the tavern. Their heads don't turn this way and that as they look, nor do they remove their masks as they drink, but he still gets the distinct feeling that they are watching. And he wants to know what they're watching for .

"Diluc!" An overly friendly hand claps down on his shoulder, and it takes every ounce of willpower in him to not immediately shove the Knight's hand off his shoulder. "We're going to get more drinks," not unless he can rid his voice of that slur, he's not.  "Do you want anything?"

"No," he says, and watches as one of the agent's heads turns slightly towards him, head tipping to the side. It would be imperceptible if he wasn't watching. "I still have this one."

He watches the Knight, and one of his friends, stumble towards the bar. Charles is behind it this evening, so he can turn away and not worry about the potential of an altercation brewing.

He watches the agent again, their head still tipped towards him, obviously listening. He's surprised neither of the Harbingers have made an appearance yet, especially as they seem to have established these agents here for a reason .

He continues watching, and waiting, and the agents continue to watch him back. He's sure they know he's watching them, saw it in the way one of them stiffened slightly when his eyes landed on him. He takes another sip of his drink and wonders if they were around during the time he was…investigating their ranks. He's hardly someone that is easily missable, and he's sure at least one of them will have heard of him, if not rumours of him. He was quite a thorn in the side of the Fatui a few years ago.

Though, the last he remembers there were only ten Harbingers, not a Twelfth and Eleventh, as the two currently residing in the city had introduced themselves as.

He watches until one of the agents stands, making their way towards the door in a relaxed manner, even stopping to speak with José by the door for a moment. Then they leave, disappearing into the night air as though they were never here in the first place.

The second follows five minutes later, though they do not stop for a chat with anyone, walking with a single-minded purpose out of the door.

When the last one stands, he sets his drink down, watching as they push a bag of mora over the counter towards Charles, before bidding him a goodnight and heading outside too.

He leaves his glass on the table, still half-full of grape juice, and follows them out.

They move quickly, hurrying down streets with a clicking of boots echoing over the cobbles as they begin to make a long, winding journey back to the Goth Grand Hotel. He almost thinks they've become lost, confused by the city's many small alleyways that lead to nowhere. He thinks that, until he takes another step forward and there's a distinct, purple glow at his feet.

He halts there, raising his hands slightly in the air and fighting the urge to summon his claymore. It would be horrible to deal with the fallout of killing a foreign diplomat on their first night in the city, even if that diplomat is from an organisation as deplorable as the Fatui.

"I'm sure my superiors will be pleased to know you've lost your edge." She says, voice ringing clearly in the air.

"Oh?" She turns on her heel to face him, a glowing book continuing to hover between her hands, pages fluttering back and forth as she maintains the circle at his feet. "And what will you report?"

"That you have settled well into your life in Mondstadt. That you have taken it back easily despite your brief…forage into our country." She smiles, and he can see it, even from the distance she's stood at. "Tell me, do the Knights know of your adventures?"

"They know enough."

She laughs. "I do believe we may hold a difference of opinion there, Sir Diluc, but perhaps the Knights of Favonius truly do condone the merciless slaughter of innocents."

"Those that I killed were not innocents." His fingers curl around the hilt of his claymore, but the catalyst-user doesn't even flinch, continuing to watch him carefully. The same as she had been doing all evening.

"They were fighting for their country," she says, "they were fighting for their Archon and to provide for their families. Tell me, Sir Diluc, are your Knights not the same?"

"We fight for a just cause."

"All of you?" The pages are loud, echoing in his ears that have already been abused by his evening at the tavern. He can feel a headache beginning to build behind his eyes. "There are none with deceitful and selfish objectives among you?"

"Not anymore." He snarls. "We rid our ranks of traitors some time ago. Our cause is just and true, which is more than can be said for you."

The Fatui agent sighs, shaking her head. "I can see what Pavone said about you now," she sighs, and he tenses, gripping his claymore until he's certain his knuckles have turned white. "Class attitude problem, though I have heard you were sweet as a young lad."

She laughs, and it seems to crackle with electro. The circle around his feet intensifies in its brightness, and he looks down, considering how painful it would be to try and force his way out of it. Then, like a candle being blown out, it disappears.

He looks up and finds the street empty of anyone but him. The laughing agent is long gone, no doubt carrying whatever information she had gleaned from their evening with her.

He swears, throwing his claymore to the ground and watching as it melts away into nothingness. The clatter of metal against stone echoes in his ears as he turns on his heel and marches for home.

The headache only grows worse, and, as he rubs at the sides of his head, he resigns himself to a sick day tomorrow. He can feel the migraine pressing against the back of his eyes, and there's no way in hell he's dealing with a Fatui delegation while he feels like shit.

"So," Childe says, and then gives no indication that he's going to continue. The distance between them is larger than it has been the previous few days, allowed by the two beds tucked into opposite corners of the room. Childe's eyes still effortlessly pin him in place in the darkness.

"So." He repeats, when Childe continues to stare at him.

"Diluc." Childe says, and Kaeya sighs, sinking a little further into the bed. It's almost too warm, with the blankets tossed over the end, far too warm when compared to Snezhnaya.

"Diluc." He repeats. "We can't say we didn't expect him."

"We did expect him," Childe sighs, tucking himself deeper into the covers of his bed. "I didn't expect him as a Captain, let alone one we would have to deal closely with."

"It was his job before I left," he shrugs, which is far less obvious when he's lying down and Childe can't even see him from where he's buried his face in his blankets. "It would make sense that he'd keep it, even after his escapades."

"Why?" Childe asks, "Running off to a foreign country to slaughter the masses isn't exactly something you can be easily forgiven for."

"It is when it's the Fatui he was slaughtering." Childe knows this answer, he knew it before Kaeya spoke it aloud, but it still twists his face into a scowl as he thinks about it. "They probably gave him a pat on the back for it before welcoming him in again with open arms."

"I think we caught them off guard, though." Childe says. "They expected one Harbinger. Diluc certainly didn't expect to see you standing in front of him, announcing yourself as a Harbinger."

"He was quite surprised." He admits, "It wasn't very obvious, but he was. He was angry too. I think he feels betrayed."

Childe laughs, but it's not a happy thing, grating its way out his throat and shattering the delicate silence that had settled around them. "Betrayed by what? By the person he tried to kill in cold blood? Betrayed by the person he drove away and then he has the gall to feel Betrayed when you've bettered yourself?"

"Yes." He says. "Diluc was fiercely loyal as a child; I'm sure he would have let his father kill him if he was told it was for the betterment of Mondstadt."

"Such unswaying loyalty would only get someone killed."

"It almost killed me." He says, and almost bites his tongue as the confession slips loose. Childe, to his credit, hardly looks surprised.

“Good thing you have me then,” Childe says, “loyalty might try to get you killed, but I reckon I can kill them first.”

He huffs a laugh. “Hubris is going to get you killed.”

“And you're here to make sure that doesn't happen. Harbingers don't come in pairs, you know.” Kaeya does. He knows this very, very well. He also knows that the Tsaritsa knows more than he does. Sees more than he can, even with his own nature. “I reckon we’ve been paired for a reason, and that most likely is to prevent our incredibly untimely deaths.”

“You overestimate me. I wouldn't be able to stop you from plunging into the jaws of death, even if I tried.”

Childe shrugs and rolls over. “At least you can say you tried.” He yawns, and it’s a clear question, a clear message. He rolls over too, hands reaching up to untie the knot holding his eyepatch in place, allowing it to fall into his waiting hand. He blinks the gold shine away, curling his hand around the eyepatch and tucking it close to his chest, over his heart.

He can hear Childe breathing in the dark, too quick to be asleep. But his back remains turned, and so he tries to close his eyes and will himself to sleep. It comes harder than he would have liked.

His day afterwards is uneventful. They wake, they dress. They eat, they hand out orders to the agents now under their jurisdiction. They make sure those agents actually do their jobs and try to avoid the stares of the Knights.

Kaeya’s certain they've been instructed to watch them, if the way Knights keep popping up in their path is any indication. They have little to do but submerge themselves in the system here, retrieving the information already gathered to look over later.

From the gist of it, he understands that there is something causing major storms in the area, the origin of which is officially unknown, but unofficially, there is apparently a being lurking and causing these storms purposefully. The incredibly helpful people of Springvale are eager to spin tales of the ‘Stormterror’ they've seen sweeping over the forest, bringing with it a trail of destruction that follows in its wake.

It’s not the first either of them has heard of the storms, nor is it the first of the possibility of something else being behind the recent disturbances. However, Kaeya had simply assumed that it was the Abyss Order organising the destruction of Mondstadt once more, rather than a dragon.

“Well,” Kaeya says, the beaten path beneath their feet leading them back towards the city, “that was certainly enlightening. And incredibly helpful.”

“Oh?” Childe presses into his side a little, nudging him. “Am I about to watch you develop one of your famous schemes?” He swats at him for that, and Childe ducks beneath his arm easily.

“They're not schemes ,” he stresses, “they're simply plans. Ideas. Something to use to our advantage.”

“I'm pretty sure that’s just scheming.” Childe nods to himself, eyes wandering. The forest around them is clear, not even a rustle of wildlife breaking the silence around them. It would almost be eerie, and he’s certain it would be if he were someone else. As it is, he can simply feel the presence of another Mage, several hundred yards from where they are and nowhere near within Childe’s line of sight, thank the Gods. It seems the creatures of the area are also able to sense this Mage’s presence and have rather smartly made themselves scarce.

Unfortunately, this means Childe is bored as they walk back, with nothing to sink his blade into and therefore nothing to properly entertain himself with. This means that he’s aimlessly swirling hydro between his hands, bouncing it back and forth, and entirely engrossed in watching it move.

Childe’s distraction means he doesn't notice that they're being followed. But Kaeya is not distracted by Childe’s magic tricks, long-used to the way he spins it between his fingers until it moves so fast you can hardly see it. His lack of distraction means that he has been able to track the person following them for the past few minutes.

They reach a fork in the road, and he halts. Childe halts too, at least aware enough of his surroundings that he notices when his companion stops. He meets Kaeya’s eyes with a questioning look, quirking an eyebrow and looking for an answer.

He shakes his head, just slightly, looking as far as he can without turning his head. The person following them seems to be aware of this, though, as they retreat further into his blind spot. Unfortunately, their haste sends them over a tree root, and they stumble.

Childe is listening now, meaning it doesn't escape his notice as something makes a crashing sound off to their right. They both turn to stare at it. The water swirling around Childe’s hands condenses into his signature blades. He grabs him by the arm before he can move, watching as a bush rustles, only slightly at first, before someone bursts free from it with a scattering of leaves.

He holds Childe still, and they both get to watch as their assailant crashes into his shield, sending them straight back to the ground.

“Ouch,” he says, looking them over. He notes the bow strapped to their back, the red uniform of an outrider. “Do you need a hand?”

“I'm good, thanks.” She bounces back up, on her feet in a moment and readjusting her clothes.

“Did you need something?” Kaeya asks. The outrider stares at him. “Or have you just been following us for the past while for no reason?”

“I wasn't following you.” She crosses her arms.

“Really? What do you call skulking in the shadows and making sure the person cannot see you as you track them. Is that not following?” He turns to Childe, “I'm using the word right, aren't I?”

“You are.” Childe nods. “It’d be disappointing to discover you’d forgotten the basics of the common dialect in a few years.”

He hums. “I suppose. That would mean you’d have to translate for me, as well. I feel like you’d add far more graphic detail to whatever I was saying if that was the case.”

“Excuse me,” the outrider interrupts, rather impolitely. They turn to face her as one. “I am still here. I just thought you might appreciate a reminder.”

“I was well aware you were still there,” Kaeya says, “if I wasn't, we would have continued walking and would likely be back in the city already, considering what we might have for dinner tonight.”

“You shouldn't be wandering around the countryside on your own.” The outrider points out. “It’s…dangerous.” She seems to realise how stupid that is as she says it, faltering slightly as she looks between the two Harbingers stood in front of her.

“Are you offering to accompany us?” Childe asks. “Or perhaps you’d be more open to a friendly spar?”

“Your definition of a friendly spar is so incredibly skewed that I can only recommend against it.”

The outrider blinks, apparently unable to respond. He tilts his head to the side, watching as she seems to process what they've said. “You…want me to accompany you?”

“Not want.” He corrects. “But if it would alleviate your Grand Master’s worries to have someone watching us, making sure we don't misbehave while we wander around this incredibly dangerous countryside. I can't even imagine how bad it would look for her if two Harbingers got injured on her watch.”

The outrider frowns at him. “Now I feel like you're just making fun of me.” Kaeya grins in response. “And aren't you worried about what I might hear? I’ll be reporting everything you say back to Jean, so you better watch your words around me.”

“And if I simply speak in Snezhnayan?” He asks. The last of his cryo shield fades away, melting into the ground at their feet. “What would you do then?”

The outrider opens her mouth to speak, then seems to realise she doesn't actually have a response for that, and clamps it shut again, gritting her jaw and glaring at them.

“Next time you want to leave the city, come find me.” She says and runs back up the path they've just come down. Her leaving is so abrupt that he can't help but stare after her, and Childe stands beside him, watching her retreat.

“That was interesting.” Childe says, and he can't help but agree. He winces when Childe slaps him, rubbing at the spot in his arm and turning his wide eye onto Childe. “That was for you making our job harder than it needs to be .”

“Oh, come on,” he begins to steer them in the direction of the city, arm wrapped around Childe’s shoulder. “This job is as clear cut as it can get, there are so few candidates for our target, something needs to make this interesting.”

“We can make it interesting,” Childe wriggles in his grip, but doesn't actually make an effort to free himself before giving up, “but there’s a difference between making things interesting and making them fucking difficult .”

“We can just go out at night, it’s fine.” He assures Childe, smiling to the child on the bridge and carefully avoiding the flock of pigeons he’s gathered. He slips into Snezhnayan as they pass the Knights at the gate, affording each of their suspicious gazes a tight-lipped smile. “I work better in the dark anyway.”

“You might,” Childe grumbles, “but I can't see for shit. I’ll trip over my own fucking feet every five minutes.”

“Interesting.” He repeats, but Childe continues to complain anyway.

Chapter Text

There is a complication.

Said complication arrived in the City of Mondstadt at precisely eight thirty-nine in the morning. He knows, because he checked the clock behind the count at Good Hunter's, before turning back to stare at the woman slowly making her way through the city, the outrider (who he had learned was Amber) chattering away at her side.

There's also an odd, flying creature floating beside the woman's head, nodding along with everything Amber says and responding before the woman can. The small creatures also speaks oddly, referring to themselves as Paimon.

He thanks Sara for the food, grabs the container from where it sits on the counter and hurries back to the hotel. He tries not to think about how their mission just went from interesting to far more difficult than he had first anticipated. Gods, Childe is going to be insufferable about this.

He is, though he's thankful for the food. He's less thankful for being woken up by a cold hand on the back of his neck. Kaeya would have thought he'd have grown used to it after a few years, but it still makes him startle awake with a speed any captain would envy. His irritation is mellowed slightly by the food, and soothed even further as they stand on the small balcony connected to their room and watch the newcomer dart around the city, investigating each corner and digging out small prizes.

There is something different about her, though whether that is the very obvious lack of a Vision on her person despite the anemo swirling over her skin, or because of something else he cannot tell. Still, something about her tells him that she is something to be watched, certainly something to be wary of with the sudden interest the Knights have taken in her.

Diluc hasn't approached her yet, but he’s seen flashes of red hair here and there as he and Childe continue to watch the traveller. It is only a matter of time before Diluc decides that he has seen enough and finally approaches her.

“How exactly is she a complication?” Childe asks, both of them watching as the traveller speaks to Sara at Good Hunter. “She just seems like any old tourist, though maybe a little more interested in the dark corners of the street than the usual attractions.”

“There’s something about her.” He watches with slight fascination, and more than a little horror, as the Paimon-creature manages to eat an entire sweet madame, before investigating another dish. “Her floating companion is interesting as well.”

Childe hums in response. He shivers a moment later, as the wind picks up slightly, tugging at their clothes a little more than it had in the past few minutes. Some of the people on the streets below take notice as well, tipping their heads back to stare up at the sky.

He follows their eyes, staring up at the sky too. He watches as the clouds condense into a swirling mass, grey and stormy, though lacking any lightning. It rumbles ominously, darkening more and more by the second. It seems to swirl around a central point, closing in further and further as nearby clouds are dragged into the vortex that is slowly forming around the city.

Kaeya places a hand on Childe’s shoulder, before tugging him a little lower on the balcony. They duck, and something whistles over their head. The wind is beginning to roar in his ears, but he looks back up anyway. He watches as the dragon sweeps over the rooftops of the city, ripping tiles loose and flinging them about.

People in the street below begin to scream and shout, panic descending as Stormterror continues to rip through the city, leaving a wake of destruction in his path.

He doesn't bother to move, and neither does Childe, both of them watching as the dragon tears through brick as though it is paper.

“What do you think?” Childe has leaned close enough to him that he can speak in his ear. Despite their proximity he can still barely hear Childe’s voice over the howling wind.

“I think that we are about to see something interesting.” He replies, and then nods downwards, towards where the mysterious traveller they have been watching still stands. She hadn't fled with everyone else, which definitely disproves the tourist theory, and stares up at the dragon.

The winds around her do not bow to the dragon’s command, instead twisting to her will as she pushes herself up, landing with a clatter on a nearby rooftop. The tiles slide beneath her feet, and she has to move quickly to avoid slipping from where she stands.

The dragon begins to sweep back over the city, leaving in the same way it had come and apparently satisfied with the destruction it has caused. The traveller doesn't give it this opportunity, leaping at the dragon as soon as he is close enough for her to reach and driving her sword into the joint of its wing.

It screams, a loud sound that causes the unbroken glass to rattle in its frame. He pulls back a little, Childe following with him as they prepare to retreat inside. The traveller is flung from the back of the fleeing dragon, the storm already beginning to disperse as the dragon flees.

She stares at him, and he stares back, watching as her eyes narrow with annoyance. Her flying companion is already back at her side, fussing over whatever wounds she sustained during her altercation with the dragon.

Someone shouts at her from the street below, and he abandons her to Diluc, retreating inside with Childe. He watches as she begins her descent down to the street below, before the door swings shut and the silence settles over them again.

“A complication.” Childe says.

“That may have been an understatement.” He admits, because even he was not prepared to watch this traveller square up against a dragon.

“ That is an understatement.” Childe laughs. “You better have a good fucking plan to pull us out of this mess.” He sits on the edge of Kaeya’s bed, likely already worrying about the amount of paperwork they're going to have to fill out about a new potential threat.

“Of course I do.” He grins. “You underestimate me.”

The Knights of Favonius have taken a special interest in the traveller, he learns. She is someone that disappears in and out of the city, seemingly at random. Amber also approaches him, while he is busy and definitely not in the mood for talking to her, and apologises for the fact that she won't be able to accompany them out of the city as other errands have landed themselves on her desk.

He smiles at her, and accepts the apology gracefully. The agent stood at his side doesn't speak, still standing as stiff as a board as he speaks with her. He’s sure they're grateful for the small respite from his scolding. Just because they are in the city of wine doesn't mean they can overindulge. And certainly not the point where he’s receiving a complaint from the Acting Grand Master, requesting that he keeps his agents under control.

It means that when he actually runs into the traveller, once he’s finished sufficiently chastising the agent, he has already had enough of the day and is simply weighing up the benefits of disappearing into his room for the rest of the day.

“It’s you!” The squeaky voice grates on his already frayed nerves. He turns to look at the Paimon-creature with a tight smile. She squeaks, eyes widening, apparently not expecting him to turn and look at her. She hides behind the traveller’s shoulder, as though that would save her.

“Me?”

“You.” The traveller doesn't seem pleased with him. He hasn't even had the chance to speak with her yet and she apparently hates him. “Why were you watching me?”

He stares at her for a moment longer, before deciding that honesty might be the best way forward with this one. “It is not every day that you get to watch someone fight a dragon.”

“It’s not every day that a dragon terrorises a city.”

“I suppose not.” The Paimon-creature has bravely ventured out from her hiding spot, but the moment he looks at her she retreats once more. “Relax,” he adds a laugh for good measure, hoping that it doesn't sound as strained as it feels. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You're Fatui.”

“Astute observation.” He has several Fatui symbols on his outfit, so it would have been a miracle to not connect the two dots. “Would you like to tell me the colour of the sky next?”

“No.” She stares at him. “I know what you're trying to do with Stormterror.”

He’s not surprised by this. He’s seen the way the traveller has been venturing out of the city with some of the Knights, Amber and Diluc included. He sent agents to watch their progress, report back on how far they ventured into each of the temples, and what they did within each one. The reports were limited in information, but it was enough for him to make an educated guess.

He also knows that at least one of the agents he sent to speak to Jean actually completed that task. Mainly because the report on the conversation is waiting on his desk for him to return to. “Do you?” He tilts his head to the side, “I don't remember issuing any orders on Stormterror. Are you sure you're not mistaken?”

“Yes.” Not one to be easily swayed, then. The Paimon-creature seems to draw some confidence from the traveller’s strong stance, as she emerges fully from her hiding spot, and plants both hands on her hips.

Before he knows it, there’s a shaking finger being stuck in his face. “We know your tricks, mister, you better watch out, because we’re gonna catch you in the act.”

“Does your Grand Master know you're out here terrorising foreign diplomats?” The way the Paimon-creature pulls back at his words provides him with the answer he needs. “I doubt she would be lenient if I filed a complaint, even if it was against Mond’s beloved Honorary Knight.”

“I'm watching you.” She warns as he turns away, already thinking about the bottle of wine he’d managed to hide from Childe in their room.

“I would be concerned if you weren't.” He waves her off, feeling the small pulse of energy from where she stands, before she pulls it in, containing it once more. He smirks to himself as he walks away, leaving the traveller with fewer answers than she had hoped for.

If she wanted information, she would have to be far more subtle about it.

It is the middle of the night. The moon is high above him, and Childe is complaining about the cold. He ignores it as best as he can, even though he slips his coat off to wrap around Childe’s shoulders. The cold raises the hairs on his arms, but it does nothing more than lay a soothing touch over his skin.

“-and it’s unfair that somewhere that’s not Snezhnaya should be this cold. We’re the cold nation, why is Mondstadt trying to be cold? It doesn't make sense, it should be warm here, it’s right next to Liyue.”

“Dragonspine is sat between here and Liyue,” he says, for the hundredth time that evening. “The wind brings the cold down to Mondstadt, and Liyue remains warm.”

“It’s still unfair.” Childe complains, but he quiets down after a moment longer, pulling both his and Kaeya’s coats around himself. How he hopes to return to the chill of Snezhnaya after this, Kaeya doesn't know. Hopefully it is with less complaining or Kaeya might just kill him.

“The true injustice is how long it is taking Ekaterina to infiltrate that Church.” He says, “We’ve been sat here for an age and I would really like to go to sleep.”

“I still think my plan of stealing the Lyre from the traveller when she leaves the Church is a better idea.”

“And have her and the Knights on our back? The traveller is one person, but there are many agents here that cannot disappear as efficiently as she can.”

“It would have been more fun.” Childe tucks his knees beneath his chin, pulling them away from the edge that Kaeya’s still dangle over. “More dramatic.”

“You've been spending too much time around other Fatui.”

“I have not .” Childe hits at him. “You've been spending too much time doing paperwork, it’s made you boring.”

“I've been doing your paperwork too,” he says, “I can stop, but I thought you appreciated the sudden lack of paperwork.”

“You- what?” Childe looks confused now, the cold apparently forgotten. “But that needs my signature?”

“Your signature is painfully easy to forge.”

Childe snorts. “Not all of us write in barely decipherable scribbles.”

“It’s called cursive, Tartaglia. It’s something that adults use.”

“Dick.” There is a spark of electro, just outside the Church’s entrance and both of them perk up. A second flash comes from a street closer to them, bursting outwards before fading away rapidly. Then again, closer still, and once more, directly behind them.

He holds a hand out for the Lyre, feeling Ekaterina press it into his hand. “The flashes aren't necessary, you know.”

“I am well aware that they are not necessary, sir, but I find they give it a dramatic flair.” Kaeya sighs at her response, ignoring the way Childe is gesturing as though that at all proves his earlier point. The only thing that it proves is that Childe is spending far too much time around them.

“Thank you, Ekaterina.” He says, “You are dismissed.” She disappears in a spark of electro, and he takes a moment to wonder whether teaching the mages how to teleport was actually a bad thing, seeing as they exclusively use it to irritate him.

“So,” Childe is watching something in the distance, “how annoyed do you think the traveller is right now?” He follows where Childe is looking, watching as someone flits across the rooftops, wind glider opening and closing.

“Incredibly.” The Lyre is oddly weightless in his hand, as though it is made of nothing more than air and magic. It looks worn with age, strings loose and likely useless at this point. It looks nothing like the legendary Holy Lyre that once belonged to Barbatos. It hardly contains any anemo either, its magic hardly responding when he brushes against it with his own. It is nothing more than a useless relic, sucked dry of all its magic. “She will do anything to retrieve it, I'm sure.”

Childe stands, groaning as he stretches his legs out. He extends a hand to Kaeya, which he readily takes, hauling himself to his feet beside Childe. There’s a faint sound of shouting in the streets below as the Knights take to it in search of the stolen Lyre.

“Onto the next phase, then?” Childe asks.

“The next phase has already begun.” And then he holds tighter to Childe’s hand and teleports them back to their rooms, even though he knows Childe will complain at him for it. It is best if no one around the hotel has seen them entering or leaving. It gives them an alibi, even if it’s a weak one.

Childe retches and complains when they arrive in their rooms, but he takes the task Kaeya gives him the next day with grace, and carries it out easily. He pretends not to notice the blood staining his clothes when he returns from a trip that took him far longer than it should have.

He does, however, frown disapprovingly when Childe flops face-first onto the bed without a care for the blood soaking his clothes.

The bard is at the tavern again.

He sticks out like a sore thumb, green attire bright against the warm colours that bathe the Angel’s Share in a golden hue. Still, the patrons gathered within flock to him for his tales, speaking over each other in their haste to request a particular one.

It is just him this evening, Childe sleeping off a long day of definitely not murdering everything that moves beyond the walls of the city. The abyss clinging to him had been stronger, so he hadn't protested when Childe backed out of their evening plans.

Childe’s absence allows him to be a little more subtle in his approach. In that he is less glaringly obvious, even as swathed in the Fatui as he is. He even left his mask behind this evening, donning a simple eyepatch for the evening.

His sole drink for the evening still rests in his hand as he nurses at it, watching as the bard spins tales of stories that he had long thought were lost to time. He watches as the bard’s fingers glow with the power of anemo, barely brushing over the strings of his instrument as he allows the wind to do it for him.

The Tsaritsa had been close with the Anemo Archon, once. She is not any longer, and it is not a topic of conversation to be brought up within her earshot. Though, some recruits test her patience by speaking about it within her walls, rumours and gossip being passed back and forth. Those recruits never seem to last particularly long, not that he ever expected someone unfamiliar with the concept of walls having ears to rise through the ranks of the Fatui.

Still, he and Childe had both received a rather comprehensive file on the Anemo Archon and his preferred human vessel. Many of the gods have changed their appearance as time passed, evolving and shaping themselves to fit the time. The only exception to this is the Anemo Archon, free in everything but his appearance.

As Kaeya watches, and the bard continues to spin his tale, he sees the edges of his hair glow faintly. Not enough to be seen if you are not looking. But Kaeya is, and so Kaeya sees. He can feel the gentle pulsing of power that the bard contains, the barely restrained swirl of anemo as he channels it into his fingertips.

He finishes his tale, and the patrons disperse, looking for other forms of entertainment to pass their evenings. Diluc, behind the bar this evening and wiping at a glass, simply slides a drink towards the bar without even being prompted. The bard takes it readily, cradling the drink in his hands and making his way over to Kaeya.

He watches him approach, nods when the bard gestures to the unoccupied seat. The bard pulls it out and sits down in it, still cradling his drink in his hands, though he is yet to take a sip.

“You weave a tale finely, bard.” He compliments, because it is the truth. He may have only been half-listening to the performance, but even the snippets he caught were artfully spoken. Likely perfected over the millennia of his being.

“Ah, thank you.” The bard smiles, and sips his drink, “Though, if it was so fascinating to you, why not join the crowd?”

“I am content sat where I am.” He says, ignoring the way Diluc is staring at him. His eyes are attempting to burn a hole in the side of his head. Something which has never worked. “I could hear your tale perfectly well from here, so why give up my seat to the next drunk to come across it?”

The bard laughs, and he’s unsure why the Anemo Archon is entertaining this conversation. Neither of them are stupid, and both are aware of the other’s identity. The bard in front of him is likely aware of his status as a Fatui Harbinger, even if he has been living under a rock. Perhaps the bard can even feel the Abyss lodged deeply within his being, though if he does he makes no move to eradicate him.

“And what did you think of my tale?” He asks, “Was it as expertly told as the drunken crowds claim it to be?”

“It was.” He says, watching the ice slide about in his almost empty glass. “You spoke as though you were truly there when the two dragons fought.” He glances up, watches the bard carefully for any reaction. “It is a true talent to immerse your crowd so easily in the story.” The bard gives nothing away, his face remaining smiling and eyes shimmering. Perhaps he should take up a career in acting next.

“You cannot be an acclaimed bard if you do not submerge your listeners in your tale. If you cannot feel the wind on your skin nor the sun on your face as though you were there, then what is the point? If the words are simply words, then there is no story told, just meaningless chatter.”

Kaeya hums, and his glass is empty when he lowers it from his lips. “I suppose.” The bard watches him. “May I get a name for this highly praised bard? Or is it something that humble ears such as my own shall not be graced by?” He smiles, and the bard smiles back. The bard seems to find some amusement in him, despite likely knowing his purpose in Mondstadt.

He wonders, briefly, whether the bard recognises the child that had traversed these streets. Or if his presence here was as easily washed away as mud. Clinging and dark, a stain upon his city of freedom, not missed once it was gone.

“You may call me Venti,” the bard says, “and it is not a name that is unknown. Have you not heard the people in the street murmuring about my tales?”

“How can I know which bard is who when so many flock to the city of wine for an easy audience?” He asks, and his glass clinks when he sets it down on the table. “Those praising your tales for their expert craftsmanship could have also been very deep in their cups as they listened to a half-rate bard clumsily spin a tale.”

“A half-rate bard?” Venti’s eyes take on a dangerous edge, and he feels the faintest whisper of wind against his skin before it fades away again. “I sincerely hope that you are not referring to me?”

“To refer to you as such would be an insult.” He stands from his seat, the information he had sought neatly packaged into his mind. He can almost begin drafting the report in his head. “Though, dear bard, I am afraid I must depart for the evening.”

“I hope it was at least an enjoyable time, but perhaps next time you could stand with the crowd as I perform?” Venti asks. “Lingering in the shadows will hardly do wonders for your reputation, Pavone.”

“The reputation given to me is not one of my own design.” Kaeya responds. “Though…perhaps I will take you up on that offer. I can think of someone that would have far more appreciation for your craft than I do.”

He doesn't wait for Venti’s response after that. He simply ducks out into the night and considers the winding path of words he had just walked down. Childe would have begun complaining as soon as the bard started speaking. But all it required was a few moments longer to decipher the meaning beneath the bard’s words.

The bard has been in the tavern for the past few evenings, and Diluc has been serving behind the bar on each of the nights the bard has made an appearance. Some of the last few drunks he caught the previous night had spoken of the hushed conversation between the two, when Diluc thought he had cleared all of the patrons out, only to discover the small group when one of them began vomiting.

Something is being devised, put together piece by piece. Likely the search for the Lyre, though he isn't sure how it has remained undiscovered so far. They're lucky some random adventurer hasn't stumbled across the holding place yet.

Still, it can hardly take much longer than a few more days. Their mission was meant to be a quick, one month trip to Mondstadt and then back to Snezhnaya. Their one month trip is now two months overdue, and they're still in the city of freedom, whiling away the hours as they wait for the traveller to stop taking commissions and start looking into the whereabouts of the Lyre.

Childe is still awake when Kaeya enters their rooms. This is not a surprise. Childe has been growing more and more restless the longer their stay in Mondstadt takes. The people here are becoming more and more tense the longer they stick around too, which is only rubbing off on Childe and exacerbating his murderous tendencies.

His previously short and efficient trips outside of Mondstadt’s walls to satiate his thirst for battle that wasn't attacking the first Knight he sees have been growing longer and longer. The abyss clings to him more and more each day, until it hangs around him in a miasma. It is something he cannot help but notice every time he looks at Childe.

His eyes reflect the light oddly, no matter what angle you shine it at. Tonight is no different, though the dull glimmer is quickly becoming more than familiar to him. The silent request Childe makes of him even more so, as he holds back the bedcovers and gestures for him to join him.

He makes him wait, sitting on the edge of his own bed and unlacing his boots. Halfway down the leg he decides that whoever created these boots is the most infuriating person to have ever existed. Why make boots that go up to his mid-thigh and put laces down to his ankle? It only makes them inconvenient to take on and off, which is something that is very quickly testing his patience.

It is apparently testing Childe’s patience too, as when he looks up, halfway finished with unlacing the second boot, his face is set in a frown, glaring at the patch of floor between him and Kaeya.

He changes far quicker, his sleepwear easy to slip on and loose around his wrists and ankles. Childe offers the space next to him again, back pressed into the wall, facing towards the door, the same as it always is.

“Did you find what you needed?” Childe asks, breath warm against the side of Kaeya’s neck.

“Of course,” he readjusts his arm slightly and ignores the way Childe complains. “Who do you take me for? Barbatos isn't being exactly subtle either. I reckon it would be no different if he stood upon the roof of the Church and yelled who he was from there.”

“The people would be just as aware of it too.” Childe laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest. It is oddly comforting.

“They just need to get a move on with finding the Lyre at this point.” He complains, “I didn't think it would take them this long. If I did, I’d have left it in the Church. In an incredibly inconvenient place to get to, just to watch them struggle.”

“They've almost found it,” Childe says, “I saw a few Knights sniffing around the area outside the base today.”

Kaeya blinks, and lets that information settle in. “How far have you been going?” He asks.

“Quite far.” Childe toys with the ends of his hair, which hardly resembles the plait he had braided it into this morning. “I've been getting more antsy.” He admits, “It’s taking too long, and the opponents around here are far too boring. They hardly put up a fight, preferring to run rather than actually put an effort into surviving.”

“What if I fight you tomorrow?” Kaeya suggests, already knowing that Childe will jump at the idea. “I know somewhere out of the way we can do it.”

“ Please .” Childe asks, tugging slightly on the ends of his hair. He flicks him on the forehead for that.

“You need only ask.” He says, and Childe doesn't respond, though they both know he is awake. He settles himself more comfortably in the silence and the darkness, turning the interaction with the bard over in his mind.

If they don't do anything with the Lyre in the next few days, he’s just going to steal it. Right in front of everyone at the Angel’s Share. The thought comes to him, and he then has to suppress a groan as he realises some of Childe’s dramatics may be beginning to rub off on him.

Still…it doesn't sound like that bad of an idea.

Chapter Text

“When you said you knew somewhere out of the way , I didn't think you meant that we would have to walk this far.” Childe complains, lagging slightly behind. “Or for this long.”

“We would have been there and back already if you didn't insist on fighting everything we come across.” Kaeya responds. They've been out for a few hours at this point, and they have so far come across five separate hilichurl camps. Childe responded to each of them with the same terrifying enthusiasm he always does, and Kaeya had been more than content to let him tire himself out against them. It only makes their upcoming fight easier for him.

Childe scoffs. “I'm helping out the Knights. Pest control.” Kaeya has to admit he’s right on that one. The hilichurl camps in Dadaupa Gorge had been too well-established to have sprung up overnight, which only makes him wonder what the Knights are occupying their time with if they haven't even bothered to dismantle such a large camp.

Still, Childe is growing restless, itching for a fight they haven't had the opportunity to indulge in since before they took on the title of Harbingers. The air crackles around them, and it isn't just Childe’s anticipation that creates the electrifying feeling currently pulsing around them.

Childe draws to a halt, the scuffing of his feet against the gravel abruptly halting as he stops. Kaeya turns to face him, watching as Childe’s face goes through several different emotions, before finally settling on excitement.

He doesn't bother following the path upwards anymore, simply hauling himself up the short distance to the arena above them. Kaeya follows behind him, watching Childe pace around the edge of the arena, not quite stepping foot onto it yet. Instead, he observes the hypostasis at its centre.

Small pulses of electro dance across the ground as it appears to sleep. As much as an elemental construct can sleep, at least. It’s not aware of them yet, at least, its armour still curled around it. The pillars of the arena are as crumbling as he remembers them being, and in all honesty he’s surprised they're still standing. Each of them look one light breeze away from toppling over.

“How long has this been here?” Childe asks, at his side again.

“Since before I lived here.” He responds. “No matter how many times parties are sent out to dispose of it, it returns. Eventually, a warning was simply put out to be wary around this area as the Knights could no longer afford to send daily patrols to the area to defeat it.”

“How do you know it isn't a different hypostasis each time?”

“See the gouges on its armour?” He asks, pointing to a large gash that cuts across two sections of its shield. “I could probably pick out some of the cracks I put there myself.”

Childe hums in interest, but the glow in his eyes makes him realise that he isn't really listening anymore. Instead, he’s planning his attack, eyes dancing across the field as he catalogues the arena and how it could be used against the hypostasis.

“Is this some kind of warm-up?” Childe asks.

“Something like that.” The comforting weight of his staff settles in his hands, “Now, are we going to fight it or stand here and gape at it all day?”

Childe snorts a laugh, and then he’s gone, dashing onto the field and plunging a spear between the cracks in the hypostasis’ shield. It spins to life, knocking Childe backwards. Kaeya enters the field at a much more sedate pace. The crackling of electro fills the air, making his ears pop, and he takes a step back as its shield contorts, flinging itself forward in a lunge that slices between him and Childe.

The shield twists again, shifting its shape with a rippling pulse, before slamming down into the ground. The shockwaves dance across the ground in leaping arcs and he has to fling up a wall of ice to take the blow for him.

Childe doesn't bother with a defensive motion, simply diving in to stab at the hypostasis’ core now that its shell has dissipated. Kaeya joins him, flinging icicles at the core, before launching himself backwards as the shell reforms, swirling in an effort to knock them backwards.

Several jolts of electro fly towards him, and he twists awkwardly to avoid them hitting him. One of them catches the edge of his cloak, and he frowns, watching as Childe continues to attack despite its shield remaining solid around it.

He conserves his energy, backing up another step as the hypostasis focuses on Childe. Childe either doesn't care or can't feel the electro that rolls over him in waves. Childe twists his arm, and the polearm he had been using shifts into a claymore, which he promptly crashes into the shield.

It cracks one of the shell segments in two, before the entirety of the shield dissipates, leaving the core exposed once more, crackling with electro energy. Childe hardly pauses, raising his claymore as far as he can before plunging it down and through the hypostasis.

It gives one last pulse of electro that’s so pathetic Kaeya almost feels bad for it, before exploding in a wave of electro energy. His shield takes the brunt of the damage, shards of it falling away as the last sparks disappear into nothing.

Childe’s shoulders are still heaving with the breaths he takes when Kaeya approaches him. His claymore has melted away into nothing but water, leaving a small puddle at his feet.

“Slightly disappointing,” he says, between breaths. Small sparks of electro flicker over his skin, and Kaeya’s slightly worried to touch him in his electro-charged state.

“That was only your warm-up,” he assures, “don't worry.”

“I wasn't.” Childe turns and attempts to sweep his legs from beneath him, but Kaeya was prepared for the move. He’s watched Childe pull it on more than one overconfident recruit before. He pulls back, a small laugh bubbling in the back of his throat as Childe lunges after him, his characteristic dual blades slashing towards his throat.

He teleports, blinking behind Childe and giving him a small nudge that manages to tip him all the way over. He falls, and rolls, before springing back to his feet. Kaeya’s staff remains lodged in the ground where Childe’s shoulder had just been, the impact still reverberating through his arms.

Childe lands a solid kick on his ribs, following it through with a punch to the jaw that sends him reeling, barely managing to yank his staff from the ground before he teleports away again.

Childe doesn't even bother looking for him, simply gathering hydro from the air and sending it crashing outwards in a wave. It drenches both of them, his clothes clinging uncomfortably tight to his skin. Unfortunately for Childe, he had never quite managed to grasp the rules of chess, never quite understood what it meant to be a few steps ahead of your opponent.

As such, when the ground freezes beneath their feet, Childe overcompensates and crashes to the ground. He’s scrambling to his feet a moment later, hair sticking to his face and scowling at Kaeya, though the effect is somewhat ruined by the grin on his face as he lunges for him again.

This time, he uses the ice to his advantage to slide towards Kaeya. He flings Childe backwards with a gust of icy wind, watching as he hits one of the crumbling pillars with a crack, wincing at the sound. He pauses for a moment, staring at Childe and hoping he’s not going to have to drag him to the Cathedral and beg one of the nuns to heal him.

Childe is dragging himself to his feet a moment later, rolling his shoulders as he marches towards him, trying his best not to slip on the ice still covering the ground. He allows Childe to approach, meeting him with a smirk.

The punch is expected, and he takes it with grace despite knowing that he’s going to be the one bandaging Childe’s knuckles later if he splits them. He knees Childe in the gut, using his staff to sweep his legs from beneath him.

He drops to pin Childe in place before he can wriggle free again, one knee on either side of his waist, staff just beside Childe’s head as he leans against it. They're close, like this, and Childe struggles, shoving at his thighs to try and dislodge him as he wriggles.

He’s completely trapped like this, some ice already crawling over his skin as he continues to fight. It’s simply a matter of time for him to yield at this point, but Kaeya’s content with letting him struggle for a little longer if he so wishes.

He leans closer, can see the icicles forming in Childe’s eyelashes as he stops struggling quite so much, going a little more lax beneath his hold. He doesn't let him go yet, well aware that the word yield has not yet passed his lips. He opens his mouth to prompt him a little, maybe encourage him to yield now and he’ll buy them a nicer dinner than usual.

He doesn't get the opportunity to speak, the sound of hurried footsteps pulling his focus away for a moment. He hardly gets the chance to say anything before a wave of heat simply washes over him.

It’s choking, clinging thickly to his skin and making his eyes burn with the ash that floats around him, blurring his vision as his eyes water in response. The heat sears over his skin, discomfitingly familiar in its touch as a long-healed wound pulses beneath his eyepatch.

He draws back with a half-choked cry, smothering his own sound of pain with a hand on his mouth as he stands up, staggering backwards and away from Childe. He gags as the heat continues to wash over him, anxiety coiling in his gut and making bile rise to the back of his throat.

Childe has propped himself up on his elbows, the ice around him melted into a large puddle, and watching with a faintly shocked expression as Kaeya continues to gag into his glove. He desperately promises himself he’s not going to throw up, even as anxiety continues to make his stomach tie itself in knots and his heart clamber into his mouth.

His eyepatch rubs uncomfortably against his skin, and he has to resist ripping it off. It is the second pair of eyes on him that stays his hand, fingers still loosely curled around the string holding it in place before he can yank it free.

Diluc stands at the edge of the arena, something faintly disconcerted in his expression as he stares at Kaeya too. It wavers, before being replaced by a scowl as he surveys the destruction of the arena. Some patches of it are still covered with a thick layer of ice, and some of the previously intact columns have crumbled a little more, rubble clustered more thickly around their bases.

Diluc drags his eyes back to Childe, and, if possible, his scowl deepens further as he dismisses his claymore to cross his arms and glare.

Kaeya takes the moment of respite from both their stares as Diluc begins to berate Childe, attempting to slow his breathing and force his heart back into a normal rhythm where it is no longer trying to burst free from his chest. It is not as effective as he would like it to be.

His breathing remains ragged, even as he manages to lower his hand from his mouth, no longer feeling as though he’s going to throw up at any moment. The amount of his composure that he has managed to regain is enough to carry him over to where Childe and Diluc are currently stood, nose to nose and looking as if they are about to rip each other’s throats out.

“Sir Diluc,” he greets, and Diluc’s eyes flick over to him, “did you have some business with us?”

Diluc stares a moment longer, before grinding out an answer. “No.” It sounded painful for him to say, and he would consider mocking him for it if his legs didn't feel as though they were about to give out beneath him.

“Then please enlighten me as to why you chose to intervene in our fight?” Some of his hair has come loose from its braid, and it drifts freely with the wind now, brushing against his face in a way that can only be described as infuriating.

“The commotion of your fight drew my attention, and I was unable to recognise the person you were pinning. As such, I took action in case you were intent on killing them.” Diluc’s eyes flick to Childe, then back to Kaeya again. “I wouldn't have bothered if I knew it was the two of you.”

“We were sparring.” Childe frowns at Diluc. “What if we had decided to attack you instead?”

“Then we would have a diplomatic issue on our hands, one that is hopefully large enough that it cannot be overlooked.” If at all possible, Diluc’s eyes narrow further. It’s enough to let him know that they've had no luck in searching for the Holy Lyre so far. “In that case, the Grand Master would expel you from the city and break off all peaceful contact with Snezhnaya.”

“I'm sure we’d manage to get back in her good graces somehow,” Childe shifts slightly closer to Kaeya while he speaks, “we always manage to get where we want to be, even when we aren't wanted.” Childe’s words have the effect he was likely digging for, as Diluc’s eyes darken and his hand curls into a fist. However, the man seems to know when he’s outmatched, and facing down two Fatui Harbingers in one of the places furthest from any kind of civilisation seems to fall into the ‘do not do’ category, as he forcefully relaxes himself a moment later.

“Tartaglia.” Kaeya warns, curling a hand into the back of his shirt, preparing to yank him backwards if he tries to goad the Knight any further. Fortunately for him, Childe seems to understand the message, allowing the fight in him to die down a little. “Sir Diluc,” he addresses the Knight. “It was pleasant to see you this afternoon,” it was the furthest thing from pleasant to have the fire wash over him like that and even thinking of it makes him feel sick again, “but I would appreciate you exercising some caution if you find us sparring again. Some of us need to work out our bloodlust lest it consume us. And I'm sure you don't want a situation like that on your hands, hm?”

Childe has the decency to look at least a little guilty at the mention of his bloodlust, though it only serves to make Diluc look a little more unnerved, a little further out of his depth with this conversation.

“I suppose not.” Diluc concedes. “Good afternoon.” He says, before walking away. He’s gone quickly, out of sight within a few moments and likely breaking into a run once they can no longer see him.

The last remaining pieces of Kaeya’s energy desert him after that and he sinks into Childe with a heavy sigh, resting his head against Childe’s shoulder. He feels a little light-headed, which is to be expected from his difficulty breathing earlier, and his legs shake so hard that he’s worried they might not be able to hold him up any more.

“Kaeya,” Childe says, even as he adjusts his grip to better support the extra weight leaning against him, “what was that? You looked like you were dying .”

“I wasn't.” Childe is always the one for dramatics. He tries to explain what it was, opens his mouth…only for nothing to come out as he comes up blank with an explanation, unsure on what did just happen to him. He has never had such a visceral reaction to anything . “I don't want to talk about it.” He settles on, despite knowing that will only give Childe more questions he wants answered.

Childe is smart, he can probably figure it out. Even if Kaeya is unwilling to admit it to himself. He still finds himself fiddling with the string of his eyepatch on their return to the city, phantom pains of wounds that have long become scar tissue stinging faintly.

He’s unsurprisingly reluctant to leave the city for a while after that. Instead, he busies himself with exploring the intelligence network they have set up around the city. Which means he gets to speak to each of the agents stationed here, dropping in on them at random.

It seems they've been talking about his random check-ups too, as several of the agents he hasn't yet spoken to regard him with wary looks when he passes by them. The ones that physically shake with anxiety when he approaches are always the most fun to tease.

He’s not sure what this agent’s name is. All he knows is that he’s very good at his job, providing him with the reports and intel he needs on time, and sometimes even before he needs it. The only reason he hasn't been promoted to a higher rank is because of the way he shakes anytime someone so much as looks at him.

He also knows that this agent is one of the primary receivers of any messages from Snezhnaya, especially those that contain important instructions. He’s useful for that because of the way he shakes whenever someone looks at him. If you took one look at someone and they started shaking, you would not immediately assume that that person carries some of the most important information in this city.

“And any news?” He asks, once the agent has gotten over the hurdles of his first few sentences. “In…other fields?”

“Nothing to report currently, sir.” The agent salutes him, again . “The movements of the Knights in their retrieval is slow, and it seems as though they are struggling to gather the needed information despite the Cavalry Captain’s extensive network.”

He hums in response, slightly disappointed by how long it’s taking them to find the Lyre. He is seriously considering hiding it in the Cathedral again, just to see if they can find it easier that way. It’s boring without anything to do but wander around aimlessly and scare his underlings. He would also be incredibly embarrassed to not have found anything yet, which might be why he hasn't seen Diluc around for the past few days.

He has seen the traveller several times, but every time he sees her, she glares at him, before disappearing again to do whatever it is that she does to keep busy.

“That’s unfortunate,” he sighs, “but no matter. Thank you for your work, I hope you can continue-”

A squeal cuts him off, moments before something hits his leg with enough impact to send him stumbling slightly to the side, attempting to regain his balance before he can make a fool out of himself in front of his agent and several citizens of Mondstadt.

He peers down at the thing that is currently leaning against his leg, one of its arms wrapped tightly, just above his knee as it attempts to hide beneath his cloak. He looks back up at the agent, who is attempting to pretend this isn't happening and keep a straight face. Kaeya will give him points for effort on that front.

“Hello?” He asks, and the thing clinging to his leg looks up, peering at him from beneath her red hat. She frantically shushes him, pulling his cloak tighter around herself as she continues to hide. He allows her to huddle close to his leg, looking back up to the agent with a bemused look.

There’s the sound of running, and he looks up, watching as two Knights hurry down the street, looking from side to side, obviously intent on finding something. He has a sneaking suspicion what the thing they might be looking for is, but he doesn't call out to them.

Instead, he stands still, watches as their eyes sweep over him with nothing more than a brief look of disgust, before moving on. It doesn't take long before they've disappeared entirely, heading down another street to continue searching.

Once he’s certain they're gone, he pulls his cloak back again, watching as the child blinks against the light. She looks back up at him again, before clinging to his leg in a hug. “Thank you!” She cries, before hopping back a step.

He crouches to look her in the eyes, smiling a little as she watches him nervously. He may enjoy scaring his underlings, but he’s not about to scare a child. Even that is too low for him.

“Would you like to tell me why you're hiding from the Knights?” He asks, “Unless it was entirely a coincidence that you hid and they passed by a few moments later?”

The child continues to look at him, eyes wide and he worries for a moment that she’s about to start crying. She doesn't, but her expression saddens a little. “Please don't tell them!” Maybe she just always talks at this volume, but it doesn't stop him from wincing at the sound a little, ears ringing with the force of it. “I didn't mean to blow anything up this time, I swear, it was just an accident.”

“Blow…up?”

The child nods, the backpack she wears bouncing with the motion. As it bounces, something glints and catches his attention. It makes him do a double take, and he has to look again to make sure he’s seeing it correctly. A Vision hangs off her bag, red shining in the sunlight and he feels a momentary disgust for the god that granted such a small child a Vision. Handing a small child something so dangerous could be enough to get them killed if they didn't know how to channel the power correctly.

“Klee really didn't mean to blow the fish up this time, she swears.” And now the child (Klee?) really does look like she’s going to cry, and that’s not something he’s at all equipped to deal with, especially not in front of one of his agents. “The fish just got in the way of my bombs, and there was no one else there, so they don't know that it was an accident.”

“Aw, I'm sure it’ll be okay.” He is severely out of his depth right now. Why didn't this child choose to hide behind anyone else? “Can't you just explain to them that it was an accident?”

“No!” It will be a miracle if he’s not deaf by the end of this conversation. “Jean’s mean and she’ll just put me in solitary confinement again.” Klee frowns, and he only has one more response to give her, which is to hold his arms out in the offer of a hug.

She takes it, far too happily for someone that she’s just met and is very clearly wearing several Fatui symbols. Her arms wrap around his neck, just a little too tight to be comfortable and promptly clings to him. He remains hunched over, awkwardly crouching on the ground as Klee continues to not let go. His back hurts, and it makes him feel old.

“I'm going to stand up now.” He tells Klee, hoping that it might make her detach herself from his person. It doesn't, and he instead ends up holding her as she continues to cling to him. She has a rather cute felt animal thing attached to her bag, and it makes him smile a little as he turns to face the agent. “Thank you for your time,” he can't remember if he already said that, but it doesn't hurt to repeat it. “I've just realised that I'm going to be late to lunch.”

The agent doesn't say anything as he walks away, but he can feel eyes on his back as he makes his way to Good Hunter’s. As expected, Childe is already sat at one of the tables, slumped down in his seat with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

He notices Kaeya almost immediately, and straightens up, the frown melting away slightly when he notices the child he’s carrying with him. He sets Klee down in a seat before he sits down too, looking across at Childe and hoping he gets the message to not ask questions. He does not.

“Why do you have a child, Pavone?”

“She hid under my cloak while the Knights were looking for her.” He answers, which only seems to make Childe more curious. He manages to hold his tongue as Sara delivers the food to their table, setting down a plate of fisherman’s toast that neither of them have ever ordered in front of Klee. Sara then gives him a stern look, as though he’s about to hurt a child . Truly, the people of Mondstadt have no faith in the Fatui.

“And why were the Knights looking for you?” Childe asks Klee, his face taking on a softer edge. He knows that Childe is an absolute sucker for kids, but it’s always amusing to watch it in real time. It becomes infinitely less amusing when Childe kicks him beneath the table.

“I blew up some of the fish.” Klee stares at her fisherman’s toast sadly, kicking her feet back and forth. Kaeya nudges it closer to her, hoping to encourage her to eat. “I didn't mean to though, I promise.” She finally takes a bite of food, but it doesn't do much to make her look less upset.

“I'm sure you didn't.” Childe smiles indulgently. He is absolutely making fun of him for this later, no matter the consequences. “I'm sure everything can be explained to the Knights when they find you.”

“I would actually appreciate an explanation now.” He stiffens at the sound of a voice behind him, the presence of someone else suddenly heavy at his back as he turns to face them far slower than he actually wants to. Even Childe looks startled, eyes wide as he stares at the new addition.

It’s Diluc. Because apparently the world hates him and wants to continuously throw them into each other’s paths despite both of their best efforts. His face is thunderous, and even Klee looks a little worried as she sets her toast down, dusting the crumbs from her fingers as Diluc continues to loom.

“Sir Diluc,” he greets, “what a surprise to see you here.”

“I think I’m the one that is more surprised to see you here, especially when you're sat with Klee . I thought you preferred to eat in the silence of your hotel, away from everyone else?”

“Not particularly. I enjoy the fresh air as much as the next person, but today is one of the few days where both me and Tartaglia have a free hour or so within the city where we can have lunch together.” He smiles at Diluc, despite being filled with the urge to simply get up and walk away. Pretend he never saw him.

Diluc grunts in response, before holding out a hand for Klee to take.

She does, casting one last look at the remainders of her fisherman’s toast before allowing herself to be pulled in the direction of the Ordo Headquarters. She has to jog to keep up with Diluc’s long steps, but the latter doesn't show any sign of slowing.

“Wow.” Childe stares after him. “Honestly, I commend you for never being tempted to murder him. I would have long given into the urge if I was you.”

“If I had such murderous tendencies you would be long dead too.” He replies, “You're just as annoying.”

The report they're waiting for comes not at night, but just past nine in the morning. When they're both just beginning to consider their tasks for the day, reading over the few reports that have been marked as important.

When someone knocks on their door, Childe looks at him, expectant. The only reason he gives in and answers the door is because he doesn't want to deal with the fallout of Childe answering the door half-dressed.

The Fatui agent stood waiting doesn't stick around. They simply hand the report over and disappear. He shuts the door, slices through the wax seal with ease, and pulls the report loose. Childe reads it over his shoulder.

“Has it been long enough?” Childe asks as he folds the report up again and slides it back inside its envelope.

“It’s been more than long enough.” Kaeya responds. “I thought we were never going to finish this mission.”

“And the Lyre being retrieved helps how?”

“They're going to do something, obviously.” He says, “And that bard seems incredibly insistent on following them around like a lost dog. He’ll go with them, and he’ll fight the dragon. Maybe they’ll kill it. I don't know and I don't care.” He tosses the envelope onto his desk, and it lands with a whisper of paper against wood. “All it means is that he’s going to be tired. And a tired Archon, especially such a weak one, will hardly give us a fight.”

“Surely that takes all the fun out of it?” Childe finishes buttoning up his shirt, frowning as he fiddles with it.

“No.” He smiles. “It will simply make it all the more satisfying to watch him realise he has nowhere to run.”

Chapter Text

Childe sighs again, for the fifth time in as many minutes, much more pointed than the last few times. A few people passing by turn to stare at him. Kaeya has to resist the urge to roll his eyes, ignoring Childe’s very obvious attempts to irritate him.

Childe sighs again, slumping dramatically downwards, before he seems to realise his attempts aren't getting any responses.

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?” Childe asks, and, really, as Harbingers they have a certain image to maintain in public. One that Childe is very thoroughly rubbing into the dirt the more he acts like a petulant child. Even the agent stood at the opposite end of the square is beginning to give them a judgemental look.

“Yes.” He says, for likely the hundredth time since they began waiting. “Unless you want to run over and get yourself involved in a place you are definitely not wanted, there is nothing we can do.”

“And how can you be sure I'm not wanted?”

Kaeya doesn't bother to deign that question with a response. Childe huffs again and slumps down to the ground, slowly sliding down the wall behind them in an entirely childish fashion. It would be amusing to watch if he wasn't the person unfortunate enough to have to deal with it.

He nudges him in the side with his foot, not enough to actually hurt but Childe makes a pitiful sound as though he kicked him anyway. “What would you suggest we do?” He asks, for lack of anything else to do and a thread of patience that is very quickly wearing thin.

Childe perks up almost immediately, and he hurries to tack on something else before Childe goes charging off. “Something we can do inside of the city.” Childe deflates for a moment at the terms of this agreement but perks up again a moment later.

He leaps from the ground with far too much energy. Even Kaeya is unsure on the origin of his seemingly endless energy, and he knows for a fact that Childe doesn't drink coffee. It’s one of Teyvat’s many wonders.

Childe grabs him by the hand and physically hauls him away from their nice corner in the square, dragging him down the steps and towards the market stalls lining the street there. Merchants chatter, though it is far quieter than any street market from back home. It is also far less busy, though that can likely be blamed on the later hour of the day.

“I was going to do this at the start of our trip, but then we got way too busy with everything we were doing here, and I was almost always out, and you know that Tonia prefers anything you pick out than whatever I might find for her, so I had to wait until we were both here.”

“We could have very easily done this earlier if you hadn't insisted on clearing out the local wildlife.” He responds, but lets Childe drag him to whichever stall catches his eye first.

“Semantics.” Childe waves him off, beginning to pick through the items laid out in front of the stall, looking over the delicate pieces of jewellery laid out for them to peruse. The woman stood behind the counter looks far less enthused about their presence, and Childe likely isn't helping that with the careless manner he tosses some of the more fragile pieces around with.

Kaeya grabs his hand before he can knock over the small stand that several bracelets are hanging from, watching as the shopkeeper breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“Why don't we look at some of the jade pieces?” He asks, guiding Childe away from the more precarious end, “Weren't you telling me about how Tonia’s had her ears pierced recently?”

Childe is more than content to chatter away about his sister, and the shopkeeper even begins to give her own input, allowing herself to be drawn into conversation by Childe as he asks about the different qualities of jade they sell, and whereabouts it is that she got her earrings from, unless she made them herself?

Kaeya is more than content to allow Childe to chatter away at the woman, watching as Childe picks out a set of earrings that are simply solid studs of jade, though the marbling on it is rather beautiful, and none of the similar earrings quite compare to it.

“And what about these for your partner?” The lady asks, guiding Childe over to the side slightly. She shows off a few of the more detailed earrings, handing them to Childe and allowing him to admire them a little more closely. She sends him a wink while he’s distracted, before turning back to Childe again when he begins to inquire after the pricing of the earrings.

Kaeya steps forward. “I don't believe that’s necessary,” he assures, “these earrings are far too delicate for me to even consider wearing, they’d only end up broken.”

“Oh, but she’s right,” Childe holds an earring up beside his face and tilts his head to the side, grinning slightly. “It really does bring out your eyes, don't you think?” The lady nods enthusiastically, no doubt only thinking of how much mora she’s going to make out of the two of them.

“It is still unnecessary.” His face feels uncomfortably warm, and he has to look away for a moment to compose himself.

“Don't be stupid, you need some nicer earrings anyway. Archons forbid you wear the same earrings around Signora twice. If she thinks you're not taking care of yourself she’ll drag you out shopping.” Childe shudders. “Trust me, it happened to me once. Never again.”

“Is that where you disappeared to when-” Childe’s hand covers his mouth as he turns back to the shopkeeper with a smile, handing the earrings back to her.

“We’ll take both pairs, thank you. Send the bill over to the Goth Grand Hotel.” Childe smiles at her again, before pulling him away from the stall, over towards another one. “I thought I told you not to bring that up again?”

“You didn't tell me it was Signora’s fault you ended up like that.” He responds. “I thought you hated her?”

“Eh,” Childe shrugs, already beginning to scan the street for the next stall he wants to descend on, “turns out she’s not so bad when she doesn't want to kill you. Unless you commit some kind of atrocity with what you're wearing then she’ll leave you alone.”

“I feel like you're vastly understating her character there.”

“Probably!” Childe doesn't seem at all bothered by this, moving on to ask the merchant how much he’s selling the anemo slime plush for. Kaeya sighs, watching as the significantly cheaper anemo slime is handed over, the same order for the bill to be delivered to the Goth Grand Hotel being issued before they move on again.”

There are even fewer people moving between the stalls now, and some of the merchants are beginning to pack up shop as they move past them. It’s beginning to get dark, too, the evening air beginning to settle over them as they meander their way through the stalls, finding a few more items to purchase and send back to Childe’s family.

He’s yet to meet Childe’s siblings, but it is obvious that he thinks the world of them in the way he speaks about them. He speaks about his older siblings less, though Kaeya does know that they exist. Tonia is the oldest of the three younger siblings, only a few years behind Childe in age but still young enough to be considered his baby sister. Anthon is two years younger than Tonia, and then Teucer is the youngest of the three, and had barely been a toddler when Childe first joined the Fatui.

It’s endearing to listen to Childe speak about his siblings, and he’s sometimes allowed to read the letters Childe receives from them over his shoulder. Other times, more commonly, Childe will narrate them to him while Kaeya does paperwork that is definitely not his and Childe sits on the edge of his desk. He almost looks forward to the letters as much as Childe does, and one memorable time Childe had even made him write something back to his siblings.

Childe had not let him read the letter that was sent in response, going red and waving his questions off when he tried to ask.

It is almost completely dark when they begin their return journey to the hotel. It is not dark enough to disguise the re-entry into the city of a small group. He watches as they walk, seeing first Diluc, then the Traveller enter the Angel’s Share, followed closely by the bard and Acting Grand Master.

Interesting.

Kaeya gives quiet orders to Luke when they return to a hotel, watching him run off to retrieve one of their intelligence agents. He wants to know what occurred during their small outing, and he’s certain their next few steps will be planned inside of that tavern.

He is able to watch from the window of their rooms as an agent hurries through the streets towards the tavern, momentarily disappearing, before reappearing as they climb up the side of the building, inching around to the top door and letting themselves in.

He allows himself to relax once he’s seen them safely enter the building, turning back to the book he had picked out from a stall earlier in the evening. It certainly wasn't a book from Mondstadt, if the title didn't immediately give it away. The binding of the book certainly gave it away as Liyuean, and he wonders what people in Mondstadt might have an interest in the stories of Rex Lapis to make it worthwhile importing several copies and volumes of Rex Incognito to the nation.

Still, it’s entertaining to read. And it gives him something to occupy his time with while he waits for a report on the ongoing situation.

Recently, Kaeya has been dreaming of fire.

That in itself isn't unusual. Fire swathes most of his dreams in its fiery hues, burns away everything else until it consumes him directly and he wakes up in a cold sweat. He dreams of fire most nights, and it devours anything else that he might try to dream of. In the end, fire always creeps in at the edges of the dream, and it consumes everything again with its ash and smoke.

The only difference, now, is that the fire has a slightly different face. It is still the same person, it will always be the same person, but this person is older. The years have sharpened their face and their eyes, and the sword they carry is larger.

The cloying feeling of fear crawls up his throat, the twist of his stomach making him feel sick as he can do nothing but stand and await the judgement of the fire. It ends the same way no matter what he might do, so he does nothing. He had tried to change the path of fate when fire first began to invade his mind, but nothing had been changed, so he simply stopped trying.

A small comfort of the dream is that it is known. He knows what will happen, from start to finish as there is nothing that changes. It remains the same, because no matter how many times he tries to forget it or creates some explanation for how that night ended, it always ends the same way.

The stars are silent onlookers, watching over the burning fields of Dawn Winery, cold and unfeeling with their distance. Kaeya can remember the first time he saw the stars, and they feel nothing like the pinpricks of wonder he had once viewed them as. The winery is always empty, devoid of any life other than him and his opponent.

The dream has changed.

It is no longer the dream he remembers, is familiar with. Now, he stands as himself, the him of now and not the child of his past, in the streets of Mondstadt. He stands, and the cobblestones beneath his feet are charred, the buildings around slowly catching fire as he stares at his opponent.

His opponent has changed, twisted to fit the time. Morphed to fit the person he now is.

Gone are the silent stars, replaced instead by murmuring onlookers; citizens of Mondstadt crowd the street behind their captain, watching him with eyes that reflect nothing but fear and hatred, alight with the flames of fire. They seem unaware of the burning buildings around them, or perhaps they simply care more to watch the demise of the monster that had stood amongst them for years.

He is alone, in this dream. Stood with no one to guard his back. It makes him feel exposed in a way he hasn't experienced since he first created a shield. The empty air at his back, the flames circling around him and his opponent, only further serve to remind him how isolated he is.

He doesn't say anything. Won't give them the satisfaction of watching him plead. He grits his teeth as the sword finds its mark, embedding in his side with a sizzle of flesh and a flash of light.

He blinks, the light fades, and he is lying in his hotel room. He feels lightheaded, but sits up anyway, ignoring how the room spins around him as he breathes in through his nose, then out through his mouth. He does it again and again and again, until he feels like he has some kind of control over himself and his actions.

The afterimage of fire is still burned into the back of his eyelids and the air around him feels far too warm. It is almost stifling, and he has to resist the urge to fling the doors to their balcony open and let the cold air flow into their room. He only resists it, just barely, because he doesn't want to wake Childe and have to deal with the questions and complaints he’s sure to have.

He presses a hand to his cheek, chilled by the cryo flowing in his veins, and tries not to flinch when he feels the crystals beneath his palm. He’s long past the stage of trying to rip them from his skin, and contents himself instead with running his fingertips over the marks that set him apart as distinctly not human.

He can feel where his fingers brush against the crystals, and he presses a little harder, feeling as they dig into his cheekbone with the movement, shifting over his skin. He’s not sure where the crystals actually come from, every other icicle protrudes from a bone, like an extension that doesn't quite fit beneath his skin. The ones on his face simply settle over his skin and refuse to budge.

He presses his hands to his face and tries to remember how to breathe.

The Knights are on edge. That much is obvious just from watching them.

There are more of them out this evening, but Diluc is nowhere to be seen among their ranks. They patrol the edges of the city, overlooking the outside, waiting for something. The outrider, Amber, is stood at the entrance to the city. The red of her clothes makes her obvious despite the darkness.

The city itself has several very good vantage points that aren't on the walls of the city, meaning he can observe them undisturbed. It is probably some kind of sacrilege to sit on the statue of Barbatos, but it also has an incredibly good vantage point, and no one has seen him yet. There are no consequences if he isn't caught.

He’s not sure where Childe has disappeared to, but he knows he’s definitely still inside the city unless he’s managed to sneak past the Knights. They've been watching them far closer over the last few hours, as though worried they're going to do something. 

He almost felt like telling them not to worry, as their main event doesn't start until after Stormterror has been dealt with. Though, he doubts they're actually aware of the threat their captain has charged off to face; it’s likely they've simply been told to remain on high alert and defend the city.

His vantage point also means he sees the bursts of colour in the streets where the Knights do not. Three identical flashes of elemental energy, compressed into one area. He has a mission to complete, but he can certainly afford to be side-tracked for a few moments.

He reaches for the ley lines and tugs, dragging himself towards a root that glows with recent use. He bursts free from the ley line in a swirl of cryo, striking out towards the closest mage before it can even consider reacting.

His catalyst clatters uselessly against its shield, but the damage is already done, and frost spreads out from the tip, until the shield is brittle enough for him to shatter, twisting his staff with one swift motion. He swings it back around, catching the mage with the head of it and pinning them to the ground.

The Khaenri’ahn the mage babbles in is familiar, but he ignores it, pressing down on his staff a little harsher. The other two mages had abandoned their comrade as soon as he appeared. It leaves him and the hydro abyss mage alone, and the mage seems to realise this, struggling a little more, Khaenri’ahn turning frantic as he pins one of their flailing legs beneath his heel.

“Speak.” He commands, and the Khaenri’ahn is apparently enough to startle the mage as it freezes. The shock is only momentary, as it begins to laugh a moment later. The nasally tone of their speech never fails to grate on his ears, the rumbling of their throat harsh in the quiet evening. He presses his foot down a little harder.

“Your disguise is clever.” The mage says, no longer resisting quite as vehemently. “But why bother to mingle with the humans ?”

“They have use.”

The mage shakes their head with another laugh, ears twitching backwards. “Everything has a use. And you obviously have a use to them. Tell me, mage, what will you do when their use for you expires?” The mage laughs, and he begins to seriously consider killing it rather than just shoving it back through the ley lines. “If you think you can come crawling back to us once you've outstayed your welcome you can think again. The Prince will not accept traitors among his ranks.”

“Prince?” He can hear a commotion beginning, no doubt some other part of whatever plan these mages had. “There is no royal family left.”

“There is a new one,” the mage sighs, “the power he brings is so absolute, so great. The humans will hardly stand a chance in the face of him.”

“If his power is so great, then why did he not save you?” He asks.

“Save me?” The mage laughs. “I do not need to be saved.”

“That’s what they all say.” He drives the tip of his catalyst into their flesh, leaning all of his weight against the wood, and allows the cryo to explode out of it. He continues to lean on his staff as the mage dissipates in a cloud of ash, swirling away and over the ice.

He has to spend a moment to catch his breath, brushing back his hair as he tries to reconcile himself with the anger bubbling in his gut. It’s so furiously hot as it licks at his insides and makes his skin itch with some unnameable need.

The street looks like a cryo bomb went off. Which probably isn't an unreasonable comparison. Kaeya doubts the Knights will believe him if he says that he was fighting a mage. He’s surprised none of the residents have attempted to see what’s going on. Though, he supposes that trying to look out of windows covered in ice is a little hard.

He blinks away, back to the statue. Yet, once he arrives there, he finds himself unable to sit still for longer than a few moments. His fingers itch with the need to do something, clenching and unclenching around nothing as his brain continues to replay the mage’s words over and over again.

It fills him with an anger so hot that he’s almost convinced he’s on fire. He’s not, he’s certain of that. But the feeling remains, slowly simmering just beneath his skin and looking for an outlet. Because apparently covering a whole street in ice isn't enough of an outlet for him.

The commotion outside the main gates continues, and he can see flares of bright red every now and then, indicating a fight. He itches to join it with every fibre of his being. Everything about his itches . It feels wrong to sit back and watch the conflict play out when he could so easily sink himself into the fight and burn off this excess energy.

He almost jumps down and attacks the bard and his companions as soon as they appear in his peripheral view. He clenches down on the urge, gritting his teeth and reminding himself that they're trying to avoid any political incident, and attacking the Anemo Archon in front of two Knights would be the very definition of causing a political incident.

(He also doesn't want to be the first one that causes a political incident. Mainly because he’s seen how much money is on Childe being the one to cause such an incident.)

Instead, he follows them.

There is one memorable moment where Jean turns around after he sends a pebble skittering, and he has to duck behind a table and pray she cannot see him. She stands still for a moment, and her companions ask her what’s wrong. Fortunately for him, she brushes it off as a mouse and he’s able to keep following them. Admittedly with a little more caution to where he places his feet.

When he catches a glimpse of the Holy Lyre, he winces. He’s not sure how they managed to get it in such a state, but the snapped strings and broken frame is certainly not going to go down well with the Deaconess. How he wishes to be a crystalfly on a wall when that conversation happens.

He also doesn't blame Jean and Diluc for disappearing on them as soon as possible. They make the excuse of not wanting to be seen involved in the situation, especially as they have to maintain relations with the Fatui. Everyone already knows they're involved; they just don't want to hand the mangled Lyre back to the Deaconess and deal with the fallout.

He watches the traveller and the bard, both incredibly nervous-looking and attempting to hide the state of the Lyre they're not even meant to have, as they enter the Cathedral. The door swings shut behind them, and he’s not about to follow them inside.

He almost impales Childe when he surprises him, icicle stopping hair’s width from his throat only because he recognised the ginger of his hair at the last moment. He’s brought several of their agents with him, each of them looking a little worse for wear but not as though they're about to keel over. Which is more than can be said for them after some training sessions.

Thankfully, he hasn't chosen to bring any vanguards along, which would have been far more difficult to explain than a few cicin mages and two pyro agents.

“I thought I told you this was a covert operation?” He hisses, dragging Childe closer by his scarf.

“This is covert.” Childe protests, trying and failing to pull his scarf from Kaeya’s grip on it. “Besides, we have to make sure the traveller doesn't interfere with anything. How are you going to do that on your own?”

“You're here for a reason, aren't you?” He keeps his voice low and their faces close together. It’s bad for their agents to see them argue. Lowers morale, or something. “I thought you would have jumped at the opportunity to fight them?”

“Not outside of a church .” Childe sounds scandalised, which is far too dramatic for what they're discussing. “I have standards.”

“But it’s fine to steal an Archon’s gnosis on the steps of his own Cathedral?”

“It adds to the dramatism.” Childe will never fail to amaze him. He may be far more violent and far less subtle than their colleagues, but his dramatics are on the same level as theirs. He holds Childe’s scarf for a moment longer, before releasing it with a sigh and pushing him back a step.

“Just get ready.” He says. “And don't kill anyone.”

Childe grins at him, which is honestly good enough at this point. He either needs to kill someone or sleep for a week straight, and both of those options look equally appealing right now. Before he can decide on his next step of action, the doors are swinging open again and the bard and traveller come bursting out, both giggling to each other like drunk teenagers.

Just to be mean, he freezes the ground in front of them, watching as they both skid over it, losing their balance and slipping. The traveller recovers first, straightening up and seeing him. He smirks, watching as she draws her sword, only to be restrained a moment later as his agents grab her.

Her sword clatters to the ground, and the bard looks up at the sound. He sees the agents first, before turning to face Kaeya with a glare.

“You.”

“Me.” He can't help it, can't resist the urge, and spreads his arms out, dipping into something that could almost be called a bow if it wasn't so mocking. Childe is absolutely going to give him an earful later for being dramatic immediately after he told Childe not to be, but he understands why the Harbingers do it now. It brings such a rush of satisfaction to watch as their faces contort with anger and confusion. “I promise it’s nothing personal.”

“Kinda hard to believe that right now.” The bard struggles to his feet, the ice making it far more difficult but also far more amusing. He freezes his feet in place with a flick of his hand, stepping closer to watch as he struggles to break free.

The base of his cloak drags against the ice. He grips the bard’s face with one hand, feeling the warm skin through his glove and realising how very easy it would be to simply squeeze and keep squeezing. He tests it, watching as the bard, an Archon, struggles to yank himself free.

“I suppose it is.” He shrugs. “No matter, you have something I want.” He releases the bard’s face, and without any preamble, sinks his hand into the bard’s chest.

It is far easier than he thought it would be. When he had been first informed of what his task was and how he was expected to complete it, he hadn't been able to believe that stealing a gnosis would be that easy. But Signora had assured him and simply showed him how to do it again. It’s like plunging your hand into a wet sponge , she had said, and he’s disgusted to find that she’s right.

The bard makes a small sound of pain, face scrunching up, and the traveller calls out for him.

His fingers close around something solid, and he digs his hand in further until he can close his entire fist around the thing and pull it loose. The bard cries out as he yanks it free, but it comes loose without much force, glowing softly.

He takes a step back, watching, curious, as the bard (is he an Archon without the gnosis, or simply another god of the world?) pales, teetering back and forth dangerously. He had managed to crack the ice when he struggled, and large chunks of it begin to fall away now, leaving him swaying even more dangerously.

He’s filled with another urge, one that is nothing short of mean, and he gives in, pushing lightly at the bard’s shoulder and watching as he topples like a stack of cards. He goes down like a sack of bricks, head bouncing off the ice with a dull sound.

He doesn't stir, though he is obviously still alive. He is breathing and okay-ish, and that’s good enough for Kaeya to turn around and give his agents the signal. He doesn't look back as they give the traveller a similar treatment to what he just gave the bard.

Instead, he focuses on a very put-out looking Childe, arms crossed and one foot tapping against the ground. He holds the gnosis out like a peace offering.

“You always tell me not to be dramatic.” Childe says, and he sighs.

“Yes.”

“And you were just very incredibly dramatic with how you did that.” Childe’s arms remain crossed, and he does not take the gnosis from where Kaeya is offering it. “You could’ve just snatched it and been done with it. But no, apparently you just discovered your dramatic flair.”

“It was quite fun, I must admit.” He concedes, waving the gnosis around like it’s a particularly tasty treat. Childe falls for the bait and leans forward to inspect it a little closer.

“It’s not much, is it?” Childe says after a moment. “Like, sure, it glows, and it looks kinda cool, but I expected more from it, you know?”

Kaeya hums. “I know what you mean. It’s a little disappointing, I must admit. I thought it would look a little more fancy than this.” He begins walking back to the hotel, and Childe falls into step behind him.

They leave the traveller and the ex-Archon on the steps of the Cathedral. Moving them would only cause more bother, and they’d likely need to be seen at the Cathedral for healing anyway. He’s doing them a favour, really, by not just attacking them out in the wilderness.

“I thought he would put up more of a fight, too.” Childe says, obviously disappointed that he didn't get to fight the Anemo Archon. “It was a little lacklustre. He didn't even try to beat you up. He just kinda…let you have it.”

“I don't think he has very much power left in him. He has been away from Mondstadt for a long, long time now. The people hardly pray to him anymore, and the sum of a god is dependent on their followers. He is hardly a god with the handful of people that still remain devoted to him.”

“I suppose.”

“C’mon now, aren't you happy we get to return to Snezhnaya?” He asks, “I'm sure the Tsaritsa will give you some time off if you want to visit your family once we return.”

“Hopefully.” Childe sighs. “Though I'm not looking forward to the boat ride back.”

“I wasn't expecting you to.” Kaeya laughs, “It was hardly fun for me to hold your hair back while you threw up.”

Childe elbows him between the ribs, and he almost drops the gnosis from how hard he laughs at the other’s offended expression. It’s almost worth the bruise that’s bloomed there the next morning.

Chapter Text

Childe's plans to make a surprise visit home to his family are ruined upon their arrival in Liyue's port. It is there that a Fatui official jumps off a ship and presents them with two letters, the second of which is enclosed within the first and neither of them have actually read yet, and two electro Delusions.

It is in sunny Liyue, far warmer than any of their days spent in Mondstadt had been, that they receive the news that their mission has been given an extension .

The first letter has been penned by the Tsaritsa herself, obvious in the way her script slants ever so slightly to the left as well as the floral scent her ink carries. He's never entirely understood the appeal of scented ink, as it completely ruins all chances at writing an anonymous letter. All it needs is someone that knows the kind of ink you use and any attempt at secrecy is thrown out the window.

He supposes it must be an honour to receive a letter penned by the Tsaritsa's own hand, but he's far too irritated by the heat to even try and appreciate it. Childe rests his chin on Kaeya’s shoulder to read the letter alongside him.

My dearest Harbingers, the letter begins.

Apologies for being unable to congratulate you on your successes in person, but the next stage of our plan is reaching a rather unfortunate deadline for a contract that is yet to be fulfilled. As such, the task is being delegated to the two of you. I am sure you will find success in this task, and as a reward for your previous successes you shall find specially crafted Delusions alongside this letter. They are identical, as I believed that both of you would likely appreciate the electro it would allow you to yield.

Childe is no longer bothering to read the letter over his shoulder, fiddling with the electro Delusion he has been gifted. He spares a moment to ask a god of some kind to look down on them and make sure he doesn't kill them all by accident. The Fatui official seems to be having similar thoughts if the way she's staring at Childe is any indicator.

Further instructions are enclosed within, on the task you must undertake, but I implore you to open them in a more private setting than a docks. I presume it is my Twelfth reading this and not my Eleventh, and so I hope you may communicate how much he enjoys the gifts I have sent the two of you in your letter of response.

The Northland Bank will have details on how to ship the prize from your most recent adventure, as well as being able to guide you to your lodgings and give you information on the cultural consultant I have managed to acquire for you. He is the best that I know of, so please remind Tartaglia to remember his manners, I would hate for one of you to accidentally offend him and face his wrath.

I look forward to hearing of your successes,

Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa.

He takes the Delusion from Childe when he begins tossing it up and down, snatching it out of the air before Childe can catch it again. He pretends not to hear the sigh of relief the official lets out when he intervenes.

"Hey!" Several people turn to look at them when Childe protests, giving them judgemental looks that are probably a little bit too harsh for the situation. "There's one for you too, you know."

"I am aware. I simply don't wish for you to blow this whole port up; I'd rather not incite a political incident on our first day here." He places the Delusions back into the box the Fatui official is still holding, snapping the lid shut before taking it from her grasp. She's gone before he can even thank her, disappearing back onto the ship with a speed that astonishes even Kaeya.

"Minor property damage will hardly be cause for a political incident." Childe scoffs, though he doesn't attempt to grab his Delusion back from Kaeya.

"I doubt the millelith would see eye to eye with you on that one." He laughs, watching the few millelith guards as they watch him. They've been watching the two of them since they arrived, which isn't a surprise when they're decked out in such obviously Fatui clothing, but a little bit of trust would go a long way here. "C'mon, we're wanted at the Northland Bank."

Childe groans but pulls himself to his feet anyway. He casts a lingering, longing look over his shoulder at the boat as they leave the port, and Kaeya has to resist doing the same thing. The warmth of Liyue is only made more unbearable by the thought of Snezhnaya and its wonderful snow and ice. Childe doesn't protest as much as he was expecting, which must be some kind of blessing from a benevolent god. Either that, or he’s planning how much destruction he can cause with the aid of his Delusion.

…It’s probably the latter.

Too many sets of stairs later and several judgmental looks from millelith and shoppers alike, they arrive at the Northland Bank. The guard at the door straightens up from where he was leaning against the railing when he sees them arrive, giving them a solemn nod, before pushing the door open for him and Childe to enter through.

He nods back and enters the bank.

The inside is spacious, and a golden glow overlays the whole place. The gold is a little excessive, honestly. He understands that the bank is trying to push its wealth and compete with the Golden House, but there’s such a thing as too much gold. This room toes the line of too much gold, not quite overstepping it but incredibly close.

His eyes land on the person stood behind the reception counter and pauses. Ekaterina stares back at him. At least, he thinks it’s Ekaterina. He’s never actually seen her outside of her cicin mage garb and the normal Fatui official clothes look odd on her.

“Good afternoon,” she greets, resting a hand on the counter. “How can I be of assistance?” Some of the patrons within the building take a moment to watch them enter, before turning back to their business. The sound of clinking Mora fills the air as he and Childe approach Ekaterina’s desk.

“I wasn't expecting to see you here.” He says, in lieu of a greeting.

“I was reassigned the day after you two ditched Mondstadt.” She smiles, “I assume you have received your newest orders?”

“Yes,” Kaeya nods, “apparently you know where we’ll be staying while we’re here?”

“You have an apartment rented out in the centre of the Harbour. Allow me a moment to find the keys.” Ekaterina nods again, before disappearing into the back, the door swinging shut behind her. The sound of business continues in the background, bank tellers murmuring to their customers as Mora exchanges hands. Ekaterina reappears, a pair of keys in her hand that she holds out to Kaeya.

“One of those is for your office upstairs.” She informs them. “It’s not the largest office, apologies for that, but we have made an effort to accommodate two desks within the space we have.” The keys are warm in his hand, and he thanks her quietly as he takes them. She pushes a slip of paper over the desk. “And this is the address for your apartment. I will send you a copy of your schedule for the next week,” she smiles again. “Don't think you're going to be wasting time like you did in Mondstadt, we have things to keep you busy.”

“Ominous as ever.” Childe comments, throwing it over his shoulder as he heads for the stairs, disappearing up them a moment later. Kaeya follows behind him, finding a singular door at the top of the stairs that he assumes to be their shared office.

It takes him a moment to figure out which key is for the office, and he uses the wrong one at first getting it halfway in before it jams and he has to yank it out and use the other, correct, key. The lock clicks and the door swings open revealing a cramped office.

Ekaterina hadn't been joking when she said it wasn't the largest office. It’s likely not helped by the two rather large desks pushed into opposite corners which take up most of the floorspace. There are documents already arranged on each desk, and a rather fancy placard for each of them.

Kaeya doesn't hesitate a moment longer, throwing himself into his chair and retrieving the second letter from the Tsaritsa, shaking it out and tossing the envelope onto his desk. It’s far longer than the first letter, detailing the conditions of this contract and the exact requirements they need to fulfil.

“Childe,” he says, and Childe hums in response. “You're not gonna believe this.”

“What?” 

Kaeya flips the letter around to face Childe, though the writing is too small for the other to read from his desk. “How do you feel about fighting a god?”

Ekaterina wasn't lying when she said they would have work to do, but the sudden activeness after such a long period of inactivity is a relief, even if it means trekking all over the Liyuean countryside in search of treasure hoarders.

Childe had taken to their new task with a kind of joy you would normally see a child express on their birthday. Or on any similarly exciting occasion where they receive presents. It would be disturbing if his excitement wasn't infectious, and he’s long used to it besides.

The latest treasure hoarders have been sufficiently dealt with and are currently groaning on the ground where Childe left them. There are small smears of blood on Kaeya’s clothes, but Childe’s clothes have certainly come out the worst of everything here. Including the people who the blood belongs to.

He doesn't say anything, just grabbing Childe’s jaw in his hand and pulling him closer to rub at the mud and blood currently caked on his face. “Would it be such a difficulty to not end up looking like you've been dragged through a bush backwards? We’ve got a meeting with the cultural consultant after this, we have to make a good impression.”

Childe squirms, face reddening as Kaeya rubs the blood away. One of the treasure hoarders snickers, and he impales their hand with an icicle without a second thought. It’ll melt eventually, but until then it can fix them to the ground. He doesn't take his eyes off of Childe, leaning back to make sure he managed to get rid of all the dirt.

“You don't have to do that.” Childe wipes at his face himself once Kaeya releases him, only succeeding in smearing dust over his face. “You're not my mother.”

“You hardly act like you're capable of taking care of yourself sometimes,” he scoffs in response, turning to the treasure hoarders. “You have a week to bring the owed amount to the Northland Bank. If you don't, well, we know where you are, so we’ll come find you again.” He grins, “And we’ll be far less lenient if that happens.”

“I still think it would be more fun if we just did that the first time around.” Childe huffs. The treasure hoarders pale at his suggestion, looking to Kaeya, as though he’s going to help them. “A little murder is always a very good motivator.”

“It’s also an incredibly good motivator for the millelith to kick us out. We’re on thin ice as it is, and we hardly need you killing people to satiate your bloodlust. It would do us the opposite of a favour.”

“Still think it would be more effective.” Childe sulks, and he continues to complain about the injustice of not being able to kill at will on their way back to the Harbour. Childe is great, amazing to work with, but he would really love him more if he could stop talking about murdering people in such certain terms while they're walking around the Harbour. Sure, it means they get places quicker because no one wants to stand within punching range, but it also means the millelith watch them with more suspicion. They're hardly going to be able to do anything if the millelith continue to watch them with such obvious wariness.

“Childe,” he pulls Childe aside before they can enter Liuli Pavilion, slightly late and going to be even later once this conversation is finished, but he would rather be late than have any incidents over food. “I need you to promise me something.”

Childe squints at him. “I'm not agreeing to your terms before I hear them.”

“Do not, you hear that? Do not attack the consultant.” He presses his hands onto Childe’s shoulders when the man still looks uncertain. “I do not care what happens, even if you perceive the moment as perfect to start a fight, we cannot afford to repair the insides of this restaurant, okay?”

Childe regards him for a moment longer, jaw clenched, before he sighs. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“I will beat you into the ground as many times as you want me to.” He smiles, guiding Childe towards the doors. 

The waitress waiting outside greets them with a smile, dipping her head in greeting. “Good afternoon, do you have a booking?”

“We’re here for a consultation, under the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour?” He hadn't asked Ekaterina why their consultant works for a funeral parlour, and he simply asked himself why an Archon would decide that they wanted to be a funeral consultant for the rest of their life. It doesn't seem like the most thrilling of occupations, and certainly not something a warrior god would choose to occupy his time with.

“Ah, yes, your consultant is waiting in a private room for you. Please, follow me.” She pushes the door open, and gestures for them to enter before following behind and guiding them through the restaurant. It’s bustling, filled with activity that means they have to wind their way through the maze of tables and servers. One memorable moment, that almost makes him feel sick, is when Childe steps backwards into a server while avoiding another, almost sending the elaborate looking dish to the floor.

He holds Childe’s hand after that, keeping him close and preventing him from making a nuisance of himself among the bustling of the restaurant.

The silence of the private room is a relief, and the waitress disappears after seeing them in, closing the door behind herself quietly. The consultant looks up, amber eyes flashing as he takes in the two of them.

“Apologies for our lateness,” Kaeya starts, when it is made obvious Childe isn't going to offer anything. “We were caught up in other business and were only just able to escape.”

“It is not a problem; I had only been waiting for a few moments before your arrival.” The funeral consultant sets down the cup of tea he had been cradling, folding his hands on the edge of the table and watching as he and Childe sit down. The table is arranged rather oddly, with him and Childe sat side by side, with the funeral consultant at the opposite end, placing a small distance between them. “However, I have ordered food for us already, so if either of you have any dietary requirements it would be best if we alert someone before they begin making the dishes.”

“No dietary requirements here.” He leans an elbow on the table, and the consultant grimaces at the action before moving on. He sits perfectly straight, in a way that looks slightly uncomfortable, and his elbows remain very far away from ever touching the table. If it wasn't for the slight up and down of his chest Kaeya could almost believe the man in front of them was a statue. “I'm sure whatever has been ordered will be fine.”

“I would certainly hope so,” there is a small twitch of lips here that could almost be called a smile, but his eyes do not change. The amber of his eyes is certainly inhuman and seems to almost look through Kaeya entirely. “Liuli Pavilion is incredibly well-known for its Li-style cuisine, and to visit Liyue without tasting at least one of their dishes would be an utter shame.”

Childe is already fiddling with the napkins on the table, and Kaeya drops a hand out of sight to nudge at his leg and try to bring his focus back here. He glances at Childe from the corner of his eye, tilting his head slightly. Childe straightens up a moment later, looking at the consultant again.

“I don't believe we've introduced ourselves,” he says. “You can call me Pavone. I do hope this acquaintance is beneficial to us.” The consultant nods at his introduction.

“I certainly hope it is with the amount we’re paying him.” Childe mutters, which the consultant seems to catch as well, eyes crinkling at the edges with the beginnings of amusement.

“Ah, apologies but I am not the one that sets the hourly rates. That would be Hu Tao, and she’s always one to be rather…overeager when it comes to new business avenues. Perhaps I should speak to her about lowering the prices, if they truly are too much.”

“They're perfectly fine,” he tries to assure, “Childe simply enjoys complaining when there isn't much else to do.”

“Well, it’s hardly like we've been doing much, all we've been doing is sitting here in an awkward silence and exchanging pleasantries. It’s hardly the most exciting of situations that I've found myself in, sorry Mr. Funeral Parlour.” Kaeya isn't sure whether to wince or laugh at Childe’s manner of address. The consultant seems equally as conflicted, though he looks more confused than anything.

“I suppose so,” the consultant nods. “Though there is hardly any need for you to call me that, just Zhongli will do.”

Kaeya almost begins the actual consultation part of their meeting, only for the doors to open with a short knock delivered a moment later, the server already inside the room and laying several platters of food onto the table. With it comes several pairs of chopsticks, more than the three of them will need. He doesn't speak a word, disappearing out the door a moment later and leaving them alone with their food.

Kaeya chooses one of the noodle dishes first, judging it as the safest and most familiar option to what he’s eaten in the past. He had visited Liyue once as a child, but the art of using chopsticks is still unfamiliar to him. He, at least, seems to be doing better than Childe is currently faring.

“I've heard talk of the annual Rite of Descension recently,” he starts, and Zhongli hums in response, “would you be able to provide further insight on what this is beyond just its name?”

“The Rite of Descension occurs once every year, and it is when Rex Lapis descends to the Harbour to bestow his divine predictions for the upcoming year upon the people. It is a popular gathering for many the business owner, as to hear the words of Rex Lapis means they have their hand held upon the pulse of business.” Zhongli pauses for a moment, using his chopsticks to select a jade parcel with such an ease that leaves him slightly impressed. “The Liyue Qixing are the ones to supervise the event, ensuring that nothing untoward happens whilst the Archon is present. It is also a popular time to make wishes as many believe that you will receive the blessing of both the adepti and Rex Lapis if it is granted.”

Childe gives up on trying to pick up a jade parcel like Zhongli had, settling, instead, for stabbing it through the centre with one chopstick and using a second one to support it. Kaeya ignores him, knowing that looking while he’s acting like this will only encourage him further. The shocked look that Zhongli is quick to wipe away is worth it though.

“Do these Rites often get crowded? Or is it only a small number of people allowed in?”

“Anyone who wishes to attend it is able to, though the millelith do monitor the crowd to ensure there is no risk of crushing during the busiest times. It is often advised to arrive several hours prior to its beginning if you wish to get a front-row seat to the appearance of Rex Lapis. Some even choose to watch from the nearby peak, as it is close enough to watch the Rite while also away from the largest crowds. Its popularity in previous years has increased as more people arrive to witness the Rite.”

“Do people tend to travel to Liyue to witness the Rite?” He can see now why Zhongli had chosen to pursue a career in consultation. If he had six-thousand years’ worth of knowledge stored in his brain, he would also enjoy making a profit off of sharing it.

“It is mostly businesses that make the trip to watch the Rite, both because they are able to afford it easier and also due to its benefits within the market. Rex Lapis’ word is law in business, if he predicts that the demand for cor lapis is going to increase, then the supply will increase before the demand can. If he predicts that silkflowers are their various products are going to fall out of trend, then the purchases of such products will also fall.”

“Surely that’s a flawed system?”

Zhongli pauses, brows furrowing as he looks up at Childe.

“I'm just saying,” Childe gestures with a singular chopstick, “if his word has such influence then what prevents him from lying in his predictions to sway the decisions one way or another. If his word is law, then, surely, he can just say whatever he wants, and it comes true.”

“That is a valid concern,” Zhongli frowns as he thinks, hand lowering his chopsticks back to his dish as he considers it. “I assume that these predictions are based on fact and reason rather than anything so simple as what Rex Lapis wishes to be true that year. If that was the case, Liyue could hardly be the hub of commerce when numerous businesses do not attend the Rite. if it were the case, they would simply continue selling their products as usual, perhaps taking some advice they heard through word of mouth, but it would hardly be enough to influence trends so consistently.”

“Does he have some kind of future seeing power?”

“Pardon?”

“If Rex Lapis is able to predict the business trends of the year, does he have some kind of future seeing power? Like, one that’s super specific to just business?”

“I do not believe Rex Lapis is clairvoyant, no. He is known for many things, including his battle prowess, but there have never been any mentions of clairvoyance.”

“Battle prowess?” Childe perks up at those words, “What kind of battle prowess?”

“He held the title of a warrior god, and there are many tales of his battles. I'm sure you can find several on the shelves of Wanwen Bookhouse, though some of the books are rather lacking in detail on the actual fighting and prefer to visit…other avenues of interest instead. Most well-known is his use of the polearm; he’s known to use both geo constructs in the form of polearms and a physical polearm.”

Zhongli takes a breath to continue speaking, and Childe certainly looks like he’s enjoying himself. He’s probably already thinking of ways he could fight the Archon, picking apart the information presented to him. Kaeya has the decency to not start doing that when said Archon is currently sitting in front of him and passing terribly for a human. Even he’s doing better than Zhongli, and he’s had significantly less than six thousand years to spend around humans and learn to blend in.

“Apologies for the interruption,” both Childe and Zhongli look over at him as he speaks, “but I do believe we have somewhere to be in a short while.” Childe opens his mouth to protest, but snaps it shut when Kaeya looks at him.

“That is quite alright. We can certainly pick up this discussion during our next consultation session.” Zhongli stands from his seat, opening the door a little and sticking his head out. He speaks to someone, and then returns with the bill a few moments later.

Kaeya pays, thanks Zhongli again, and then pulls Childe from the building before he can continue nagging Zhongli.

“That was definitely Rex Lapis, right?” Childe slips into Snezhnayan and startles the millelith guard they're walking past so badly that he whips his head around to stare at them. “Like, I'm not just hallucinating, that was definitely Rex Lapis.”

“It was.” Kaeya hums, beginning up the steps that lead to their apartment. “He’s not exactly the most subtle. Even Barbatos made some effort to blend in among the crowds, though his ballads were certainly a giveaway to his true identity, especially when people wouldn't stop talking about those never before heard ballads. Again, not exactly subtle but also far better than Zhongli is doing.”

“He literally looks exactly like the Rex Incognito books. Is everyone in Liyue blind or just completely oblivious?”

“Perhaps they simply do not care, or maybe they don't make a habit out of speaking with him? It is rather unorthodox for people to seek conversation with those that work at the funeral parlour.”

“Everyone seemed pretty friendly with him.” Childe argues, “Maybe no one cares and it’s just some weird, open secret that no one talks about.”

“Perhaps.” He unlocks the door. “But don't think I didn't notice what you were doing.”

Childe hums, deliberately not saying anything.

“You may have stuck to the terms of my agreement, but you were antagonising him. I understand that you want to fight him, but purposefully misusing the chopsticks and asking him if he’s clairvoyant is definitely antagonistic.”

“It’s hardly like he’s actually going to fight me.” Childe crosses his arms, watching as Kaeya hangs his cloak up and making no move to repeat the action himself. “He’s like some old gentleman, all prim and proper. Even the way he talks is weird.”

“It’s hardly weird, just a little more formal than usual.”

“Still weird.” Childe repeats.

“Whatever you say.” He pushes the door to their bedroom open. “I'm going to lie down. Unless someone dies don't wake me.”

It’s been a while since they shared a bed like this. Whether that be because of the sheer warmth of Liyue that continues on into the night, or simply being too tired to fathom getting out of their own bed once they've already laid down, he’s not sure.

Either way, it means that this closeness is almost as unfamiliar as it is familiar.

He hasn't gotten this moment of peace with Childe since they left Mondstadt, and the days leading up to their departure had been stressful, with the fallout of Stormterror’s defeat, the Abyss Order’s coordinated attack on the city, and the two Harbingers that had been suspiciously absent throughout the whole ordeal, only to begin the preparations for their departure the day after everything happens, only adding to the stress already on the Ordo.

The feeling of Abyss still permeates Childe’s entire being, though it is less concentrated than it had been before. He tries to tug it loose from where it sits lodged under Childe’s skin and it still refuses to budge.

He’s never quite been able to describe the exact feeling of poking around in the elemental energies of someone else. When he twists the elements within himself it is the same as when he channels cryo. It feels no different. But when he reaches into someone else, it is like he is digging his hand around beneath their skin and between their flesh. A little similar to the feeling of ripping the gnosis free from Barbatos, but with less of the spongy feeling that accompanied it.

The abyssal energy in Childe has an obvious centre, located just beneath his collarbone on the opposite side to his heart. It would have been more of a cause for concern if the energy had attached itself to his heart. He would not still be living if the abyss had congealed in his heart, as it would have either killed him outright or cursed him in the same way as everyone else in the Abyss.

He also cannot help but notice that the feeling of Abyss within Childe has only grown stronger since he began spending time around Kaeya regularly. When he had only just become Lieutenant, the feeling was hardly there, and he hadn't even noticed it at first. Didn't notice it until they returned from a mission and suddenly the feeling of Abyss and wrongness was overpowering.

It is not a comforting thought.

Chapter Text

“Guess who I just saw!” Their office door slams open, heralding Childe’s arrival as he enters it far more cheerily than he does most days.

“I don't know,” there’s a letter detailing the batches of new recruits that have recently docked in the Harbour, each of which needs to be integrated into their network here and given tasks to occupy their time. “The Tianquan?” He hopes it isn't the Tianquan. He’s done everything in his power to make sure Childe never has to meet the Tianquan.

“Nope!” Childe pops the ‘p’ on the word, sounding far too excited for how early in the morning it is. It’s enough to make Kaeya look up, watching as Childe perches himself on the edge of his desk, disturbing the papers stacked there. “The traveller and her little floating companion!”

“Ah.” That explains the excitement, at least. “Did they see you?” There’s a smudge of blood on Childe’s cheek, which explains where he disappeared off to this morning. His clothes are, thankfully, clean.

“No,” Childe scoffs, “do you think I'm that incapable? Besides, they were far too caught up in trying to find information on the Rite of Descension to notice me.”

“That’s unsurprising. I assumed they would be heading to Liyue anyway to seek an audience with Rex Lapis.” He taps the tip of his pen against the page, focus quickly disappearing as Childe continues to speak about the traveller and the stalls they had visited and the, very little, information they had managed to gather.

“Childe,” he interrupts the other before he can get too far along on his tangent, “you do realise her presence is going to cause several complications. Especially as she’s seeking an audience with Rex Lapis there are going to be certain events that are going to ruin that for her.”

“Obviously.” Childe rolls his eyes, as though it’s outrageous that Kaeya questions his ability to think ahead. “And I have a solution for those complications.” He shrugs, as though that solves everything.

Kaeya sighs, closing his eye and pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s not going to get a headache, he’s not . “Does it involve you fighting her?”

“Aw, you know me so well.” Childe leans a little further over his desk, a little further into Kaeya’s space, disturbing his organised piles of documents as he does so. “I don't have the entirety of it planned out yet, but there’s definitely a fight at some point.” 

“Sure,” he agrees. Childe pauses, words screeching to an abrupt halt as he twists to look at Kaeya.

“Huh?”

“I said sure. Meaning you can fight-”

“I know what you mean,” Childe hisses. “I just didn't expect you to agree so easily!”

“It’s a good solution,” he leans back in his chair a little, the picture of calm as he regards Childe. “One that spares me two headaches. One, because the traveller will be dealt with effectively, and two because you won't be pestering me while I'm trying to work .”

Childe’s smile turns sheepish at that, slipping off the corner of Kaeya’s desk that he had occupied, fussing with the dislodged sheets of paper, and attempting to organise them back into something that resembles their previously neat piles. He gives up after a moment, shooting Kaeya another sheepish grin as he retreats towards his own desk in the corner.

He doesn't sit at it, instead leaning back against it and continuing to stare at Kaeya. “I promise it’ll be a fully thought-out plan. I swear.”

“If it’s not you're not doing it.” He says, shuffling through a few papers before setting them aside. “I expect a full mission proposal once we know more about the traveller’s intentions in Liyue.” He says it mostly as a joke, but Childe stands up straight and salutes him, before escaping from the room before Kaeya can add anything else.

He lets him go with a sigh, watching as the door drifts only slightly shut. He stands to shut it, flicking through the letters Ekaterina had left for him earlier and he’s been putting off reading them. One is the official recognition from the Qixing of the diplomatic delegation in Liyue, as well as their terms for them to remain on good terms . It’s filled with useless titbits and a way to contact the Qixing if they have any concerns . He barely reads the whole way through, only skimming the last bits for anything useful.

The other two letters are a little heftier, the envelopes thick and distinctly good quality. The stamp of the Fatui on the front of each, paired with an overseas stamp, gives him a pretty good guess to who these letters have been sent by.

Dottore’s handwriting is easy to recognise, the barely legible and frantic script that is apparently a stereotypical doctor’s handwriting. Kaeya doesn't buy it, mostly because he’s seen the Doctor write far neater than this when he wants to. It simply asks after his health and the different things he’s been doing to fill his time, before delving into complaints on his latest projects. Kaeya doesn't even pretend to understand it, especially when he has to start squinting to even attempt to read what’s been written.

The second Fatui letter has not been written by someone who’s writing he recognises. He pulls it open, interest piquing as he immediately flips the letter over to read who has signed off on it. Signora . Not entirely unexpected, but certainly not expected either. She writes in far more words than she needs, but she asks after his and Childe’s health, inquiring after the climate in Liyue and whether there’s any good vendors around, and if there are to consider indulging in a few different choices of clothing.

He sighs, folding that one up and placing it beside Dottore’s. No doubt Childe would get out of reading it.

"And you're certain these are the conditions you want to uphold?" He can't help but ask. Zhongli looks unimpressed with his question, eyes narrowing slightly. They still hold that slight glow, it hasn't faded since they met, and Kaeya is genuinely considering asking the consultant if it’s purposeful or subconscious. And whether the people of Liyue are idiots.

They're sat in the man's office, located on the second floor of the Funeral Parlour, which he had navigated through with varying levels of success. The longest detour had been from the Director when she attempted to sell him a package deal for the Fatui that might die on Liyue's land, which Zhongli had to rescue him from. In all honesty, it wasn't a bad deal, though the Director should exercise a little more tact when pitching to people that aren't as involved in death as he is.

"I am certain. If I was not, it would not have been written into the contract."

"Just checking." He mutters. Childe isn't with him right now, technically because Childe isn't meant to know that they're upholding a contract with Rex Lapis and should have just been tasked with attempting to draw him out through mass destruction instead. Kaeya hadn't enjoyed the thought of that, and not just because Childe would kill him in his sleep for the deception, but also because Childe doesn't destroy things for destruction's sake. "And you're sure this is the best way to go about it?"

"I know what I am doing." Zhongli says, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "Do you make a habit out of questioning the choices of every Archon you come across, or are you simply choosing to be difficult with me?"

"Not sure," Zhongli doesn't particularly scare him, not even as the consultant straightens up and tries to exude a threatening aura. "You're the first Archon I'm dealing with like this." He had been far more brief with Barbatos, and the Anemo Archon hadn't expected to be treated with respect, not like Zhongli.

"Is the lack of respect a habit too? Or does it simply stem from the very nature of your being?"

Kaeya stares at him. Zhongli stares back, gaze impassive. His eyes glow with more strength than before, meaning it is definitely a conscious decision.

"I don't like what you're insinuating." He says.

"I'm not insinuating anything. In fact, I believe I'm being quite clear in what I mean." Zhongli taps a finger against his desk. The sound echoes around the office. "Unless I'm wrong and the stench of Abyss that follows you around stems from another source?"

"I cannot help my nature."

"Hm," Zhongli leans back. "No, I suppose you cannot. Though I believe the true question here is whether you can resist it."

"I have not killed anyone undeserving." He snaps. "All those that have died at my hand have died under orders from the Tsaritsa." And it’s true. He hadn't killed anyone before…before his time in Snezhnaya began, and the only ones he killed were those the Tsaritsa commanded him to.

"And you have received her blessing too." Zhongli nods at where his Vision is concealed. "Certainly an interesting choice to take up the service under an Archon, especially knowing how your people suffered at our hands all those years-"

Kaeya stands. The carpeted floor prevents his chair from screeching, but Zhongli falls silent all the same. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches him. He almost wishes that his chair had scraped backwards and made a noise. He feels like Zhongli would have found that more amusing, too.

"We will uphold your contract." He says, speaking through gritted teeth. "The Harbour will be tested, and when you find the results satisfactory you will hand the gnosis to us, and we will all be on our very merry, very separate ways."

"I do not hold your nature against you," Zhongli says, as Kaeya's hand presses against the door. He pauses, against his better judgement. "Others shall hold it against you, but I prefer to judge someone based on the acts they have committed rather than those that have the potential to occur."

"Perhaps you should start leading with that statement." He replies. "Good evening, Zhongli."

The door clicks shut behind him, because it is far too childish and inappropriate to slam a door within a funeral parlour when there are families grieving their recent losses. He also doesn't wish to give Zhongli more reason to be amused with him.

He does, however, get the feeling that Zhongli had gotten what he wanted, by managing to get under his skin and irritate him. He ignores the fact that that irritates him even further.

The traveller doesn't arrive at the Rite of Descension until it has already begun, the crowds pressing closer and forward in anticipation as the Tianquan begins to speak. It makes it impossible to move, trapping him and Childe in the very centre of the mass of people. Childe elbows another person near them, possibly one that he’s elbowed before. An attempt at securing more space that only earns them several glares. He tugs Childe closer to his side, holding him there with an arm around his waist and hopes that his smile conveys his apology well enough to the irritated people surrounding them.

“You really don't need to do that.” He has to lean close to Childe’s ear to speak and be heard over the Tianquan. The people around them mutter amongst themselves, only adding to the cacophony of noise.

“You didn't have to keep us up until three going over my plan of attack, but here we are.” Childe huffs, crossing his arms. He doesn't try to move away from Kaeya though. “And now I'm tired.”

“I wasn't aware I was working with a child.”

Childe gasps, turning to face him. “You-!”

The people around shush them, far harsher than a hushed conversation between two people warrants. The Tianquan is still easily louder than they are, and her speech isn't even particularly interesting and certainly doesn't need the rapt attention everyone’s giving it.

It’s a typical business speech, one that speaks of their hopes for the next year , droning on and on in a way that is, admittedly, expertly woven and said in such a way to engage the audience and keep them focused on her words and her words only as people continue hurrying around behind her, organising the last few details for the Rite. He doesn't focus on her words, it’s not what he’s here for and it certainly is not enough to distract him.

He begins paying a little more attention as the Tianquan surrounds herself in a cloak of glowing geo, slowly condensing and crystallising into solid crystals of geo. It swirls around her in a tremendous show of power and control, several people gasping in awe at the show, before she directs the crystals towards the centre with one sharp movement.

They click into place, settling in and beginning to glow, flooding the terrace with a pulse of light. The Tianquan maintains her control, directing it upwards and towards the clouds. The geo energy condenses into a single pillar of light. It roars in his ears, both with the crackling of energy, and also the sheer amount of power pouring off of it. It’s almost enough to make him light-headed.

The crowd took a step back at the start of the Tianquan’s display, wary of the power currently being channelled towards the skies to summon the Geo Archon. He can see the traveller now, stood at the front of the crowd with her companion. She stares up at the rapidly darkening sky unflinchingly. He grins, looking over at Childe and finds him watching them as well.

The crowd continues to push backwards, and he grabs onto Childe’s sleeve, tugging him backwards, further back through the crowd as they retreat. He keeps his eyes on the sky, watching as the clouds part momentarily to reveal a flicker of scales or shimmer of cor lapis, before closing over it again.

He continues to pull Childe backwards, directing them away from the crowds before the main event can begin. Away, so Childe has plenty of time to implement whichever version of his plan he decides to follow. They had laid out several in their hours’ long discussion, accounting for several different possibilities and variables. Kaeya’s just glad that the traveller actually showed up because they hadn't even considered a possibility where they were absent.

Someone screams. Several someones gasp. The crowd surges backwards as a whole, scrambling to be away from the unfurling catastrophe. Him and Childe are already away from it, halfway back to the Harbour before the Tianquan can even think to call for the millelith and order for the exits to be closed.

Together, him and Childe watch as the scene unfolds.

“Shit,” Childe breathes, crouched next to him. “I've lost her, she’s gone.”

“No, she isn't.” he brings a hand up, brushing his fingers against Childe’s jaw as he tilts his head over, towards where the traveller is. “She’s still here; her little companion is panicking far too much for them to do anything yet.” Childe’s face is warm to the touch, even through his gloves, and when he pulls his hand back the man’s face is tinged pink.

“Oh,” Childe says, eyes now on the traveller, “yes. I see her now.”

“Good.” The traveller has managed to calm her companion down to the point where she is no longer screeching, becoming quiet enough that the millelith guard nearby turns to other, louder, disturbances. “Don't lose her again.”

They watch, Childe watching with far more intensity than him, as the traveller meanders their way across the terrace. Every few paces she stops to speak with a nearby person, acting the part of the concerned person. Maybe it isn't an act, Kaeya doesn't know her well enough to spot her tells yet, but it seems at least halfway genuine. She continues her way across the terrace, moving slowly and calmly as though resigning herself to confinement within the terrace.

But the moment she reaches the edge of the terrace, just beside the stairs, she glances around, counts the millelith with her eyes. Then she’s gone, diving behind something and disappearing from view. One of the nearby millelith does a headcount, eyes sweeping over the crowd, before nodding. They don't even notice anyone missing. How useless.

The traveller moves again, far too quickly and without caution, as they disturb something. The millelith around snap to attention, and she freezes under their stares, before turning and bolting down the steps.

Childe shuffles backwards and out of their hiding spot.

“Twenty minutes before I expect you at the Bank.” He says. “I swear to the Tsaritsa if I have to bail you out-”

“You won't.” Childe placates him, half an eye on the traveller’s progress as she leaps down the last few steps, scrambling to regain her foothold as she slips. “See you at the Bank.” And then he’s gone, nothing but a trail of hydro left in his wake.

Kaeya sighs, shuffles out of their hiding spot, and makes for the Bank.

It’s nearing the point where he begins getting concerned over Childe’s whereabouts that he actually appears, striding through the doors of the Bank with a reluctant traveller trailing behind him. Kaeya’s impressed that she’s not being dragged inside, as they had considered outright refusal as the most likely response.

Childe does have a developing bruise on his cheek, though. So perhaps there was a little resistance.

The traveller makes it a few steps inside the Bank before she plants her feet and refuses to go any further. Her eyes land on him and narrow.

“It’s you!” The floating companion screeches. “What are you doing here?”

“Working.” Kaeya responds.

“And why should I believe that?” The floating creature crosses her arms, looking incredibly petulant. “You're a Harbinger.”

“Congrats on the observation skills.” He says. “Perhaps we should get you on a reconnaissance mission.”

“I suppose I should have expected you to be here as well.” The traveller says, finally speaking up. Her hand still clenches and unclenches around empty air, no doubt aching for her sword. “You never seem to be far from each other.”

“Part of the job description,” he shrugs. “How much have you been told?”

“Nothing!” The floating creature shouts. And, honestly, at this rate they're going to be scaring away the paying customers. “He’s being all creepy and mysterious, and Paimon doesn't like it!”

“Again, part of the job description.”

“I don't have to be here.” The traveller says, “There are several things I could be doing rather than chatting with two Harbingers.”

“Yes,” he nods, “but you also probably want to discover what happened at the Rite, yes?” The traveller doesn't respond to his question, but she does not leave either. It’s enough of an answer. “How would you feel if we could give you a way to seek whatever justice you want?”

The traveller stares at him. “In what way?”

He opens his hand, offering the slip of paper within to her. She gives him a wary look, before stepping closer to inspect it. “Think of it as a gift,” he says, “and an opportunity.”

She takes it, holding the glowing slip of paper up. It is one of the few things that had been waiting for them upon their arrival, sat in a box in one of the back rooms, tucked away and hidden so it could not be found unless you were told about it.

“And how can I use it?”

“If you head north from the Harbour and then west from Guili Plains, you will, eventually, reach a stone forest known as Jueyun Karst.” Childe says. “It is believed to be the abode of the adepti, and offerings are often made at its borders. Though none dare to actually enter.”

“Isn't that just a legend?” The traveller’s companion is beginning to grate on his nerves with her high-pitched voice and constant suspicion.

“No. The adepti definitely do reside in there.”

“And why would I need to find the adepti?” The traveller asks, finally asking a useful question.

“Rex Lapis was a god. An Archon,” Kaeya says, “do you truly believe he would be so easily killed by whoever the millelith are looking for? The Qixing are only looking among the onlookers of the Rite, not even stopping to question how a mortal would be able to kill a warrior god.”

“It’s suspicious.” Childe adds.

“So…what? They're trying to hide the true culprit?” The traveller asks.

“Perhaps. Or maybe they're trying to hide something else. I certainly don't know, the doings of the Qixing are unknown, even to us.”

“You're not making this sound any less suspicious.” The floating creature wags a finger in his face, far too confident for something he could swat aside like a bug.

“The adepti can clear you of any wrongdoing,” Childe says, “and they have far more of a chance to find the actual culprit.”

The traveller’s fingers curl more tightly around the sigil they've handed her, resolve hardening as she makes her choice. “This doesn't mean I trust you,” she says. “You are incredibly likely suspects still, but I will find the adepti, if that’s what you want. And, if you've done it, then it’s no skin off my back to direct the adepti in your direction.”

With those parting words she leaves. Him and Childe stand shoulder to shoulder and watch her go.

“Ekaterina,” he calls, without looking. She appears at his side a moment later. “I want you to follow her. See what she does.”

“Of course.”

Chapter Text

He has been able to feel eyes on him whenever he moves about the Harbour, recently. It comes as no surprise, especially not with the greater millelith presence in and around the Harbour. It also doesn't come as a surprise to him that greater suspicion is being placed upon the Fatui and their actions, he’s only surprised that one of the Qixing hasn't brought it to his attention yet. Perhaps they are too busy to do such things.

It is not only him that has become uneasy with the greater volume of millelith guards now patrolling the Harbour at both night and day. The people of the Harbour seem to be more nervous now, watching the millelith carefully; and the millelith, in turn, watch those that pass by them equally warily, casting suspicion onto each citizen as though they are the ones responsible for their Archon’s death.

Now, Kaeya may not be the most diplomatically skilled person out there, more often than not those he deals with end up feeling cheated or snubbed in some way, but even he understands that casting suspicion onto every person that you pass is only going to cause unease and, eventually, more dramatic consequences. Like someone punching the nearest millelith guard in frustration. It hasn't happened yet, but some of the more irritable citizens seem to be gearing up to take matters into their own hands. 

He simply prays that Childe is nowhere near the city when that happens, as the previously free entertainment would very quickly turn into his problem if Childe managed to get himself involved. Which he would.

They're moving the Exuvia.

It’s all anyone can talk about, and he’d have to be a deaf fool not to be aware of that. He would much prefer to watch how they're going to try and do it as the Exuvia certainly isn't a small thing nor would it be easy to move, but he has to continue on his way to meet with Zhongli at the designated time.

Zhongli is already there, as always, waiting patiently with nothing but a cup of tea in front of him. He looks up as Kaeya arrives, greeting him with a short nod. He returns the gesture, sitting himself at the table and ignoring the uneasy gaze of the waiter before he leaves them be, the door softly sliding shut behind him.

“Good morning,” Zhongli says, first to break the silence, “I do apologise for pulling the date of our meeting forward by a few days, but there is something that has come to my attention that I would rather not ignore.” He sets his cup down with a small clink of china, folding his hands neatly on top of each other.

“And what might that be?” He asks, smiling. He has a rather good idea of what it might be, but he’d rather Zhongli present him with what he already knows.

“There has been a presence moving around Jueyun Karst, seeking out several of the adepti and speaking to them of recent events.” Zhongli’s eyes narrow. “She was carrying with her a Sigil of Permission, I don't suppose you would know anything about that?” He asks it as a question, but it is obvious he expects an answer.

“I may have an idea.”

“I asked you to test the Harbour,” Zhongli says. “To ensure that it would be able to survive without my intervention if the need arose. What made you involve her?”

“It was an opportunity too good to pass up.” Zhongli watches him carefully, and he grins a little wider, a little sharper, in response before continuing. “We’ve met before, and she is certainly something interesting to watch when she works. Childe seems to think she is integral to his plans.”

“And is she?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I don't know the full details of his plans; they are his alone.”

“And you trust him to carry them out?” Zhongli asks. “That he would have no ulterior motives?”

“He would have no ulterior motives that I do not share with him. Whether it was me or him organising your test, we would arrive at the same result. The only difference would be how we arrive at such a result.”

Zhongli hums, settling back in his seat. After a moment, he picks his tea up again, taking another sip. He looks more relaxed than he did moments ago, though his eyes are no less sharp.

“Your trust for Childe is interesting.” Zhongli says, “You must know him very well.”

“It would be hard not to know him after the amount of time spent together.”

Zhongli hums again, nodding. He cradles his tea gently but does not take another sip. “You certainly are interesting. You make a striking pair, balancing the other out where they fail,” he bristles a little at that, but Zhongli continues without commenting, “and it is certainly interesting to see two Harbingers working together when I was certain it was a solitary job.”

“Harbingers don't work well together.”

“And yet you and Childe work together fluidly. You act as two halves of one whole, seamlessly strengthening the other.”

“We’ve worked together for a long time.” He doesn't know what Zhongli is trying to get at, doesn't understand what he’s trying to pry for.

“Yes, I was told as much.” Zhongli’s eyes glint over the rim of his cup as he lifts it to take another sip. No steam rises from it anymore, and he’s certain it’s cold by now. Zhongli seems to enjoy it anyway. “I wasn't sure what to expect from you when the Tsaritsa sent me news of your arrival, and you certainly have been interesting.”

He doesn't say anything. He’s not sure that Zhongli wants him to say anything. This has turned from a meeting into Zhongli speaking at him and expecting him to listen. His motive in this is unknown, but he may as well see this conversation to its end. He gains nothing from leaving halfway through, irritated and confused.

“Tell me,” Zhongli continues, “how long have you two been together?”

Out of everything, that is not the question he would have expected. He narrows his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You two are exceptionally close, even for two people that have worked together for several years. I'm certain if any other Harbingers had to work in such close proximity to each other, they would not get along as swimmingly as you two do.” Zhongli tilts his head to the side. “I am also aware that you two share a room, which is only something that-”

“We’re not together.” He cuts Zhongli off, feeling the rapid heating of his face as Zhongli stares at him. He seems to have shocked the Archon, his eyes wide and round, shock evident in the gold of his eyes.

“Ah,” Zhongli sets his cup down, “my apologies then. I seem to have overstepped slightly. I only thought you were together based on the interactions you have, both in public and in private. I had assumed by the rumours circling the Harbour that you two were together, but it appears my assumption was wrong.”

“I- that’s okay.” He accepts Zhongli’s apologies without another thought, mind firmly elsewhere. Rumours . There are rumours in the Harbour about them. Archons above, why are there rumours about them in the Harbour. “I think I shall be leaving now,” he stands, and Zhongli winces at the sound of his chair against the floor. “Thank you for your time.”

Zhongli doesn't say anything as he leaves, movements stiff as his mind continues to whirl, thoughts spinning around his mind as he follows the usual motions. Up the stairs, push through the door, nod a greeting to whoever is currently behind the desk. Up the stairs again, through another door, and…into his office.

He blinks at the empty office, hand on the half-shut door behind him as he continues to think. His thoughts make no more sense than before, spinning through his mind in half-formed sentences and images that blur at the edges. He pushes the door shut without truly thinking about it, leaning all his weight against it until it clicks shut, latching into place.

He doesn't even bother to cross the short distance to his desk, sinking down where he stands and leaning back against the door. He rests his head against it with a thunk.

How long have you two been together?

It’s a simple question. A dumb question. One that has several answers if he interprets it differently. If he hadn't asked for clarification, hadn't asked what Zhongli actually meant, would the consultant have walked around with the thought of him and Childe being together like that in his mind. He groans, finding that he doesn't hate the thought as much as he probably should.

How long have you two been together?

They're inseparable. Even their own recruits comment on it and hold bets on what thing they're going to do together next. He should have stopped it long before it reached the place it’s currently at, but it was a way for the team to work together, build relations with each other that will make it easier to fight alongside each other, so he hadn't even considered putting a stop to it. They share a room; they've always shared a room. First out of a lack of any other rooms to accommodate them, but now they do it more out of habit than anything. Out of comfort. He’s shared his bed with Childe as many times as Childe has shared his bed with him.

The citizens of Liyue talk about them when they're not there, if Zhongli is to be believed. They speak about them being together , and not just physically side by side, but involved with each other in more ways than one. That rumours have begun to circulate when they've hardly spent a month in the Harbour is ridiculous. They hardly go out, only leaving the Bank and their duties to go to lunch together and walk along the docks when they have a free evening.

How long have you two been together?

Childe invades his every thought. With his stupidly charming smile that adds to the boyish charm he has that far outshines the mysterious persona Kaeya has built for himself. That dumb smile with his stupid dimples that seems to draw everyone closer, into Childe’s orbit. They don't even seem to be aware of it, simply drifting into Childe’s space when he smiles because it’s so utterly charming.

Childe is present in every one of his memories that he’s treasured over the past few years. With his stupidly charming smile, and the ridiculous scarf he insists on wearing no matter where they are. It hardly does anything to protect him from the cold, wrapped too loosely around his neck for that, and only aids in overheating in warmer weather with its thick weave that can only be found in Snezhnaya. His stupid scarf that Kaeya has wanted to yank off his neck so many times before now, just to watch him flail and complain and try to snatch it back.

He thinks of that scarf now, of Childe’s dumb grinning face, and how easy it would be to grab him by his scarf and reel him in-

He makes a pathetic noise then, one that sounds more like a wounded animal than anything that should come from a human. But he’s far from that too, isn't he? Gods, how can someone be the best yet worst thing to ever happen to him?

He’s not certain how long he sits on the floor of his and Childe’s office, mind whirling and filled with nothing but incomprehensible thoughts of Childe that he can't even think to begin sorting through as he considers everything that has led him to this point, and whether it’s too late to just abandon everything and flee back to the Abyss from whence he came.

He doesn't manage to shake himself from his thoughts until there’s a knock at his door, and then he’s on his feet, brushing his clothes down and hoping he at least looks halfway presentable. Ekaterina sticks her head in, reminding him of a meeting he has in five minutes with one of their higher status investors.

He thanks her for her time, shuts the door in her face. He allows himself a moment to breathe, before he’s scrambling to collect the documents he should have been collecting and reading through in the past however long it’s been.

He’s just finishing up business with Ivanovich, placing an order for a shipment of goods, mora exchanging hands as Ivanovich continues chattering away to him. He appreciates Ivanovich a little more than the other Snezhnayan merchants scattered around the Harbour, both for his timely deliveries and for the way he speaks to Kaeya. He holds none of the fear that the others do, making conversation with them near impossible. He enjoys the opportunity to speak Snezhnayan, even if it is only for a few minutes.

He can speak to Childe whenever he wants, but Childe has been occupying far too many of his thoughts recently for it to be good for Kaeya’s health. Childe has also been steadily growing more and more busy, either with debt collections or finalising the last few steps of his plan as the traveller grows closer to finishing the few tasks they’d set for her.

Last he heard, she had spoken to most of the adepti she could find and was on her way back to the Harbour, exploring the surrounding land as she travels. He had pulled Ekaterina from observing her after she reported this back, and she settled back behind the Bank’s reception desk comfortably.

“Ah, Pavone,” Ivanovich stiffens at the arrival of a new presence. Kaeya doesn't so much as flinch, turning to greet Zhongli with an easy smile. He had sensed the other lingering a few minutes prior, apparently waiting for him to conclude his business. He appreciates the sentiment. “Fancy running into you here.”

“I doubt it was such a coincidence.” He smiles. “Did you need something?”

“Not currently, no,” Zhongli stands easily, posture relaxed, and arms tucked neatly behind his back. “I simply wished to ask whether you would enjoy accompanying me on a walk.”

“It would be my pleasure.” He has some other business to attend to at the docks, but it’s something that can wait until later. If Zhongli is seeking him out, for whatever reason, then it is likely more important than the few things he needs to confirm.

He bids Ivanovich a final goodbye, before falling into step beside Zhongli. They walk through the small marketplace, further into the Harbour and towards the more central stalls that line the street.

“Are you aware of the Qixing’s current doings?” Zhongli asks, moving to the side and allowing a group of children to run past him.

“Somewhat.” He’s had several agents monitoring the Golden House since they discovered the Exuvia was being housed there, on Childe’s request.

“Then you will know that the Qixing are not allowing anyone to pay their respects to the Exuvia,” Zhongli makes a small sound in the back of his throat, one that he would likely call a growl if it were anyone other than Zhongli. He gets the feeling that Zhongli would not appreciate him pointing the noise out, so he remains silent as the consultant continues, “There have been no attempts to even respect the traditions that have previously been upheld at the time of an adeptus’ passing. It does not fill me with confidence for Liyue’s future.”

“They're occupying their time with other matters at the moment. Like catching the mysterious killer of Rex Lapis.” He grins at Zhongli, disappointed when he hardly receives a reaction from the man.

“This is hardly a joking matter.”

“It is hardly an appropriate thing to fake your death either, but here we both are.”

Zhongli doesn't say anything else for a long moment, and they're halfway to the opposite end of the Harbour by the time Zhongli voices his thoughts again. “I understand that the times are changing, that the time of the adepti is coming to its close. But I still expected the traditions to be upheld with the same respect as they were in years past.”

One of the nearby millelith guards is watching them carefully. Too far away to hear what they're discussing, but the suspicion remains heavy on their face as they watch him. He waves at them, grinning, watching as the millelith guard snaps their eyes away and back towards the street in front of him.

“Pavone!” Even if people weren’t watching before, they're certainly paying attention now. He turns, meeting eyes with the traveller and smiling. She marches over to him, regarding Zhongli for a moment before dismissing him, glaring up at Kaeya. “Where’s your stupid partner?”

“Childe?”

“Who else fits that description?” Paimon squeaks, appearing out of thin air. He’d almost though he’d be spared of her commentary, but apparently she is able to manifest herself at will, appearing where no one wants her. The traveller ignores her presence, continuing to stare at Kaeya.

He sighs. “He’s probably at the Bank.”

“We’ve just been there.” The traveller responds. “He’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Did you ask the nice lady behind the desk or did you just storm in and glare at everyone?” The traveller’s responding glare to his question is enough to let him know her answer. “Alright, when we’re looking for someone, it’s generally a good idea to speak to the receptionist rather than come looking for me. It would have saved you so much time and effort, hm?”

“Oh, you're so irritating!” Paimon flails around in the air, looking more like a toddler having a tantrum than…whatever it is she’s meant to be. “Just you wait, you're gonna get an ugly nickname from me if you continue on like this.”

“Oh no,” he deadpans, “my worst nightmare.”

“Pavone,” Zhongli interrupts, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Perhaps we should continue our business at another time? When there are less…” he looks at Paimon, “interruptions.”

“I might actually have a solution for your current problem,” he says, “though I must ask that you accompany us back to the Bank first.”

“Very well,” Zhongli agrees easily, “though I must ask that it doesn't take us too long; the Director will not be pleased if I am late again.”

“Make a habit of showing up late to work?” They turn around as a group, walking back towards the Northland Bank and the centre of the Harbour.

“I have a tendency to lose track of time.” Zhongli admits, looking slightly embarrassed at the admission. “Though it is nothing more severe than a few minutes the Director is one for the dramatics.”

Kaeya laughs. “I know someone rather similar.”

“Excuse me,” the traveller asks, “but who actually are you?”

“This is Zhongli,” he introduces, “he’s a consultant for Wangsheng and a close associate of the Fatui.”

“Wangsheng?” The traveller asks. “Like…the funeral parlour?”

“The very one.” Zhongli nods. “We ensure that people are able to pass on peacefully, both for themselves and for their families’ sakes. I am employed to organise the funerals and rituals associated with the adepti.”

“Like the ones in Jueyun Karst?” Paimon asks. “Oh! Are you going to help organise Rex Lapis’ funeral?”

“I do not know yet,” Kaeya steps ahead as they begin to ascend the stairs leading up to the Bank, allowing the traveller and Zhongli to fall behind him. “The Qixing remain secretive about the Exuvia and are not yet allowing people to pay their respects to it.”

He smiles at Ekaterina as they enter, taking the steps up to his office two at a time. Both Zhongli and the traveller follow at a far more sedate pace.

He doesn't bother knocking, nudging the door open and finding Childe at his desk, hunched over paperwork, and looking far more tired than he usually does. Childe looks up as he enters, before scrambling to hide the paperwork away when the traveller and Zhongli follow him in.

“Lumine,” he greets, leaning on his desk in a far too casual way for it to be natural. “Zhongli.” He has blood smeared over his cheekbone, drying, and beginning to flake off. It is incredibly obvious against his pale skin, but both of their guests are very politely ignoring its existence. He leans back against the desk, crossing his legs at the ankle. He has very pointedly positioned himself in front of the scribblings of Childe’s planning. He curses Childe’s tendency to draw small images alongside his plans to emphasise his points, as without the images they could easily be dismissed as more notes written in a language the traveller - Lumine? - cannot understand.

“Lumine was looking for you.” He provides. “She was in the Bank earlier but didn't want to ask Ekaterina where you were.”

“That’s not what happened and you know it-”

“Just get to the point.” He gestures for her to continue, “We don't all have boundless amounts of free time on our hands.” He ignores the way Childe mutters boundless behind him in a mocking tone of voice.

“I've spoken to the adepti.” Lumine says. “They were outraged by the news of Rex Lapis’ passing and were apparently unaware of it even occurring.”

“One of them even wanted to wipe out Liyue Harbour completely!” Paimon adds. “Just- squash it!” She slams her hands together, adding to the visual of Liyue Harbour being squashed.

“How interesting.” He looks over at Childe, who appears to be deep in thought, hands laced together and mouth brushing against his fingers as he thinks. The blood smeared on his cheek only adds to the image, and he has to drag his eyes away from Childe before he gets too distracted. “Well, I suppose we also have some information to offer you in return for yours. The Qixing is refusing to let anyone see the Exuvia as the killer still hasn't been identified.”

“There is hardly reason to hide the Geo Archon’s vessel.” Zhongli contributes, “Not if his spirit is already risen.”

“That just makes things more difficult for us,” Paimon whines, “how are we meant to meet The Seven if we fail on the second attempt?”

“You're trying to meet the Seven?” He asks, interest piqued. “Whatever reason do you have for that?”

“None of your business.” Lumine snaps, eyes flashing as he looks over at him.

“Reasonable answer, I suppose.” He shrugs, grinning at Lumine when she continues to watch him warily. “Perhaps we can help each other out a little then, we might know someone that can help you with your little predicament.” He looks past Lumine, towards where Zhongli stands, nearest to the door.

Lumine follows where he’s looking, back towards Zhongli as well.

“Zhongli can likely help you see Rex Lapis’ vessel, if he wishes to aid you.”

“How would he do that?” Paimon’s voice is quieter, though no less squeaky than before. It still manages to grate on his nerves and his hearing.

“When the adepti die, there are memorial services, massive ones, hosted to mark their passing. But no efforts have been made by the Qixing to do such a thing for Rex Lapis; it is sacrilege.” Zhongli’s eyes flash brighter as he speaks, voice dipping lower, almost into a growl. “I am unsure on what to do when moving forward, but perhaps you may be able to aid me with that.”

“How do I know this isn't some kind of trap?” Lumine asks, still wary. If she’s going to be like this at every turn it’s going.

“You have had dealings with the Anemo Archon,” Zhongli says, “and I have heard much of you from Mondstadt, I simply wished to ask if you would aid me in preparing the Geo Archon’s last rites.”

Lumine thinks for a moment, face twisting when Paimon says something to her, finally lowering her voice enough to not be heard by everyone in a five-mile radius. “I accept your invitation.”

“If we are agreed then, please, accompany me. We can speak of the details as we walk, yes?” Zhongli stands beside the door as Lumine leaves, though she does not do so before casting one last suspicious look back at them. Paimon sticks her tongue out at him.

“I know where you live.” She warns, “I will not hesitate to hunt you down if you're lying to me.”

“Most of Liyue knows where we live,” he laughs, “it’s the area with the highest concentration of millelith guards.”

“You're mean, mister,” Paimon accuses, shaking her finger at him. “You won't get far if you continue being so mean.”

“I've gotten this far.” He waves goodbye to them as they leave, Zhongli shutting the door behind them all. He listens as the stairs creak on their way down, before silence settles over the office. He allows it to linger for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Well,” he twists around to face Childe, “did that go as you hoped it would?”

“Close enough that nothing will have to be changed, though I thought I would have to find Zhongli myself.”

“He found me first.” He shrugs. “Now, c’mere, you've got blood on your face.”

“It’s not fair,” Childe complains, sinking a little further into his seat and poking at his food with his chopsticks. He’s become far better at using them. Kaeya’s glad that he’s grown more adept at using them, as he’s rather certain he wouldn't be able to stand another day where Childe uses nothing but chopsticks to pick items up. “I offered them mora and everything.”

“Not everyone can be easily bought.” He doesn't stab at his own dish as violently as Childe does, taking another bite as Childe continues to complain.

“They didn't even want to know what kind of information I was looking for. It was hardly anything incriminating .”

“Lumine doesn't trust us. It’s as simple as that.”

“And yet she’s still doing exactly what we want her to.” Childe allows himself a small smile as he stabs at one of his jade parcels, causing it to split open. “I thought she’d have a few more questions for us by now, at least.”

“Last I heard she was heading up to the Jade Chamber for an audience with Ningguang; she’s managed to catch her attention somehow.” Childe hums in response, poking at the split jade parcel before pushing it aside. “Though that was a few days ago now and I still haven't caught sight of her.”

“I'm not surprised by that; I was wondering when Lumine would catch Ninggugang’s eye.” Childe smiles to himself, eyes looking far too soft under the light for Kaeya to concentrate properly.

“Let me guess,” he leans back, away from the warmth that tries to beckon him closer in the hopes that it might clear his head a little. “This is another part of your master plan that you don't want to tell me about because it would ruin your big reveal?”

“Right on the mora with that one.” Childe smiles at him, sat across the table. There is only a short distance between the two of them, filled with various platters of food. The air around them is heady, filled with the scents of spices and cooking food; the buzz of conversation surrounds them too. He’s hit, in that moment, that to an outsider they might look like they're on a date. “You got to indulge in the dramatics in Mondstadt, so it’s only fair that I get a turn.”

“I suppose.” He takes a sip of water, hoping to clear his head. “Though I hope that you’ll at least tell me what you expect me to do rather than have me guessing.”

“Of course I will,” Childe laughs. “You're good, but you're not a miracle worker. Besides, the dramatics are hardly worth it unless you get a front-row seat to the event, hm?”

He’s hardly eating his food anymore, simply moving it around his plate as they speak. Childe seems to be doing much the same, so he looks around for anyone nearby, hoping to request that the bill gets sent their way. It does, and he pays it easily, both of them rising from their seats at the same time and slipping out into the warm evening air.

“Sirs,” a hand catches on his arm, quickly retreating as he spins to face the person. One of their newer vanguards, from the most recent shipment of recruits, stands straight and just barely hidden in the shadows of a nearby building. He’s thankfully not wearing his full battle armour, simply wearing the standard Fatui uniform. “I have news for you. It was deemed urgent.”

“Speak.”

“The traveller, the one you have been working with, recently found one of our camps.” He looks rather panicked, breathing harsh and ragged, as though he’s run here from whichever camp he’s referring to. Maybe he has. “She attacked those within it, though didn't kill all of them, and she investigated the Sigils we have been copying, and-”

“Did she know what they were?” He demands, cutting the recruit off before he can continue to ramble.

“Yes.” The vanguard breathes.

“How long ago was this attack?”

“Yesterday, those that were not killed were too injured to make their way back to the Bank before that. We apologise for the delay-”

“It is no fault of their own,” he cuts the vanguard off again. “Return to the Bank. Instruct those that have been injured to take leave and seek medical help. Actually, speak to Ekaterina about bringing in a local and trusted healer. She’ll know what I mean.

“Sir.” The vanguard salutes him then turns, running down the street and back towards the Bank. When he looks over to Childe, the other seem to barely be restraining his glee at the motion of events.

“Excited?” He asks.

“Oh, yes.” Childe nods his head, practically bouncing as he begins walking again, leaving Kaeya to catch up with him. “Lumine had one last thing to be doing, out at Dihua Marsh, and if she only finished her business with Ningguang right before setting off to that camp,” and it is certainly no coincidence that those events occurred so close to each other, but neither of them points it out, both already knowing the answer to that. “That means she’s likely only just clearing up her last order of business with Zhongli which means-” he gasps, startling Kaeya as he throws an arm around his shoulders, “it’s almost time for my part in this!”

Kaeya is glad that the street is mostly empty due to the late hour, as shouting in Snezhnayan is normally deemed as some kind of threat. Luckily, most of the millelith seem to have retired for the night, leaving the streets oddly empty after their near constant vigilance recently.

“Can you do me a favour?” Childe asks.

“Sure.”

“Meet the traveller at the gate? You don't need to speak to her, just make sure she sees you.” Childe is grinning still, and the dumb, charming smile he has makes it hard to say no to him sometimes. “Once you've done that, I've left a little thing for you in my left, upper middle drawer, tucked towards the back and underneath a paperweight.” Childe sobers for a moment. “ Don't go and read it before you meet Lumine, alright?”

“Alright.” He agrees, wheezing as Childe pulls him into a proper hug, tugging him downwards and closer to his height. It feels as though Childe is trying to break several of his ribs in the process, but he lets go before any real damage can be done.

“Thank you,” Childe pats him on the cheek in an oddly patronising way. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah? Love you.” And then he’s gone, running in the same direction as the vanguard had a few minutes prior.

It takes him a moment to process what Childe has said, but as soon as it filters through his brain his face flushes with an embarrassing heat, and he has to press a hand over his mouth as he stares after where Childe had disappeared.

Right. He shakes his head, breathing in and gathering himself. He has orders to fulfil.

He arrives at the gate at the same time as Lumine and Zhongli, though he can hardly see them through the crowd of millelith and Fatui that are currently swarming it.

At his appearance, several of the Fatui agents turn to him, which results in several of the millelith turning to face him as well. Lumine is already speaking with someone, Zhongli stood beside her, nodding along as the man speaks to them.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, raising his voice to be heard over the arguing. Honestly, for the esteemed military force of Liyue they spend a lot of time squabbling with people like children.

“The Qixing are involving themselves in matters,” one of the millelith says, “your influence in Liyue needs to be reined in-”

“You've been keeping tabs on us the whole time we've been in Liyue!” One of his recruits fires back, stepping forward. “Yet only now do you decide to involve yourselves . We've done nothing wrong! Archons, we’re not even involved in Rex Lapis’ death!”

“We can have you arrested for lying to the millelith,” the millelith guard from before warns. “I’d watch what you say.”

“Are you threatening me?” The Fatui agent readies herself, gripping tightly at her weapon. The millelith raises their spear, pointing it towards her face.

“Now, now,” he grips the spear just below the head, pushing it back and holding it there, placing himself between the two, “I'm sure we can settle this nice and diplomatically. There’s hardly a need for such threats, hm? Especially to a diplomatic party. I'm sure Lady Ningguang would be greatly disappointed to hear of the millelith guard that single-handedly destroyed relations between Liyue and Snezhnaya.”

The guard glares at him, but steps back, falling back into line with his fellow millelith guards. Lumine stands alone outside the gates now, and when he looks back into the Harbour, he sees Zhongli making his hurried way into the Harbour.

“See?” He smiles, yanking a little at the man’s spear before releasing it. “That was far easier, don't you think? Now, if you can speak to Lady Ningguang and let her know that the Fatui are open for a meeting to discuss how we may be able to rein ourselves in whilst staying in Liyue Harbour that would be wonderful.”

The guard continues to stand there, the other millelith guards at his back refusing to budge an inch.

“Now, if you would.” He gestures for the Fatui behind him to re-enter the Harbour, and the millelith watch them go. They do not protest, though, but they continue watching as he follows. Lumine continues watching him too, and when he glances back her eyes are narrowed with suspicion. He grins at her, sparing a small wave in her direction.

When he looks back again, a moment later, she is gone, likely arriving at the conclusion Childe has carefully constructed for her.

He has a feeling he already knows his final destination.

He arrives at the Bank anyway, pushing through the crowds of Fatui agents that have now gathered in the lobby. He doesn't reprimand them for lingering here as it is after opening hours already, and also because it is likely safer for them to remain together while the millelith are on high alert.

He waves Ekaterina off when she tries to call for him, and she falls silent, allowing him to ascend to the second floor and enter his office.

Childe’s desk is cluttered, but he drops to the floor on the left side, pulling open the drawer Childe had instructed him on and rifling through its contents. It is far more cluttered than his own, but he easily spots the paperweight, a carved narwhal, caught mid-leap, and retrieves the letter from beneath.

It is sealed, Childe’s emblem obvious as he flips it over and cracks it open. Always one for dramatics.

Golden House, it reads.

Do not interrupt. I know what I am doing.

At least he knows how to get to the point.

Chapter Text

The path to the Golden House is quiet.

The bushes do not rustle, and the wind does not blow around his face and tease at the hair that has slipped loose from its braid. The only sound is the crunching of gravel and the even in-out of his breathing.

The Harbour had been quiet when he left it behind. Hardly anyone was out on the streets to watch him sprint through them, and those that saw him were hardly aware enough to process what they were seeing. He had slowed to a jog as he left the Harbour, then a quick walk the further down the path he reached.

The gravel continues to crunch beneath his heel, and the imposing gates to the Golden House rise, just ahead of him.

He expects a guard to yell at him. Some ordered command of halt to ring out in the night air and spur him into action. None of it comes. Instead, he ascends the stairs to the gate, and stops, staring down at the bodies strewn across the ground beyond. Their weapons are flung into different corners of the courtyard, one spear miserably floats in the centre of a pool.

He drops to one knee beside the first guard, ducking his head to the side and listening. His fingers find the side of the man’s neck, pressing just below his jaw. His heart continues to beat, pulsing beneath his fingertips as he listens. He breathes, too, faint and slightly raspy, but still breathing.

Kaeya stands and does not check the rest of the bodies that have been left- discarded.

He steps over a flung-out arm, passes over several faces, none of which twitch nor give any signs of life. He stops checking for them after a moment, growing tired of scanning each face he passes. Instead, he focuses ahead, towards the doors that have been left slightly open, swinging back and forth, ever so slightly, guided by a breeze that does not exist.

The sounds of a fight echo from beyond it. The clatter of metal on metal. A scrape. A harsh, exhaled breath. Skin on skin. The dull smacking sound. A punched-out gasp as something embeds itself in someone.

He pushes the door open and slips inside.

The sound of a door opening only distracts him momentarily, a brief swish of movement across the floor that tugs at the edges of his senses. He can hardly afford to glance over, look away from the fight in front of him, but he does so anyway. His eyes skitter away from Lumine for a moment, watching as a shadow of blue and black slips inside, the door slipping shut behind him.

Childe watches, electro gathering around his arms as a warning to the traveller, warding her off for a moment as he tracks Kaeya’s progress. Kaeya’s arrival heralds the next phase of his plan, the next item to push into motion.

Lumine lunges forward, undeterred by the electro encasing his arms, and he splits his bow. The water condenses into another form, and he meets her sword with his dual blades, shoving her back. Her feet skid over the floor, and she stumbles. He chases her before she can recover, striking forward with his blades.

It connects with her, and he feels it sink into her flesh. The air sizzles, electro sparking up and down his blade for one long moment, before Lumine wrenches herself away with a gasp. It’s far too loud in his ears, louder than it should be over the electricity that roars in his ears- rushes through his veins.

The bloodlust in him sings at the sight of red that drips from her shoulder, trailing down and over her clothes. So much like fresh blood in fresh snow. The hunger deep within him is not satiated by this meagre offering, instead it roars for more. He moves before he even considers his next action, slamming into Lumine, then disappearing in a burst of sparks.

Lumine leaps forward, heel slamming into the ground and tremors racing outwards from him. It’s not enough to unbalance him, only distract, but Lumine takes the opportunity anyway, lunging for him. He slips to the side, sparks trailing after him, dancing over his skin in leaping arcs. His chest heaves, heart racing with adrenaline and excitement and expectation.

He has to physically resist glancing back towards where he knows Kaeya is. He has to remain focused on the fight and not look to Kaeya like some over-eager recruit begging for attention and approval. But he can't help but chase after that approval, heart beating a little faster at the thought of receiving it.

His blood pounds, and he swings downwards, aiming for Lumine’s head. She rolls, and his blades slam into the tiles instead, cracking what is probably a very intricate and expensive design. He hardly pays it any mind, wrenching them free from where they've become embedded in the stone. His hands shake where they're clenched around his blades, knuckles white. Lumine’s hands do the same, tensing and untensing as she grips her sword with both hands. Her stance is slightly too wide, leaning just a little bit too far to the left.

He lunges for it, and her block is slow, allowing him to land another hit. It sends them both staggering with the force he puts behind him; he staggers forward, and she tips backwards, stumbling as she attempts to regain her footing. She fights as though she’s expecting someone else to guard her back. Her style is far too reckless, and she throws herself into the fray far easier than some of his recruits would.

He ducks to the side as she aims for his neck, gathering electro in his hands and channelling it down his blades. They crackle with the energy, glowing purple from the amount of electro he’s currently forcing into them.

He continues to allow the energy to build, until the feeling of electricity is beginning to burn into the palm of his hands, exciting with the bursts of pain it sends up his spine. He holds it until he can't anymore, and the electro bursts out of his control, washing over them both in a heavy wave of crackling energy. He shudders with the force of it, partially with excitement and partially because he can't control his spasming muscles.

Lumine suffers more than him, hunching over as the electro continues to race through her, over her, crackling on her skin visibly. He pushes forward, heel slipping against the ground as he shoots towards her. His blow meets the mark, burying itself within her shoulder.

She doesn't guard her one side, leaving her open to attack and vulnerable. She’ll have to start covering that side more efficiently if she wishes to succeed. As such, she’s currently staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked. As though surprised that he’s managed to injure her during a fight with sharpened weapons.

He pulls his blade free from her shoulder, the slick side of flesh and the dripping of blood doing something to satiate the hunger that still roils in his gut. It demands more, more of an offering, but he has little else to give. Lumine doesn't move, even as he steps back, sword no longer embedded in her shoulder and leaving her free to move as she wishes.

Impatience makes his fingers itch, twitching around the hilt of his blades as he waits for Lumine’s next move. She continues to stare at him, immobile. The blood continues to seep out from her shoulder, slowly staining her garment a deep red. It’ll be difficult to get out, but she doesn't seem to care.

He takes a step to the side, and she copies, moving in the other direction. He continues moving, and so does she, until they're turning in a tight circle, slowly tightening further. He grits his jaw, watching every twitch of her fingers, every clenching of her hand, waiting for her to make the first move.

He waits, until he can't anymore, that insatiable need for blood surging forward and pushing him into motion. It pushes him forward, and he allows the wave of need to carry him with it, swinging one of his blades in a large arc. It cuts through the air, audible.

It scrapes the air in front of her throat, barely missing tearing it open and leaving her with a gaping smile on her throat rather than her face. A part of him recoils at that but another part, a significantly louder part, thrills with the thought, and he grins, pressing forward and forward, until Lumine can do nothing but continue backing up.

He can see the whites of her eyes, so wide around her iris. Wide and fearful, as she brings her sword up to block his next strike, arms trembling as she pushes back against his blades. He has the height advantage over her, pushing downwards, forcing her to compensate by pouring more of her energy into pushing him away.

Their blades part with a shing of metal, sending them both away from each other. He can feel his blood pumping, the sheer force of it makes him shake with barely restrained energy as he focuses on Lumine once more. On Lumine and her wide, fearful eyes that stare at him with the expression of prey.

He takes a step forward, and she skitters back. He wouldn't have described Lumine as fearful before this encounter, but she continues to back up like cornered prey, throat bobbing as she swallows. He continues to take one step forward, and she continues to take one step backwards, matching him step for step.

Childe twists both blades around with a flick of his wrist, carrying the blades further than the previous motions. However, he doesn't lunge towards Lumine with them, not yet. The twirling movement of his blades is comfortable in his hands, familiar from the numerous times he’s tried, and failed, to beat Kaeya with this move. But Lumine has not fought him before, so she does not note the motion as anything important. Her loss.

The blades crash, solidifying into one long sword. One that he does not hesitate to strike forward with, pushing himself off the balls of his feet to lunge after Lumine. Lumine jerks at the sudden attack, eyes widening impossibly further, flinging her hands up in front of her and…catching Childe’s blade.

It’s enough to bring him to a complete standstill, feet skidding against the floor as anemo begins to swirl between Lumine’s fingertips. It catches his blade in the roaring storm that’s slowly growing between her hands, sucking it deeper and deeper into the vortex, even as he struggles, attempts to pull it backwards. None of his efforts come to fruition, and he struggles to maintain his footing with the sudden force that Lumine has summoned between them.

He grips his hilt with both hands, gripping tightly and tugging back, leaning all of his weight into it. It leaves him vulnerable, but he’s far more focused on pulling the construct free from where it’s stuck. There’s a small jerk of movement out the corner of his eye, as though someone went to lunge forward only to pull back. He can't afford to focus on that, not at the moment, but the movement catches the corner of his eye anyway.

Do not interrupt. He had written, and by the gods if Kaeya does not listen-

The ground ripples beneath him, before bursting upwards as spires of glowing crystals shoot upwards, overbalancing him. Dust rises around him, stinging his eyes and coating his mouth as he stumbles back, finally releasing his construct and allowing it to fall to pieces, collapsing in on itself to become nothing more than a slightly charged puddle at his feet.

He can't see anything, only vague shadows that move around him, swirling alongside the dust. His eyes water, and he waves a hand in front of him to try and part the dust. It doesn't work, leaving him choking on his own breath and dirt. Panic makes his lungs spasm as he tries to inhale again. The shadows continue to swirl around him until he can't tell what is a person and what is simply a clod of dirt.

He drops lower and darts to the side, shooting forward until the dust clears around him, leaving only a faint layer of dust over him as evidence of his time within the cloud. He dusts his shoulders off, glancing around for where Lumine has disappeared to.

He looks up, and laughs.

Lumine has flung herself in front of the Exuvia, arms spread wide and blocking it from him bodily. It does little to hide the massive form of the Exuvia behind her slight form, but he appreciates the effort she puts in. Paimon attempts to help, floating beside Lumine’s head, as though he’s meant to be intimidated by an overly talkative child. He tips his head to the side, watching as her chest heaves, arms dropping slightly as it becomes apparent that he’s not about to leap into attacking her again.

“Are you really so desperate to protect the Exuvia?” Childe asks, his voice ringing throughout the Golden House, bouncing back to echo in his ears. “So desperate, in fact, to reveal the card you had hidden up your sleeve? I must admit, it certainly surprised me.” And it certainly had. He hadn't believed Lumine to even possess a Vision, let alone a Delusion.

He looks up at her, stood at the base of the steps that lead upwards and towards the Exuvia. He places a foot on the bottom step, testing the waters.

“Not another step.” Lumine warns, face contorting into a scowl. She steps forward, away from the Exuvia and closer to him. Her sword points towards him threateningly, though the trembling of her arm undermines the effect slightly. “I’ll kill you; I swear it. I swore it to you on the day we met. The millelith will thank me if I show up with your dead body, for the things you've done.”

“I'm sure they would.” He grins, “Or, they would thank you until they realised that I was here on diplomatic business , and my death within Liyue’s borders will look incredibly suspicious.” He tilts his head to the side. “There would certainly be plenty of bounties for you to collect if you were the one to finally bump me off, if you want a monetary incentive.” He takes another step forward, another step upwards, ignoring Lumine’s earlier warning.

He watches as she wavers, lifting her sword a little higher before locking into place. It’s as though she cannot decide whether to attack him or not. She holds a little steadier than before but does not take another step away from the Exuvia.

“Tell me,” he says, curiosity overtaking him for a moment and managing to drown out that hunger, if only for a moment. “What are your intentions here?”

“Stop you from reaching the gnosis.” Lumine says, and her eyes turn flinty, voice hard. “Stall you until the millelith can arrive and arrest you.”

“The gnosis?” He laughs, unable to resist any longer. Lumine’s face darkens, and something within him pushes to goad her further, pull her back towards their fight of before. “All this for the protection of the gnosis?” He grins wider, feels it tugging at the edges of his lips. She cannot see his face beneath the mask, but she takes a small step back anyway, a slight shuffling of her feet as she considers him once more. “All this,” he gestures around them, to the destruction they've wrought on the Golden House, “all this effort and fighting and energy, for the protection of something that’s not even there?”

“Not…there?” Lumine falters, for the first time, sword dropping from where it had been held as she glances to the side, back towards the Exuvia.

“You've fought this hard.” He steps up another step, but Lumine isn't watching him anymore, far too distracted by the Exuvia to stop him from stepping closer. “For so long, battling against me even as you tired, and only now you've just realised it’s not even here?

“Tell me,” he continues, “did you truly think Rex Lapis was dead?”

“We…saw him fall.” Paimon says, but he can tell from her voice that she’s doubting herself, questioning what they saw that day. “He- he crashed down from the sky and landed right in the middle of Yujing Terrace in front of us. We saw him dead. Everyone did!”

“And, what?” He steps up, once more on level ground with Lumine. She seems to register how close he’s gotten then, sword coming up into a defensive stance. He ignores her. “You thought someone had killed him? That some measly assassin had struck down the oldest being of Teyvat?”

Lumine tenses, hand clenching around her sword. Her hand tightens until he can see the whites of her knuckles. She doesn't speak, doesn't entertain their conversation any longer, he hadn't expected her to. She simply lunges, shooting forward with a sharp cry.

He did, however, expect her to give him more of a warning than that. All of her previous attacks had been clearly telegraphed, allowing him to prepare a counter long before she even had the chance to strike at him. The force of her blow sends them both staggering back.

They tumble down the steps as one, until his back is pressed flat to the floor and Lumine is leaning over him. Her face is incredibly close to his, anger swirling deep in her eyes, darkening them almost completely.

He laughs, even as the pain in his chest begins to register. He continues to laugh even as she twists the sword with a crunch of compressing and tearing flesh, one that sends a sharp sensation of fear and excitement, all mixed into one, up his spine.

She wrenches her sword free, causing him to choke on the laugh that had been building up in his throat. The silence that follows after Lumine has freed her sword is loud enough to make his ears ring. He can hear the sound of blood dripping onto tile. The sound of his blood dripping from Lumine’s blade.

“Huh,” he says, surprised at how his voice comes out quieter than usual. “You certainly are…full of surprises.” His voice sounds ragged, even to his own ears, and he coughs wetly before dragging himself to his feet. There’s movement in his peripheral vision once more, a flash of blue and black, mixing into the shadows that crowd around the pillars decorating the edges of the room. Kaeya doesn't burst forwards, thankfully, and he reminds himself to buy Kaeya a present after they're finished here. “Perhaps…I haven't been taking you seriously enough.” His sword bears his weight easily as he leans against it, even as he sways slightly.

Lumine continues to watch him. The darkness in her eyes, the anger, has retreated. It leaves naked fear behind, her eyes wide as she stares at the hole in his chest. It’s big enough that he could stick several of his fingers into it and still have room to wiggle them around. He only resists actually testing his theory because he feels like that would be enough to push Kaeya over the edge.

Lumine’s sword is red. Completely coated in blood. His blood. Dripping with it.

The feeling of water is familiar as it crawls up his legs, but it still manages to surprise him every time, even as he calls the power forth himself. It snakes around him like a second skin, wrapping around his knees, then clambering higher and towards his neck. It ripples with barely restrained power as he focuses on solidifying it, feeling his body shift to accommodate this new power.

He hears as Lumine makes some aborted, choked noise in the back of her throat. He can see a wavery shape of her through the layer of water currently covering his eyes, watches as she takes a step back, then another.

The sound of cracking bones fades into the background, and he hardly registers the slight sting of pain as his body rearranges itself, sinew and muscle twisting and tendons snapping. He feels the hole in his chest close up, flesh knitting across the gaping wound until it’s nothing more than another knot of scar tissue.

He twists his wrist, weapon settling into his hand with a familiar weight as he twists, readjusting to the different sensations. The only thing that takes him a moment longer, no matter how many times he shifts back and forth between this form, is the curling of a tail behind him. It balances him out, the heavily armoured limb unfurling behind him as he turns back to face Lumine.

Lumine continues to stare at him, wide-eyed.

He twirls his weapon around, glancing around the room in consideration. He reaches a decision, raising his weapon and plunging it towards the ground, allowing the excess electro energy to pour out of him and into the ground until it fractures.

Lumine wobbles, and Paimon appears in a burst of sparks to cling to the traveller’s arm, looking around fearfully, even as the floor begins to give way beneath them, tipping them forward. Still, she tries to leap backwards and away from the looming pit below them. It does little to save her from plummeting downwards, and she shrieks as she falls.

He watches her go, before looking back up. Kaeya watches him from across the room, eyes wide and swimming with emotions he doesn't have the time nor brain capacity to process right now. He simply tips his head to the side and grins beneath his mask, before following Lumine downwards, plunging into the depths of the Golden House.

She’s managed to recover, looking only a little worse for wear despite her plummet of a hundred feet. Her trusty sword is once more gripped in her hand, and she lunges for him the moment he’s within range.

He steps back, gliding across the floor easily, and she has to overcompensate to rebalance herself. There’s a burst of cryo to his left, something that manages to grab Lumine’s attention, pulling it away from him. Rookie mistake.

He flings his sword towards her, possibly more spear than sword at the moment due to the sheer length of the thing, and it spins, crackling with electro to herald its immediate path towards embedding itself within her.

She barely manages to escape its path, slipping to the side and flinging a gust of anemo towards him whilst he’s without a weapon. He pulls the sword-spear back towards himself, shooting forward the moment it’s back within his grasp. Lumine strikes at him, which does little to stop his strike but does slow his progress, and he stumbles slightly, turning as she slips around to the side of him, striking at one of his legs as she moves.

His tail swings to the side, catching her in the ribs and sending her flying. He hears something crack as he hits her, then something else as she lands, rolling over the ground several times before she comes to a stop.

He briefly considers pausing for a moment, perhaps allowing her to regain her footing and her breath, but he dismisses that thought the moment he has it, teleporting across their small arena in a shower of sparks.

Lumine lunges upwards the moment he appears over her, sword grazing over his chest and glancing off the armour there, before digging into the unarmoured part of chest, just beneath where his shoulder connects to his arm.

He hisses and pulls back, putting a small amount of distance between the two of them. “Ouch,” he mutters, giving Lumine his best displeased look that he can manage when she can't see his eyes. Or any part of his face. “I get that we’re fighting to the death or something right now, but I’d appreciate it if you pulled your punches a little.”

“I stopped pulling my punches when you turned into a ten-foot thing ,” Lumine gasps out, lunging for him again. She’s apparently registered several weaker points on his body, and she aims for one of them now. He deflects it easily, water following behind the arc of his blade as he returns the blow.

“I'm actually eleven-foot, thanks.” He says. He can almost feel Kaeya’s despair from across the room, without even seeing him. He grins to himself at the thought.

“That’s what you want to focus on right now?” Lumine gasps. “Not the,” she gestures with her sword, very nearly stabbing herself with it as she gestures about, “fighting thing we have going on right now?”

“We can focus on that if you’d like.” The tip of his tail brushes against the floor, and he almost jumps at the feeling. Definitely still weird. He’s not sure he’s ever going to get used to that. “I thought I’d let you catch your breath first though.”

“Thanks for the consideration.” Lumine says, and he gets the distinct feeling she’s not being genuine about it. Especially when she aims to stab him through the heart. “I don't need it.”

He flicks the attempt away, readjusting his grip on his weapon. “Alright.” He shrugs, then shoots towards her, reeling his arm backwards to deliver a slash towards her. The electro crackles down his blade and hits her moments before his weapon does. It flashes, bright, a small mark crackling into existence before disappearing again.

He teleports away, watching as Lumine spins in a circle before she locates him, then teleports again, above her this time. She looks for him again, but doesn't think to look up before he plunges. The floor erupts in electro, spikes shooting upwards and releasing bursts of energy. He’s gone again before she can strike him.

It leaves her flailing, sword cutting through nothing as she swings after him, and he teleports away each time before her blade even makes contact with him. She grows wise to his surprise attacks after the fourth time he manages to get her with one. She meets him head on the next time he attempts it, sword bracing against his blade. Her arms remain steady, even as he continues to push downwards.

The floor ripples beneath his feet, then bursts in an explosion of geo, sending him flying backwards. He lands on his back heavily, rolling to the side as Lumine plunges down, sword embedding itself deeply where his head had been moments before. He laughs a little, because it only seems to make Lumine even more concerned every time he does it.

His sword-spear lies a few feet away from him, just out of reach. Lumine seems to realise this, as she yanks her sword out the ground with a little more energy, bringing it upwards to plunge downwards. He blocks it with his forearms; the heavy armouring there means he hardly feels it beyond a slight increase in pressure.

He teleports away, scooping his weapon up and spinning to face her, pretending he doesn't notice the way he stumbled over his feet, the armour beginning to feel heavy, beginning to drag on his body the longer he fights.

Lumine seems to notice it, eyes narrowing as she studies him, before widening momentarily. She charges him again, and it saps a little more of his strength every time he’s forced to block one of her attacks, returning it one of his own.

He hates to admit it, but he’s becoming sloppier in his work. She’s gotten several hits on him in the past few minutes alone, and he’s forced to retreat, backing away to a corner of the platform as he summons his last resort, water pooling around his fingertips as he concentrates.

It takes him a moment to summon enough energy, then another to release said energy in the form he wishes rather than just flooding the Golden House. He has a feeling that won't be something they can explain away.

The vortex at his feet swirls, and Lumine seems reluctant to approach, eyeing the swirling pool of indeterminable depth warily. He grins, focusing a little more, one eye squinting shut as he pushes the last bit of energy through, watching as his greatest creation bursts forth with a scattering of water.

It twists mid-air, fins spinning around as it breaches, then slams flat on its back, flooding the whole area, water washing up and over the sides. Lumine’s thrown back from the impact, and when she stands up, she’s dripping wet, hair hanging in front of her face as she scowls at him. He continues grinning, even as the weight of his armour forces him to the floor, chest heaving.

There are spots at the corner of his vision, blinking in and out of view rapidly. His heart feels as though it’s going too fast, threatening to burst free from his chest as it continues to race, blood pounding through his veins and in his ears.

He has to blink rapidly when a dizzy wave washes over him, which doesn't actually help as much as he thought it would. It only makes him feel dizzier, the room begin to warp around him as he slumps down a little further.

He looks up at Lumine’s shout of surprise, squinting at the blur that skids onto the battlefield, inbetween him and Lumine. It’s Kaeya, but also…not. He squints a little harder, even as a few more spots fill his vision (and he really shouldn't have used that last little trick, even if it was a fantastic way to end their fight) and he struggles to see. There’s definitely something different about Kaeya, but he can't quite figure out what it is.

Maybe he can figure it out when he feels less like he’s going to pass out. He nods to himself, satisfied with that conclusion, and promptly slumps over.

Kaeya can't help but stare throughout Childe’s fight with Lumine, descended into the depths of the Golden House. He had tried, at first, to peer down from the edge of where the floor had previously been, but the ground beneath his feet had been too unsteady to be uncomfortable and the view was terrible, so he’d eventually relented and teleported down.

There were less places to quietly observe from, unseen, but Lumine seemed rather occupied with her fight against Childe and Childe is already aware of his presence. He’d even go so far as to say Childe is showing off for him, but that’s most definitely just his thoughts running away from him.

Still, he can't help but stare at Childe.

Every time he looks at Childe his heart starts beating a little faster than usual, feels his breath catch in his throat as he looks at something that is familiar but also not. The feeling of the Abyss overwhelms him, and it’s almost enough to distract him from the fight completely, content to continue ogling Childe.

Childe certainly doesn't help, with his fluid movements and the flexibility that he’s definitely showing off. The way the Abyss has twisted him is certainly familiar, looking almost like the Knights from home, but with a few embellishments. The tail is certainly something he’s never seen a Knight with before, though the thick armour of it and the way he seems content with slamming it into things almost makes sense.

Despite the Abyss twisted form that Childe seems so content to shift into, it’s obvious that it wasn't his originally. It doesn't fit him perfectly, like a second skin that’s just a little too small, or perhaps a little too big- something that doesn't fit him correctly, and the strain of it is obvious.

It becomes even more obvious when he begins to flag halfway through the fight, his defences sloppy and his offence is even worse. Wide strikes that only hit Lumine because of the range of his weapon. Still, she dodges most of his attacks easily as the Abyss begins to weigh Childe down more heavily.

It’s stupid. Completely and utterly stupid to use something that is so clearly harming him. And yet it is such a Childe thing for him to do. He wants to bite something out of frustration, settling for gritting his jaw, watching as Childe retreats to a corner to do…something.

Kaeya’s not sure what he’s doing, but there’s a large mass of energy curling around him, blooming into a vortex at his feet. It swirls for a moment, containing depths that likely can't be measured, water swirling around the edges and lapping at the floor, as though wishing to consume more of it. The Abyss clings to the very edges of it too, allowing for the sheer amount of power that Childe is currently amassing.

It culminates in a water construct that is like nothing Kaeya has ever seen before. Like some odd hybrid between a narwhal and a whale, twisting elegantly through the air to slam down on its back, sending a wall of water outwards, throwing Lumine backwards.

It drenches her completely, and she staggers to her feet, obviously intent on returning the treatment as best as she can. She looks rather like a bedraggled cat. Only she pauses, tensing, and Kaeya tenses too.

Childe staggers, swaying on his feet. He sways like he did earlier, when Lumine had just pulled her blade free from his chest and Kaeya was certain he was about to watch Childe bleed out in front of him. Only he doesn't recover this time, slumping over, knees hitting the floor with a painful sounding crack.

He doesn't think, doesn't consider how angry Childe might be with him for taking over his big show at the last minute. Every rational and higher thought flies from his brain the moment he sees Childe slump fully over, the transformation fading away and leaving him looking small .

He simply moves. Changes. Allows himself to be twisted by the power that roils deep within his body. His heart . The Abyss washes over him far more intensely than it has in years, stealing away his breath, even as he falls into the transformation far more easier than he expected.

Icicles swirl around him as he stands between Lumine and Childe, one arm out, staff clutched in his hand as he places himself bodily between the two as a shield. He doesn't move, simply stands, readjusting to the feeling of changing after so long of repressing it.

Lumine stares at him, jaw slack. She doesn't seem to know what to make of him. He doesn't blame her honestly, no one had known what to make of him. He had been easily welcomed by the Abyss, clearly recognised as a Mage, yet so distinctly different from those that surrounded him.

He draws himself up taller, the water around his feet beginning to freeze as he stares at Lumine. Lumine stares back.

“You should go.” He says. His voice is different, like this, far too different from what he normally sounds like for him to even recognise his own voice. It sounds like someone else is speaking, even as the words slip past his own lips. “You are not needed here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Lumine says. “Where am I needed?”

“At the Harbour.” He knows the plan, and he silently apologises to Childe for stealing his thunder for this moment. He had been so excited for it, so pleased that his plan was neatly coming together, like the threads of a web. Childe had grimaced when he described it like that, saying it sounded far too evil when compared to the weaving of a web. “How well do you think the citizens of Liyue can deal with an ancient god?”

There is a golden glow slowly surrounding him. It has not yet formed into a physical, tangible thing, but it won't be long. It continues to encircle him, and Lumine watches him with steadily mounting dread.

“What does that mean.” She doesn't ask. She demands. She stands tall in front of him, even after facing down Childe for as long as she did she shows no signs of tiring. She remains steady. It’s rather impressive.

“Without the protection of their dear Rex Lapis, I am unsure of how they would respond in such a time of crisis.” The first Sigil of Permission blinks into existence around him, followed quickly by another, and then another and another, until they're spinning around him in a hypnotic glow of gold.

He can see Lumine trying to follow their path with her eyes, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth as though she’s trying to count how many there are. Even he’s not certain of the final count, only of what he’s meant to do. Childe has spoken through it enough times for him to know it as if he was the one intended to do it all along.

“You wouldn't.” She says, seeming to finally begin to understand what it is he’s proposing. What it is that he intends to do.

“You know I would.” He tips his head to the side. His ears move with the motion, flicking forward, then back. Lumine continues to stare at him. “I have a mission here, and it’d be rather terrible if I was unable to fulfil the terms of it.”

“Who?”

“I'm certain you’ll find out soon enough.” The Sigils continue to spin, continue to pull the energy in from everything they can. He watches as they glow, before simply exploding outwards in a dizzying wave of power. He stands still throughout all of it, and Lumine braces herself against the flood of gold too.

When it fades, she looks up at him, eyes dark. “I'm going to find you,” she says, “I’ll be waiting at the bank once I'm done with this .”

“I expected nothing less of you.”

Then she’s gone, running off to defend the Harbour, like the noble knight she is. He waits until she’s gone, and the shrill voice of her companion has faded too before he turns back to Childe.

The transformation melts off of him as he drops to kneel beside Childe’s head, pressing two fingers to just below his chin, feeling for his pulse. He holds his breath as he waits, searching around for it. He finds it, eventually, steady and slow, but definitely there and not at immediate risk of fading away.

“You're so stupid.” He breathes, voice back to normal. It’s recognisable to his ears again. “Do you know how stupid it is to do something like that when you don't even know how to use it properly?” Childe doesn't give him a response. Obviously.

He wishes he could hit Childe for his stupidity, but he’s not about to do something Childe won't even remember. He settles for scooping him off the floor, being careful to not jostle him about too harshly in case there’s some broken bone he can't see.

Childe’s head rolls to the side, leaned against his shoulder, until Kaeya can feel his breath on the sensitive skin of his neck. It’s enough to make him shiver.

He considers his options, stood amongst the wreckage of the Golden House, staring upwards at the hole in the ceiling. He considers their options, wondering how bad it’ll look for him to just walk out the front doors. Probably pretty bad.

“I apologise for what I'm about to do,” he says, though Childe won't hear him. He grips a little tighter to Childe, making sure he’s pressed firmly into his chest as he steps forward and into nothingness.

The ley lines glow around him, each trailing off into different paths of varying brightness. He can feel it beginning to tug at him, pulling him in several different directions. He ignores the direction it’s trying to push him in, stepping forward and towards the line he knows leads back to their temporary accommodation.

He pushes his way through the barrier between nothingness and existence, emerging in their small rooms. It’s as they left it this morning, Childe’s bed neatly made, the duvet covers tucked beneath his pillow and straightened out, without any creases at all. His own bed is hastily made, if it can be called that at all, with the duvet simply thrown in the vague direction of being completely on his bed.

He looks between Childe’s incredibly clean bed, and the dust-stained body of the person currently in his arms. There’s even dust in his hair . He steps into the bathroom, nudging the door open awkwardly, before shuffling through the doorway even more awkwardly, trying not to knock Childe into the doorframe.

The light within flickers, and the ground beneath his feet shudders. He can faintly hear a roar, off in the distance, accompanied by the roaring of water. The roar sounds pained, and he can only assume that the traveller is well on her way to killing it again.

Childe inhales then, a little more sharply, and brushes his head to the side so that his face rubs against Kaeya’s neck. He freezes in place, slowly looking downwards as Childe blinks one eye open, then the other, staring at Kaeya’s chest.

“Huh.” Childe says, then looks up at him.

“Hello,” he lowers Childe into the bathtub, fully clothed. And Childe lets him, apparently resigned to whatever fate he’s been assigned. “You're a fucking idiot.”

“I've heard that many times before.” Childe leans his head back against the rim of the bathtub, tracking him as he moves around the room. “What brought you to that assessment this time?” Childe then pauses, and squints at him.

“You using the Abyss like that!” He slams the cupboard door shut, staring at it for a moment longer as he attempts to collect himself. He turns to face Childe, who has the decency to look at least a little embarrassed. “You used it so recklessly when it is incredibly obvious you've never been shown how to use it properly.”

Childe remains silent as he flicks the tap on, beginning to fill the bath with water. There’s a bruise beginning to bloom on his jaw, one just beneath his eye too. It makes him look even more pathetic than he did before, slumped in the bathtub, fully clothed.

Kaeya sighs, unscrewing the cap off shampoo and gesturing for Childe to lean back. Childe does so without complaint, allowing Kaeya to pour water over his hair, flattening it down before beginning to work his hands through his hair.

The room rattles again, faint roars, getting fainter by the second, ringing through the room.

“Did you do it?” Childe asks.

“Yes,” Childe leans into his touch as he massages his scalp. “I wanted you to be able to do it, but that was a little hard when you were passed out on the floor, and I didn't see any other options.”

“I don't really care,” Childe says, and it sounds like the truth. Childe ducks beneath the surface of the water, still steadily rising as the tap continues to run, and rinses the soap from his hair. It turns the water slightly cloudy. “I'm just glad I got to have a fight. I didn't realise how much I needed it until it was right there in front of me.”

“That doesn't mean you can just throw yourself into it so recklessly. I can hardly continue being La Cigni when there’s only one of us left, hm?”

“I'm sorry.” Childe doesn't make any more excuses. He never does, able to confront his mistakes and failures with an ease that almost makes Kaeya jealous. “I really am.”

“I believe you.” He assures, patting Childe on the head. He sits beside the tub, leaning his head against the rim of it, watching Childe. Childe watches him back, eyes half-lidded and looking as though he’s on the verge of sleep.

Neither of them flinches as the whole room shudders once more, before the distant sounds of fighting abruptly cut off.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Childe asks, after the moment of silence has stretched on long enough that they're certain the battle is over. The lack of flooding also signifies who won that fight, and neither of them are particularly surprised by the results.

“About what?”

“The whole thing you've got going on right now.” Childe gestures at him, fingers dripping with water. “I mean, it’s cute, but I definitely want an explanation.” Childe then reaches out and brushes a hand along something that definitely should not still be there .

Kaeya brings both hands up to clap them against his ears, hiding them from view. He thunks his head against the side of the tub, wishing that it would be enough to knock him out. Unfortunately, it isn't, and only leaves him with an aching forehead.

“You're not meant to have seen that.” He manages.

Childe laughs. “I would have had questions even without this. You weren't exactly subtle when you charged in to defend me.”

“I should have let you die.” He mutters, without actually meaning it. “Everything would be so much easier.”

“Mhm,” Childe nods along with him, “I'm sure it would be. You certainly wouldn't miss me.”

“Do you really need an answer to your question?”

“Not really,” Childe hums, “I've got a pretty good grasp on what’s happening, but I’d still like your explanation for it.”

“I was sent as a spy.” He says. There’s no point in dancing around it, no reason to beat around the bush. Childe is far too tired to try and kill him right now, anyway. And he’s better than he was then, he’d be able to escape far easier than last time. “I was the chosen one of Khaenri’ah , fat lot of good that did me.”

“And are you still a spy?”

“What?” He tips his head back to look at Childe, hands slipping down from his head when it becomes clear that Childe isn't about to make an attempt on his life.

“Are you still a spy for Khaenri’ah?”

“No.” He says. “I haven't been a spy for a long time, I stopped pretending I was still following my mission long before I left Mondstadt.”

“Then I don't see the issue.” Childe shrugs, and some of the water in the bath spills over the edge onto Kaeya. He grimaces at the feeling, reaching over to flick the tap off. “Someone’s past doesn't define them. If we went around doing that with everyone, then no one would be able to grow as a person.”

“Wow, you almost sounded like your age then.”

“Dick.” Childe flicks water at him. “I was trying to be nice.”

“The attempt was appreciated.” Childe flicks more water at him. “You do that again and I’ll freeze you to the tub.”

Chapter Text

“Lady Ningguang.” He knocks on the doorframe leading into the room, unsure of where else to knock seeing as the doorframe is currently missing its door. Unless it’s a design choice of some kind, in which case, he’s still not sure where he’s meant to knock before entering. Ningguang looks up at the intrusion, peering at him over the edge of her glasses. “I hope I'm not intruding.”

They both certainly know that he is intruding, but neither of them give voice to this thought. Ningguang does little to hide the message in her eyes, clearly communicating that he is only here through her good will and nothing less, meaning his right to speak with her could be revoked at any moment.

“You are not.” Ningguang continues to watch him over the edge of her glasses, appraising him carefully. She leans back in her seat, tapping her brush against the rim of her ink pot, before setting it aside. She gestures for him to enter, and he does, sitting down in the seat positioned across the desk from her.

She leans forward before he can get a proper look at the document she was working on, resting her forearms on the table and lacing her fingers together. She watches him, eyes expectant as she continues to scrutinise him. He tries not to feel too intimidated by her gaze, reminding himself that he’s still, technically, here on diplomatic business and is therefore protected under diplomatic immunity. And he’s also a Harbinger. That’s something too.

“I came to apologise for the interruptions that I've heard you faced whilst attempting to defend the Harbour last night. My sincerest condolences for the loss of your Jade Chamber, the sky above Liyue looks rather empty without it.” He leans forward a little in his seat, resting his arm against the edge of Ningguang’s desk. “Though I am certain it shall not take you very long to rebuild it.”

He grins at her, eyes glancing down to the documents she has almost completely covered. His Liyuean is rusty at best, the few lessons he’d been given as a Lieutenant had helped him recognise several of the words. His rusty Liyuean is still good enough to recognise a few select words, and the massive drawing of the Jade Chamber sprawling over the majority of the page is a good enough hint for him.

“Flattery will not get you anywhere, Herald.” Ningguang does not appear impressed, eyes flat and face impassive. He gives her his best placating smile and leans back, removing his arm from her proximity in case she spontaneously decides to take offence to its presence on the edge of her desk. “Tell me, did anyone give you grief on your way in?” Ningguang’s voice is deceptively pleasant. Anyone listening in on their conversation would likely say it was a friendly chat between two diplomatic figures from two different nations. Ningguang’s expression says otherwise.

“The only thing that gave me grief was the pathway to this office.” It’s true, though perhaps a slight exaggeration. The corridors twisted just enough to be confusing, but not nearly enough for it to be reasonable for him to get lost. The corridors in Zapolyarny Palace twist around and upon themselves in a frustrating way that never fails to irritate their newer recruits, but they're logical and easy to navigate. The corridors at least have differences between them that make them distinguishable from one another. “Did you design this building to be as confusing as possible, or is that simply a design flaw?”

“It has the same layout as any other high-end building would. It’s a layout that every citizen of Liyue would be familiar with and know like the back of their hand; navigation would not be an issue, not even in the direst of circumstances. Those from outside of Liyue, on the other hand, would struggle to navigate and become turned around, disorientated by the indistinguishable corridors that many homes are filled with.” Ningguang smiles at him.

“So it was designed that way.” He nods with a smile, casting his eyes about her office. Temporary, no doubt. The walls are sparse, barely decorated beyond the bare minimum than an office requires to not look like a prison cell. It certainly doesn't have any of the extravagant touches that he’s heard Ningguang is so fond of. And though her desk is covered, almost cluttered with the copious amounts of information and paper covering every surface, there is hardly anything else that shows its use. No ink marks from a stray drip when a little too much ink was collected, nor any scratches or dents, or any signs of wear and tear. “I do believe one of your secretaries was convinced my head was on the chopping block. She watched me as though I was walking willingly to my own execution.”

“Your head might still be on the chopping block.” Ningguang brings one hand up to rest her chin delicately on it. “It depends on how good your apology is, and how regretful you sound.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Lady Ningguang.” He laughs, though she does not smile in response. He is well aware that Ningguang, nor the rest of the Qixing, were particularly pleased about their arrival and subsequent stay in Liyue, he hadn't expected them to be so openly hostile. Several employees had glare at him on the way in, and despite choosing to forgo his usual cloak he is still rather decorated with Fatui symbols; there are enough to make sure there are no misunderstandings about where his loyalties lie, at least. “Hopefully it will be regretful enough, for I do sincerely regret the actions of my Fatui agents last night and hope it shan’t sour the relationship between Snezhnaya and Liyue, I'm hardly going to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. I'm sure you understand how compromising such a position may be for both of us.”

Ningguang’s face does not change, not even a twitch at the corner of her lips to betray any kind of amusement. She simply continues staring at him, arms now folded across her chest as she waits for him to continue speaking. She’s really not giving him anything to work with here, but he has very few other choices, and continues anyway. He can only hope he’s not stumbling through this apology, and that his natural charm may be enough to win Ningguang over.

The look on her face suggests otherwise, but he forges ahead nonetheless.

“To speak plainly, we were not aware that Fatui soldiers would be mobilised yesterday evening. No orders were given for their action, so any action they participated in was not approved by me. All truth be told, they should have been evacuating Liyue alongside everyone else. Investigations are still being done, but we have managed to identify the agent that led the charge on your Jade Chamber, and the small…rebellion he managed to amass. Several of his closest allies within our ranks have also been identified and detained for further investigations. Due to this betrayal and undeniable breach of the oath they swore to Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa, they will be facing trial upon our return to Snezhnaya.”

“And when shall that return be?”

“Unsure, as of now. No new orders have been received, and until new orders have been received, hopefully with the next wave of Snezhnayan imports, we are unable to do anything but wait. However,” he pauses to assess Ningguang’s reaction to his apology so far. She doesn't give any indication of what she’s thinking. “It would be entirely reasonable for you to dispense whatever punishment you deem necessary whilst we remain here. They are no longer a part of the Fatui and have been dishonourably discharged from our ranks- or will be once they've received their letters of notice. As such, as I'm sure you know being such a knowledgeable woman yourself, they are no longer protected by any diplomatic immunity.” He leans back in his chair, relaxing into the wooden frame. “Is that a satisfactory apology?”

“It certainly won't be winning any awards for eloquence any time soon.” She hums. “Nor is it the most clearly spoken, though the message is communicated clearly enough. It is satisfactory for now.” She taps a fingernail against the edge of her desk, studying him carefully as though she’s considering her next words. “I trust, too, that Snezhnaya will be perfectly capable of handing out their own punishment, likely rather eager to do so if the rumours that have made their way across the sea are true; as such, I shall not pursue any further sanctions that the sufficient bruising they have already received from us.” She narrows her eyes at him then, just as he’s rising from his seat to leave. He sinks back into it, feeling suitably chastised. “Though, I do think you may have rather overstayed your welcome, Herald. Perhaps you should begin praying to Your Majesty that her messenger is swift, and the waters are kind, as I can offer you diplomatic immunity; but such immunity does little against the angry masses of Liyue.”

“Of course.” He dips his head in a nod. “I thank you for your kindness and leniency.”

He leaves then, as Ningguang returns to her previous work. An obvious dismissal if he’s ever seen one. He hurries through the unnervingly similar-looking corridors, trying not to feel as though he’s fleeing from Ningguang. He tells himself that he’s braver than that, but he has also heard many recountings of the feats she performed during Liyue’s test. Perhaps a little fear is healthy. Like a type of respect.

He slips out of the building as quietly as he entered it, though a little faster. He finds the exit easily enough, the corridors less confusing than when he first entered, though no less disorientating. The small reception descends into silence as he enters it, the small gathering of secretaries around the front desk turning to face him. Their glares burn into his back as he leaves, making him uncomfortably warm enough that the fresh air outside is a relief to step into, despite how disgustingly warm it feels against his skin. Mondstadt had been far better in that regard, even if it had an unfortunate tendency to rain.

People continue to glare at him as he walks through the streets, with far more frequency and venom than they did before. Perhaps it should have been expected, but he can't help but be a little offended by the glares thrown his way. Before the confrontation with Osial, there had been little reason for their hostility other than the Fatui status he carries, and as such the people were willing to be a little more forgiving, a little more reasonable. Now, there is far more evidence stacking up against him.

He smiles at the next millelith guard he passes, in response to their withering stare, and has to restrain the urge to laugh at their face as he continues on their way. Ningguang had promised him diplomatic immunity, but he’s certain the millelith could twist laughter in their favour. And those on the streets would likely turn a blind eye to the events too.

Still, there’s only so much attention he can deal with at one point in time, and the stares begin to weigh a little more heavily on him, stacking up the longer he takes to walk through the streets. People stop talking as he passes them in favour of concentrating all of their efforts into glaring at him, as though speaking would detract from their focus of pouring unfiltered disgust or hatred into their eyes and imposing it upon him.

His skin starts to prick with the feeling of several pairs of eyes on him at a time, looking him over, evaluating him, before turning to anger. His clothes rub uncomfortably against his skin, far too much and also far too little all at once; they don't hide him enough, the cloak he’d forgone that morning is starting to seem like a worse and worse idea as time trickles onwards, even if it would have been far too warm to wear it.

It’s getting to the point of unbearable by the time he reaches their temporary accommodation, the stares around him only seeming to multiply as he fiddles with the lock on the door, taking a moment longer than usual to slip the key in the lock and twist it. The increased millelith presence in the area is more obvious than ever before: they're not even trying to hide it anymore, a guard on every corner, and each of them staring at him, unblinking.

It’s a relief to slip inside and slam the door behind himself, locking it quickly and shoving the key back in his pocket. It’s a relief to be away from the ever-watching eyes of the outside, as though if they stare at him hard enough he’ll disappear. Or spontaneously combust.

He turns on his heel, already feeling another pair of eyes beginning to burn into him the longer he deliberates by the door. Childe glares back at him, chin resting on his chest and uncomfortably slumped down on the bed, enough so that he can rest, but not enough to cut off circulation to his hands. Which are bound above his head.

Perhaps not his most thought-out plan.

“That was longer than twenty minutes.” Childe complains. His fingers twitch, but he’s unable to move his hands very much at all.

“And I said it might take forty.” He makes his way over to the bed slowly, looking down at Childe. Childe frowns up at him, the effect increased by the slowly purpling bruise under his eye, a second one smudged over the edge of his jaw. “This could have been avoided if you were able to stay in bed when I told you to.”

“I don't have to listen to you.” Childe continues frowning. “You're not my superior officer.”

“We don't have superior officers anymore.” Kaeya sits on the edge of the bed, feeling it creak a little beneath his weight. The knots have tightened whilst he’s been out and picking at them does very little to loosen the ties. No doubt from Childe attempting to free himself.

He has to dig around in his boot a little, hand closing over nothing for a moment, before finally closing around the hilt of a small blade. “Hold still a moment.” He says, and Childe, looking like he’s going to complain again, just shuts his mouth and allows Kaeya to cut through the rope.

Once the first hand is free Childe immediately tugs it downwards, rotating his wrist a few times before clenching and unclenching his hand to get the blood flowing again. It makes his knuckles split again, and he makes a tutting sound in the back of his throat as he releases Childe’s other hand.

He takes the hit to his shoulder with grace, catching Childe’s arm before he can pull it back again. The skin has split in several places again, and the previously scabbed over wounds are now bleeding sluggishly once more.

“Doing something like that is not convincing me to let you get up yet.” He says, still holding Childe’s wrist and preventing him from pulling it back.

“You're being dramatic for nothing.” Childe groans. “You're up and about just fine, walking around and talking to people. There’s no reason that I can't do the same.”

“No reason other than the fact that you can hardly walk right now.”

“I'm fine.” Childe insists, only to wince a moment later as he readjusts how he’s sitting. Kaeya simply looks at him, telling him very clearly with his eyes that he is not helping his case right now. Childe chooses very wisely not to respond. “Did you do what you needed to?”

He is very obviously shifting the conversation away, and Kaeya stares at him for a moment, before turning to the bedside table and the medical supplies he’s taken to stashing there after a particularly memorable moment from their stay here.

“I spoke to Ningguang.” He says, and Childe hums. He rummages around for a moment, before pulling a small roll of bandages loose. “She was surprisingly forgiving and calm about everything.”

Childe snorts, then winces as Kaeya begins wrapping his hand. “She was definitely not forgiving. She just let you think you were forgiven, watched you run on your merry way and assigned more millelith guards to this part of the Harbour.”

“I am incredibly aware she didn't forgive me. The murderous intent was lurking just beneath the surface, bubbling away. I think the only reason she didn't attack me was because the Harbour can't afford any more destruction.” He pauses to let Childe flex his hand and test his current mobility, before continuing to wrap it. “Besides, it’s enough to let us fulfil the last condition of our contract and she’s graciously extended her permission for us to remain in Liyue until we receive new orders.

“Which won't arrive until the next boat from Snezhnaya does.”

“In nine days’ time.” He agrees, tucking the end of the bandage into the layers before holding his hand out for Childe’s other hand. Childe sighs, before dropping his hand into Kaeya’s allowing him to inspect the damage done to it. “In the meantime, Ningguang heavily suggested that we lay low and don't cause any more problems in her Harbour.”

“And how, exactly, did you get us off with nothing more than a warning?” He can feel Childe’s eyes on him as he wraps his hand, but doesn't raise his eyes to look, focusing instead on the around and around of the wrapping.

He hums in the back of his throat. “Threw a few of our recruits onto the chopping block in my stead, so we’ll have to take them back to Snezhnaya with us. I need to write a few letters too, inform the injured Fatui that they're relieved of their duties until we return to Snezhnaya.”

“Do you have to?”

“Did you have to make it so incredibly obvious that it was us that led to the current state of the Harbour?” He yanks possibly a little too tightly on the next wraparound of the bandage, and Childe makes a small, pained noise in the back of his throat. He pauses to loosen the bandages slightly, so they're not as tight as before. “It would have been far easier to clean up if every sign wasn't pointing to us as the culprits.”

“We would have been prime suspects anyway.” He can hear the frown in Childe’s voice without even having to look. “That secretary never liked me anyway- I could feel it in her eyes that she was ready to push me off the Jade Chamber at any moment.”

“Ganyu?” Childe makes a noise that could be an agreement, but could also be him humming a note to whatever song he’s currently got stuck in his head. “She was rather polite, I thought.”

“She was sat on your right side. You couldn't see the looks she was shooting at the Yuheng. I reckon it would have been a double murder, and they were both in on it.”

“I reckon you were far too bored for your own good, actually.” He finishes the last wrap, leaning back and admiring his handiwork. Childe seems less pleased that he’s finished, flexing his hands and looking unhappily at the state of his hands. “The meal was pleasant enough and everyone was polite; it would have been idiotic of them to attempt to fight two Harbingers, let alone to kill us via the Jade Chamber. The murder case would have been a clear-cut case. Open and closed.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“It wasn't meant to be.” He stands from the bed, feeling the stiffness that had settled into his bones over the last few minutes very clearly. He rolls his shoulder to try and release the tension, though it does nothing to dispel the ache that radiates outwards from his spine. Nor does it rid him of the ache lingering behind his eye.

He might not be quite as fine as Childe assumed he was, but the ache is nothing more than something he would experience after a few days’ worth of intense training. He’s not half as bad as Childe, the bruising he received was miniscule compared to the blossoming purples and blues that are currently decorating Childe like a canvas.

“I want you to sleep.” He says, ignoring Childe’s groaned protest. “If you sleep the whole time I write these letters, then you get to come with me to the Bank later, got it?”

“You wouldn't leave me out of that either way.” Childe challenges.

Kaeya ignores him, already turning over the exact phrasing of the letters he would need to send, not even beginning to consider the paperwork he’ll have to fill out for their paid leave. His silence does more than his words would, anyway, giving Childe just enough uncertainty that he gives into his exhaustion and rolls over.

Childe has started picking up on some of his smaller, white lies recently. Finding tells that Kaeya didn't even realise he had, managing to figure out some of the smaller lies and make a guess at what he actually means. He doesn't care very much, it would be unusual for Childe not to begin picking up on some of his habits after so long together, but it’s more of a problem when he decides to point out his untruths in front of a potential client and then proceed to pick them apart.

It takes him five attempts and just under two hours to craft an adequately worded letter, his other attempts lying about in various states of scribbled out and screwed up. He’d almost given up on this one when he misspelt honourably. His perseverance led to the current state of the letter that Ekaterina is no doubt going to make fun of him for, only for her to correct the other spelling errors he’s missed.

He spins in his chair, finding that Childe had turned back over at some point in his sleep, now facing towards Kaeya rather than away from him. It gives him a moment to admire his face without running the risk of being caught staring.

He’s less pale than when they left Mondstadt, the few months they've spent in Liyue and the time he’s spent running around Liyue’s countryside for their debt collections has obviously done him some good. He looked pretty either way, but the golden hue of his skin looks a little healthier than his usual porcelain white.

The sun has made his freckles a little more obvious too, clustering over the bridge of his nose and sprinkled over his cheeks. Kaeya has never considered freckles an attractive quality before now, but there is certainly a first time for everything. Even the bruises under his eye and on his jaw don't detract from his beauty. Childe wears any injuries he gains with pride, no matter how long-lasting or short-lived they may be, and that pride lends beauty to injuries that would normally only make Kaeya wince.

Childe shifts in his sleep, and he stiffens a little, frozen in place and praying that Childe doesn't wake while he’s ogling him. He shifts around for a moment longer, face twisting, crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes and between his brows as he frowns, before relaxing again, head sinking a little deeper into his pillow.

The movement caused more of Childe’s hair to fall over his face, obscuring most of it from view with a curtain of ginger. It’s grown out slightly longer than Childe normally keeps it during their time in Liyue, almost long enough that Childe could tie it back in one of those little ponytails that he sometimes sees the recruits sporting, but he also knows Childe takes meticulous care of his hair from the numerous times he’s caught him stealing his hair products rather than using his own. Still, it looks irresistibly soft, and it makes him want to run his hand through it, find if it really is as soft as it looks to be.

“Any particular reason you're staring at me so intensely on this fine morning?” Childe asks, blinking his eyes open.

Kaeya is very proud of himself for not startling at that moment, meeting Childe’s gaze calmly. “Afternoon.” He corrects, “And I was considering the best way to wake you. Tell me, how would you react to several ice cubes suddenly appearing at your neck?”

“Murderously.”

“Crossing that one off the list, then.” He stands, back cracking, and folds the most recent iteration of his letter up, shoving it in his pocket alongside the keys. He can give it to Ekaterina when they visit the Bank. “How are you feeling?”

“Less like a ruin guard stood on me.” Childe stretches. “Is that good enough?”

“About as good as it’s going to get. Can you stand?”

“Of course I can stand.” Childe scoffs, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He can stand, granted, for the grand total of two seconds before one of his legs gives out beneath him, and he’s clutching at Kaeya to keep his balance.

“I can see that.” Kaeya says, “Any reason you fell into my arms?”

“I've been charmed by your mysterious personality and pretty face.” Childe tips his head back. “Are you going to let me go?”

“Once you're dressed.” He pushes Childe back towards the bed, allowing him to fall down onto it with a small oof. “Unless you want to turn up at the Bank in your pyjamas.”

“That would be a fun experiment.” Childe rolls onto his back, propping himself up and watching as Kaeya collects his uniform for him. “See how many recruits could call me Lord Harbinger to my face while I'm wearing my pyjamas.”

“Wouldn't be the first time they've had to deal with eclectic fashion taste.” He tosses the clothes across the room to Childe, peering out the window at the millelith soldiers gathered in the street as Childe changes. There appears to be more of them gathered than before, standing in pairs now rather than alone.

One of them happens to glance up, towards the window he’s currently watching them out of. They stare at him, and he can't help himself, giving them a wave and a grin. The guard pales, looking to their friend and gesturing up at him. He steps out of view before the second millelith can look up at the window.

“How would you feel about messing with the millelith?” He asks, throwing the question to the open air and waiting for a response.

There’s a little more rustling of fabric, before it stops entirely. “What kind of question is that? Of course I wanna mess with the millelith.” He turns back to face Childe, stepping closer and offering his arm. Childe laughs at it, but takes it anyway, pulling himself up and leaning heavily against Kaeya.

“Hold on tight, then.” He says, and has just enough time to watch Childe’s face turn to one of horror, before the ley lines are swallowing both of them up, sucking them into their system and leaving both of them as nothing more than nebulous concepts that only exist in theory.

They pop back into existence in their office in the Bank, and he steadies Childe with a hand on his shoulder. He takes a moment to breathe, and Kaeya lets him, glancing around the office and assessing the damage to it. It’s closer to the Harbour than their accommodation, meaning it was affected by Osial a little more. Still, there’s very little damage that he can see, only a few missing fragile items that likely got smashed or damaged in some other way, and a few missing picture frames.

Childe squeezes his arm when he straightens back up, clinging to him a little tighter before releasing his grip. “I hate it when you do that.”

“But it gets us places quicker. And I promise we can walk back afterwards.”

“The millelith are going to start searching the area for secret entrances if we do that.” Childe says, and then he makes a face of realisation that quickly morphs into amusement. “Oh, that is funny.”

“Of course it is. Now, are you going to fall down the stairs if I let you go or can you manage them?”

“I can manage them.” Childe releases Kaeya’s arm from his grasp to take a few wobbling steps. His ankle threatens to give out at one point, but Childe walks through it, stopping at the door to give him a pleased little smile. It’s incredibly endearing for something so dumb, but Kaeya follows after him anyway, only a step behind him as they descend the staircase.

Zhongli is already waiting for them when they reach the main area of the Bank, speaking to Ekaterina quietly over the front desk. None of the other bank tellers are behind their counters and their usual customers are missing from the foyer. It is strangely quiet without the sound of mora clinking as it exchanges hands. Still, it is far more appropriate for the Bank to be empty while they make this particular exchange.

Zhongli turns to face them as they arrive, eyes considering as they approach.

“Consultant.” He greets. “I do hope your day has been pleasant so far.”

“It has been adequate, though the chaos of the Harbour has done a little to detract from what would usually be such a lovely day. The constant hurrying of the millelith and merchants has made the citizens tense, and I cannot help but carry this tension too.”

“The Harbour has been rather busy today, hasn't it. Though I'm not sure about the millelith hurrying to complete their duties, they seem to have congregated-”

The doors bang off the walls as they shoved open, Vlad looking over the shoulder of the traveller worriedly. He waves him off, and Vlad watches the traveller nervously for a moment longer, before pulling both of the doors shut behind her. Paimon floats along behind Lumine, frown growing deeper with every step they take closer to them.

“Ah,” he turns to face them a little more, “I was wondering when you might show up.” He feels Childe lean on him a little, and angles his body so that it’s a little less obvious. “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” the traveller repeats, disdain colouring her voice as she stares at him. “You're the talk of the Harbour right now, you know.”

“I am rather aware.” He crosses his arms. “Some of our agents got it into their heads to interrupt your efforts to quell Osial last night, I heard. I do hope they weren't too much of a nuisance.”

“Oh, you!” Paimon zips towards his face, wagging her finger at him, only for Lumine to yank her backwards and away from his face. “You're such a liar, mister! Just you wait, I'm gonna give you an ugly nickname.” She dissolves into inaudible muttering, none of which makes much sense to him when he tries to listen.

“Lumine,” Childe greets, “it’s good to see you. And, look, I know last night might not have helped your opinion of us very much, but no hard feelings, right?”

“It’s my own fault for listening to two Fatui Harbingers.” Lumine sighs, still looking annoyed, but not enough to try and kill them yet. Overall successful, surprisingly.

“It’s nothing personal either,” Kaeya assures. “You were just a known quantity that was very useful in helping us fulfil our end of the contract.”

“Contract?” Paimon latches onto that word, her muttering fading away as she instead looks back up at him. “What contract?”

“And what do you mean a known quantity?” Lumine asks, instantly suspicious.

“Nothing as terrible as what you're thinking,” he laughs. “We just needed to prove that the Harbour would have a willing defender, and who better than the esteemed Honorary Knight? You certainly lived up to our expectations too.”

“You used me.”

“It was going to happen at some point or another.” He shrugs. “Take this as a life lesson in saying no to strangers.”

Lumine frowns at him, looking as though she’s about to go on a tirade, but he can feel the way Childe is leaning against him and the exhaustion that’s beginning to seep into him the longer they stand her for this back and forth.

“You remember the agreement,” he speaks to Zhongli, “the gnosis, please.”

“The contract is fulfilled. That which thou seeketh is now bestowed unto thee, for my promise is solid as stone.” The gnosis crystallises in the palm of Zhongli’s hand, far less brutal than the way he had stolen Barbatos’ gnosis from him.

“That was an incredibly over the top way to say the contract has been fulfilled.” He observes. Zhongli’s expression sours, and he takes the gnosis swiftly from the palm of his hand before this becomes the first contract that Morax has not upheld in his long existence.

It’s heavy, though it sits comfortably in the palm of his hand. The geo energy swirling around it is certainly powerful, something he hadn't felt from Barbatos’ gnosis. The benefits of having people that still believe in you, he supposes.

“What!” Paimon screeches, at the very top of her little lungs, and all the occupants of the Bank flinch at the sheer volume and pitch of it. “You're Rex Lapis?”

“And you're just giving your gnosis away?” Lumine sounds aghast, looking back and forth between Zhongli and the gnosis currently resting in the palm of Kaeya’s hand. He closes his fingers around it when Lumine’s eyes linger for a moment too long, tucking it away slightly. “Why?”

“I have lived for a long time, and that is not always a good thing. The time was coming to relinquish control of Liyue to someone else, but I could not do it in good conscience if I was unsure that there would be no protectors of Liyue to stand against whatever forces may seek to destroy it if I stepped back from the control of my people.” Zhongli sighs. “I have a contract with the Tsaritsa, my contract to end all contracts, and it has now been fulfilled.” He seems a little amused at the idea of it being his last contract.

“But…” Lumine looks genuinely distressed, “what could be worth a gnosis? What makes it a fair trade?”

Zhongli hums. “I am not at liberty to say. Perhaps you will discover the answer you seek during your future journeys, but not now.”

Kaeya hands the prepared letter to Ekaterina, with a few hushed commands on what to do with it and who to distribute the copies to. She nods, ever the dutiful employee, and with one backward glance towards the traveller and Zhongli, she disappears into the office behind her desk, likely to get to work on making those copies.

Childe leans against the front desk, relieving Kaeya’s shoulder of the weight he’s been leaning on him. Zhongli continues to speak with Lumine, and she continues to ask him questions, pestering him until he has no more answers for her. She looks mildly disappointed, but not at all surprised. He wonders what she asked him about.

“I do believe we will be taking our leave,” Kaeya says to them, “feel free to see yourselves out once you're done.” He wakes cheerily to Lumine, gnosis still firmly clutched within his grasp as they leave. Zhongli’s expression sours a little more than before, which might just be the look he directs at him exclusively, eyes catching on the glint of his gnosis.

It’s definitely wrong to taunt Lumine like this, especially when she was so useful to their plans and ensuring they were carried out correctly, but he cannot help but grin at the simmering look of anger and frustration on her face. She knows incredibly well she cannot do anything to take the gnosis back from them, not when it risks pissing off not one but two Archons in the process.

Paimon sticks her tongue out at him as they leave, door swinging shut behind them. Vlad nods as they walk past, and then returns to his duties once more.

“Now,” he nudges Childe, “how about we go and incite some panic among the millelith, hm?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Childe groans, “Lumine didn't even give a satisfying reaction. What’s the point in meticulously planning every detail just for her to give such a disappointing response to everything being unveiled?”

“But you gained satisfaction from watching everything come together, right?” He asks as they begin to descend the steps down from the Northland Bank.

Childe hums. “I suppose. And I did get a fight with Lumine out of it. Reckon she’ll fight me again?” Childe grins at the thought, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks to Kaeya. The sight of him makes Kaeya fumble his next step, having to pause to regain his balance both physically and mentally.

“I'm sure she’d consider it if you asked her nicely enough.” He’d certainly consider doing most things if Childe asked him nicely enough. It’s embarrassing to realise, but even more embarrassing is realising that he doesn't care about that as much as he probably should.

Childe continues grinning at him, which is rather good at dispelling most of his thoughts that don't revolve around Childe and his pretty face.

Chapter Text

And just like that their business in Liyue is concluded. With the handing over of the gnosis, they have nothing more to complete during their stay in Liyue. It’s a rather small thing for something so highly sought after, rather lacking in anything to make it truly stand out as something grand rather than something ordinary. He’s given plenty of time to admire it and contemplate it in the days following its handover.

Its edges are sharp and clean, rather unlike the smooth and billowing edges of Barbatos’ gnosis, which leaves him wondering whether the gnosis shifted to accommodate the gods it powered, or whether the gods themselves were modified upon receiving Celestia’s blessing. It is heavy too, a comfortable weight in the centre of his palm, reassuring him of its presence even without the occasional elemental pulses it emits. He’d had to clutch at the Anemo Archon’s gnosis rather tightly, for fear that it would slip through his fingers like nothing more than a stray breeze, disappearing back into nothingness.

Still, it is rather small for something so powerful. Easily cradled within his hand, easy to hide if he curls his hand completely around it and holds it just so- it is as though he isn't holding it at all. Even the glow is completely smothered when he curls his hand around it, not even a particle of geo drifting out from between his fingers. There’s likely someone rolling in their grave every time he touches the gnosis, every time he holds it up or simply admires the prize he’s won. Or perhaps someone from within the safety of Celestia is glaring down at him and wishing ill-fortune upon his head for even daring to touch something of the gods.

The gnosis is fragile too. It would likely be incredibly hard to break, yet it is so easy to steal. It is a wonder there haven't been stories of gnoses being stolen and passed around, like some odd and twisted game of pass-the-parcel but between gods. It had been incredibly easy to steal from Barbatos, his hand sinking through the Archon’s chest as though it didn't truly exist and was some mere fabrication of the wind made in the image of a body.

And Zhongli had so easily handed the gnosis over, relinquishing his control of it for a single contract. His contract to end all contracts, of which the details are still swathed in mystery to him. He’s not sure what a gnosis is worth, and he certainly doesn't believe that Zhongli simply wishes to retire. To retire would be simply stepping back, there is no need to give up the divinity that makes you stand out alongside it. Still, he had done it amicably, even if his eyes lingered a little too long and he hesitated just a moment more than necessary before handing it over.

He’s taken to keeping the gnoses, both of them, in a small and nondescript box that he keeps tucked neatly on one side of his desk. It hardly stands out among the other various items that currently clutter his desk, so if someone were to try and rob their office they likely would not steal them. They're pillowed on a small silk cloth, like the kind you would normally find wrapped around a particularly expensive piece of jewellery. The padded box gives them a security that they likely do not need, as he doubts they're going to smash apart at the slightest rough movement. Still, it doesn't hurt to be cautious.

“Are you just going to keep staring at the gnoses, or are you going to actually work?” Childe’s voice interrupts his train of thought, and it disappears into nothing before he can continue along it and find the conclusion he was looking for. He glances up, meeting Childe’s eyes.

Childe is leaned back at his desk, arms behind his head and clearly not doing any work either. He has his boots kicked up to rest against the corner of his desk, his ankles crossed over one another as he continues to stare at Kaeya. The bruise beneath his eye is beginning to turn yellow, blotchy and sickly looking. The one on his jaw is hardly any better, though it is more purple than yellow.

“You're hardly working yourself.” He points out.

Childe grins, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling at the corners. He shrugs without lowering his arms from behind his head, tilting backwards in his chair a little more. Childe is wearing one of his older shirts today, for whatever reason. He can tell because it is slightly too small around his shoulders and upper arms, a little too loose around his wrists.

“I'm on forced sick leave.” Childe says. “I'm not meant to be working.”

“Yet you insist on following me to work anyway.”

Childe is technically on sick leave due to the extensive injuries he suffered during his fight with Lumine. He still walks with a slight limp, though he’s doing his best to mask it. It’s obvious, too, that he is well-accustomed to covering up his injuries as something far less severe, and it only makes Kaeya wonder how many times he fell for the lie too. How many times had Childe overused the powers of the Abyss and suffered the consequences of it silently? It doesn't do him much good to think about it for too long, and it has recently led to more than one sleepless night in the past few days.

“I'm out of uniform. I'm not working.” Childe has far more documents to read and review and then sign his approval for than he does, going over the arrangements and dealing with the fallout of his plan succeeding. Though he seems content to continue ignoring them until he cannot any longer, at which point he will likely start begging Kaeya to help him with it.

“We don't have a uniform.” He replies, though Childe is not currently wearing his usual grey attire that shows off far more of his stomach than is probably advisable to do so during battle. Though the red shirt he’s chosen to wear today hardly does much more in the way of hiding his chest. The harness too- gods the dumb harness that he’s wearing across his chest, buckled tighter than it should be, is rather distracting. Thus, why he was occupying himself with staring at the gnoses rather than ogle his friend’s chest.

“You might not. I do, and when I'm out of the uniform I'm off-duty.” Childe pauses, “Unless you've got something for me to do.” Childe looks hopeful at the thought, meaning Kaeya needs to shut down whatever fantasy Childe is having quickly, before it can develop into reality.

“I'm not letting you collect debts.” He’s right on the money with that, watching as the light in Childe’s eyes dies, and he frowns again. He looks like a sulking teenager, slumped down in his seat and moping over not being allowed to maim and kill.

“You're no fun.”

“I'm being reasonable.” He sighs. “If you can walk around without a limp by tomorrow, I might consider letting you roam free and begin doing what you want again. But,” he continues, seeing Childe’s grin out the corner of his eye, “only tomorrow, and only if you can walk without a limp. And I mean actually walk, not the weird little walk you've been doing to hide how much it actually hurts to walk.”

Childe pulls a face. “I do not walk funny.”

“Yes you do.”

Childe continues pulling a face, even as Kaeya continues ignoring him and tucks the box with the gnoses among a few other items on his desk.

“What about all the debt collections that still need doing? How are we going to finish all those if I'm on sick leave until tomorrow. Five days is hardly enough time to collect all those debts.”

“Which is why I'm doing them today.” He pushes his chair back as he stands, pausing to pull his cloak from where he had thrown it over the back of the chair and pulling it around his shoulders. It’s still far too warm for such a heavy thing, but he prefers wearing it out than leaving his shoulders bare. The weight of it around his neck is comforting.

“What?” Childe sits up straight, feet thumping to the floor. “No, no, that’s not fair .”

“You could be the one doing this if you hadn't tried to run out of the Harbour yesterday.” He ignores Childe’s complaints.

“I would've been fine if you didn't hunt me down .” Childe grabs at his cloak, tugging him backwards and keeping him in one spot. He turns around to loosen Childe’s fingers around the fabric before pulling it away entirely. “There was hardly a need for you to pin me to the ground when you found me.”

“Yes there was.” It had been incredibly fun to pin Childe in such a way, pressing him into the ground and preventing his escape as he squirmed to try and free himself. He may have pushed him to the ground a little too harshly for someone still recovering from overusing every muscle in his body, but the damage had already been done by their twenty minute sprint over half of the Liyuean countryside as he attempted to catch Childe.

“And?”

“And what.”

“What was the reason?” Childe asks.

He considers him for a moment, weighing up which answer would be best to give him. He lets go of Childe’s hand, having not released it once he had pulled it away from the fabric of his cloak. Childe lets it fall down to his side, leaning heavily on his left leg and favouring his right leg slightly.

“It was fun.”

He grabs a ley line and tugs, disappearing from their office before Childe can get the bright idea to grab onto him again. He pops back into existence just outside of the Harbour, glancing backwards at the gate. The millelith guards beside it are less numerous than they’d been in the days immediately following Osial’s attack, but there are still far more of them gathered beside the bridge than there usually is.

Still, the day is quickly moving onwards, and he has several “debts” to collect before he is finished with business for the day. And none of the debtors have had the decency to set up camp remotely near each other. Instead, they have chosen to scatter themselves over the entirety of Liyue, amongst the craggy peaks of rock and sheltered below the tallest mountains.

One of the camps he visits, this one more sparsely populated than the others, is even so bold as to toe the line into Jueyun Karst. He was almost tempted to stop and have a chat with the leader, to question why they had chosen to set up camp beside a place that could very easily attract the adepti’s ire, depending on the day.

And then the man spat at his feet, and all thoughts of a civil conversation disappear from his mind, as though the thoughts never existed in the first place. The man was a coward too, shying back from the fight as Kaeya tore through his men, icicles bursting out into a lazy waltz around him when several of the treasure hoarders fling themselves at him at once.

The first one has an intimate meeting with the head of his staff, and the second receives an equally intimate meeting with the base of it. He spins on his heel and whacks the third in the back of the head. The third treasure hoarder stumbles for a moment, teetering back and forth as he shakes his head; no doubt to attempt to dispel the stars from his eyes, but to no avail. Once his performance has gone on for long enough, and Kaeya is itching to lunge for the next hoarder that crosses his path, he gives him a small nudge with the head of his staff, watching as it is enough to overbalance him and send him toppling.

He grins, turning on his heel to face the last man standing. Around him, scattered across the small area of greenish-yellow grass, are the other treasure hoarders, fallen and slumped over on the ground. Some of them are still awake and groaning, but either too injured to move, or too scared to attempt to. The last man standing, the apparent leader of this band of treasure hoarders, is watching him with wide eyes.

He has a knife in his hand, a singular knife. It is a rather small knife too, but the blade is deadly sharp. It glances off his mask when the man finally decides to lunge for him. It doesn't do much damage beyond scratching a deep line into his mask, adding to the tally of marks that scar its surface. It does not cut his skin, and he ducks, barrelling forward and relying on brute strength to topple the man to the ground, pinning him with a knee on his chest.

The man attempts to stab at him again, and he grabs his wrist tightly, pressing it into the ground until the man winces and cries out, releasing his knife. Kaeya continues to squeeze his wrist tight, watching the pattern of frost that spirals outwards from beneath the palm of his hand.

“What- what do you want!” The man cries out, thrashing more desperately in his grip. He’s beginning to understand why Childe enjoys doing this so much. “You're insane!”

“The only insane one here is you.” Kaeya responds, voice far calmer than the treasure hoarder’s. He keeps his knee pressed into the man’s chest, keeps watching him. Some of the treasure hoarders behind him groan, but he hears no sound of movement. A twig snaps, somewhere far off, but close enough to be heard. “You know who I am. You know where I come from, and yet you continue to fight. Continue to resist. Tell me, where am I from?”

“Northland Bank.” The man gasps out, as though he’s choking him. He’s not, he’s checked several times to make sure he’s not choking him. Still, the man beneath him continues to go an odd shade of purple, despite the lack of pressure on his throat. And his knee is hardly pressing down enough to restrict the movement of his lungs.

“Good, good.” Kaeya nods. “And, tell me, did you receive our letters?”

The man remains silent. His fingers twitch, attempting to reach from the knife where it has fallen from his grip. Kaeya pushes it further away, squeezing a little tighter around his wrist, feeling the bones below the skin and flesh grind together and watching as the frost spirals a little further out. The man’s fingers are beginning to turn blue.

“Did you receive our letters?” Kaeya asks again, voice providing no doubts about the consequences of answering untruthfully.

“Yes.” The man gasps out, again. Still sounding like he’s choking on something.

“Good.” Kaeya nods again. “So, pray tell, why did you not respond? Our terms were agreeable, and the interest was hardly unfavourable to you. We lent you money, allowed you a loan where another bank would not have, and this is how you repay our kindness?”

The man sucks in a ragged breath, and Kaeya leans back, eases a little of his weight from the man’s chest simply because his gaping and gasping is beginning to grate on his nerves. Even with the decreased pressure, the man continues to writhe like a dying fish on land.

“The Northland Bank is hardly the most reputable bank out there, of course they would accept our request for a loan; you're as bad as we are.” The man laughs out his words, lips splitting in a grin.

Kaeya sighs, releasing his grip on the man’s hands. His knife is too far away for him to try and grab it, and Kaeya is still pinning him down, keeping him firmly in place even as he wriggles. It’s a fruitless endeavour, but Kaeya allows it, as the man’s wriggling combined with the almost deranged laughter is somewhat amusing.

The treasure hoarders have gone quiet now, mainly because they're laying on the ground, dead to the world as their minds float elsewhere. Either that, or they've gathered enough confidence to escape. Only a few have done the latter.

“As bad as you?” Kaeya asks, turning his attention back to the man below him. “Hardly. The treasure hoarders are notoriously known for their trades in the illegal and contraband; you are hunted down upon sight and taken to the nearest authority for the crimes you commit. And you dare to compare you and I?” He laughs at the thought, and the man’s eyes widen, and stay wide. Fearful. “You say we are as bad as you are, yet the Fatui have free reign to move through nations, hopping from one place to another with ease. We are diplomats, sent from Snezhnaya, and we are afforded the privilege and protection of those on diplomatic missions. We are hardly as bad as each other.”

He draws one hand back, away from where it had been resting beside the man’s head. He readjusts his weight as he moves, until he’s leaning most of it onto the man’s wrist. He watches as the treasure hoarder’s face scrunches up in discomfort. Kaeya pats at his cheek, waiting until he opens his eyes again to watch as a blade slowly, painstakingly, forms among the curl of kaeya’s fingers, fashioned from pure ice.

He takes his time with perfecting the details on it. He watches the growing terror on the man’s face, the way it grows and blooms and spreads until it is all encompassing. Until the man is nothing but fear for what comes next. He takes his time with the final details, admiring the way the light refracts through the clear blade.

It is shot out of his hand a moment later, water swirling around the end of an arrow before dissipating. He frowns after it, turning to face the direction of the shooter. The man beneath him squirms, and he presses his knee back into his chest again until he feels the man’s ribs creak beneath the weight.

The shooter is hardly doing much to disguise herself, perched on a small ledge, just above head height. She watches him, flicking her hair backwards, before jumping down from her perch. She dissipates the bow in her hands, flicking it away into nothingness.

“Good afternoon.” He greets, because he was taught his manners at an early age, had it instilled in him to be polite. The woman seems a little surprised by his greeting, lips twitching before her face smooths over again.

“Good afternoon,” she responds, “though it is probably closer to evening now than anything approaching afternoon.”

He hums in consideration, leaning a little to the side and looking towards where he knows the sun should be. It is beginning to dip slightly below the horizon, though the glow of it has not yet dimmed and the sky remains a bright golden.

“I suppose it is.” Kaeya settles on. “Did you have business with me?”

“Someone else, actually.” The woman walks past him, the coat she wears around her shoulders swaying a little as she moves. It looks far too small for her to actually wear it, instead choosing to drape it loosely around her shoulders. It’s a nice look, he supposes, though the coat is rather familiar…

“And who might that be?”

“This treasure hoarder.” She nudges at the man with a heeled foot, and the treasure hoarder does nothing but whimper pathetically, eyes wide enough that they look ready to burst from his skull. “He has some information I want.”

“Then don't let me interrupt you.” He pulls his hands back, glove sticking slightly to the frost that now encircles the treasure hoarder’s entire wrist, turning the whole section of skin a sickly white. It’ll likely blacken within the day, the flesh beginning to die as the frost sets in deeper. Unless they have someone skilled enough to treat such heavy frostbite. “I would be loath to cause any trouble for someone of Liyue.”

The woman’s eyes flash as she looks back at him from where she is crouched beside the treasure hoarder. She has a tassel at the hollow of her throat, adorned with a die. The coat is most certainly too small for her, and distinctly not in a Liyuean style. He feels as though he has seen her somewhere before, but certainly cannot place where. Something to look into.

“I'm certain you've already caused enough of that, Fatui.” She responds, though she doesn't look at him again. She ignores him completely after that, and he resigns this debt as something they're never going to recover and turns to return to the city.

The woman doesn't stop him, simply watches him go as he ducks around a corner and blinks out of view. Maybe he’ll be able to startle Childe by appearing directly in their office. He always gives the best reactions out of anyone he does that to, even the recruits don't get startled by it nearly as frequently as Childe does.

Childe does scream, when he arrives back, and though he will later insist that it was a not-at-all high-pitched scream, and was instead a manly shout, anyone that had been within the Bank at the time knows that to be a complete and utter lie .

The room is dark.

The curtains have been pulled shut, for once, rather than forgotten and left open only for the sun to wake them both as it rises. It cloaks the room in a darkness thicker than he is used to, one that he has not seen since they left Snezhnaya. It has been a while since they were in the land of ice and snow, and he finds himself missing the chill of it on his skin, the long nights and the short days; the way the snow glows when the sun hits it, turning it into a dazzling cover of white that can stretch for miles undisturbed by nothing but short, determined shrubs that brave the winter cold to poke their spindly leaves above the surface for the short few hours of sunlight they receive.

He is lying beside Childe tonight, in Childe’s bed. Childe is breathing slowly, deep breaths in and out, steady in the way only a sleeping person can achieve. Childe is not asleep. They are both aware of it. He isn't even on the brink of sleep, eyes slipping shut before he opens them again, forcefully keeping himself awake. No. He is wide awake, and Kaeya knows this.

It would be hard to ignore it, with their faces pressed so close together, noses almost brushing. Childe’s eyes are open, not quite reflecting the light in the odd way that his eyes do. The lack of shine to his eyes makes more sense now too, though Kaeya would not have been able to guess it as a consequence of the Abyss had Childe not revealed his own hand in front of him. No studies have ever been done on those that stumble into the Abyss- because to the people of Teyvat the Abyss is simply a concept, not a true place. It is something that existed in the past, and is simply a common pest now, something that produces the beings that roam the land and seek to kill those that roam too far.

There have been no studies, has been no research, on those that have returned from the Abyss. Because no one has- no one should be able to return from the Abyss. It is a one-way trip unless your very being is intertwined with it. And yet Childe had clawed his way out from the depths of it, mind intact and only hindered by the apparently insatiable bloodlust that he truly does a stellar job of controlling. He is alive, very much so, Kaeya can feel the beating of his heart beneath the palm of his hand, where it is pressed flat against Childe’s chest. Yet he has the eyes of someone dead, shining only when light is shone directly upon them, leaving them glazed over at other times. It would be unnerving to many, but Kaeya has seen worse in his time, has come face-to-face with something that was once someone like him, something that once was but is no longer.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Childe breaks the silence, he is always the one that breaks the silence. He had told Kaeya, once, before they came to Liyue- before they came to Mondstadt, when they were sat beside the fire in their office, both cradling drinks they shouldn't technically be drinking because they were still technically on duty. He had told Kaeya that he didn't like the silence. That it rang in his ears and made him hear things that weren't there. His eyes had gone far away and glossy as he spoke, as though he was peering into something that Kaeya couldn't see- something that only existed in the depths of his memory.

“Talk about what?”

There are many things they could talk about, in truth. They could speak of their return to Snezhnaya, something that is steadily moving closer as their period of time left in Liyue shortens, and what they plan to do once they return. Kaeya isn't really sure what he will do upon his return. He’s never had to think about what to do, and he’s unsure of what it is that a Harbinger truly does when they're not overseeing important missions.

They could talk about the plans Childe no doubt has to visit his family, Childe enjoys talking about his family so it would likely keep them up half the night just from him talking about it. Kaeya lets him tell stories over and over, ones that he’s heard hundreds of times before and will likely tell another hundred times again, because it’s obvious that Childe misses them, from the tone of his voice and the sadness in his eyes and the way he has to take a moment every now and again to pause and recollect himself before continuing on with whatever tale it is that he’s weaving.

They could talk about the preparations they still haven't made in Liyue, of the recruits that they're meant to be getting with the next boat from Snezhnaya, and how long it will take to move them throughout the system in Liyue, sprinkle them around so that everything is evenly covered. It is something they have to do before they leave, so there is the potential for it to delay their return by at least a few days, if not several more. It means they won't be able to catch the boat that arrives in a few days time, and they’ll have to wait for another to arrive before they can return to Snezhnaya, if that is what the Tsaritsa commands. He hopes it is what she commands. He’s not sure if he could stand another months-long trip in a tropical climate.

(Liyue is hardly a tropical climate, but compared to Snezhnaya it is practically boiling. The constant sun and long days compared to the short nights were certainly something to become accustomed to when they first arrived here, and he still finds himself struggling from time to time.)

“About the Golden House.” Childe says, interrupting the silence that had stretched on for seconds rather than the years it had felt to Kaeya. “About what happened there.”

Or they could talk about that. Talk about the elephant in the room that they've both been steadfastly ignoring for the past few days in the hopes that they might wake up one morning to find it suddenly gone, its obtrusive presence no longer hanging over their heads for every moment they spend within their apartment.

They didn't speak about it since the night of Osial’s attack, and that hadn't truly been a conversation. It was not one Childe remembered the details of either, he had been too tired to function properly after his misuse of his transformation, leaving him stumbling and leaning on Kaeya for support as Osial’s threat was quelled and the Harbour returned to relative safety once more. And even the conversation they'd had then, just before Childe had passed out for fourteen straight hours, still danced around the topic, with Childe beating around the bush in a way that Kaeya didn't even know he could do.

“What do you want to know about?”

He can feel Childe’s hand in his hair, fingers tangled among the strands from where it was beginning to become loose from his already loose braid. He’ll have to brush it in the morning, as painful as that usually is; he can already feel the tangles forming in it from where Childe’s fingers twist the strands together. He doesn't ask him to stop, the movement is jerky enough to betray Childe’s anxiety, the stress that is beginning to permeate through his entire being the longer the silences drag on for. He almost expects one of them to fall asleep during the lulls between sentences, but neither of them do.

Childe continues to breathe like someone that is already asleep, and Kaeya continues to hardly breathe at all. His lungs begin to ache with it.

“You.”

It’s simple. So little yet so much at the same time. How is he meant to explain everything that he is? How can he explain everything he is, when the last time he tried- the last time he attempted to place his trust into someone else’s hands, it was immediately shattered. He’s not sure that he would be able to take another rejection, his fragile heart barely stitching itself back together with thin threads that could snap at any moment, fraying with the slightest hint of disapproval. It is painful to be so vulnerable, and he’s not sure whether he’s ready to bear that pain yet.

“That’s a tall order.” He says. Because the silence was getting too long, too loud. It was beginning to make him uncomfortable. What was previously comfortable and familiar, began to drag against his skin with an unbearable friction. Childe is warm next to him. Hot where he is cold. “There’s a lot to say.”

“Then tell me what’s important.”

He looks at Childe then, the sincerity in his voice making his voice catch in his throat and making him feel as though he’s about to choke. It makes him feel sick, somehow, but with relief rather than worry. Seeing Childe look as anxious as he feels reassures some odd part of him, makes the words escape his mouth easier than he thought they would. It still feels like swallowing thorns, but when Childe looks at him like that, Kaeya is certain he can do anything.

“I was sent to Mondstadt.” He says. “I lived there, grew up alongside someone that called me a brother. I had a father, not my birth one but he was a father all the same, and he was kind and he was good. There was food, and there was light. There was rain and snow, something which I had never seen before Mondstadt. I grew up alongside someone that I called brother, though I do not call him that anymore, and I thought I trusted him. I thought he trusted me. But I was wrong, and that was an error in my judgement that I have not allowed myself to forget. I do not think I could.”

The eyepatch he wears now is one that he specifically commissioned, while they were still in Snezhnaya. When he was just beginning as a Lieutenant and it was clear that he was going to continue sharing a room with Childe. It is made of silk, a soft and fine material that he can hardly feel when he doesn't think about it. Yet, when he does think about it, when he considers the small scrap of fabric that conceals his greatest lapse in judgement, it feels claustrophobic with how close it presses over his eye, how roughly it brushes over scar tissue and skin alike.

“I was not from Mondstadt. Though I do think you may have already realised that.” He continues. “I am from somewhere that was once called Khaneri’ah, somewhere that was once the best creation of humanity, as it was something solely created from human hands. It did not rely upon the powers of gods, nor the benevolence of them. Khaenri’ah was somewhere made for humans, and the gods despised something that proved them wrong. It proved that they were unnecessary, and so it was destroyed. In rains of fire and anguish, it fell, and it sank. It sank, and it became the Abyss. And the people were twisted into ideas of what they were before. That was the home I came from, the only thing I knew before I first stepped foot on the soil of Teyvat.”

Childe doesn't look surprised by this confession. He simply nods along, as though this is fitting into something that he has already considered. It would not surprise Kaeya if he simply slotted the remaining two pieces together and stepped back to view the entire picture. He had seen Kaeya in a form he hasn't returned to since he left the Abyss, and he’s not stupid, even an idiot would be able to put two and two together and figure everything out.

“I fell into the Abyss.” Childe says, picking up the conversation where Kaeya had left off. He feels as though he has said enough, or more that he cannot say anymore, his throat too tight to force more words past. “Though you already knew that. I didn't come from the Abyss, I came from a fishing village in the middle of nowhere Snezhnaya, and yet I tripped and fell into a crack in the earth that simply stretched on forever. It stretched onwards and onwards, until it didn't anymore, and I was trapped in some place that was nothing like anything I’d ever known.”

Kaeya has seen the sights of the Abyss that exists today. He has seen the mist-shrouded forests that aren't truly forests- they're the barest imitations of one, something to lure the unexpecting closer in the hopes that there might be something, anything, existing in the depths of the trees, safely hidden away from the horrors that lurk outside the forest, never daring to step past the boundary that transitions from wasteland into ‘forest’. No one ever stops to consider why these creatures, these beings that fear none and kill all, do not dare to step past the boundary of the ‘forest’.

“It was like nothing I’d ever experienced at all. I was a child, so incredibly young and I thought it was an adventure at first. Something for me to explore and conquer, before returning home for dinner, like the stories that I had read at home. But then dinner came and went, and I was still not home and I was still stuck in a place that wanted to consume me, devour me whole and remake me in its image.” He can feel Childe’s heartbeat beneath his palm, he has not moved his hand from Childe’s chest, can feel the way it beats erratically and fast, thumping along like a startled rabbit. “It was terrifying. And yet I cannot seem to remember it clearly. There are blurs and sounds and shapes, but everything refuses to consolidate into something real that I can point at and say that happened. There was someone else, someone there that guided me. She showed me how to adapt, how to overcome whatever was thrown at me, how to grow and become stronger, to take each defeat not as a loss, but as a learning experience. The Abyss changed me, but I changed with it. I didn't allow it to consume me, not like she allowed it to consume her. And then one day, I tripped, once more, and I was falling. But when I emerged this time, tired and battered, I was in a forest, with snow underfoot. And then there was my mother.”

Childe stops then, sucking in a deep breath before he continues.

“It had been months since I saw the sunlight. Months since I saw anything remotely close to something that resembled home without it being a trick or a lie. And rather than being worried sick, my mother simply scolded me, tugged at my ear and chastised me for running off. I was gone for three days. Three days . Three whole days, and yet it had been lifetimes to me. I wasn't the person that fell into the Abyss, and yet my parents didn't seem to notice- either that or they didn't care. They didn't care up until I almost killed someone because something was wrong , and then they shipped me off to the Fatui, as though it was the easiest thing in the world.”

Kaeya hums as Childe finishes talking, bringing a hand to cup the back of Childe’s neck. Their legs are intertwined, tangled together, and he pulls Childe’s head forward until he’s resting his face in the crook of Kaeya’s neck.

They breathe together, long and even, until he knows for certain that Childe is truly asleep. His breathing is not quite even when he sleeps, something that Childe himself doesn't seem to realise and so never takes into account when he’s attempting to actually sleep. Instead, his breath hitches every now and again, as though choking on the air itself, before evening out once more after another two breaths.

It’s comforting. Something that allows Kaeya to blink his eyes shut too and curl further into the warmth that is Childe.

The boat arrives on time. Early in the morning, before either of them even considered trekking down to the docks to wait for its arrival.

It means that they're both sat in their shared office, working through their individual piles of documents and requested leave and paperwork, when there is a knock at the door. He knows immediately that it is not Ekaterina. She hardly bothers to knock anymore, preferring instead to burst through the door with whatever task they have, or to remind them of the meeting they have in five minutes and pester them into getting ready for it.

The knock is timid too, nervous, and so when he calls out for them to enter he glances over at Childe. Childe shrugs back at him just as the door creaks open, revealing someone that he doesn't know. They're clearly Fatui, indicated by their mask and uniform, but it’s not someone that he recognises. Perhaps one of Ekaterina’s new hires? He knows she’s been dealing with a few new recruits that are far more involved in the banking side of things than the fighting side of things.

“Miss Ekaterina requests your presence downstairs.” He says, voice quiet, though easily heard in the silence of the room. “Uh, both of you if you're available.” Definitely one of Ekaterina’s new hires then. Kaeya gives him a nod, and the recruit disappears again, the door left slightly ajar behind him.

He pushes himself up from his seat, Childe following behind them as they descend the stairs to find Ekaterina.

She stands where she always stands, leaning against the counter and resting her chin in her hand in a way that does not convey the attentiveness she’s meant to display to all of their highly esteemed customers. She doesn't even bother to straighten up as they approach, simply pushing a letter across her desk towards them.

“From Her Majesty.” Ekaterina supplies, before turning to deal with one of the customers currently waiting to be attended to.

Childe opens it this time, reading over the letter quickly and turning around when Kaeya tries to read over his shoulder. He holds it at such an odd angle it’s a wonder he even manages to read it. Some of the clients are giving him odd looks too, though most are simply ignoring him and proceeding with their business as normal.

“We’re set to return whenever we finish integrating the last batch of recruits into the network here.” Childe announces, grinning at him as he finally hands the letter over for Kaeya to read. A quick skim through tells him that that is literally all the letter says.

“Perfect.” He tucks the letter back into its envelope. “I was beginning to get sick of all the sunny weather.”

“Now, I know you're being completely serious about that, but I'm going to actually miss Liyue.” Childe frowns. “You might have some weird love for the cold, but I do not . I enjoy it, sure, but I'm not about to go walking about in freezing temperatures with half my skin out and ready to get frostbite.”

“I hardly have half my skin on show.” He scoffs. “I just have a better tolerance to the cold.

“Well that’s because you're a freak, isn't-”

The one of the doors slamming open interrupts whatever Childe is about to say, and a blur races into the Bank so quickly that Kaeya can hardly see what it is. He does, however, see Lumine’s shocked face briefly before the door swings shut again.

Childe staggers next to him, stumbling back a step as something attaches itself to his leg. When Kaeya turns to look, he’s met with someone that looks almost exactly like Childe, if Childe only came up to his hip and wore a really stupid hat.

The child, because it is an actual child, blinks up at him, before turning to look back up at Childe. Childe also looks equally shocked, despite the fact that this is presumably one of his younger siblings.

The doors swing open again, albeit much more calmly than before, as Lumine finally makes her entrance.

“Teucer.” Childe laughs, though the strain in his voice is audible, and the what-the-fuck look Childe shoots him is equally as desperate. “What a surprise to see you here.”

“Imagine my surprise when I found him poking at a ruin guard.” Lumine contributes. “Messing about with it and calling it Mr. Cyclops. That was a real surprise to stumble across in the middle of the Liyuean countryside .”

“Teucer,” Childe drops to one knee beside Teucer, “I'm very happy to see you, don't get me wrong, but how, exactly, are you here right now?”

“I snuck onto a boat.” Teucer says, far too cheerful for someone that has apparently stowed away on a boat from Snezhnaya to Liyue. “Who’s the weird man with a mask?” Teucer then asks, pointing directly at him. He’d forgotten how impolite children could be sometimes, simply blinking down at Teucer as the child continues to point at him.

“We don't point, Teucer,” Childe pushes Teucer’s hand down, so he isn't pointing at Kaeya anymore. “And this is my friend, Pavone. Do you remember me telling you about him?”

“Oh, yes!” Teucer’s eyes light up, “Isn't he the one that you said was really pr-” Childe cuts him off with a hand over his mouth, laughing a little as he looks around nervously. Thankfully, the bank is mostly empty, the majority of the customers had cleared out around the time Teucer made his loud entrance.

Kaeya drops down a little lower, crouching so he can speak to Teucer. “I've heard a lot about you too,” he says, “though I'm rather surprised to see you in Liyue, aren't you meant to be in Snezhnaya?” He tips his head to the side, watching as Teucer studies him thoughtfully.

That’s all the warning he gets before Teucer reaches out and pulls the mask from his face entirely, exposing his eye to cold air before he slams it shut, hand coming up to cover his eye, palm pressing into it until it's painful.

“Teucer!” Childe chastises, taking the mask from Teucer where he had been studying it and handing it back to Kaeya. He turns around, facing away from the people clustered in a small group as he fixes it back to his face. “Don't just snatch things like that, I want you to apologise to Pavone right now.”

Teucer looks sad when he turns back around, staring down at his feet before glancing back up at Kaeya. “Sorry Mr. Pavone. I just wanted to see your mask because it looked really cool.”

“That doesn't mean you should just take it.” Childe says. “I'm sure you could have looked at it while it was still on his face, no?”

“Well, yeah, but it wouldn't be as good then.” Teucer pouts as he speaks, and Kaeya is suddenly beginning to get the bigger picture of what Teucer might be like as Lumine gives him a long-suffering look before sighing.

He then looks back to where Teucer and Childe are deep in conversation. Well, their day certainly got far more interesting. And certainly a lot harder too.

Chapter Text

He excuses himself from the small reunion currently ongoing in the front foyer of the Northland Bank, citing paperwork and other business to attend to as his excuse for escaping from the gathering early. Teucer hardly seems to care, excitedly chattering on at his brother about everything he’s missed while he’s been away. Childe nods along as Teucer speaks, though he is not watching his younger brother; instead, he continues to watch Kaeya with an intense scrutiny that is beginning to make him uncomfortable.

Lumine glares at him as he retreats, clenching her jaw and watching him go disapprovingly. He grins back at her, just in time to watch her anger melt into exhaustion, then resignation, as she looks back at the two she’s been left with.

He does not envy her, not at all. Especially not with how chatty Teucer seems to be despite how long he had already been speaking for. It’s a wonder he hadn't gone hoarse already, with the way he chattered on and on, as though his thoughts were just one continuous line that he’s going to keep on trundling along, with no end in sight.

The door shuts behind him with a soft thunk, clicking shut as it latches in place. He almost considers locking it, hand stilling over the handle for a moment before he pulls it back, leaving the door unlocked.

His hands are still shaking slightly, from adrenaline and fear and worry and numerous other things he cannot name. His hands continue to tremble even when he clenches them into shaking fists, upper body shaking with the force it takes to try and stop them from shaking entirely.

He can feel his breath in his throat, clogging up his airway as he tries to breathe in again. In and out, in the calm, measured way he’s taught himself. In and out. He sucks in another breath, feeling it scrape against his throat, cold in his mouth. It almost chokes him, how cold it is, and he has to breathe in another lungful of air, sucking it in quick enough to make his vision go grey and fuzzy at the corners.

He steadies himself on the edge of his desk, leaning heavily onto it even as the sharp edge cuts in his hand. In and out. He continues breathing, ignores the vice-like feeling of something slowly tightening around his chest. He’d almost prefer complete breathlessness to this slow and agonising constricting of breath that leaves him gasping in another breath and wondering if it’d be the last true one he would manage before his lungs gave up entirely.

He fumbles at his face, tugging and pulling, catching strands of hair and tangling them with his sweaty fingers, until finally, finally , he manages to pull his mask loose, yanking it away from his face in a hope to alleviate the claustrophobic feeling building and bubbling in his chest.

It does a little to help, though not much, leaving him gasping still as his chest loosens. He slowly becomes accustomed to the easy draw of breath, the way his lungs expand properly and fully rather than hitting against some unseen barrier that prevents him from breathing deeply. He cradles his mask in his hands, holding it carefully as though it would break at the slightest hint of force.

He wouldn't be surprised if it did, in all honesty, this mask has been through it several times over, as evidenced by the chinks and scrapes and gashes and lines scored through its surface, marring it until it hardly resembles the original mask he had received when he ascended to the rank of Harbinger.

He had considered replacing it once, considered finding someone to commission a mask of its exact likeness, just without the obvious wear and tear of the battles and scrapes he’s gotten himself into over the past year. But Childe had looked so completely sad when he mentioned the idea that he never brought it up again. Though, he had asked why he looked so sad at the thought of his mask being replaced.

“It’s evidence of what we’ve done together.” Childe had said, still sounding sad and frowning at him from across their office. “A memento to everything we’ve achieved.”

“Many of these marks are not from achievements, nor moments I am particularly proud to remember.” Had been his response. He hadn't understood the attachment to the mask itself. He was only attached to the shield it provided him with, the thing that allowed him to greet the world as though he was someone just like them rather than someone that had been branded as a traitor to everything that dares exist in Teyvat.

“Then they are lessons learned.” Childe had said, words far too solemn for the conversation they were having. He said them as though they had been spoken to him by someone else, carefully chosen and face slightly scrunched up, as though imitating someone he knew. “They are evidence of your growth and your progress. Something to be proud of rather than hide away in the guise of a new mask.”

He chose not to replace his mask, in the end.

He’ll likely only replace it when this one falls to pieces, whenever that day may be. He’s even tempted to find someone that could recreate the mask exactly, so it would be as though it had never broken. He finds himself attached to the grooves in the surface of his mask now, tracing his fingers over each one as he thinks. He breathes in again, holding it until he begins to feel that burn in his lungs from the ache to breathe in again, then exhales once more, allowing his body to slump forward with it.

He pulls his hand away from the edge of the desk, wincing at the deep line that has been cut into it. It’ll fade within the hour, but it aches a little as he presses on it, testing it to make sure he hasn't broken the skin.

His legs tremble a little as he walks around his desk, lowering himself into his seat and pulling some of the paper towards himself. He has a few things to plan, items on a list that need to be checked off before they can leave Liyue. One of them had come as standard orders from the Tsaritsa, and the other was a hastily written note, slipped in beside the letter.

He keeps his eye firmly shut, unwilling to discover how much further his eyesight has degraded in that eye since he last checked.

The door swings open with a soft creak, and Childe pokes his head in through the gap that is just large enough to fit his head through, before awkwardly pushing himself through that small gap rather than open the door any further. He closes it behind him with a soft click.

Childe stares at him, and Kaeya stares back, one hand firmly pressed over his eye and almost covering the entirety of that half of his face. His hand is cold on his face, more like ice than something with flesh and bones beneath it. Childe continues to stare at him.

“Are you…okay?” It sounds awkward, coming from Childe’s mouth. Even Childe winces at the way he said it, cringing backwards a little, towards the door. It’s not something he’s accustomed to asking, obviously, despite how he cares for their underlings and ensures their (relative) safety on missions.

“I'm fine.”

“I apologise for Teucer’s behaviour, by the way.” Childe winces again. “He’s still learning that it’s not okay to take things from people without asking, even if he really wants them.”

“Isn't he like, ten?” He asks.

“Yes,” Childe sighs, looking almost…embarrassed? “I, uh, that might be my fault? A little?” Childe laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I haven't been home in a while, and so I just…sent gifts as a way to apologise for that. But I fear that it may have spoiled him a little, so he’s just used to getting what he wants whenever he wants it.”

Childe leans back against the door, fingers tapping against the wood in a nervous pattern. His hand is beginning to warm up where it is pressed over his eye, taking what little warmth it can from his face and raising the temperature of his skin to an almost normal level. He fumbles about for his mask blindly, fingers skimming over the desk and edges of pages before they touch upon the familiar material. He pulls it towards himself, and Childe turns away and averts his eyes as he reaffixes it to his face. He has to readjust it several times until it sits comfortably, and even then it feels a little too constricting to be comfortable.

He glances back at Childe then, eyes narrowing as he considers him. “Where is your brother?”

“Out with Lumine,” Childe gestures in the vague direction of the streets outside, “I gave her some funds to entertain him for the rest of the afternoon, she seemed to be getting on with him well enough, and Teucer already knows who she is-”

“Childe.” He interrupts the other. “Are you telling me that after your brother has stowed away on a ship and travelled over half of Teyvat, that you are foisting your brother onto Lumine and turning her into a glorified babysitter?”

Childe’s mouth opens and closes for a few moments, before he swallows, averting his eyes. “Uhm, no?”

“That doesn't sound very certain. Tell me, Childe, what are your plans for today?”

“There’s a few debt collections I need to wrap up doing, especially if we’re going to be getting the ship the Tsaritsa wants us to, and with the additional orders she’s given us, including the new recruits she’s sent over, there’s not going to be any time for that to be wrapped up before we leave. Unless I do them at night, but there’s no fun in attacking a sleeping camp.”

“And in your plans today, do tell me, is there any time for seeing your brother that has missed you so much?” Childe does not respond, even with the lengthy silence that stretches onwards. “I'm going to take that as a no. So, as your friend, I am telling you to take the rest of the day off to spend it with your brother .”

“But-”

“Nope!” He waves a hand at Childe, dismissing whatever he was about to say. “I will tell Ekaterina that she’s not to give you any work until your brother has gone. Do not test me.”

“I'm going to go see them once we’re back in Snezhnaya.” Childe complains, dragging his feet across the floor and towards Kaeya. “Please, I just need today and then I've finished all the debt collections.”

“No.” He refuses. “If it’s that simple, you can do it in a day when your brother is gone. Now go away, go find your brother,” he stands to shoo Childe out of the office, all but pushing him out the door, even as Childe digs his heels in and makes his life overall more difficult than it needs to be. He considers shoving him down the stairs at some point, but then he considers the buzz of noise in the foyer below, and decides that if Childe goes crashing down the stairs in an uncoordinated tangle of limbs, as he is wont to do, then more than a few of their potential clients will be scared off. He settles for a firm prod between the shoulders.

Childe grumbles at him, finally beginning to descend the stairs. “Alright, alright. I’ll go find him. Just don't forget about the new recruits, we need to greet them today and sort that out sooner rather than later.”

“I know.” He waves at Childe from the top of the stairs, smiling as Childe makes a rude gesture that is not as hidden by his body as he believes it is. Thankfully, only Ekaterina sees it, grinning widely beneath her mask as she looks between him and Childe. He waves at her too, before turning on his heel and returning to their office.

He has business to do.

Introducing new recruits to their network is always a boring and tedious process. First, he has to hear about the recruits, often through a series of long and painfully boring letters sent with the Tsaritsa’s signature scrawled along the bottom, but with another hand writing the main body of the letter. It normally takes several letters travelling back and forth until he manages to get an answer on how many recruits they’ll be receiving, what their training so far has been (normally abysmal) and when they’ll be arriving. Those writing the letters never seem to appreciate his questions, which would not need to be asked if they simply wrote clearly and told him what to expect. As such, he has several passive-aggressive letters giving minimal detail and requiring him to read them all side-by-side to even hazard a guess at what he’ll be facing when the recruits do finally arrive.

He’s almost certain that the Tsaritsa’s scribes bitch about him. He enjoys writing long and flowery letters in response to their equally long and flowery letters, both containing very little actual information, and designed as a way to lull someone to sleep. He reads a few of them on occasion, when sleep seems to elude him. Works like a charm every single time: he’s out within the first few words.

Still, he had managed to wrangle a few more details free from the most recent letter, comparing it to only one previous one that he had received a few days prior, meaning he didn't have to dig through the boxes of letters currently buried somewhere within the archives of the building. These few details, as scarce as they are, allow him to know the exact number of recruits that is being shipped over, the training each of them have so far undergone, and their proficiencies. There’s very little to know about them, really, but there’s enough for him and Childe to work with while they're still in Liyue.

“Ekaterina.” He leans against the front desk, which is currently unoccupied, tapping a finger idly against it as he waits for a response from her. She’s disappeared into the back office, likely stood amongst the racks of paper files in an effort to waste time and not have to deal with their clients. He should, technically, reprimand her for her negligence of duty, but he has also had the misfortune of dealing with some of their clients firsthand. Several of them get incredibly pushy when they feel as though they're being cheated; whether it’s the interest rate on the return or even the sum of money they've been loaned in the first place, many of their clients will somehow find problems where they do not exist. As such, he allows her this small reprieve from her duties, as otherwise she’d likely strangle the next person to walk up to her desk, potential client or not. And a murder on Bank grounds likely wouldn't help their already subpar reputation in Liyue.

He also isn't the one that has to deal with their unsatisfied customers, that’s Childe’s job. And he takes an immense amount of satisfaction in carrying that particular duty out.

He continues waiting, pausing his tapping to listen as there is first a small bump, then a scuffle, the sound of shoes clicking over the ground and gradually growing closer to the door before Ekaterina is poking her head out, frantically smoothing her hair down and readjusting her mask so it sits correctly on her face.

“Lord Harbinger.” She says, slightly out of breath. Her mask doesn't completely cover the flush rising on her face, a dark red beneath the grey of her mask. There’s a small sound behind her, and he leans a little to the side to try and look through the thin bit of doorway that Ekaterina isn't currently occupying. She closes it a little further, blocking his view with an apologetic smile. “I'm moving things around in here, now isn't really the best time.”

He hums, nodding his head in sympathy. He resumes his tapping against the front desk, watching her debate with herself as she wavers between remaining in the doorway and emerging completely. She remains in the doorway, though she pushes it open a little more. Not enough for him to see past her, but enough to make it seem like she’s not hiding behind it anymore.

“I just have a message I need you to pass on,” he says. “Then you can back to, ah, moving things around .” Ekaterina’s flush darkens a little further at his words, and she pulls the door towards her again, hiding a little more of herself behind it.

“And what might that message be, Lord Harbinger?” To her credit, her voice does not waver as she speaks, remaining perfectly level. It’s almost as if she is entirely calm, though her expression gives everything away. Something to work on, he supposes.

“When the new recruits arrive, I will not be here to greet them. I want them to go to Qingxu Pool and meet me there. Do not give them a map nor directions, I want to see how long it takes them to arrive, you hear me?”

“Yes, Lord Harbinger.” Ekaterina nods.

“That is all,” he dismisses her. “Oh, and do remind your, ah, friend that she is perfectly welcome to use the front entrance next time.” He grins at Ekaterina as she shuts the door again. She doesn't slam it, but he gets the feeling she wants to as she stares out at him, before closing it completely. He allows himself a small laugh at her antics, already knowing that she is definitely not encouraging her friend to use the front entrance in the future. He only hopes that she will be able to drag herself away from the paper stacks long enough to instruct the newest recruits.

For now, though, he needs to actually be at the meeting spot before the recruits arrive.

It takes the recruits a full three hours to find the correct spot. In that time, Kaeya has managed to read halfway through a book he picked up on his way out of the Harbour. It wasn't particularly interesting, but it was something to pass the time with as he waited for the newest recruits to find him.

The first one to emerge over the top of the hill is a geochanter, stumbling and out of breath, wheezing as he leans against his staff, using it more as a prop to hold himself up than a weapon. Though, upon spotting Kaeya he straightens up immediately, controlling his breathing and making it seem a little less like he’s about to pass out from exhaustion.

The recruits following him don't get the memo, each of them stumbling up into the meeting point equally out of breath and tired, before spotting him and attempting to make a good second impression, rather than have him remember their shoddy first impressions.

They fall into formation as he stands, giving him momentary relief that their training hasn't been completely useless so far. They continue to stare at him, and he continues to stare back, watching as one of them begins to murmur something to their neighbour, only to get roughly elbowed in the ribs.

“Did your boat arrive late to the Harbour?” He asks. And it’s a simple question, really, but none of the recruits seem to have an answer for him. Or not one that they're willing to volunteer without a bit more prodding, at least. “That was not a rhetorical question, I was expecting an answer.”

“No, Lord Harbinger.” One of the vanguards speaks up, looking around the group. “Our boat arrived on time.”

“So it arrived two hours ago, correct?” The vanguard nods, which is mimicked by a few of the other recruits. “And yet it took you two hours to find where I was?”

“We didn't know where Qingxu Pool was,” the first recruit speaks up now, no longer leaning so heavily against his staff. “How were we able to arrive on time when we don't know where we’re going?” A few of the recruits around him stiffen, edging away from him slightly, as though they don't want to be caught as some kind of collateral damage to whatever this recruit is going to get.

Kaeya hums.

“And none of you thought of asking the locals? Purchasing a map? I know for a fact there are several maps available throughout the Harbour, and the vendors are hardly going to charge you several thousand mora for a map, are they?” He pats his trousers down until he finds what he’s looking for, though the action is more for dramatising it than him actually looking for anything. “See?” He holds up a map, “I bought this one on my way from the Harbour three hours prior, and unless the five vendors I saw each selling an identical copy of this map packed up and disappeared within the last three hours, then surely you should have been able to purchase a map too?”

Someone mutters something, just a little too quiet for him to pick up. He turns to them anyway, zeroing in on the person that spoke, still slightly leaned towards their neighbour and hand cupped over their mouth.

“Did you say something, recruit?” He asks, “I don't suppose you’d mind sharing with everyone else what it was you deemed so important to talk about?”

The recruit looks at him with wide eyes, as though he hadn't expected to be caught. He crosses his arms when a minute passes in silence, beginning to tap his foot when another two pass without a response.

“Well?” He asks, “I'm waiting.”

“We were told not to buy one.” The recruit blurts, finally breaking the silence that had settled over them so heavily.

“See? Now was that so hard to tell me?” He smiles at them. “If I didn't know any better, I would think I've been sent a warren of rabbits with how skittish you all are.” A few of the recruits bristle at that, including the geochanter from before. He puffs himself up rather tall, hand tightening around his staff.

“With all due respect, Lord Harbinger, how can we be expected to know what you wanted us to do in such a situation?”

“I expected you to know what to do when you find yourself in unfamiliar land, with orders immediately thrust upon you. You don't think that every mission you are assigned will have a superior officer there to hold your hand throughout all of it, do you?” A few of the recruits snicker at that, and the geochanter turns a rather brilliant shade of red. “If you are expecting that, then I suggest you hand in your notice and take the first ship back to Snezhnaya.”

The geochanter has no more to say after that, ducking his head and attempting to disappear within a crowd of twenty.

“Right,” he lowers his arms from where they had been crossed. “I'm not the one that’s going to reprimand you for your massive oversight on how you got here, I will leave that to Tartaglia; he does rather enjoy teaching a lesson, and I do believe you’ll find his lessons hard to forget after you've experienced one.”

Several of the recruits pale at that, no doubt imagining all kinds of horrible methods of torture that might be inflicted upon them. Childe is certainly not one for torture though, preferring to confuse the recruits as much as is physically possible, before leaving them with the realisation that their superior officer is just plain old insane. It seems to work far better than any threats he’s chosen to use in the past, so he just leaves it to Childe now.

“For now, though, I have a little speech for you, and then you can enjoy the sights of Liyue as much as you want to.” None of the recruits move, remaining firmly in formation as he begins to speak, reciting over the lines that he’d learned on his trip over here. He doesn't quite understand why they need to baptise them with the will of the Tsaritsa , but he doesn't have the time or energy to go back and forth with the Tsaritsa’s scribes to try and figure out what that means. “You have been sent to Liyue to carry out Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa’s will, and from this day forward you will honour those oaths that you made to Her Majesty, and stop nothing to bring Snezhnaya to victory.”

There’s movement in his peripheral and Kaeya, aware that this is a small hotspot for treasure hoarders, gives it a little of his attention as he trails off. There is a child watching, crouched low like he won't be seen, despite the red of his hair standing out against the green grass. It takes only a few moments for Childe and Lumine to appear as well, the former dropping to his knee beside Teucer and chastising him.

“You shall sweep through this land like the icy winds of the furthest north, as strong as the hoar frost of the Zapolyarny Palace.” None of his speech means very much, it’s simply meant to inspire the new recruits and make them feel important so they don't jump ship at the first sign of hardship. “You will chill the very marrow in our enemies’ bones!” There’s a small murmur of appreciation from his watching crowd, several of the recruits puffing themselves up like prideful birds. Childe is covering Teucer’s ears, muffling his words with his hands. “Her Majesty expects of you loyalty, ruthlessness, and meticulousness. For the trials we face are harsh and our enemies are like rabid wolves: they seek for nothing more than to tear you apart and reduce you to shreds. But you shall not let this knowledge cripple you, instead you will allow it to make you stronger, force you to prove yourself so Her Majesty may look upon her subjects with pride rather than scorn.”

Childe makes a face at him from across the heads of the recruits, and he has to resist from making a face back at him, aware of the numerous eyes currently resting on him. The recruits all look a little lost, looking back and forth as though unsure of what to do next.

He steps down from the small podium he was standing on, and the recruits part around him as he walks through the centre, each stepping to the side and allowing him passage. They resume formation as soon as he’s passed by them.

“Are you waiting for something?” He asks, casting them a look over his shoulder. “You're dismissed. Go have fun, or something. I don't know what you do.” The recruits continue staring at him, not breaking from formation and instead twisting their heads around awkwardly to look at him. He gestures at them, makes a shooing motion, watching as the first recruit takes a tentative step out of formation. Once he doesn't react to the movement, a few others start to move too, until the formation is dissipating around him and making their way back to the Harbour.

Several of them have seen Childe at this point too, their hushed murmurs making it to his ears as he brushes past them and towards Childe. He’s no longer holding his hands over Teucer’s ears, but he doesn't look incredibly happy either.

“Your speech was great!” Teucer interrupts whatever it is that his brother might want to have said, pulling Kaeya’s eyes away from Childe. “I didn't even have to hear the words to know really cool! I wanna be just like you when I'm older!”

“You’ll have to grow up a bit before that happens.” He laughs, feeling Childe’s eyes on him. “And you’d have to train a bit, get better at fighting too, hm?”

“Why would a toy salesman have to fight?”

A…toy salesman?

He has to bite back a laugh at that, eyes flicking up to Childe, before dropping to crouch by Teucer. “Well, Teucer, sometimes other toy salesmen really want to steal the ideas we have for toys, so obviously we have to defend them, right?”

“Right!” Teucer’s eyes are shining again, grinning as he tugs on Childe’s hand, hard enough to make Childe’s whole body shake as he practically vibrates in place. He’s beginning to understand that the boundless energy Childe possesses might just be a family trait. “You’ll teach me to fight, right?” He looks up at Childe, “Then I can be just like you when I'm older! I can be cool like you,” he glances up at Kaeya, “both of you!”

“Being able to fight isn't just about looking cool.” Childe says, obviously trying to dissuade his brother from being just like him . “Fighting is about having a purpose to it, otherwise you just hit a block and can't get stronger.” 

Teucer frowns at him.

Childe sighs. “I can teach you, but I want you to tell me why you want to fight. And not just because it’s cool.”

Teucer frowns a little deeper, but it’s more in a I’m about what to say way than a I'm about to throw a tantrum way. “Because…” Teucer considers his next words, “I want to protect Tonia?”

“Aw, that’s a good answer, Teucer.” Childe pats him on the top of his head, squashing his hat down a little further and causing it to cover his eyes. Teucer squawks his protest, shoving at Childe’s hand and darting out of reach, pushing his hat back up so it isn't covering his eyes anymore. “How about we make a deal, hm?”

“A pinkie promise,” Teucer insists, sticking his hand out, only his pinkie finger extended.

“You don't even know what I'm gonna say yet.” Childe laughs. “That’s bad business practice, you know.”

Teucer frowns, retracting his hand towards his chest, staring at his brother. “What deal do you want to make?” He asks, watching Childe distrustfully, as though he’s about to trick him.

“I’ll teach you how to fight when I get back to Snezhnaya,” Childe says, “if you go home once we get back to the Harbour.”

Teucer’s eyes widen at Childe’s deal, though not in excitement. “But I've barely seen you!” Teucer cries, throwing himself forward and latching onto Childe’s leg, holding on tight. Childe’s eyes widen a little, and he shoots Kaeya a look as though this is at all his problem to deal with. He doesn't mind kids, but dealing with upset kids is something he’s not at all equipped to deal with. “I came here to see you but we've barely spent any time together! And you haven't even taken me to the Institute of Toy Research! You promised me you would!”

“I-” Childe is lost for words, still looking at Kaeya for help. He pretends to inspect his nails through his gloves, turning his hand over as he fiddles with his glove, steadfastly ignoring Childe. Lumine is staring at him too, watching their whole exchange silently as it goes back and forth. Paimon floats beside her, unusually quiet for someone who normally cannot shut up. “Fine,” Childe pries Teucer from his leg. “How about this? I take you to visit the Institute of Toy Research, and then you go home, hm?”

Teucer considers it for a moment, before beaming, all signs of sadness gone from his face. “Deal!” He stretches his pinkie out, and Childe takes it with a small smile, hooking their pinkies around each other and allowing his brother to recite the rhyme that never fails to unsettle Kaeya a little.

Lumine doesn't even bother hiding her discomfort at the odd rhyme, glancing away as she shifts from foot to foot. Paimon mutters something under her breath, which the traveller nods along with.

“Away we go then!” Childe straightens up, and Teucer runs ahead, leaving them to catch up with him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Lumine asks Childe. “All those ruin guards are coming from your Institute of Toy Research and you want to take a child there?”

“You're coming too aren't you?” Childe asks, nudging Lumine in the shoulder. “I don't see how Teucer will be in any danger with us three around, unless,” he twists to face Kaeya, “you're leaving?”

“No.” He says. “If we’re going where I think we are, I need to visit there anyway.”

“Oh?” Childe pauses to fall into step beside him, Lumine speeding up a little to pull Teucer back towards their group before he has the bright idea to try and befriend a geovishap or something equally dumb. “Anything special?”

“Dottore’s request.” He sighs. “He says he’s not sure if he left some of the machines running, and the realisation was like when you realise you've left the oven lit, but he can't exactly hop on over to Liyue. So,” he gestures aimlessly, “me, I guess.”

“You were his errand boy for a while.” Childe notes.

“Not for a long time.” He watches as Lumine waves her sword at a geovishap hatchling, attempting to scare it away without fighting it, before apparently giving up and just dashing towards it, too fast for Teucer to follow. Hopefully. “Don't think Dottore sees it like that.”

“Aw, he likes you really.” Childe nudges at him, scarf fluttering around his shoulders as they crest the hill. Lumine is desperately herding Teucer away from the geovishap hatchling’s corpse, staring at both of them. He waves at her. “He’d have peeled you open to find out how you worked otherwise.”

“Speaking from experience are we?”

“Pulcinella looming over his shoulder, or, well, looming as best as he can when Dottore’s twice his height at least, was enough to dissuade him from doing that to me.”

He hums in response, watching as Teucer attempts to eat a jueyun chilli fresh off the bush.

“Don't think I didn't notice.” He says. Childe turns to look at him in question. “You've got blood on your jaw, and smeared just under your eye. I thought you were wearing eyeliner for a minute, when you first arrived, but then I realised you went debt collecting anyway.”

“Why didn't you tell me earlier?” Childe hisses, rubbing at his face. “Why didn't Lumine tell me?”

“Because she enjoys watching you suffer.” Lumine is holding the jueyun chilli now, holding it above her head and away from Teucer as she explains to him why he shouldn't eat it. Childe turns to look at him. “It’s still there.” He grabs Childe’s face, pulling them both to a halt as he wipes a thumb over the blood, before retrieving the scrap of fabric he keeps for this very purpose and rubbing it away.

Childe winces a little at the rough treatment, but doesn't protest any further, allowing Kaeya to wipe the remaining traces of blood away. “You either need to start getting better at cleaning yourself up, or start fighting cleaner.” He pauses in consideration. “Start doing the latter, actually. It’s tiring to get someone in to clear up after you've torn through it.”

“Hey.” Childe frowns at him. “It’s not that bad. Right?”

“It is.” He pats Childe’s cheek, stepping back. “Your brother is trying to eat a jueyun chilli.”

“What!” Childe’s head whips around so fast Kaeya’s neck hurts just from watching it. “Teucer!” Teucer ignores him. “ Teucer !” He starts running, pulling Teucer away from where he had been preparing to climb Lumine to access the chilli.

Kaeya doesn't bother running, walking along the path and waiting for them to catch up to him. He knows the vague whereabouts of the Institute of Toy Research is, the small details Dottore had given him to locate it were enough to find the front door. Dottore would have a fit if he called it the Institute of Toy Research in front of him…maybe he should.

Paimon eats the jueyun chilli in the end, floating along next to the traveller happily as she eats it like an apple. It’s a little hard not to stare, even as he reminds himself it’s more than a little rude to do so, and Lumine begins giving him a hard look. Paimon doesn't even react, too caught up in her…treat.

The research facility, when they arrive, is in a rather sorry state. There’s small clouds of smoke trailing into the sky, thick and dark around the imposing steel doors that Dottore is so fond of. He’s surprised the millelith haven't found the root of their ruin guard problem yet, especially with the literal smoke signal in front of it.

“What is this place?” Paimon asks, swallowing down the last of the chilli happily before beginning to inspect the place they've arrived at.

“It’s one of Dottore’s research facilities.” Kaeya supplies. There’s little harm in telling them when he’s already here to dismantle it. “He enjoys tinkering with old things, for whatever reason; he converted these ruins into a lab so he could research the ruin guards.”

Paimon makes an odd noise. “The Fatui makes the ruin guards?”

“No,” he gives her an appraising look, wondering whether she actually has a brain rattling around inside her head or not, “they have closer ties to the Abyss, Dottore just enjoys playing with things. Poking his fingers where they're wont to get caught in the gears.” Paimon gives him a confused look. “We just do research,” Kaeya sighs, “nothing more.”

“So why are they suddenly escaping?” Paimon asks. “If it’s a research lab surely they should just…stay there, right?”

“Dottore probably got bored. He just lost interest and moved on, probably went back to Snezhnaya.” He shrugs. “It’s hardly my business to know what the other Harbingers do.” Unless Dottore tells him what he was doing. Though he doesn't recall him mentioning anything about ruin guards recently.

“Wow.” Paimon crosses her arms, staring up at the doors ahead of them. “Sounds like he’s super irresponsible then. Surely he should've shut everything down if he was just gonna ditch it.”

“He probably forgot,” he steps ahead, eyeing the mechanism that locks the front entrance shut, “which is why I'm here.”

“You're here because Dottore forgot you aren't his errand boy anymore.” Childe teases, though he places his hand on the second lock when he instructs him to, both of them twisting it as the door rumbles open, sliding back and allowing a blast of hot air to rush out and greet them. Steam hisses out after it, though far slower, diffusing through the air.

“He knows I'm not his errand boy,” he grumbles, “he just chooses to ignore it when it’s convenient for him.”

Teucer runs ahead, or at least attempts to, Childe catching his arm and pulling him backwards, to a safer distance. “C’mon Teucer, we need to be careful walking around in here, there might be super secret plans and if you saw those you wouldn't be allowed to leave.”

“Maybe I don't want to leave!” Teucer says, wriggling free of Childe’s grip. But he doesn't run off like expected, grinning up at Childe as they enter the facility. It has the same layout as the numerous facilities he’s had to visit over the years because Dottore felt like he’d left the oven lit in them, so to speak.

Childe grabs his Teucer’s hand before he can run off again, resisting Teucer’s attempts to slip free as they descend further into the facility. It’s going well, all things considered, up until Teucer sees something and decides he needs to be there immediately, and takes off, dragging Childe behind him.

“Childe! Don't-” He yells, recognising the door and the symbol beside it, as well as the invisible line Childe is seconds away from crossing. Childe glances back at him, though not quick enough to prevent him from stumbling over the invisible boundary, dragged after his brother. The door slams shut behind the two of them, leaving him and Lumine staring at it. “-go in there.” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“The door’s shut!” Paimon squeaks, hands flying to her face. “Will they be alright?”

“They're fine.” He stares at it a moment longer, as though it’s going to open on its own. “It would be worse if they were here on their own, they'd be trapped then. But we’re here, so it’s fine.” He smiles at Paimon, who does not appear even a little appeased by it.

“I should have gone back to the Harbour when I had the chance.” Lumine says mournfully, staring at the door. “There’s so many other things I could be doing right now.” Despite her complaints, she follows him as he makes his way down a side corridor, one that he knows moves alongside the corridor he knows Teucer and Childe are currently trapped in.

“We’ll reimburse you for your time when we get back to the Bank.”

Lumine laughs. “You better.”

There’s a small gap in the wall, filled with bars instead, through which they can see Childe and Teucer. Both of them appear unharmed so far, and there’s been no sound of heavy machinery yet, so he assumes Dottore either had the foresight to deactivate his traps before he left, or they simply haven't come across any yet.

Childe knows what to do, Kaeya’s brought him along on more than one of his errand-running missions, and they're well-practised in this song and dance at this point. It means that they can progress silently, making their way through the labyrinth of rooms and avoiding the traps that Dottore has definitely not deactivated.

Lumine is doing her best to bore a hole in the side of his head with her eyes alone. He’s long grown used to such glares being directed at him that he can ignore it well enough, brushing the slight prickle of his skin away as they continue to progress.

The last door slides out, releasing them into a larger room. It’s here that they're able to reunite, Childe looking him over as though checking him for injuries. There was hardly anything for him to injure himself on, or at least not things he hadn't already seen before and therefore knew how to do.

“What’s over there!” Teucer slips free of Childe’s hold, running away from the small group. “Woah!” He stops short in the doorway, “This room is huge! Is this where Mr. Cyclops takes his friends when they come to visit?”

Childe jogs slightly to catch up with Teucer, peering into the room beyond. Kaeya follows, and the room is certainly huge, with a towering ceiling that arches high above them, several pieces of scaffolding still half-constructed against the walls and hanging from the ceiling - not at all safe, and definitely still constructed in the way it was when Dottore was still actively using the facility. The room is covered by a thin veil of steam, and, slumped around the edges, are several ruin guards that are definitely not deactivated nor destroyed.

The closest one flashes as it detects movement, eye lighting up briefly before going dark again. It’s limbs begin to shift, hands creaking as it prepares to heave itself from the floor. Childe’s eyes widen, and he pushes Teucer backwards, behind himself and out of sight of the ruin guards.

“Teucer,” Childe says, voice still cheerful despite the panic on his face, not looking back as another ruin guard, then another activate in response to the first few movements of the first ruin guard. “How about we play a game of hide-and-seek?”

“Now?” Teucer whines, trying to peer around Childe’s legs. Kaeya pulls him backwards a little more, away from where he might catch a glimpse of the ruin guards. “But…”

“I have a surprise for you!” Childe says, even as his hydro blades swirl into his hands, the soft sound of moving water drowned below the creaking of metal and whirring of gears.

“A surprise?” Teucer stops trying to look around Childe’s legs, instead looking up at his brother’s back. “What kind of surprise?”

“It would hardly be a surprise if I told you, would it?” Childe laughs. The first ruin guard is standing now, the others not far behind it. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, heart in his mouth as he realises that they've brought an actual, literal child into one of Dottore’s facilities . “Just close your eyes, turn around, and count to sixty, okay?”

Childe meets his eyes then, the blue of them going flinty as he nods.

“Okay,” Teucer says, and Kaeya watches as he turns around, covering his eyes with his hands, “Sixty is a super long time though.”

Childe doesn't wait for another answer, bursting forward in a flash of hydro, swinging with his blade and taking out the first ruin guard’s legs, bringing it crashing to the floor. Kaeya darts past him, teleporting halfway across the, quite frankly, massive room and dropping a chunk of ice on the third ruin guard.

Childe plunges his blade into the eye of the first ruin guard, bringing it down properly this time and keeping it down. It slumps over with a few sparks, leaving him free to lunge towards the second ruin guard.

Kaeya shoves a hand towards the third ruin guard, and a shard of ice impales it perfectly, a clean shot the whole way through and out the other side. It freezes with one foot in the air, preparing to stamp down on him, and he has to roll out of the way as it begins to topple, falling forward as the rest of it catches up with its sudden lack of power.

A clanking sound makes him glance up, staring overhead as three more ruin guards are carried into the room by massive hooks. He backs up a step, then another and another until he’s in the doorway again, watching with held breath as the ruin guards swing back and forth.

They look like dolls, swinging overhead like that, as though gripped by some unseen hand forcing them to act. Their legs sway back and forth, and that horrible sound of the activating echoes through the room, drowning out most other noise around them.

Except for one. “Three,” Teucer counts, and him and Childe both share a panicked look at how low the numbers have gotten. “Two.” The first two ruin guards land, heavy on their feet and causing the floor beneath them to shake. Lumine is staring at them too, taking a hesitant step forward, placing herself between the ruin guards and Teucer.

Dust rises around them, stirred up by the landing of the three ruin guards. They whirr and click as they step forward, sounding as though they're about to explode on their own from disrepair. They don't, unfortunately. “One. You ready!”

Childe sucks in a breath, expression flattening out as he grips his blades a little tighter. “Give me another ten seconds, Teucer. Still hiding.” He says, eyes darting to the side, towards Kaeya, as he speaks. The air crackles as Childe stares at him, just a moment too long, and it then takes him a moment longer to understand why the air is crackling around them, causing his hair to lift with the static.

“Now who’s the cheater.” he whips back around to stare at Teucer, fully prepared to just snatch him up and whisk him away if he even considers stepping into the room right now. “Alright,” Teucer says, and he relaxes, if only slightly, “ten seconds.”

“ Childe .” He hisses out between teeth, but Childe is either ignoring him or too caught up in the moment to hear him, because he does it anyway. The stupid fucking idiot does it again, with the knowledge of what it did to him last time he used it, and to use it again so soon is simply the epitome of idiocy-

The room crackles with electro, taking on a purple sheen as Childe plunges to the ground, impaling it with his blade and causing a shockwave to travel out and back towards them. He throws up a hasty shield, blocking the worst of it and absorbing some of it, before allowing it to fall again.

Childe plunges his blade into the first, pushing off of it and zipping towards the second before it can even recover from the pure wave of electro energy he’d shot at it. The wires spark as he tears through them and Kaeya can't help but stare, watching as he shoots towards the final ruin guard, Teucer’s narration the only reminder that this is something he can't afford to mess up.

“Two,” the final ruin guard hits the ground, slumped beside its brethren. “One.” Childe glances up, mask flashing, before he disappears, only electro left crackling in his wake as he hides. “Coming, ready or not!”

Teucer turns around with a laugh, eyes widening as he takes in the scene ahead of him. It takes him a moment to process, it seems, before he’s running past Kaeya with a child-like glee that should not be associated with scattered and destroyed ruin guards in any way. He stops to peer at one, Lumine right behind him.

Teucer’s in safe enough hands for now, so he only feels a little guilty as he slips away, leaving Lumine to deal with Teucer for five minutes as he figures out where Childe went. It’s not incredibly hard, all things considered, seeing as he leaves a rather prominent trail of electro behind him, as well as a heavy amount of Abyssal energy, clouding the air.

When he finds him, it’s a rather pathetic sight. Childe opens his eyes a little to peer at him as he enters, eyes slits as he watches him approach.

“You're an idiot,” Kaeya says, “I hope you know that.”

“Trust me,” Childe shifts and gasps, clutching as something in his side. “I am very aware of that fact.”

“Good.” He crouches beside him. “I just wanted to remind you of that before I start showing concern. You pull some shit like this again and I’ll leave you to bleed out.”

“Nah,” Childe cracks a grin at him, “you won't. You love me too much for that.” And he does, he most certainly does, but Childe doesn't need any more reason to continue pulling dumb stunts like this in the future. Instead, he hits him. Hard .

“Ow!” Childe yelps, hand flying to his shoulder as he rubs at it. “That hurt!”

“It was meant to.” He frowns at him.

“You're not meant to hit injured people!” Childe protests, slumping a little further down the wall. Personally, Kaeya would never lean against any walls in Dottore’s facilities. He’s seen what goes on in them, and even if there’s only ruin guards in here, he’d bet his whole wallet there’s blood on most of these walls. “That’s mean.”

“Yeah, well, this horrible person is also going to get you back to the Harbour.”

“Nuh-uh!” Childe shoves him away before he can grab him. “There’s no way in hell you're teleporting me back to the Harbour.” Childe’s eyes narrow. “I’ll vomit on you. I swear. And I know you're wearing your favourite cloak today, you don't want vomit on it, do you?”

“Alternatively, we can walk out there and you get to tell your brother that you're not actually a toy salesman, how about that, hm?” He cocks his head to the side and Childe groans.

“Okay, okay, I know it was a dumb lie. But what else was I meant to do! I was fourteen and he was three! He wasn't gonna know, nor did my parents want him to know, that his big brother was off joining the fucking army because he had a death tally.”

“We’re going to address that later,” he tells Childe, “but for now I think we’re going with the first option. And, I swear to every Archon above, if you even so much as gag I will drop you on the floor, got it?”

Childe grumbles a little under his breath, but eventually acquiesces, lifting his arms and allowing himself to be hauled to his feet. “Got it.” He leans heavily into Kaeya’s side, tensing and bracing himself as Kaeya feels about for the ley lines, finding one and giving it a tug, pulling them through and spitting them out in their small apartment.

He holds Childe at arm’s length, fully prepared for him to actually vomit. He looks a little pale, paler than he usually is at least, but he doesn't throw up. “Okay.” He presses a hand to either shoulder, “I'm going to run you a bath, then I'm going to go back and find Lumine and Teucer, okay?”

“Wait!” Childe grabs onto him before he can leave, pulling him back towards Childe. Childe underestimates his strength, pulling them almost nose to nose, before backing up a little with an awkward cough. “I want you to give this to Teucer,” he pulls something from some apparently massive pocket on him, presenting a small stuffed toy to him. “Can you give it to him on my behalf?”

He takes it with a sigh. “Forget Dottore, you're turning me into your errand boy at this point.” Childe laughs, ducking his head a little so it rests against Kaeya’s chest. He hopes Childe can't feel how fast his heart is going, or hear it. He really hopes he can't hear it, because that would just be embarrassing.

“I can run that bath myself,” Childe says, “just, ah, go check on Teucer for me will you?”

“Okay.” He gives Childe one last, lingering look, checking him over for injuries despite knowing that most of the damage is internal or won't bruise for another hour at least. Still, he can't help it, even as he steps backwards into the embrace of the ley lines. Childe is the last thing he sees before he reemerges back in Dottore’s facility.

Just in time, too, as Lumine appears around the corner, looking more than a little frazzled. Even Paimon looks tired, floating a little lower than usual. “Childe- oh.” She cuts herself off, staring at him. “Where’s Childe?”

“Not here.” He says, stating the incredibly obvious. Lumine makes a face at him.

“I can see that,” she mutters, “I'm not stupid .”

“He won't be back,” he says, “urgent business, you know how it is.”

“I don't, actually.” She crosses her arms, staring at him. He stares back until she sighs. “Whatever, I don't care enough to ask, as long as you explain to Teucer why his dearest brother has disappeared on him.” She pulls a face at that, stalking away before Kaeya can say anything else.

The ruin guard plush he’s holding grows a little heavier in his hand, and he feels more than a little guilty as he hands it to Teucer with a smile and an excuse and an apology, all rolled into one. Teucer takes it as happily as a slight spoiled child can, meaning he frowned a little, but cheered up at the sight of the Mr. Cyclops toy.

“And you need to return home now,” he reminds the child. Teucer frowns at the thought, turning to Kaeya as though he can beg for more time. “No,” he refuses, before Teucer can even say anything, “you made a pinkie promise to Childe, and the arrangements have already been made.”

Teucer frowns a little deeper, but makes no further complaint, choosing instead to sulk as they make their way back to the Harbour. It’s a little annoying to deal with a sulking child on a long walk back, especially one that keeps accidentally kicking stones at him and Lumine as he drags his feet. But it is also far better than having to deal with an overly energetic childe that seems determined to get himself killed in one way or another.

Andrei looks less than thrilled to have childcare forced onto him, giving Kaeya a doubtful look at the handover. Teucer puts up a small protest over Andrei being a stranger, something that Kaeya is quick to reassure him of, promising him that he’ll see Childe again in a few weeks, upon their return to Snezhnaya.

That, at least, is enough to cheer him up. Enough to get him out the doors of the Bank and away from Liyue. On the first boat back to Snezhnaya that afternoon.

The traveller waits for her payment, then she disappears too, quoting some meeting with friends, or something, leaving Kaeya alone in the Bank for a few moments.

“Your new recruits weren't happy.” Ekaterina says, from behind him.

He sighs, laughing as he runs a hand through his hair, untangling the loose braid and pulling his hair free from it. “They never are.” He responds, turning to face her.

She’s pushed her mask up onto her forehead, it’s after hours and he doesn't have the energy to reprimand her for it currently. “Have fun today?” She asks, a teasing smile on her face, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Teucer seemed to like you.”

“You are a horrible, horrible person.” He says. “I'm going to bed.”

“Sleep well, Lord Harbinger!” She calls after him, laughing as he waves her off, pushing out the doors and past the night guard. Childe is probably doing something stupid right now, like walking about, or something. That thought alone is enough to make him speed up, hurrying through the streets a little faster than a non-suspicious person would, though no millelith makes a move to stop him.