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Chapter Text

There is no Dust in the Abyss.

Conventional practice postulates that dust is evidence of divinity - Celestia’s blessing made manifest. More recent scientific study has found that Dust is actually a naturally occurring particle, made unique by its association with humankind and their marks upon the land. Heretical science further theorized that Dust itself is tangible evidence of human consciousness, though outside of the hushed halls of the Akademia, where divinity is little more than a subject of study and skepticism, any modern scientist who wants to have much in the way of a lifespan stops short of using Dust as so blatant a denouncement of the divine. 

(Everyone knows what happened to Khaenri’ah for their heresy.) 

The Abyss is the antithesis to Dust. Irregardless of whether it is Celestial or Conscious, the dark powers that taint the deep will snuff out its light and swallow it right up. Neither god nor man can live both safe and whole in those accursed depths.  

In the end, Khaenri’ahn science was proved correct, but not before the great capital of the Abyss went up in flames, having made only war, not art. 

The little boy from Morepesok does not know much of this. His family is poor and his town is remote, neither factor conducive to a proper education in arithmetic or spelling, let alone scientific theology. 

But he does know, as he stumbles into a crack in the earth and finds himself falling quickly away from his lonely snowy forest, that the light from the shimmering gold that follows him down only reaches so far before it is swallowed up by the dark. 

It was mid-morning when the Snezhnayan ship finally docked in Liyue harbor, the sky above a bright and empty reflection of the great ocean they had just crossed.

Though not so bright as the smile of the first man to step out upon the gangway - and not so empty as his eyes. 

Two black leather boots dance their way down to the dock, followed closely behind by the four black-furred paws of an Inazuma fox. Tartaglia, the 11th Fatui Harbinger, and his Daemon, Temasha, the Honorable Miss, have arrived in Liyue.

For a moment, the pair pauses, holding fast in perfect military stance as they survey the thronging crowds of the morning port - a variegated blend of man and daemon alike. Then, with twin peals of cackling laughter, they dart forward into the rush, distant calls of ‘Lord Harbinger’ lost behind them on the wind.

They are here on their Majesty's orders to retrieve the Gnosis of Rex Lapis, Archon of Liyue, and they will not fail. The hunt has begun; time to kill a God.

---

Ekaterina announces her presence with two quick raps on his office door before opening it. “Master Childe,” she greets, “I'm here to remind you that your meeting with the Fatui contact from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor begins in half an hour?”

Childe groans, “Yes, come in,” he groans, pushing his forehead into his fingertips. It’s barely noon and he's already drained from his meeting with Liyue’s Tianquan early that morning. While technically meant to be a brief introductory meeting between the City’s leader and a foreign diplomat, it had felt more like an extended interrogation session, where she and her daemon - a tall red-headed crane that he had nearly mistaken for a statue - picked apart his entire facade with their piercing gazes. Sure, the conversation had consisted of nothing but (thinly veiled) pleasantries, but he had walked out exhausted and feeling like she knew more about his mission than he did. 

Suffice it to say, he was not looking forward to another tedious meeting with the Fatui contact here. He was what, a funeral worker? Childe fully expected some doddering old man with no useful information about Rex Lapis who would simply waste his precious time and wear him out in an entirely different manner. But, well, a job was a job and he was expected to maintain a functional reputation for the Fatui while he was here. 

While he is bemoaning the lack of any proper fights to be found in this damned city of contracts, Ekaterina strides into his office. He's known her for a little less than a week, but he already finds himself quite liking the secretary. So far she's been both competent and professional, and both she and her daemon - a dark grey cat with as steely a gaze as she - have already perfected their tag-team get-Childe-to-actually-do-his-job routine. He feels Temasha wither a little under Aleksanders dry stare, and reluctantly accepts the dossier Ekaterina hands him. 

“You will be meeting Mr. Zhongli at Lilui Pavillion at 12:30, I've already taken the liberty to make a reservation at that time, under the Northland Bank, so you better not miss it, there's a map on the back side, though it is on the main street so you should have no trouble finding it,” she summarizes quickly. “Is there anything else I can do for you before you leave?”

He scans the document quickly, “Unfortunately I don't think you can take my place, but thanks, I better get going.”

---

It’s a quick walk to Lilui Pavilion and as soon as he mentions his reservation, an even quicker walk upstairs to one of their private rooms. He had thought he was a few minutes early, but when he arrives there is already a man seated at the low table, carefully sipping at a cup of steaming tea. At the noise of his arrival, the man sets down his cup and looks up at him and oh Archons this man - Zhongli - is not at all what he had imagined. Then he pushes himself up in one sweeping, sinuous motion and Childe has to do everything to keep himself from staring too long at the man’s stunning figure, and then Zhongli steps forward, takes his hand, offering an introduction in a deep rumbling baritone and … oh Childe is screwed.

(Childe stumbles through his own introductions and tries desperately to ignore the sudden heat in his cheeks)

“I wasn't sure what you might like best,” Zhongli says when they sit, “so I took the liberty of ordering the entire menu.”

“Oh?” he replies, still trying to reign in his body's reactions, “I must admit I am still unfamiliar with Liyue cuisine, so I will be entrusting myself to your judgment, Mr. Zhongli.” he says with a grin.

This was evidently the right thing to say, as Zhongli immediately launched into a discourse on the culture of food in Liyue, and the two most common divisions - Li and Yue.

But after several minutes of surprisingly scintillating conversation - apparently Li cuisine, on which this restaurant specializes, focuses mainly on materials sourced from the inland mountains, rather than the seafood preference of Yue - Childe finds himself shifting uncomfortably at the low table. Sure he may be incredibly fit and flexible, but (unfortunately) kneeling is not something he has much practice doing. Conversely, Temasha is quite enjoying just lounging on a cushion, and Zhongli sits still as a statue across from him. 

Mr. Zhongli, of course, notices his discomfort. “Ah, the seating is bothering you, yes? Many visitors new to Liyue find it uncomfortable, but with several weeks of practice you will be quite accustomed to it.” Childe nods, he’s quite sure of that, he’s always been adaptable, but settles as the consultant continues.  “The low table is actually an extremely traditional dining method here,” he explains, “It came into practice as a way of including the whole self in daily mealtimes, offering body and soul, human and daemon a seat at the table…” he trails off.

Childe watches as his eyebrows raise and his mouth drops into a delicate ‘o’, before he reaches inside his jacket; pulling something out and setting it on the table. He pulls his hand back and reveals a small...reptile. Childe honestly can't tell if the man's daemon is a toad or a lizard. 

“Good afternoon, Azhdaha.” Zhongli murmurs to his daemon, offering it a soft smile which Childe immediately commits to memory forever. Azhdaha just lies there. And if Childe finds it a bit odd that such a lively and charismatic (and beautiful) man has such an unusually sluggish soul, he is not so rude as to mention it.

(and his attention is stolen moments later anyways as the charming consultant takes his hand in his to help him with the abhorrent little sticks.)

“You are lucky you have me,” Temasha grumbles after they have reluctantly parted from the company of the delightful Mr. Zhongli. 

It is mid-evening now, as they walk back to the Northland Bank, and the setting sun has fallen behind the mountains and would have cast the main street into cool shadows but for the warm glow of the lanterns adorning the night market stalls.

“I think we’re lucky that our contact turned out to be such a delightful man,” Childe replies, grinning. He had managed to arrange a second lunch with Mr. Zhongli in three days, and he already can't wait.

“No you numbskull,” she chides, “there's something off with him, I'm serious, here lemme up.”

Childe obligingly sinks nearly to his knees midstride, lowering himself so that his Daemon, with a careful leap, is able to quickly climb to his shoulders, and by the time he has risen up and resumed his normal pace, she is already settled snugly around his neck like a great oversized scarf.

“I swear,” her soft voice murmurs beside his ear, “there's something wrong with his Daemon.”

Tartaglia speeds up his pace.

“I did think it was a bit out of character,” he says when they're finally back within the (relative) privacy of his office. “But Daemons aren't always what we expect them to be,” he looks away, “and I was a bit distracted…”

“Oh yes I'm well aware, but more than that; as manifestations of the soul made out of Dust, all Daemons smell like Dust, it's a very distinct smell. If I were feeling poetic, I’d call it something like burnt starlight.”

“And I'm presuming that Azhdaha didn't quite smell like that?”

“Not at all. His ‘Daemon’ smelt like the dry earth. Like Geo.”

---

“Ok you’re definitely right, what in Teyvat even was that?” Childe shouts at Temasha a few months later back in their room, “How does someone just forget their Daemon?”

For the past couple of months Childe and Temasha had continued to have meetings with the consultant, picking up the frequency until the two met nearly daily for lunch as well as dinner. Over that time they had made a passive effort to keep an eye on Zhongli, and particularly, his Daemon. Well, Temasha did. Childe was more focused on subtly flirting with the man and frequently eyeing the well built body hidden under oh so many layers.

Regardless, the results were … inconclusive, to say the least. If he didn't know any better, Childe would wonder if Azhdaha was simply a very well trained (and lethargic) lizard, while the man's real Daemon hid somewhere else on his body. Except the practice of keeping a pet as a fake Daemon was usually (in his experience) only used by agents with the most dangerous of jobs, not by eccentric but harmless funeral consultants. And Temasha swears up and down that she had heard the thing speak, once. Normal reptiles don't talk. They had considered the possibility that Azhdaha was Zhongli's actual, legitimate Daemon - despite how ill fitting it seemed and how abnormal they were, but after today Childe didn't think they could maintain the suspension of disbelief charade they had going.

They had been going about their usual routine, where after getting dinner together, Zhongli would take Childe to the night market, letting the ginger fund his eccentric purchases and contribute to the Liyuen economy. The whole time Zhongli would keep animatedly discussing the various wares, antiquities, and snacks to be found, while Childe and Temasha would trail behind, happily supplying the Mora the man always forgot. 

Now Childe can excuse a bit of absentmindedness, he had long accepted Zhongli’s inability to remember his Mora as one of his many character traits, and, well, as long as he was there to accompany him it never posed much of a problem.

But today, as they stopped by a booth advertising fine cuts of gems and precious stones - which Zhongli had been drawn to immediately, of course - Azhdaha had seen something on the display that interested him, and with more motivation than Childe had ever seen in the small creature, wriggled out of Zhongli’s coat and onto the table. Zhongli had laughed, commented that Azhdaha had always had an eye for stones - Cor Lapis especially, and then resumed animatedly talking with the shopkeeper about the intricate details of her wares. By the time they moved on (Childes wallet many thousand Mora lighter), Azhdaha had slipped his mind. As well as, surprisingly, Zhongli’s.

After that, they had spent several more hours just wandering the night market, covering nearly the entire length of the city in their perusal. Childe, of course, was always thrilled to spend more time with the consultant, and he was slowly growing hopeful that said consultant enjoyed his company as well. Though eventually the evening must come to an end, and the moon sits high in the sky by the time the tables begin to be packed up and the lanterns dimmed. The two are sharing a glass of wine and a bench overlooking the harbor, their coats discarded and draped over the back, unneeded with the warmth of the night air and from their drink. 

But finally the cup runs dry and they must part until the next day. They are throwing their coats on when they realize.

Temasha, the clever fox, notices first. “Zhongli...” she begins slowly, “Where is Azhdaha?”

The man looks at her, eyes widening. In but a moment, he seems to shrug off whatever lightness the alcohol had given him, and Childe feels like he can physically see the walls of formality and propriety and whatever else fall back into place across the now stony face, his effort over oh so many hours erased in mere seconds. 

“I must go,” he answers stiffly, “have a good night, Master Childe.” and with that, he is gone, striding quickly away in the night.

Childe sighs sadly at his retreating figure - it had taken so long to get him to drop the ‘Master’. But a nudge from Temasha and a quick look at her wide, puzzled eyes snaps him out of his reverie, and they hurry off.

He is not quite sober when he arrives back to his empty, impersonal, apartment, and he blames that for his volume when he vocalizes their twin confusion aloud. 

“That kind of distance isn't impossible, but…”

“Yes I know that distance isn't impossible! We can do it, we had to fall into the Archons-forsaken Abyss to be able to do it, so why can he do it? Even the other Harbingers can’t…” Childe takes a breath, flopping back onto his bed and digging his scarred palms into his eyes, “He was supposed to be normal …”

Temasha hops onto the bed to curl up next to him, “Perhaps,” she sighs, “but he never would have stuck with us if he was, so in the end it may be for the best.”

They are silent for a long while, and the Daemon can feel the drowsiness and weariness overtaking her small body. This would be a problem for the next day. 

“I don't think I could ever forget about you,” Ajax whispers in the dark room, “I could be nations away from you and I would miss you the whole time.”

His Daemon only snuggles closer before they both fall into a fitful sleep.

---

When they next see Zhongli (the day afterwards, for lunch) he seems pointedly determined to pretend the whole thing never happened. Trying to get anything out of him is like talking to a rock, so after reassuring himself that Mr. Zhongli is alright, Childe drops the issue. 

Or at least he pretends to. On top of his actual job (many-headed sea serpents won't summon themselves), Childe digs deeper into the research that he had started after he returned from the Abyss. The Fatui had not made any significant progress on their research on Daemons and Dust since he had last checked in, so, taking advantage of his current location, he delved into any and all relevant Liyuean literature on the topics. 

Unfortunately, for a land steeped in thousands of years of history, there wasn't much. Childe poured through everything he could find, but besides an impressive history of Daemon-related traditions, found nothing substantial that he didn't already know (or had disproven himself: as far as anyone knew, a separation of more than 50 meters was impossible.) So for the time being, the issue was shelved.

Besides, Childe had other priorities regarding the handsome consultant.

---

It is only until the surprise arrival of an express message straight from the Harbingers' very own big-hatted-gremlin coincides perfectly with a chance encounter with the famed guardian Yaksha of Wangshu Inn that Childe is able to make any progress on the strange case of Mr. Zhongli and his ‘Daemon’.

It started because the Northland Bank - and by extension, Childe - had a debt to settle with one of the residents of the Wangshu Inn. Because he preferred to not be out of the city any longer than necessary (it had nothing to do with not wanting to miss his lunches with Zhongli, obviously), he had left the harbor before the sun had even begun peeking out from over the ocean, leaving early with the hope he would be able to return by evening. It would be a long day, but the trip was doable. 

So later that day, but still comfortably an hour before noon, he could finally see the looming bulk of Wangshu standing tall against the sky as he left the Guili plains and crossed into Dihua marsh. With the great tree in sight, he finally took the opportunity to relax his guard a bit - not that he would ever be in danger, but having a good awareness of one's surroundings is the first step to victory in any battle. At least close to the inn, the Millelith should be on patrol keeping the area clear of hilichurls and highwaymen.

However, it is precisely the moment that he relaxes and drops his guard that he wishes he most had it. With a dark swirl of anemo, a figure appears before him with all the suddenness and intent of a great storm. For the first time in a long while, he startles, and beside him he feels Temasha do the same, her fur standing all up on end. Before Childe can even so much as summon his hydro blades the man- boy leans right into his personal space, pointedly grimaces, and leaves with a scoff, another swirl of teal and black, and all the suddenness of his entrance.

After thoroughly defrazzling - Temasha even insisting on a spare moment to comb her tail into less of a bottlebrush - man and Daemon practically sprinted the rest of the journey to the Inn.

“So,” he begins the moment he steps up to Verr Goldet’s desk, leaning across the polished wood and right into her face with a grin, “I'm sure you know who I represent and why I'm here, but first, could you tell me everything you know about a short, teal, anemo-using lad who hangs around here?”

To her credit, the Innkeeper maintains an impressive facade, hardly blinking at his blatant discourtesy. “That would be Xiao, the local guardian Yaksha.”

He maintains his pressure, “Sorry, foreigner here, mind explaining what exactly a ‘yaksha’ is?”

“Yakshas are the elite warriors of Liyue’s Adepti,” she leans in a little, sporting her own perfect retail smile, “Surely, given who you represent and why you’re here, you know what the Adepti are, yes? Now, I believe the man you are looking for is out on the balcony to the left, and I'm sure neither of us wants your business here to take any longer than necessary.”

He leans back, heading in the direction she had indicated and flashing her one of his more genuine grins - at least she had been helpful.

As Childe had hoped, he is able to get back to the city just in time to see the lights of the Harbor glittering in the early evening. 

Thanks to the Innkeepers assistance, the job had taken even less time than he had expected - a blade to his throat and Temasha’s steel-trap jaws locked tight around the flighty form of the man's struggling sparrow Daemon had him quickly coughing up whatever money he had on his person as well as an agreement to a repayment contract with a frankly obscene interest rate.

He had then hurried the whole way back, Yaksha on his mind. There was something about the man - Adeptus, that viscerally confused him, but as of yet he wasn't able to recall quite what it was about the boy that gave him such an unsettling air. And it certainly wasn't the dark taint that clung to the air even after the Adeptus had vanished. He isn't such a hypocrite to say that abyssal stains make him uncomfortable.

He’ll figure it out.

But that thought will also be shelved for later, for as soon as he returns to the bank, Ekaterina hands him a letter. 

To his distaste, he recognizes it immediately. The packaging and ‘express post’ label reduce it to the highest ranks of the Fatui, and among the other Harbingers none have quite the flamboyant calligraphy of the Inazuman native.

And only Scaramouche would choose stationary this garishly purple. Ugh.

He returns to his office and braces himself for the obnoxiously whiny tone that somehow manages to always carry through despite the nearly impeccable penmanship.

‘Dearest Temasha and the 11th,’ it begins. Off to a great start, Childe is already done and it hasn't even been a full sentence. Unfortunately, this method of address is not at all unusual, Scaramouche has always had a bizarre fondness for his Daemon - it made an odd amount of sense considering the brat was from Inazuma and that Signora had explained once that one of his ‘mother figures’ (a surprise he had any, to be sure) would sometimes take the form of a small pinkish Inazuman fox, presumably quite similar in appearance to Temasha herself. Oh, and there was the fact that the Balladeer had no Daemon of his own, as he was apparently a puppet made in the image of a God and not technically human.

Hold up, that's what had been bugging him about his encounter with Xiao - as far as he could recall the Adeptus had no Daemon either.

Perhaps the lack of a Daemon was consistent for all of Liyue’s supernatural entities?

Wait a minute. 

Chapter Text

There were no Daemons in the Abyss. 

Now at first glance, this seems like a rather obvious statement. Daemons are blessed only upon Humankind, after all. Hilichurls, Abyss Mages, the Shadowy Husks, and even the obscure Abyss Lectors and Heralds are, for all their humanoid appearance, decidedly not human. There is nothing in the Abyss except for its monsters, and therefore, there are no Daemons. 

Except that's not quite true. 

Khaenri’ah, the midnight jewel of humankind, was only one of many cities hidden within those dark depths. Humankind has always had those who did not find comfort in the constant watchfulness of the divine far above, and as such, hidden refuges in the furthest corners of the world will always profligate.

There have always been humans in the abyss, but there are still no Daemons. 

The explanation is actually rather simple though far less obvious. Daemons are made of Dust - are consciousness and soul given physical form. But there is no Dust in the abyss, whether it should fall in from the surface or be produced by the human cities, all Dust is quickly eaten up by the corrosive energies native to those deep depths. And no Dust means no Daemons.

Skirk, the renegade swordmaster and Ajax’s former teacher, has no Daemon. Her soul fled its fragile container of starlight centuries ago, finding a safer home within her chest. One less weakness. 

Ajax - late to mature for his age - fell in with a daemon that could still shift forms fluidly. But within less than a week, constantly drained by the Abyssal corrosion upon both her physical form and the intangible connection which bound man to soul, Temasha settled into a crimson fox. It took another few weeks of slow death before Ajax learned - out of necessity - how to warp Abyssal energy to his needs and use it in place of Dust. The pair survived, but were irrevocably changed by the process. With the absence of the connection between them, the pain of separation that they had always known was no longer there - the entire span of the Abyss could not harm them. But such a skill came at a cost, and they found themselves struggling to achieve the implicit understanding they had had for so long. They had become closer to two separate beings than to one united self. 

But in the end they both survived, and that is what matters most.

So it seems Mr. Zhongli is part Adeptus. But so what? Zhongli is still Zhongli and it…

It explains a lot, actually.

Childe had always explained away the consultant's odd habits - his eclectic knowledge of Liyuen history and culture, his inability to remember his Mora, his outdated sense of humor and social norms, his severe-even-for-a-Liyuen fixation on contracts - as just that, habits . But now, considering that Zhongli had likely been alive for more than a couple centuries and spent most of his time out of the company of humans, all of his bizarre behavior was starting to make sense. Of course an adeptus who had been around for a significant part of Liyue’s history would remember it well, and of course someone raised amongst the adepti would have a dismal monetary sense. And of course an Adeptus, contracted to protect Liyue by Rex Lapis himself, would place far more stock in contracts and promises than the average mortal, whether they hail from Liyue or not.

In all honesty, Childe is baffled that he didn't notice it before, this is supposed to be his job.

And then there was the matter of Azhdaha.

At this point, Childe was certain that the lizard was no more than a fake. Based on what he had looked into regarding the two other half-adepti in the city - that lawyer girl and the secretary of the Qixing - anyone with Adeptus blood did not have a Daemon. However, he would not put it past Zhongli to either find an intelligent creature to pose as his Daemon, or just make such a creature himself. It would explain the… incident, at the night market, and , Childe flushed, Zhongli not having a Daemon would explain the man’s consistent lack of even the most basic of Daemon etiquette. 

Everyone knows how incredibly invasive it is to touch another person's Daemon; except as occasionally necessary in his line of work, it just isn't done. Though of course Zhongli has never been anywhere close to normal. Childe would need more fingers than both he and Temasha have put together to even come close to the number of times that Zhongli has intentionally touched Temasha, to say nothing of the instances of accidental contact. Though as taboo as it may normally be, Childe would be lying through his teeth to say he hates it. 

It started with a relatively innocuous instance of Zhongli brushing a speck of dirt off of her shining coat, and quickly turned into longer and longer petting sessions each time they met for meals. Temasha says Zhongli is just offering her the same greeting he gives Childe - Childe knows she’s lying (though he does wish that Zhongli would pet him too) but he won't begrudge her that attention. Even if it does make it increasingly difficult to sit still at the beginning of each meal as Zhongli scritches Temasha’s head in all her favorite places.

And there is at least one instance, that Temasha will admit, where Zhongli has picked her up.

They had been walking the market on an especially busy day, when the crush of the crowd around them had pushed Childe away while Zhongli had kept going like a veritable rock in a river, with Temasha staying right by his feet. Noticing her, he had swiftly bent down and within moments she was cradled safely in his arms above the rush. The crowd had thinned shortly after that and Childe was able to reconvene and reclaim his Daemon from the consultant. 

(He refuses to admit how he himself had nearly stumbled and been swept away by the crowd the moment he felt the comforting embrace wrap snugly around his very soul.)

(Temasha refuses to admit just how comfortable she had felt in the arms of this man, how nice and warm and sturdy he felt against her, and how she longed to feel it again.)

(But also there is the fact that no matter how kind and gentle Mr. Zhongli may have shown himself to be, there was something about being held by him that made her want to bare her teeth and bristle her fur in warning, something beyond his willingness to break all Daemon taboos. Something that reminded her uncomfortably of the heavy weight of the abyss on her body and the gaze of the monsters lurking in its every corner.)

(Neither of them quite mentions this to the other.)

Whatever. Mr. Zhongli is part-adeptus, it's the closest thing they have to an explanation since they first met the man. And they have bigger priorities now.

Their routine continues as normal for several more months, broken only briefly by the Balladeer's visit en route to Inazuma (and the less said about that catastrophe and the weeks-long, very expensive, havoc it wrought on Liyue’s fishing industry, the better). Debt collecting at the bank continues as usual. Zhongli and Childe meet nearly twice-daily for meals, which often run late into the night. And perhaps most importantly, their ‘Plan B’ with Osial and the Sigils of Permission was coming along quite nicely, with nearly all of the false sigils complete. (Plan A was still to just fight the Dragon-God head-on at the rite of descension - what? he could be hopeful .)

Until about a week before the rite, when a note detailing her success in Mondstadt as well as a warning regarding a certain golden-haired outlander arrived from Signora. A day later, the Traveler themselves arrived in Liyue. 

Even if he hadn't been warned about them beforehand, they would have been easy enough to spot. Golden hair that shone like captured starlight and struck Childe with a strange sense of familiarity (though from where he couldn't tell) stood out like a spotlight among the dark browns of Liyue Harbor’s populace. Their clothes, even from a distance, were unlike anything he was familiar with. They also had a bizarre habit of ignoring perfectly good staircases to just scale sheer walls; Celestia, even he didn't do that.

And as unusually familiar as Childe was with the phenomenon as of late, an individual without a Daemon would always catch the eye.

The day of the rite arrives all too quickly and with much fanfare. Despite having had nearly a year of preparation time, Childe finds himself lingering in the doorway with the pressing feeling that he is forgetting something very important. It takes Temasha resorting to physical force to finally get them rushing off to the rite and the exceptionally busy day they have planned. Though the feeling lingers. 

The feeling of anticipatory unease lingers all up to the actual descension, whereupon the massive serpentine corpse crashing down from the heavens - clearly visible even from their remote vantage point - resolves it in a massive burst of uncomfortable validation. The strange feeling that this was always going to happen, and the knowledge that regardless of the situation - his job was in no way over. 

The Tianquan shouting “MURDER!”, the resulting public hysteria, and a flash of familiar golden hair snaps him out of his reverie. 

A leap and a bound through the treetops - “Hey Comrade, hold still” - and three shots loosed at the encroaching crowd of Millelith bring him quickly to the aid of the mysterious traveler. Another few slashes of his blades incapacitate the soldiers before he beckons the traveler to follow and rushes off, Temasha picking up the rear. 

He leads them quickly to a side alley a stone's throw away from the bank, before pausing to let the strange pair catch their breath. 

The Traveler takes one last gulp of air before steadying themselves and looking up at him, “So who are you, why did you help us?” they demand.

“I'm Childe, and my partner over there is Temasha. Call it personal curiosity for now, it certainly isn't often that you see an individual with such an unusual Daemon.” he responds, smirking.

“How rude! Paimon is not a Daemon!” The small fairy shouts, shaking her tiny fists in the air.

“Kidding! Kidding!” he deflects, hands raised mock placatingly, “Well, mostly… But more to the point, I already knew about you two, and seeing as you were in a spot of trouble, I thought I’d lend a friendly helping hand.”

“You knew about us? How? Tell me who you are, really!”

“Well it isn't every day that one runs into such an interesting traveler, is it? But more to the point, I'm sorta in the business of knowing what's going on - I don't suppose you'd recall a ‘Signora’ by any chance?”

The not-Daemon brings her finger to her lips in consternation, but it is the Traveler who makes the connection first, swiftly jumping back and drawing their sword. “You're one of the Harbingers,” they growl, eyes alight.

“Spot on, Comrade, put the sword down, wouldya? As much as I’d love to cross blades with you, now’s neither the time nor place for a fight,” he says, letting his grin falter and eyes deaden for but a moment before he snaps the charming facade back into place. He takes a small bit of pride in the slight flinch he managed to elicit before continuing. “But Signora gave you quite the bad impression, huh? Can't say I blame ya, I'm not a fan of hers either. If we weren't coworkers, I’d have cut her down years ago. But enough about that, I think we can both help each other in this unpredictable situation, and I have someone I think you would like to meet!”

The Traveler - albeit reluctantly - lowers their sword, and he beams.

The lunch with Zhongli and the Traveler is ultimately pleasant and serves to (with the aid of a large bag of Mora) get the two of them out of his way for the next few days - off bothering with the other Adepti and funeral rites of whatever. But at the same time it makes him bitingly aware of the ticking clock hanging above Zhongli's head - the looming countdown to when the Adeptus will finally look upon him with the hatred he knows he is due. 

“You never know,” Temasha whispers in his ear, “He may yet find it within himself to forgive us.”

“You say that like we are worthy of forgiveness,” he responds. 

Her lack of response is telling enough. 

Childe hardly sees Zhongli or the Traveler over the next several days, only occasionally running them when the pair need their stock of Mora replenished - which he is always quick to provide, before running off and back to his ‘work’.

Ok he's avoiding them. What can he say, he doesn't need their continued presence to continually remind him of just what he stands to lose irregardless of any potential gain. No matter whether he gets the gnosis or not, there is no doubt in his mind that this entire play ends with him standing in the shattered remains of the life he's built for himself here, and very likely amongst the rubble of Liyue Harbor as well.

“Distancing ourselves is not a healthy coping mechanism,” Temasha tells him one night, putting her body between Childe’s hand and the half-empty bottle of firewhiskey on the desk, “and neither is alcoholism.”

He reaches around her and takes another swig nonetheless. “This is simply preparing for the inevitable, we plan to kill his God and flood his city, if he doesn't kill us the rest of the survivors will.”

“ Ajax, ” she whispers, pushing her furred snout against his face, “we can save the city.”

He jerks up, “we swore eternal loyalty …”

“Yes, but I didn't say we would do it alone. ”

“...Ah”

The next morning, for the first time in a week, he feels a smidgen of hope flowing through him. After grabbing the entire stack of sigils and checking that the traveler has been spotted returning to the harbor, he heads off straight toward the Golden House. 

(He stops briefly at a market stall to make a purchase, but that's just to make sure the traveler has a lead to follow, not because he found a shiny rock Zhongli would like. No not at all.)

The rising conflicts between the Qixing and Adepti have left the Golden House nearly entirely unguarded, and it is the work of moments to dispatch its Millelith guards and enter. 

The Exuvia hangs dark and majestic on the far wall, and Childe takes a moment of indulgence to run his hands along the smooth scales and soft fur. The razor teeth and claws distract him a moment more before he reaches upward and plunges his hand into the corpse's chest - though he is not surprised in the least when he finds no divine conduit within. He pulls his hand back out and moves to the stairs to wait. 

For all the hurry with which they crash through the doors of the Golden House, the traveler is rather late. Childe would have laughed if he wasn't preoccupied with scrambling up and putting his metaphorical ‘villain mask’ back on - Archons know the importance of presentation. At least he's good at it; the Harbinger's names are given for nothing. He spouts some appropriately motivating and loony garbage and draws his blades. 

The traveler frowns, but draws theirs in turn. 

“Do you think it’ll work?” he asks of his Daemon as they look out over the harbor from where they lay collapsed atop the bank. The ancient god that they had unleashed writhes free in the ocean below but in the distance a head of gleaming golden hair can be seen running towards it. His body throbs lightly - a foreseeable consequence of using the Foul Legacy - but one that he will have to get over if the plan works and Rex Lapis shows up. Perhaps he should not have wasted such a trump card on his earlier fight with the traveler, but Temasha was right - it weighed lighter on his fractured conscious to have a failsafe, even if that failsafe came in the form of an outlander he’d had to fight to push in the right direction. 

“After that fight?” Temasha pants from beside him, just as exhausted, “Certainly. Look at them now, it's been half a minute and they've already unified the Qixing and Adepti better than an entire day of negotiation.”

Sure enough, the little spritely blonde thing is being flanked by both the Tianquan and the conqueror of demons, and is effortlessly directing the rest. 

They keep watching until the Jade Chamber is dropped on the ancient god, resealing him back in the Guyun stone forest.

“Damn,” Temasha laments, “no Rex Lapis.”

“No Rex Lapis,” he groans, pushing his palms into his eyes, “I did not expect the Tianquan to sacrifice her pride and joy like that.”

“What now?”

“Plan, uhh, D, I guess.”

“Do we even have a plan D?”

“Not yet we don't; let's head back to the bank.”

The first step off the proverbial cliff was waiting for them outside. 

Childe had always thought that La Signoras Daemon should have been a snake, but he supposed the fire moth made more sense from an aesthetic standpoint. Not that it made much difference, as the little coward spent all his time hiding behind the woman's mask. And yet here he was, sitting quietly on the doors to the Northland Bank. 

“This is a reminder to behave .” Il Signore hisses, before quickly fluttering off through the open doors.

“Here at last, Tartaglia,” Signora calls out from within, “ late , to no one's surprise, now,” she turns towards Zhongli, Zhongli - what? “The Gnosis if you don't mind, Morax .”

Morax?

Ajax is … not entirely sure how or when he arrived back at his little apartment above the bank. The last few hours are rather fuzzy in his mind, and his limbs still feel dull and leaden. Stone would be an appropriate descriptor, perhaps. 

Zhongli is Morax.

Ah, there it is again. Ajax feels rather like he is a distant observer to what he knows, logically, is his own suffering. He stands at a distance and watches as the closest friendship he has ever had crashes down burning around him but as if it was happening to someone else. Zhongli would never do this to me. He knows this. He trusts it wholly and truly even as the embers settle against his cheeks. 

He is sitting in misery and he is sitting in the middle of a burning housefire in his mind and he is sitting among the ruins of his apartment in Liyue. 

Before he traded for this all-consuming despair - this numbing fog - he had had wrath. But the fire had been lit, and then had burned, and now all he is left with is the ashes. He takes another swig of bitter liquid from the now half-empty bottle in his hand and he can feel the miserable cloud settle back down over him. 

The cold fog is a little better than the blaze. It wouldn't hurt quite as much to drown in it. 

Ajax is … not doing well. 

That's putting it mildly, Temasha knows this, but she's been an individual for nearly a decade by now and while she still loves him as her best friend and other half, they have both grown so much since she last felt that certainty inherent to all Daemons. 

It frightens her, at times like this. Times when she resolves to retreat - not hide, never hide - in the corner and let him burn out the fire and lightning from within him. All that violence that was never there before, before when she still knew him. It is when the inferno dies down and settles into the deep ocean and even deeper abyss that she dares to step out from the place she had found to wait out the storm. It is by no means ideal, but it is certainly better when his mood returns to those elements he claimed for himself - mastered through pain and blood - rather than those he has adopted from on high in their quest for power. 

He is sitting on the bed - a lone oasis in the broken battered room - with the blanket pulled clumsily over his head. He is drinking again. Miserable. The only mercy is that his distraction allows her to slip quietly out of the room without notice. 

It is a simple matter to keep to the shadows as she exits the bank, keeping out of the glow of the evening lights and along the edge of roads so frequently walked over the past year. She follows a common path and soon enough finds herself at a very familiar location. Here she deviates, carefully - but no less urgently - picking her way up a tree at the back of the building until she arrives outside a certain window on the second floor, where, for the first time since she left the apartment, she pauses, considering.

It had been a bit of a spur of the moment decision, coming out here - especially alone. It would really be rather foolish to expose their secret like this, and the issue may even resolve itself with a few days' patience. Perhaps she should just head back and erase all proof of this rash, stupid, descision. 

But she thinks back to the memory of Ajax huddled in his pitiful little lump on his bare mattress, numb and hurting and drinking his sorrows away. Temasha does not quite remember the last time he got this bad, and understands that despite all her best intentions, there is only so much that the company of your own soul can do. Her dearest companion is suffering, and as his Daemon - detached as she may be - it is her responsibility to help him. To fix the things he cannot.

She reaches out and scratches at the window, loudly. From within there are stirring sounds of a book closing and a teacup being set down, before footsteps make their way over. She scratches again - perhaps unnecessarily - and the window opens.

“Temasha,” Zhongli says with a fond smile, “what a pleasant surprise.”

His face is open and trusting when he greets her, as he had always been when together with the two of them, but she reminds herself that he is Morax, and pauses. Friend though he may still be, things have changed between them, and it does not hurt to exercise a bit more courtesy. 

“Please do come inside,” he requests, returning to his chair, “is there anything I can help you with?”

She takes the invitation and delicately jumps over to her favorite chair - an antique number, as is to be expected from its owner, still wonderfully plush - and carefully sits, wrapping her bushy red tail carefully over her paws. 

Zhongli smiles as she sits, but then turns his attention back to the window, curious. “Where is Childe?” he asks, as if expecting him to also scramble in from outside on the second floor. He turns back to face her after a breath, his brows beginning to furrow in concern.

“He is back at our apartment.” She replies.

“Ah,” Zhongli nods, taking a more comforted sip of his tea, “I am aware that humans ordinarily cannot bear to be so far from their Daemons, but It stands to reason that such an extraordinary young man is extraordinary in more ways than one. If you are amenable, I would be curious to hear how the two of you have acquired such a skill.”

“Perhaps later, he is … not doing well right now.”

Zhongli sets down his cup, worry and concern making themselves known on his face, and leans in. 

“He was, well we both were, really hurt by, umm, this whole plot of yours.” Temasha begins, resisting the urge to curl herself up into a ball, “Ajax especially, I think, was really hurt by who you are, and feels really upset that the trust we placed in you was broken? That you didn't tell us, and moreso that you didn't appear to be bothered?”

She spares a glance upwards. She was not particularly expecting anything though she was well prepared to flee at any hint of Morax’s famed godly wrath. Though instead she was met with the perfect attention of golden eyes and a face steeped in guilt. A good sign, if not a bit halting. “I'm taking a pretty big risk, being here alone,” she continues, “I'm just hoping, I guess, that it wasn't all an act on your part? Just a miscommunication, maybe? Because, if you still care, well, I think Ajax could really use your help, please.”

There is a moment.

“ Oh, ” the God murmurs, practically wilting away in his seat, “Oh, no, Temasha, I would never. You…” He leans forward suddenly, to the edge of his seat, a look of sudden desperation on his face, “Temasha, I apologize, sincerely. Please, tell me how I can make this better. I never…” he swallows, “I have always treasured your company, from the day I first met you. You brought a vibrancy into my life I had not realized I was missing - you convinced me of my desire to ‘become human’, I owe all the happiness I have now to you two. I never, never , intended to cause you harm with my actions, I promise, and I am truly sorry that I have - I did not realize…” He looks up at her again, pleading, “Tell me I can fix this, please. ”

Temasha pauses a moment, before pulling herself to her full height and staring the God straight in his golden eyes. “You want to know how you can help?” She asks, “Tell him that.”

From within his huddled mound of misery and also blankets, Ajax feels a sudden warmth blossom from somewhere deep within his chest - a feeling of comfort and safety utterly at odds with his current aching emptiness. He shrugs and takes another swig from his bottle. Perhaps now his mind shall finally allow him the sweet escape of sleep. 

But rest eludes him, and with the cozy feeling continuing to lift him out of his self-imposed stupor he returns to dejectedly nursing his quickly depleting drink.

Until the rapid thump-thump-thump of the stairs alerts him, and he pulls himself upright just in time to see the door click softly open - did he forget to lock it? And Zhongli - Morax, Liar, he reminds himself - steps into the room. From inside the breast of his dark coat and carefully cradled in one strong arm pokes a familiar furred face - the traitor! Did she fetch this lying God? Ajax was doing perfectly fine on his own, thank you very much, and to prove that he lifts once more his trusty (of many) bottle - ignoring the chime of a summoned construct. 

Yet the liquor does not seem to flow into his mouth. A second look shows him a little Geo cork stuck in the neck of the bottle. Geo… rude. He stares at it with contempt for a moment before finally turning to look at the Archo- sorry, Former Geo Archon’s face. 

And is surprised to see that the God is crying.

“Oh, Ajax,” Zhongli says, bending down to wrap him too in those safe-safe-safe arms, “I am so, so , sorry.”